The Cascading: Knights of the Fire Ring

by CW Ullman

  Curtis yelled, “Somebody close that fucking door.” Ronnie ran to the door and tried to move it.

  “The hinge is twisted. It won’t budge,” Ronnie said.

  “Everybody just stay away from it,” said Charlie.

  Baja Charlie was the next one up. He walked over to My Ling to assess her.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. She did not respond. She was dazed and vomiting salt water.

  “Guess not,” Baja Charlie observed. “Wait here.” He went to a storage bin, pulled out a dry blanket, and returned to My Ling who was shivering and dry heaving. He waited until her heaving lessened. When he saw nothing was coming up, he knelt down and wrapped her in the blanket. The other guys gathered around and looked at her and each other before Gaston broke the silence.

  “Will somebody tell me what we just did? Man, that was a Kodak moment.”

  From the helm of the ship, Captain Derrick periodically watched the rescue through his binoculars. Most of his attention was focused on righting the ship into the swells to keep the Enterprise from keeling over. It was not unusual for a ship to be in high seas where ocean swells can reach over one hundred feet. The task was to keep the direction of the ship going into them bow first and not get caught as they just had with swells coming at the ship from the side. The other problem the ship faced was that the spacing between the oncoming waves was shrinking. Hundred-foot swells in light winds could be several hundred yards apart, creating a sensation of driving a car over a series of evenly-spaced hills. In a storm of high winds, the swells come at the ship faster, making it feel as though it is going up and down on a roller coaster. Finally, when there was a slight lull in the wind and the waves spread out, Captain Derrick turned to his XO and said, “You’ve got the helm, Mr. Jones.” He turned to the Chief Petty Officer on his left and said, “Come with me.”

  The six sailors were huddled around a dazed and exhausted My Ling when they heard the interior door to their deck open. The Chief Petty Officer yelled, “Captain present. Atten-hut.”

  They all turned to see the chief petty officer just inside the deck. Then through the door strode Captain Derrick. He stopped at the top landing of the compartment and slowly looked the room over. He saw the refugees huddled together in a corner, the six sailors standing at attention, and a figure wrapped in a blanket seated on the floor. He turned to his chief and said, “Have them fall in.”

  The chief dully ordered, “Fall in!”

  The six sailors moved quickly to form a straight line with Charlie at the head. Captain Derrick walked to the sailors who were standing at attention.

  “Who’s in charge?” Captain Derrick asked.

  Charlie responded, “I am, sir.”

  All six of them were soaking wet, with slight smiles on their faces, because of the successful rescue. All of them were thinking in some fashion that their heroism was going to be acknowledged. Frequently, over the shipboard radio, the XO would acknowledge feats of bravery or high accomplishments to boost onboard morale. Sometimes the XO would let the person tell his own account of what he had done. Gaston was hoping he would not have to speak because he still got a lot of hazing over his French accent.

  “Who ordered the rescue that I just saw from the bridge?” Captain Derrick said.

  Charlie spoke, “Sir, it was spontaneous. When the refugee was identified in need of help, we commenced to act.”

  “Commenced to act” drew a smile to Ronnie’s face because he had never heard Charlie sound so formal. Ronnie thought he sounded like someone running for elective office.

  “All of you just decided on your own?” Captain Derrick questioned.

  Charlie realized that Rusty was the one who first called the others to the opened sea door when he saw the troubled chopper and My Ling bobbing in the water under it.

  “Well, actually, sir, it was Seaman Russell Armstrong who initiated the call to action,” Charlie said.

  When this was over, Ronnie was going to give Charlie as much shit as possible for using phrases like “call to action”.

  “Point him out, sailor,” Captain Derrick said.

  Charlie stepped forward, looked to his left, and pointed to Rusty who was last in the row. Captain Derrick walked down the row to Rusty and stood in front of him. He saw the half smile on Rusty’s face, the soaking wet clothes, and his loose shirt.

  Captain Derrick ordered, “Sailor, tuck in that shirt.” Rusty looked down and immediately tucked the shirt into his pants. Derrick continued, “There are procedures and protocols on this ship that are to be followed at all times. Nobody does anything on this ship without being given an order to do it. Do you understand?”

  Rusty was losing his smile when he replied, “Yes, sir.”

  “We have four thousand men assigned to this ship and over four thousand refugees,” Captain Derrick said. “At eight thousand people, we are three thousand over capacity and we’re in the middle of a storm. You may have noticed the excessive listing because we are loaded to the gunwales.” Rusty knew that meant the ship was carrying an excessive amount of cargo. The captain continued, “We are top-heavy and getting pummeled by the seas. The pilot responsible for that downed helicopter radioed for permission to land and off-load his cargo. He was denied permission for the safety of this ship. Did you know that?”

  “No, sir,” Rusty said.

  “Is that what you brought aboard my ship?” He was pointing at My Ling wrapped in a blanket ten feet away. Charlie thought it was weird that Captain Derrick was referring to somebody as “cargo” and “it.”

  Rusty said, “Yes, sir.”

  “Then you can put it back where you found it,” Captain Derrick ordered.

  The six sailors had different interpretations of the order. Most of them did not think the captain actually meant to throw the girl back into the sea, but intended to teach them a lesson about following protocol, or test them to see if they would follow orders. Putting the girl back where they found her meant she would not live. Charlie was the first to regain his wits to speak.

  “Sir, permission to speak?” Charlie asked.

  “You DO NOT have permission to speak,” barked Captain Derrick. “Well, Mr. Armstrong, what are you waiting for?”

  Rusty could not absorb the meaning of the command. He knew what he had heard, but his body would not respond. He saw in his mind what this would look like: grabbing the girl, moving her to the rail, and pushing her into the ocean. The image of it made his stomach tighten so hard he thought he was going to throw up. Even though the captain had just shut Charlie down, Rusty had to clarify what the captain meant. He surely did not want him to throw the girl overboard. He had to ask.

  Rusty started, “Sir-.”

  “Mr. Armstrong, you do not have permission to speak.”.

  Even though they were at attention, the other five turned their heads in Rusty’s direction.

  “You are at attention and the last time I checked my book, that means eyes forward,” the chief hollered, and the five snapped their heads to the front.

  “Mr. Armstrong, look at me. If you are thinking we can throw equipment overboard, think again. We need every nut, bolt, rope, and anything else you might be considering,” Captain Derrick snapped.

  Captain Derrick had seen the discipline and order of his ship turn into chaos and disorder with the addition of these scroungy, disgusting refugees. Instead of using the head, he saw them squat and shit in the corner of his ship. They were constantly underfoot and whimpering. Having these people on his ship was like inviting the plague onboard. He was ordered by Navy Command to take on refugees only to the point where safety would not be compromised. This refugee, this thing, had made his ship unsafe and would be an example to the rest of the crew. The USS Enterprise was a military vessel at war, not a floating sanctuary. He was going to return order to his ship, and people aboard needed to follow orders – his orders – or there would be hell to pay. His rage, fueled by twenty-nine hours of sleeplessness, would not be assuaged. People were
going to do what he told them to do, when he told them to do it.

  He stood directly in front of Rusty and leaned into his face, almost touching Rusty’s nose. Rusty saw the vein standing out on Captain Derrick’s forehead, his face flushed and his jaw muscle flexed. He was waiting for him to yell, but instead he spoke slowly in a whisper that felt like a chilled vice. “Mr. Armstrong, listen carefully. I am giving you a direct order to put that back where you found it.”

  Rusty had come from a family of Navy men. His father, grandfather, and cousins were either currently in the Navy or had previously served. He did not see Captain Derrick, nor hear him as much as he felt him. He thought of what his dad had told him about obeying orders and doing his duty. He also remembered that on occasion, his dad would soften sometimes when he had to discipline Rusty because he did not always have the heart to be tough on his red-headed boy.

  The war between duty and emotion was raging inside Rusty. He had never disobeyed a direct order from his commanding officers or senior NCOs, regardless of his own feelings. But, he knew that if the girl went back into the water, she would die and he would be responsible.

  He came upon a solution: he would go in the water. He had surfed all his life and had ridden sixty-foot swells at Cortes Bank. He could survive the ocean. All he needed was a life vest. Tears formed in his eyes, the nails on his fingers cut into his palm where they curled into a fist, and his lips drooled the vomit that had backed up into his throat and mouth.

  He looked around the room, his legs locked and stiff and the muscles throughout his body worked against each other, reflecting his indecision. He stepped back from the captain and turned around. My Ling was between him and the door to the ocean. Rusty walked awkwardly, since he was barely able to bend his knees. He stopped for a moment, looked at the door, and then down at My Ling. He saw she was still shivering from her exposure to the sea. He looked back at his friends who were facing away from him, still at attention. He caught his old friend, Ronnie, sneaking a slight glance at him. The refugees were huddled together at the wall and Captain Derrick was staring into him. Again, he looked at his five friends standing at attention. Rusty looked at the opening to the ocean, took a deep breath and exhaled. He bent over next to My Ling and grabbed a life vest and held it. He looked to the sea door and then at the girl. Then he bent over and pulled the blanket off her.

  “Put this on; it will give you a chance,” he said.

  Rusty stood her up. The little girl looked confused when he was forcing her arms into the arm holes of the life vest. He pulled the front flaps of the vest together and buckled it. He then pulled the straps down tightly so the wet, cold vest fit snuggly to her body. She looked at him with a small smile of confusion, and wondered why he wanted her to wear the vest under the blanket. When Rusty thought it was tight enough, he stopped and looked into her eyes.

  “How old are you?” he said.

  This was the only English she knew. She held up both hands, her water-shriveled index fingers forming the number eleven.

  He then asked her, “What is your name?”

  She looked blankly at him because she did not understand what he was saying.

  He pointed to his name written on his shirt and said, “Armstrong.” Then he pointed to himself. He pointed to the name and then pointed to himself again and said, “Armstrong. My name is Russell Armstrong.”

  He pointed at her and asked again, “What is your name?”

  One of the refugees in the crowd shouted out in Vietnamese, “What is your name?”

  In the smallest voice, almost a whisper, with a smile because someone was interested enough in her to ask for her name, she said, “My Ling.”

  He then took her by the hand. She was warmed to her core to have this red-headed man treat her like a child, instead of the way the pilot in the helicopter yelled at her. She looked at him as they were walking, thinking that his sweetness reminded her of her little brother, Quang. She gazed at him, not noticing where they were going. She looked from him toward the direction they were moving and saw the sea door, and then back at this kind man.

  My Ling suddenly grew suspicious, just as they reached the opening. Her dread was confirmed when Rusty grabbed both front panels of the vest she was wearing. He pulled her off the ground and when he did they were face to face and she saw the look in his eyes and immediately wrapped both arms around his neck. He tried to pry her loose, but she gripped tighter. He pushed and the floor’s wetness made him slip and they fell down. She started to scream in Vietnamese.

  “No, no, no, no,” My Ling cried. She was so frightened her voice vibrated because her vocal cords were straining to produce a sound that was trapped in her constricted throat.

  She scrambled off him where they had fallen. He reached back and grabbed her ankle and dragged her back to him. She was breaking her fingernails on the metal floor trying to grab something and repeating the word “no.”

  The other refugees started yelling and screaming. The women were crying and begging for My Ling’s life once they understood what was happening. My Ling could not form words because she was crying, choking, and moaning. Rusty stood up with her, holding her by the lapels of the jacket while she again gripped his neck. She saw tears in his wild eyes and smelled his fetid breath.

  “Swim away from the ship or you’ll get pulled under. I am going to throw you as far as I can,” he said.

  She would not let go of him and he was getting frustrated. He yelled hard at her, surprising her with a sound like a grunting bark from deep inside him. He brought her close to him and then as though he was making a chest pass with a basketball, thrust My Ling out over the railing.

  He felt and heard the snap. He watched her, wide-eyed with fear as she appeared momentarily to be suspended in air. He realized she had snapped from his neck the chain that held his dog tags, and she now clenched the metal tags in her fist. Her fixed intense glare of fear turned to rage and seared into Rusty. He wanted to turn away but could not. Without her uttering a sound, he was enveloped in My Ling’s withering curse. The glowering rebuke rent his spirit. He watched her become smaller and smaller while his hand reflexively went to his neck where his tags had hung. She did not turn away to look for the water into which she was about to plunge, but instead remained locked on his eyes draining him of life. If her life was ending, so would his. And then she was gone.

  He turned from the sea door and heard howling from the other refugees. Captain Derrick shouted at him, “If we go down, your life vest just went overboard.”

  Captain Derrick tersely commanded his chief, “Release them when I’m gone.” He turned to the sailors saying, “No more heroics.” He looked at Charlie and pointed at Rusty, “Keep an eye on that one.” Then he turned and walked up the stairs to the howling, crying, and whimpering of the refugees.

  When he got to the top of the stairs he picked up a phone that was connected to the bridge. He ordered, “Okay, sound the alarm.” He then turned to the sailors and said, “This squall is dropping water spouts. You need to secure this area; they’ll be sounding the alarm.

  When he walked out the door, the chief barked, “Dismissed."

  The five sailors turned to see Rusty standing, vacantly staring, as the alarm sounded. Ronnie had known Rusty his entire life and had not seen him ever look like this. His face was slack, white, and expressionless. Rusty walked to a rolled tarpaulin with a gait that Gaston thought looked like that of an old man. When he got to the tarpaulin, he slowly bent from the waist, put his hand on it, swung around to sit and missed, falling to the floor. The five went to him while the refugees howled. Gaston shouted at them in French to shut up. They muffled their cries.

  “She got my tags,” Rusty said. He wanted to get up, but Charlie pressed on his shoulders holding him down.

  “Just stay here.” Charlie counseled.

  “She got my tags,” Rusty repeated slowly as though it were a mantra. His eyes were unfocussed and unblinking. “She got my tags.”

  �
��It’s okay, Russ, we’ll get you a new set from supply,” Curtis said. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

  Gaston motioned Charlie to the side and said, “He’s in shock. We need to get him to sick bay. One of us has to stay with him.”

  “Ronnie will; he’s known him his whole life,” replied Charlie as he motioned Ronnie over.

  “Can we wait a bit?” Ronnie paused. “He just pissed his pants.”

  They walked back over to Rusty who was slumped up next to the tarp, tears running down his face.

  “Skipper…gave a direct order… I’ve never disobeyed a direct order.” Rusty said. “She got me…” His voice trailed off. “She got me. Her eyes, she got-” He could not finish the sentence because he vomited without bending or leaning to either side. It was not just that he was vomiting; it was more that his stomach wanted to escape his body. Gaston felt as though Rusty was being purged of his soul.

  “Rusty, we’re gonna take you to sick bay, okay?” Gaston said. “Doc needs to check you out. You’re gonna be all right.” Gaston turned to the other guys. “Help me get him to his feet.”

  Rusty was convulsing and his legs would not support him. They had to put him back down. He kept repeating some variation of, “She got me.”

  “Russ, she just got your dog tags. You’re here, you’re going to be okay,” Curtis said.

  The refugees were still crying and Gaston ran at them. In French he screamed, “Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” He, too, was crying.

  Charlie came after him and said, “C’mon, get it together. Here, look at me.” Gaston was embarrassed to look up. Charlie continued, “We’re gonna be okay.”

  “No, Charlie. No, we’re not! We let Rusty throw a little girl off the ship. We fucked up. We should have thrown the Skipper off,” Gaston angrily spewed. “This is never going to be okay. You don’t do shit like this,” and then he yelled, cried, and yelled again.