Red Tide

by W. Dale Justice

  Steve thought for many minutes. He left his captain’s chair and paced about the bridge, while Captain Stokes, and the crew pretended not to watch. A hallmark of his career and the reason for his rapid advancement in the Coast Guard was his ability to come up with out of the ordinary solutions to unsolvable problems on the fly. He needed just such a solution now. Though relations between the United States and Cuba had thawed some since the sixty-year embargo was put in place by President Eisenhower following Castro’s rise to power, it wasn’t exactly a cordial relationship. Entering Cuban territorial waters in an American warship would not be a welcome advancement for current diplomatic efforts.

  “Carry on, captain. I’ll be in Communications for a while.” Phillips left the bridge.

  Cuban Straights, south of the vessel She Got the House

  Lieutenant Acosta placed the radio mic back in position, and turned to his anxious crew. “Gentlemen, Command reports long range radar has confirmed an American warship closing on our waters. Actually, closing on our position. We are on an intercept course with them now. It appears they are responding to the same SOS call as are we. Why a warship of this size is traveling at top speed towards a random distress call this close to our shores is unknown. Jets have been scrambled. Our orders are to stop their entry into Cuban waters.”

  “How big a warship, Lieutenant?” Enrique was understandably nervous. This was a bit more involved than chasing down defectors on rafts. The Cuban patrol boat was equipped with small arms for her crew, and one Russian NSV-12-7 Utes 12.7mm machine gun, capable of handling anything from smugglers to defectors, but not an American warship.

  “We will do our duty, Enrique. We will have air support from our Mig-29’s. I doubt very much this will turn into a shooting contest, but we will be prepared.” Acosta responded. “To your stations.”

  USGCC Bertholf, North of the vessel She Got the House

  Admiral Phillips returned from Communications to the bridge just in time for the latest radar scan. The Bertholf was equipped with the latest radar technologies in use on all American warships, which included AN/SPS Surface Search radar, and the latest EADS TRS-3D Air Search radar. Both picked up alarming contacts.

  “Sir, radar has picked up new contacts. We have a flight of three MIG-29’s headed our way, and a Cuban Patrol boat approaching fast. The Zodiac is in visual sight, and will cross the twelve mile international waters line in the next 15 minutes.” Stokes reported.

  “Very well captain. Maintain pursuit course and speed. Recall SAR Dolphin 2 to a position well back of the twelve-mile line to await our pick up. No sense having a whirlybird tangling with three MIG’s. Let’s chase the Zodiac to the line. We might get lucky, and she’ll run out of gas. We could use something stupid like that.” the Admiral commented.

  Captain Stokes was obviously not happy with the Admiral’s game of chicken, and began to protest. Steve cut her off before she could speak. “You have your orders, Captain. Helmsman, on my mark come hard to starboard, but not until.”

  “Aye, Aye, sir.” The helmsman responded.

  “Battle stations, Admiral?” Captain Stokes asked softly, standing by his side.

  “No Captain, that won’t be necessary. I’m a bit crazy, but I’m not stupid. Turn off all radars. No sense making the neighbors more nervous than they already are.” Steve replied quietly, giving her an encouraging half smile. “Instruct our people to scan for any targeting radars from the MIGs that may light us up. I don’t think they will, but let’s not take any chances.”

  Bobby Lee felt like an old western outlaw trying to outrun a fast posse mounted on a worn out burro. The Zodiac’s paltry seven knots made the boat seem to stand still, while a huge Coast Guard cutter sprang over the horizon, and closed at a remarkable speed. Ahead of him, a small craft approached from the direction of Cuba. A patrol boat, it had to be.

  “Will we make it?” Sherrod shouted above the noise of the outboard. He clung to the rope railing along the Zodiac’s sides, as the boat bounced over the ocean.

  “How the fuck do I know? I expected to run out of gas a mile or so back. We gotta’ be running on fumes.” Bobby Lee shouted back.

  The patrol boat ahead was closing fast, when the air was suddenly filled with the scream of low flying jets which came out of nowhere. Sherrod threw himself to the bottom of the Zodiac. Bobby Lee instinctively ducked, even though the jets were a hundred feet off the water. He followed them over his shoulder as they streaked towards the incoming warship, then peeled up and away, one to each side, one seemingly straight up.

  “Holy crap! This is going sideways fast!” Bobby Lee shouted, but Sherrod could not hear. As if on cue, the Zodiac’s outboard ran out of fuel, sputtered, and died. Their forward momentum carried the boat another thirty yards, but the Gulf current was against them, and they soon stopped.

  “What do we do? Bobby Lee, what do we do?” Sherrod screamed.

  “Shut the fuck up, and watch the show. Them jets and that patrol boat ain’t here because we’re in international waters.” Bobby Lee grasped the situation unfolding. “This is going to be a problem, Sherrod. We’re not exactly sneaking into Cuba anymore. Not with this circus.”

  The patrol boat clearly flying the Cuban colors was less than a quarter mile away and closing fast. The fast approaching cutter showed no signs of changing course. The thought of being caught in a crossfire between two nations chilled Bobby Lee’s bones to the core. The Cuban boat sported a mounted machine gun, which was manned and trained on the Zodiac. The hardened rubber sides of the boat offered all the protection of a piece of paper to a buzz saw. Bobby Lee lay down in the Zodiac beside Sherrod, and prayed, peaking over the side in terrified curiosity.

  The jets had circled, and now screamed towards them from behind the approaching Cuban patrol boat. Bobby Lee covered his ears against the onrushing sound wave. Sherrod, seeing his companion’s precaution did the same. A solid wave of air and sound flattened both men, as the jets passed overhead at wave top level. The boat, and surrounding water were compressed by the shock wave, buffeting both men, the air wave punching them with a physical blow.

  Both men’s eyes were drawn to the cutter a mile distant, the object of the MIGs wave top run. Would either side shoot? They would know in a matter of seconds. Suddenly, the Coast Guard cutter steered hard to starboard, laying over on her port side like a top heavy racecar taking a curve at high speed. The rudder was amazingly responsive for a ship longer than a football field. In moments, the cutter no longer aimed at the Zodiac, but was cruising at high speed parallel to what Sherrod and Bobby Lee assumed was the twelve-mile line.

  “Whoever is commanding that ship has balls like pickle jars and enough hair on his chest to weave an Indian blanket. ”Bobby Lee thought out loud.

  The patrol boat had pulled alongside the Zodiac. All eyes were on the cutter’s bold maneuver. The MIGs pulled up and away like phantoms, and in moments, the only sound was the rumbling of the patrol boat’s internal engines. Bobby Lee looked towards the helm of the patrol boat, and into the wide eyes of a stunned Lieutenant Acosta, who spoke to him.

  “Who are you two?” an astounded Lieutenant Acosta asked.

  Admiral Phillips sat in the captain’s chair on the bridge showing little emotion. The stunned crew focused on their instruments and screens, stealing furtive glances at him. Captain Beverley Stokes starred at him without trying to hide her thoughts. Anger, astonishment, relief, take your pick.

  Phillips stood, turned to the crew, and said, “Well done. I think we got their attention. Thank you for your steadfastness under pressure. There are initiatives underway I cannot share at this time. Know that your actions today are an integral part of those plans.” Turning towards the Captain, “Ms. Stokes, would you join me please.” He left the bridge, Captain Stokes following. They made their way below decks to the Captain’s stateroom, entered and closed the door.

  “Go ahead, Beverley. Say what’s on your mind. You may speak freely.”

  “Wh
at the fuck was that, Admiral? You deliberately played chicken with the Cuban Airforce and Navy. You put my people, and my ship in harm’s way to catch a couple of two bit criminals.”

  “Yes.” Phillips was short and to the point.

  “Why? Why for God’s sake? There are 113 men and women, and 14 officers on this ship, not to mention the three Bayboro civilians. Are their lives worth two criminals?” Stokes was not backing off one inch.

  “That’s one of the initiatives I was not able to share with the crew or you, but I’m going against my orders to share with you now. Your crew was never in any danger. When it appeared we weren’t going to catch them before they entered Cuban territorial waters, I went below deck to Communications. I called Secretary John Waxman, who patched in the Navy Secretary Newkirk. I told them my plan, and they signed off with a green light.”

  “What plan, Green light for what, a Kamikaze strike?”

  “Negative, Captain. A demonstration. We needed to get the Cuban’s attention, and cooperation. We needed to get the world’s attention. If we allowed Swagart and Simpson to sneak quietly into Cuba, they would be lost to us forever. The entire time we made our run up to the twelve-mile limit line, Secretary Waxman was in direct communications with Raul Castro. Seems Waxman speaks pretty good Spanish, and likes Cuban cigars. He and Raul got to be buddy’s when Waxman was down here last year to raise the US flag over our Consulate after sixty years. Raul was in direct communication with those three MIGs. We needed to make a good show, and together, the MIGs and the Bertholf made one helleva show.”

  “Why the big show? If Secretary Waxman is such good buddies with Castro, why not just arrest and extradite the assholes.”

  “Excellent question, Captain. Here’s your answer, and it’s going to take some work to wrap your head around it. As you rise in rank, you begin to recognize and understand the political and diplomatic ramifications of the use of military power. Ours, and other nations. I’ll break it down for you as plainly as I can.”

  “This clusterfuck started with a careless, money grubbing criminal in Tampa spilling toxic crap into Tampa Bay. An American citizen. A freak coincidence and anomaly in the Gulf current carried it to southern Mexico, where it exploded into a Red Tide algae bloom that killed over 400 people, and hospitalized thousands. This could have been mitigated had it not been for the actions of another criminal, who called off the CDC investigation prematurely. Another American citizen, only this one was a highly placed official.”

  “With great sacrifice, American aviators, men and women, destroyed the bloom. But that does not make Mexico whole again. That does not assuage the anti-American fervor throughout Central America, South America, and parts of the Caribbean. We need to give these countries what they need to build back what was lost, and assuage their people’s anger.” Steve explained.

  “Anger? It’s not like we did it on purpose.” The Captain replied.

  “Said just like an American. America pisses off a lot of people around the world simply by what we have, and they don’t.”

  “What are we giving them that they think they need?” Bev asked.

  “Respect. Cuba needs to feel respected after six decades of driving 1950’s era cars, and being forced to accept economic handouts from the Russians. We gave them a chance to chase off the big bad American military. Raul needs to win his people’s respect, rather than stand in his brother’s shadow. We allowed Raul to win his people’s respect. Mexico needs to feel respected for the hundreds who died, thousands who suffered, and an economy that was shattered. The two criminals we tried to catch today will be turned over to Mexican authorities for prosecution as soon as possible. Cuba can do that without interference from American trial lawyers who would tie it up in the courts for decades. I guarantee you, the Mexican government will handle those two assholes swiftly, and much more harshly than the US courts ever could, or would. Starting to get the picture?”

  “Damn. This is more Machiavellian than a dime store thriller.” Beverley was awed by the intricacies.

  “Yes it is, but that’s the world we live in.” Steve replied. “The mobile hospitals we set up in Mexico along their Gulf coast will remain, and be expanded into fully staffed and functional medical facilities in an area that has very few, on America’s dime. Financial restitution will be paid to the families of those Mexican citizen’s that lost their lives from the Red Tide. ALL of this will be communicated to the governments and people throughout the region. Secretary Waxman has consulted with the President, who will sponsor a bill to clean up fertilizer runoff from agriculture, not just in the Gulf, but nationwide.”

  “These are pretty big initiatives, Admiral.”

  “Yes they are. I ask that you contemplate everything I have shared with you, in light of your training and military experience. It’s time you start thinking beyond the mission to what comes next. First law of physics, Captain…’every action has an opposite and equal reaction.’ Prepare your mind to figure out what that reaction is likely to be, and how to handle it. It will make you a better leader.”

  “Yes sir. Thankyou sir.”

  Santiago de Cuba

  Highway A1, Southern Coast of Cuba near Guantanamo Bay

  The windowless van rumbled east along Highway A1 through the dark of night. Four passengers rode silently in the back, two of which were shackled and blindfolded. Two of the rear passengers were armed Cuban Security Forces. The van had been on the road all day, and into the night, stopping once to allow the prisoners to relieve themselves on the side of the road, and to be given a bottle of water, the contents of which were long gone. The hour approached midnight, when the van slowed, turning to the right, and exited the paved road.

  The prisoners were immediately alarmed, and began whispering. “What is this? Where are they taking us?”

  “Silencio!” A guard, invisible to the prisoners, shouted, adding a sharp blow to the side of the offender’s head with the cheek of his AK-74’s stock. This produced the desired silence.

  After thirty minutes, the van stopped, further alarming the prisoners who were growing terrified by the second. The front passenger and driver’s doors opened, and closed, then the rear doors opened.

  “Sali! Sali!” the prisoners were ordered to get out, and were roughly manhandled and dragged from the van by the security guards, and pushed into a line shoulder to shoulder, their blindfolds were roughly jerked from their heads. The prisoners, kept in the dark for 18 hours, were blinded by the headlights of two vehicles directly to their front. They were forced to squint their eyes, drop their chins, or turn away from the blinding light, all the while desperate to catch a glimpse of what faced them. Silhouetted figures approached, and became recognizable.

  Bobby Lee spoke first recognizing the uniform of one individual. “Thank God. Sir, we have been poorly treated by these Cubans. Our boat started taking on water during a big storm, and we tried to seek safety on the nearest shore, but we were arrested. We’re American citizens, and…”

  “I know exactly who you are, Mr. Swagart. My name is Admiral Steven Phillips, United States Coast Guard. I’m the guy in command of the cutter that chased you ashore. I believe you also know one of my associates.”

  Thuy Piseth stepped forward into the light. “You do much damage and hurt many people, Mr. Swagart. Now I think you finished for good.”

  “You! You fucking Asian prick! You started all this with your damn algae bloom bullshit. I’m gonna’ kill you!” Bobby Lee lunged forward as much as his shackled hands and feet would allow, and received a boot kick to the back of his knee, knocking him to the ground for his efforts. The Cubans don’t have many trial lawyers in their country. Thuy smiled, shook his head and stepped back.

  “Dr. Simpson, you’re awful quiet this evening. Say hello to a couple of old friends.” Steve stepped back, as Kate and Jimmy stepped forward. Jimmy couldn’t keep his mouth shut, as usual.

  “Sherrod, you are one twisted fuck, you know that?” Jimmy said.

  Sherro
d spoke as a man who suddenly realized that time and ambition had turned him into the wrong person. “Yes, I do know that. It was so easy. The money was right there, dangled in front of my face. I couldn’t resist. At least I didn’t hurt anyone.” Sherrod pled his case, as if he believed it.

  “Tell that to the families of 400 dead Mexican citizens.” Kate spoke softly. “And seventy airmen and women. Sherrod, you were a physician. How could you?”

  “I’m not sure there is anything any of us could say to these two that would sink in, or even have any meaning to them. We came here tonight to send them on their way, so let’s get to it.” Admiral Phillips seized control. “Admiral Flores, I believe these packages belong to you.”

  A tall, distinguished man in a heavily braided uniform stepped forward. “Gracias, Admiral Phillips.” He motioned for his men to take control of the prisoners. A Cuban Colonel stepped forward, and handed paperwork to the Mexican Admiral, who signed the documents, kept some and returned the rest.