Capt. Weber brought his binoculars back to his eyes and scanned once more. Adjusting the focus on the glasses, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the environment then made another search.
“Sir, do you think we should change course to the south?” Lt Abernathy persisted.
“Damn, I know I saw something out there,” Capt. Weber said with uncertainty. Turning to his lieutenant, he said, “Probably just light refracting off the water. Ok, maintain course and speed. Let’s go home.”
“Yes, sir, maintaining course and speed,” Lt. Abernathy responded back.
As he stepped through the door to the bridge, Capt. Weber gazed back at the spot that had earlier caught his attention. Something gnawed at him. The more he thought about it, the more he felt compelled to investigate.
From inside the bridge, Commander Jennings called out to Capt Weber.
“Captain, there’s a call from HQ.”
Distracted from his thoughts, he moved through the bridge and quickly took the call.
Atlantis - Chapter 15
DAY 4
At first, the sound came as a low hum. Nearly undetectable, its direction was impossible to locate. As the sound grew in volume, the low hum changed to a soft rumble. Still barely detectable, the sound now had direction as the rumble echoed from the north. Just above the horizon, a tiny dot appeared and now placed the sound to the object. Within minutes, the soft rumble changed in volume again to a distinctive whine of aircraft engines. The object that was once a tiny dot now had a shape. With short stubby wings and an elevated tail section, the shape could not be mistaken for any other plane than a US Coast Guard HC-130H Hercules reconnaissance aircraft.
Flying low and slow, the plane flew its grid pattern search, tirelessly looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.
For the first time in two days, Jack's sleep was deep and restful. Lack of rest, food and water, had taken its toll and he was now paying the penalty. As the whine of the jet engines grew louder, his ears picked up the sound. Under normal circumstances, his ears would relay the signal of the approaching plane to his brain, causing him to rouse from his deep sleep. These were not normal circumstances. His body and mind had shut down and there was no waking him… almost.
As the loud jet approached, Jack continued to sleep, moving involuntarily in reaction to the noise. Passing less than a mile off his position, the sound of the jet engines pulsed and reverberated off the ocean's surface, sending slight vibrations through the air that found their way into Jack's ears, giving him slight discomfort. He reached up and rubbed them in response.
As if in a dream, his eyes slowly crept open and he saw a blurry object passing nearby. The scene seemed surreal as he watched the lone Coast Guard jet flying low and slow over the vast ocean. His mind tried to process what he was seeing, but it was no use. Instead of making the connection between plane and rescue, his mind only saw the beauty of the plane silhouetted by clouds and ocean.
He smiled slightly in satisfaction much the way one smiles at the sight of a beautiful painting or witnessing an act of kindness. He felt a sense of warmth by the scene and closed his eyes once more to continue his sleep.
As the plane approached from the north, the full extent of the engine’s volume and vibrations had not been realized due to their forces being directed behind the plane. The greatest extent of sounds and vibrations could not be heard until the plane passed.
Flying now to the south of his position, Jack received the fullest extent of the massive engines as they angrily roared in the sky, sending out powerful waves of sound and pulsations, rocking him from his deep and peaceful slumber.
Immediately, he sprang to a sitting position and focused his attention on the direction of the sound. As he spotted the plane flying away from his position, he could see the unmistakable insignia of US Coast Guard painted loudly on the tail of the impressive aircraft.
“Noooo!” Jack yelled over the thunder of the engines.
He tried to stand, but in his disoriented state, fell back onto the netting. Quickly his sat up and waved his hands wildly in the air as he tried to balance himself in a kneeling position.
“Over here! I’m over here.... Come back! Come back!” he screamed with a dry and graveled voice.
As fast as the plane appeared, it quickly transformed to a dot on the horizon, with the sound now slowly and sadly dissipating.
He was about to yell once more, but he reconsidered. He knew it was of no use. He had missed his chance and now blankly stared in the direction of the sound and prayed for a miracle that he’d see them return. The miracle never came.
Jack knelt there in silence once more. The only sound that could be heard was the sound of the waves and wind.
As he stared at the empty sky and waited for the plane to return, he suddenly realized the sky wasn't so empty. While he’d slept, his world had changed dramatically. No longer was the sun shining bright and clear. Gone was the gentle lapping of the ripples against the aluminum float. In its place were dark angry clouds and violent looking waves and whitecaps. Even the sea’s beautiful deep blue color was now clouded and black.
“Oh no,” he said to himself in disbelief.
Staring directly into an oncoming storm, the disappointment of missing his rescue was instantly replaced by the fear of drowning in a raging tempest. He looked around and surveyed his delicate and flimsy ramshackle home. He knew he was in the gravest of danger. The likelihood of the float sinking was great and the reality of that fact sent a wave of shock and anxiety through his whole body.
“I can't believe this,” he said to himself quietly. “Is this it? Is this how I'm going to die?”
Jack's sadness was extreme. He felt a sense of depression he had only heard about from true sufferers of that condition. The helplessness, the desperation, the hopelessness was debilitating. He sat and stared at the waves, immobile, unable even to wipe away the water as it splashed up onto his face.
Deep within him, the flame of his emotions began to build. The more he sat and thought of his death, the more his sense of self-preservation grew, culminating in a singular thought that flowed through his mind, forcing him to take action.
“Screw this. You're not taking Jack without a fight,” he defiantly yelled up at the now swirling clouds.
He immediately sprang into action. As the waves rocked the float, he quickly took off his fleece jacket and put on the other half of his wetsuit he'd been using as padding. Next, he untied the duffel bag and placed it on the netting. Wasting no time, he pulled out the bilge pump and began to pump out the excess water that had accumulated while he slept. With the wave height reaching three feet, his task was difficult but not impossible.
Ten minutes later, he stowed the pump and pulled out his spool of cord he'd used for securing the various object to the float and outrigger. With his diver’s knife still attached to his leg, he pulled it out and began to cut up small lengths of rope. He next took his fleece pullover and made tiny slits at the very bottom edge of the jacket, continuing them all the way around. Taking one of the pieces of rope, he fed it through all the slits, creating a rope ring at the base of the jacket. With the other pieces of rope he'd previously cut, he tied them to the slits and rope ring, then extended them out to a point nearly four feet from the bottom of the jacket. He then tied them all together with a very long, twenty foot length of rope.
When he was finished, he had made a sea anchor. He had hoped that when attached to the buoy, the current would push the anchor out to the far extent of the twenty foot rope, where the jacket would then expand as the underwater currents flowed through its bottom and out the neck and sleeves. The idea was the constant pull on the anchor would help to keep the float stable in rough seas and help to prevent capsizing.
Throwing caution to the wind, he dove into the water and swam over to the farthest point on the outrigger where the buoy was attached. He tied the makeshift sea anchor to the metal structure and buoy and slowly fed out the rope, allowing the
anchor to drift away. Watching it carefully, he smiled as the jacket did exactly as he envisioned. He quickly paid out the rest of the rope and as it came taut from the pull on the anchor, the float slowly began to spin around as it now was being pulled by the sea anchor.
Jack swam back to the float. He could see the edge of the storm in the far off distance, and with dusk giving way to evening darkness, he knew he had very little time left. He stared at his air tank with consternation. He knew if he wore his tank during the storm, the air could save his life in the heavy violent seas. He also knew that without ballast under the float, it could easily be pushed and pulled at the whim of the waves and wind, setting the float up to capsize.
In a quick decision, Jack cut another length of rope and tied it to the air tank. With the other piece of rope previously attach and the new piece he just cut, he tied both to the pipe at the edge of the float and lowered it into the water.
Jack took out his mask, fins and snorkel and put them on, pulling his mask down below his chin for quick donning during the storm. He then took his water bottle and tied a length of rope around the plastic lanyard that held the cover to the bottle and tied it to the netting.
Staring gravely at the incoming storm, he then looked at his preparations. With an uneasy smile, he knew he had done his best. Suddenly, with a tremendous crack, lightning split the sky and the silence. Jack's smile instantly disappeared.
----- ----- ----- -----
Larger and more frequent by the minute, the tiny waves of an hour ago were now freighting breakers that hurled their whitecaps into Jack’s face with vengeful ferocity as the winds careened off the crest of each wave. Jack hung onto the netting as the float rolled up the leeward side of the wave, leaning into it for balance. As he crested the wave top six feet above the surface, the float hung in the wind momentarily, then raced down the windward side, forcing Jack to lean backward for fear of toppling forward and capsizing his tiny craft.
With the black evening sky fully upon him, the savage swirling clouds from the storm above could only be seen between terrorizing charges of white electricity that streamed down from the sky, splintering off into razor thin talons that scraped the ocean's surface as if looking for its next victim.
With each bolt of lightning, Jack sat motionless, waiting for the inevitable clap of thunder that signaled the lightning's distance from him. As he waited, he counted the seconds between the two, then divided by five, giving him the approximate distance the lightning was away.
In near pitch blackness, he sensed the next big wave rolling in under him. Leaning forward, he held on. He could feel himself rising as he rode the wave up in the darkness. Sensing a moment of slight levitation, he knew he was riding the crest of the wave. Re-gripping his fingers through the netting, he began to lean backward in anticipation of the ride down the windward side of the wave.
Suddenly, an enormous bolt of lightning flashed in front of him. Lighting up the region, he could now make out the waves in the distance. Jack felt sick. Larger and more menacing than the previous waves he had just experienced, they were now heading straight for him.
Riding down the windward side of the large wave, he began to count, “One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three.” As he reached ten, he heard the roar of thunder in the distance.
“Two miles away. Getting closer,” he said nervously, now sensing the next wave carrying him higher.
Without warning, like the flip of a switch, heavy rains began to pour. As the next bolt of lightning lit up the sky, he could barely see ten feet in front of him. The rains came down in heavy torrents that at times, made it difficult for he to breathe and he turned his head to shield himself from the deluge.
As he rode the endless roller coaster of waves, counted the distance of violent thunder and struggled to breathe the drowning air, he realized opportunity was slipping by. He felt around and found his water bottle. While still holding onto the net with one hand, he placed the bottle between his legs and quickly unscrewed the top with his other hand. Balancing himself as best he could, he extended his arm into the air and tried to collect fresh water.
As with anything in life, there are easy parts and there are hard parts. Riding the waves up to the crest was the easy part. He soon discovered that riding the wave down was not just the hard part, it was the most dangerous part as well. With each slide down the front side of the wave, the final ride into the trough at the bottom ended with the float being forced under water and Jack being thrust forward, nearly toppling him out of the net into the seas. This was a difficult task when he held on with two hands. Now, having only one hand to hold on with, the slide into the trough became life threatening.
As the storm raged on, the heavy rains became angry torrents that pelted his exposed skin. In less than ten minutes time, Jack had added two inches of water to his bottle. Fearing he could be capsized at any moment and lose his fresh water, he quickly drank the entire contents as he rode up the next wave crest.
In a moment of euphoria, the whole world stopped. The cool fresh water was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. He could feel the coolness as it slid down the back of his dry throat and the rush of energy as his body instantly absorbed the much needed liquid.
Snapping him back to reality, he gasped for air as he crashed through the trough at the bottom of the wave, immersing him in salty, foaming water up to his neck. Popping back up above the water, he lifted the water bottle high above his head and continued collecting his life-saving fluid. Nothing else seemed to matter.
Jack detected lightning through the heavy rain as the area around him brightened. Immediately, he began his count. With one hand held high and the other clutching the netting, he rode the next wave and called out the numbers. With a loud boom that signaled the end of his count, he quickly calculated the time.
“Dammit, a mile away. Almost on top of me,” he said to himself in fear.
Suddenly, the sky illuminated around him again. Concentrating his focus through the dense veil of rain, the waves in front of him were terrifying. Growing higher and more dangerous with each successive wave, he estimated their height to be more than twelve feet high.
In the previous half hour, Jack drank another couple of inches of water. With the ferocity of the storm, he could no longer hold on with just one hand. Sadly, he stowed the water bottle and prepared for the worst of the storm to strike.
As the next few waves passed through, he could tell that they were indeed getting larger. With each successive ride to the top, the float barely made the journey to the crest. Up until now, the sea anchor had worked flawlessly, keeping the float upright as it raced down into each trough, float first, with the outrigger trailing behind. Jack knew that if he encountered a wave too high to crest, the float would end up sliding back down toward the previous trough, outrigger first. The result of this would be disastrous. If the outrigger dug into the water first, then the weight and momentum of the float would drive the outrigger in further, almost certainly causing him to capsize. With a capsized float in seas that heavy, he was pretty certain the float would fill with water and sink. Without the float for survival, drowning would be assured.
Jack was worried. He knew the next couple of waves could mean the end. He knew the float needed more ballast to keep it from capsizing but he was out of options. There just wasn't anything else he could use.
In a moment of clarity, he slid off the netting and into the water. As the float roared up the next wave, he hung below the makeshift hammock and looped his arms through the holes in the netting, effectively using the weight of his body as ballast.
With his head so low on the surface, he knew he would be experiencing moments where he would be under water for quite some time. He reached up and touched his snorkel and goggles, insuring they were securely fastened, as he waited for the inevitable to occur. He didn't have to wait long.
As the float rode its way to the top of the next enormous wave, he could feel the momentum slowing.
Fear and hysteria coursed through his body. He waited anxiously for the change in elevation. As if in slow motion, still in darkness, he began to feel the slow slide back down the wave. Suspended underneath the netting, he felt his body being dragged through the water with tremendous force, nearly wrenching his grip from the ropes. Picking up speed, he now had a sense of the size of the wave. He knew it was much larger than twelve feet high and guessed it was even higher than fifteen feet above the surface.
Suddenly, he felt his body surge in the opposite direction and he knew he was at the bottom of the trough. Hanging on tightly, he took an enormous breath of air and held it. In seconds, he was in over his head by a foot as the whole raft, became submerged below the surface. He kicked wildly under the water, forcing the float higher as he tried to reach air. Just as his head popped up out of the water, he felt his body surge in the other direction. Again, another wave rolled in and drove him back up to the crest.
Jack exhaled quickly and tried to take in more air. As he did, foam and water were driven into his mouth causing him to cough and choke. With each gasp for air, more water entered his mouth. He kicked his fins hard and drove himself out of the water, momentarily lifting above the roiling sea. Quickly he exhaled, coughed, and inhaled deeply.
In seconds, he felt the momentary pause in elevation that signaled his cresting of the wave. Suddenly, his head fell under water as if he were being pulled. As the float descended down the front side of the wave, he felt his feet come out of the water, then forced back in as the weight of the float crushed him from above.
The height down the front side of the wave was tremendous, so much so that Jack and the float freefell for a split second. As the float reentered the water, the outrigger tried to end over the top of the float, but was pulled back by the sea anchor.
Under the netting, with his head barely above water, he felt the sudden deceleration that came at the bottom of the trough. He gasped for another breath of air, then instantly became submerged as the float sank below the surface. Kicking his fins wildly once more, he forced himself through the top and sucked in another breath of air.
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