One Man's Island

by Thomas J. Wolfenden

  “This has been the best Christmas ever.”

  “I agree, sweetheart. Now I’m going to go and top off the generator before it gets too bad out there. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Keep warm; it looks bad out there already this morning.” she said. “I’m just going to sit here and read for a bit,” she said, picking up her latest book.

  Hemingway. She was reading some pretty heavy shit now. Grabbing his coat, Tim headed outside and grabbed two jerry cans of diesel, already pre-mixed with fuel stabilizer. Carrying them the two hundred yards to the generator through the now foot-deep snow was hard going, and he was glad he had decided to do it now. It would only get worse later, and he wanted to make sure it was completely filled with fuel. Using a funnel, he topped off the tank of the purring motor.

  He was pleasantly surprised, that it had used hardly any fuel so far and it only took half of one jerry can to fill it. He stowed both under the generator and started to make his way back to camper. He couldn’t see it from where he was, but he could still see his footprints in the snow from his trek out. When he got within ten yards of the trailer, he started to get dizzy again. He felt like he was burning up, and could feel the sweat running down his back. His vision dimmed, and his peripheral vision began to fail until all he could see was a tiny circle of light right out in front of him. Then everything went black and the aches and pains went away.

  Robyn was curled up, reading her book. After a while, she wondered what was taking Tim so long to get back. Surely he should be back by now. She got up and opened the door to the camper. Immediately, all the blood drained from her face and turned to ice. A huge knot appeared in her stomach, and her knees went weak.

  “Tim! Oh God! Tim!” she screamed, and ran out barefoot in the snow. She fell down to her knees in the deep snow next to the face down form lying at her feet. She grabbed hold of Tim’s jacket with both hands and shook with all her might, wailing, “Wake up! Oh, please get up!”

  One last dreadful wail escaped her lips, and threatened to tear the very breath from her lungs. “Daaaaaaddddddyyyy! Noooooooooooooooooo!”

  Chapter 9: Ports of Call

  The USS Hughes sat tied up smartly alongside the pier at Subic Bay in the Philippines. The area had once been a sprawling US Navy base, but was returned to the Philippine government back in the 90’s. The ship itself was now a shell of its former glory, and showed the increasing lack of maintenance. Huge streaks of rust scarred the gray paint, and the brass work fittings were green with tarnish. Watertight hatches no longer swung easily for lack of lubrication, and also didn’t seal properly anymore. Anchor chains were crusted with mud, and uncoiled ropes lay about on the decks. Sailing into Singapore, they had experienced a harrowing journey through the Strait of Malacca, pummeled by a huge gale that blew up, and they almost ran aground. The winds and waves had tossed the ship like a Coke bottle, and they had lost the top half of their antenna mast. The only antennas they had remaining were the navigation radar and high gain. PO Stevens quickly built and installed a dipole antenna for the ham bands, but all other communications were out, not that they had anyone to contact. In Singapore, they were also able to ‘recruit’ seven more survivors, one of which was a lieutenant in the Malaysian Navy. Lt. Cmd. Wright was very pleased to be filling up his wardroom, but all in all, the ship was a mess.

  They had departed Singapore and headed out into the Pacific Ocean, making stops at New Caledonia, Vanuatu, Fiji, then the Solomon Islands before turning northward into the Marshall Islands, then west again to the Philippines. All along the way, picking up a survivor here and there, food and provisions, and topping off their fuel bunkers when they could. Now they sat tied up to the pier at the former US Navy base, and the captain watched the landing party bring aboard five new ‘crewmembers’. He didn’t even try to hide it anymore. As soon as they came ashore, they fanned out, armed to the teeth, and brought back whoever they found, kicking and screaming. Anyone who resisted, even a little, was summarily shot in front of anyone else present.

  “Johnson, you were never at Subic back in the old days, were you?” the captain asked, looking down at the gaggle coming up the gangway.

  “No, sir. This is my first cruise,” he replied, knowing damn right well the skipper knew that. Why was he asking?

  “Oh that’s right. You didn’t go to the Academy, right? University of Wisconsin, wasn’t it?”

  “Minnesota, sir.”

  “ROTC. Well, you’re a good officer anyway, Johnson,” he said, smiling that sick smile of his.

  “Thank you, sir,” Johnson replied, inwardly seething. No, I didn’t go to Canoe U, but I’m a far better officer and sailor than you’ll ever be!

  “Always was good liberty here. You could get anything you wanted. I mean anything. The locals were always so accommodating! ‘Little brown fuck machines’ I believe the enlisted called them.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ve heard the sea stories.”

  Grabbing the loudhailer, the captain called down to the shore party that was just reaching the weather deck.

  “Petty Officer Stevens! Bring that one, the one in the rear, up to the bridge immediately!”

  Stevens waved in acknowledgment, grabbed a small girl’s arm roughly, and pulled her aside, disappearing through a hatch. The others were herded through another one farther down, into the bowels of the ship. The captain turned to Ensign Johnson. “Yes, the Philippines were always a good port of call. I think we’ll sail tomorrow after the provisioning is completed and head for Midway, then straight to Pearl after that.”

  “That sounds good to me, sir. The sooner we get to Pearl the sooner we can make the necessary repairs to the ship. That patch we put on in Sri Lanka is barely holding on, and leaking like a sieve. The pumps are just keeping up with it now, and I’m not sure it’ll hold up to another gale like the one we had in the strait.”

  “And we’ll be able to get parts for the broken equipment too, Mr. Johnson. I’m well aware of the state of the ship, and I will correct any defects when we get to Pearl.”

  Petty Officer Stevens came into the bridge with a terrified young girl. She looked like she was around ten or eleven years old, with long dark hair and tear filled almond shaped eyes. Cmd. Wright walked over to the child, who was still being held tightly by the arm by Stevens. He smiled, brushing her hair from her tear streaked face, and cupped her chin.

  “She will do quite nicely, Stevens. Good find. I’ll make sure you get a nice bottle of Johnny Walker for this. Clean her up, she stinks. And when you’re done, bring her to my cabin.”

  “Aye, sir!” Stevens said with an evil grin.

  “And, Stevens? Don’t lay a hand on her!”

  “Aye, sir!” he replied, looking crestfallen. Ensign Johnson felt nauseous. Now more than ever, he truly hated his captain. The sailor dragged the now crying young girl off the bridge, and the captain looked back at him.

  “Yes, just like the old days, Mr. Johnson.” He smiled that creepy smile that never failed to make the hairs on the back of Johnson’s neck stand up. Johnson involuntarily shuddered.

  “Mr. Johnson, you have the mid-watch. I’m going to…relax in my cabin for a while. I’ll see you in the wardroom for supper?”

  “I’ll try to be there, sir. I’ve got a lot of work to do after I get off watch, if we’re going to be sailing tomorrow.”

  “Very well, call me if anything arises.” He swiftly turned and exited, without another word.

  Ensign Johnson shut the hatch leading to the wing bridge, looked around the empty bridge and sighed. He sat up in the captain’s chair, contemplating his situation. He soaked up the cool air coming from the air conditioning vents, thankful that was still working. It was well over a hundred degrees today, and extremely humid. If that had failed, it would be absolutely unbearable below decks. As usual when he was left alone, his mind reeled with options. He could go overboard here, but they’d probably send out a search party to find him. Plus the thought of being on the receivi
ng end of the skipper’s ‘discipline’ was not something he looked forward to. Between Singapore and here, they’d had three lashings and a hanging, just for good measure. The sight of the East Indian guy swinging from a rope off the antenna mast sent a bolt of fear through the rest of the crew, and no signs of dissent were seen after that. No, he was stuck here. Maybe he’d think of something when they got to Pearl. At least it was a fairly big island, and it was part of the US, anyone he’d encounter would speak English. Maybe he could find a sailboat and sail back to the States. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the hatch opening. He turned in the chair, to see Petty Officer Suplee peering around the edge of the steel hatch.

  “Yes, Suplee?”

  “Is the skipper around?”

  “No, he’s ‘retired’ to his cabin for a while. If you need him, I would suggest waiting a while unless the ship is sinking.”

  “Actually I was looking for you. Stevens said you had the mid-watch.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Sir, this shit is really beginning to bother me.”

  “Come in, and close that hatch!”

  “Sorry, sir,” Suplee said sheepishly, closing the hatch behind him. “Sir, this is crazy. The ship is starting to turn into a floating whorehouse.”

  “As I recall, you have partaken in that pleasure a time or two.”

  “Yes, sir, at first. Then it really started to bother me. Here we are, bouncing all over the Pacific, basically kidnapping all these folks, and forcing them to work. The way you and Nakamura have the boat wired up now, it only takes a few people to sail her. And that new officer we got in Singapore, man can he conn a ship!”

  That was true. The Malaysian Navy Lieutenant was a true sailor. The way they had docked here was evidence enough. They had come into port, swung the bow around, and kissed the pier like it was a newborn. They didn’t even need bumpers. The captain was impressed, but you could tell he was extremely jealous, and kept a close eye on the man while also giving him the shittiest watches.

  “What we should be doing is helping these people we find. Not kidnapping them! At least try to find a doctor or something. That’s what we really need, not some helicopter pilot, and a bunch of sex slaves.”

  Again, the sailor was right. Last month they had a man fall ill and before anything could be done, the man’s appendix burst, killing him. They really needed to find a doctor somewhere.

  “So what do you propose we do?”

  “Ah shit, sir. I don’t know. I just needed to vent a little, and you’re the only one I can talk to.”

  It was true. They both had on several occasions sought each other out for a venting session, albeit a covert one.

  “I guess you still can’t talk to Stevens?”

  “He’d be the last one on board I’d talk to. He’s enjoying this way too much. And where did he get that bullwhip he always carries? He scares me almost as bad as the skipper does.”

  “I know. He is a little disturbing.” He had to agree. Stevens was showing a sadistic side that was becoming rather worrying.

  “Sir, I’ll do anything you say. After your watch, we can say we’re going to take a little walk and explore some, and just never come back.”

  “I already thought of that. All they would do is send out a search party and bring us back or shoot us. Maybe we’ll try when we get to Pearl.”

  “Like I said before, I’ll do anything you want, just say the word, sir.”

  At twenty-five, Ensign Johnson was only two years older than Suplee, but being an officer, he had to take a fatherly approach sometimes.

  “Where are you from, Suplee?”

  “Iowa, sir. Carson, Iowa. It’s just a little bit east of Council Bluffs.”

  “You’re a far cry from Iowa.”

  “No shit, sir.”

  “Why did you join the Navy?”

  “I never wanted to see another stalk of corn again.”

  “I left Minnesota for almost the same reason. I never wanted to see another snowfall.”

  “So where does that leave us, sir?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m still not sure what the skipper has in mind. He’s keeping that very close indeed. I do know he’s still looking for nukes and the codes. From Pearl I’d imagine. But from there I haven’t a clue.”

  “I feel like I’m in the middle of a nightmare and can’t wake up.”

  “I know exactly how you feel.”

  “You know, sir, most places we’d sail into, the people would be happy to see a US Navy warship. Not shit-scared like they are now.”

  “It’s almost like word is getting out somehow,” Johnson commented.

  “I think it’s those ham radio guys Stevens is trying to locate. But he tells me most of it isn’t in English, so he can’t make a lot of it out.”

  “Or figure out where any of them are.”

  “Yeah, he says he’s gotten at least seven different stations operating now, but can’t triangulate where any of them are.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. We’re coming into a place, tearing it up, stealing all the good stuff and leaving. Whoever is left in hiding is getting the word out to not trust us. The last few places we’ve been to, especially the Marshalls and Marianas, there was no one to be found.”

  “Here’s another thing that’s been bugging me, sir. When we left Singapore, why didn’t we just sail a little further south to Australia? At least there we’d meet up with some people who speak English.”

  “That’s an easy one to answer, Suplee. If we had sailed into Darwin, Cairns, Brisbane or Sydney, any Aussies we’d find there would have told the good captain to get fucked!” Johnson said, and Suplee got a good laugh over that one.

  “That’s very true, sir!”

  It was highly unusual for an enlisted man and officer to speak so familiarly with one another, but these were very unusual times, and they only did it in private.

  “There is one good thing the skipper is doing now.”

  “Oh, and that is?” Johnson asked.

  “Well, at least we’re not coming in and firing broadsides like John Paul Jones at any tankers we find, anymore. I think that last one scared the hell out of him!”

  “True. He figured out we’ve got torpedoes and the ASROC missiles, and can stand off a few miles.”

  “And even over the horizon with the ASROC.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad I could talk him into that. Had we been a hundred yards closer, I am sure we would have been on the bottom.”

  A chill ran through them both, and it had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

  Every sailor, all over the world, wants to keep their feet under the keel. The food chain is a little different in the sea, and most sailors liked being on the top of it.

  “Would you like some coffee, sir?”

  “Yes, please. And pour yourself one too.”

  Suplee went to the small coffee service built into the aft bulkhead on the bridge, and poured two mugs of the black concoction the Navy called coffee into wide-bottomed mugs, and presented one to Ensign Johnson. Taking a sip, he thanked the sailor.

  “Who’s relieving you on watch this afternoon, sir?” Suplee asked.

  Johnson had set down his mug, taken out the big pair of Zeiss binoculars, and was looking at the thunderheads build up over the jungle. They’d probably get some rain tonight with the humidity this high.

  “What was that?” he asked, dropping the binoculars from his eyes and turning back to face the sailor.

  “I was just wondering who your relief was going to be tonight.”

  “The Malaysian officer, I believe.”

  “Lieutenant Alphabits,” Suplee said.

  “Lieutenant who?” he asked, almost spilling his coffee.

  “Alphabits. Stevens and I can’t pronounce his name, so we call him Alphabits.”

  “Not to his face I hope?”

  “No, sir. We just smile and nod our heads, and say ‘aye, aye’ a lot.”

  “But
he is a member of our wardroom now, show him the due respect,” he said, just a little too forcefully.

  “Sir, he may be an officer, but last I figured this was still a US flagged warship, and he’s not an American.”

  “That might be true, Suplee, but he is an officer, and should be offered all the respect his rank holds.”

  “Will the skipper be holding high court tonight as usual?” Suplee said.

  “Yes, he probably will,” Johnson replied. “Always does in port, he loves all the drama and protocol. I’m glad I’m missing it tonight.”

  “I know sir. I acted as a steward the first night into Subic. It was a huge love-fest. ‘I love me!’ And let’s all now form a circle-jerk!’”

  “That’s about right,” Johnson said, nodding and sipping his coffee.

  “And that Major Paleen, I think he’s all bullshit, sir. He’s not once flown the bird, and only has had it out of the hangar deck once. To tell you the truth, I think he’s afraid of it.”

  “I’ve had those same thoughts myself.”

  “Well, sir. Thanks for letting me vent and have some of the skipper’s coffee too. The coffee we get down in the mess is shit, now that we’ve got those curry-munchers running the show.”

  “No problem, Suplee. Oh, and I spoke to the captain about you and Stevens. We’re going to have you both frocked as chiefs. We need a couple of chiefs, and you two are already set up down in the goat locker anyway and doing the job of chiefs, so we figured we’d make it official.”

  “Gee, sir, what’ll I do with the big pay raise?” Suplee said with a grin.

  He laughed loudly. “Okay, sailor. Don’t you have something to do?”

  “Yes, sir. I do need to take a walk around the ship, tidy things up a bit.”

  “Good. Go do it and leave me to my misery.”

  “Aye, sir!” Suplee said, exiting through the same hatch as he’d entered.

  Ensign Johnson finished his coffee, put the mug up, and sat back. He thought again of their skipper. Over the last few months he, Suplee and Stevens had begun to always carry a holstered Berretta 9mm pistol on a web pistol belt at all times, taking the captain’s lead, for no other reason other than to protect themselves from their ‘crew’. It was insane. He shouldn’t have to walk armed throughout the ship because he was afraid of the crew, but the mere methods they’d employed to acquire the crew in the first place demanded it. He’d heard stories about ‘the bad old days’ back in the 60s and 70s, where officers were taking their lives into their own hands just walking through some sections of Navy ships, but in this day and age it was just crazy. This being the case, there were many times he’d had the chance of unholstering the pistol, walking up and putting the muzzle to the skipper’s head, and pulling the trigger. There. Problem solved.