The Shores of Tripoli

by Fisher Samuels

  Ruiz put a spot beam on the rocks leading to the Dauntless. “Find a good spot to keep Rogers and Watts. Don’t want to put ‘em on board yet.”

  “Roger,” said MacFarland. She pointed Watts toward a flat rock. “How’s the boat? Any damage?”

  “Skipper’s by the bow looking.”

  ———————

  “What do you think, Boats?” Williams held the spot beam on the meter-long gash on the port side of the hull.

  Chavez stuck his arm into the tear. “Shit. It’s all the way through. I’m touching the wall by the crew quarters.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  Chavez felt the edges of the torn metal. “Fix it?” He exhaled. “No. Nothing on board to fix it. But we might be able to block it enough to slow the flow.”

  “It’s below the waterline, but what about if we keep our speed up?”

  Chavez nodded. “Yessir. If we’re planing, this should be out of the water. But when we stop? Or slow? Who knows how fast it’ll come in.”

  “I didn’t see any other holes, but there’s a hell of a lot of scrapes and gouges. You see anything else?”

  “Port jet. Looks like it’s done.”

  Williams shook his head. “Internal damage? It looked like just the intake was crushed.”

  “Yeah, but with a huge dent. Don’t know how it wouldn’t be damaged in there.”

  Williams put his hand on Chavez’s shoulder. “But we don’t know. Just check it out. Do what you can.”

  Chavez bent down and shined his light across the hull and felt for more holes. “Will do, skip.”

  “I’ll get us some wood planks. See if we can make a slide off’a here. I’ll send Brewster down to help you.”

  ———————

  Brewster handed another life jacket to Chavez. “They going to work?”

  Chavez started stuffing the third jacket into the crack. “For a bit.”

  “What do you mean for a bit?”

  “Water’s gonna get in. But with the bilge pumps and keeping our speed up,” Brewster said with a nod. “I think we’ll stay afloat.”

  “What if we have to stop?”

  “Then the water comes in and the bilge pumps have to keep up with the flow.”

  “So all we got to do is keep moving.”

  “Right.” The sharp edges of the gash in the metal hull bit into the canvas fabric of the flotation vests. “These aren’t going anywhere.” He cut away the other half of the jacket that hung out through the gash.

  “And what about the water jet? Think it’ll work?”

  “Who knows. We still got to slide this fucker back in the water. Might dent everything I just pulled out of the way.”

  “It’s got to work. I’m going crazy here.”

  Chavez laughed. “Me too, Brew.”

  ———————

  LT Smith waved at Marathyachi in the RHIB.

  Marathyachi upped the throttle and the outboard churned the water, but the RHIB didn’t move for a few long moments.

  Smith looked over at MacFarland. She was at the tiller of the other sailboat. Smith saw that both of the tow ropes were tight, so he gave Marathyachi a thumbs-up.

  Marathyachi cranked up the throttle and all three of the boats started moving. He steered the RHIB out of the harbor, pulling the two stolen sailboats with him.

  Once they got far enough away to keep the noise down, Smith, Marathyachi and MacFarland spent nearly an hour cutting down all four masts and collecting a large pile of planks.

  “Think this’ll be enough?” asked Marathyachi.

  “Sure as hell hope so,” answered Smith.

  MacFarland nodded. “Grab all the ropes you can too.”

  In another half hour, all of the wood was tied behind the RHIB in floating bundles.

  “Let’s go, Shiv,” said MacFarland.

  ———————

  Mudawar’s face stung. His forehead throbbed and burned, but his cheek was stinging. Another slap cracked against his jaw.

  “Wake up, pirate.”

  Mudawar tried to open his eyes, but one was caked shut with dried blood. He rubbed the hard pebbles that clumped on his eyelash.

  “Look at me,” the voice said.

  Mudawar saw the jailer next to him in the darkness. In the faint light, Mudawar could see the jailer’s chest, bloodied and lifeless. He saw his belly, bulging like a rotten fish baking on the beach. Mudawar blinked and rubbed his eyes again. The jailer was on the ground next to him, stabbed to death.

  “I thought he was you when I plunged your dagger into his heart.”

  Mudawar turned his throbbing head toward the voice and saw Fatin standing over him with an oil lamp.

  Fatin put the lamp on the table and looked down at Mudawar.

  Mudawar recognized the lamp and the table. He was in his study room. The jailer next to him had died on the floor of his house.

  “Now it is your turn.” Fatin pulled the dagger from its sheath. It glistened in the lamp’s glow.

  Mudawar tried to stand, but his legs were bound.

  “You will not walk away from me again.”

  Mudawar reached for his head. It burned when he touched the long, open cut.

  “You killed my son. Then you ran like a coward. But I caught you.” Fatin twisted the knife in the air. “Now I will kill you.”

  Mudawar closed his eyes and dropped his arms to his sides.

  Fatin clenched the dagger and looked cautiously at Mudawar’s hands. He kicked Mudawar’s shoulder.

  Mudawar turned his head toward the dead jailer, but didn’t open his eyes. “I am sorry about Kassim.”

  “Kassim?” Fatin’s face tightened. “His name was Jamal. Jamal!” Fatin grabbed Mudawar’s collar and put a knee on his chest.

  Mudawar barely opened his eyes. “Forgive me, habibi.”

  “I am not your brother!” Fatin put the dagger against Mudawar’s neck.

  “Do not forsake Kassim. I am sorry about Kassim,” he repeated.

  “What?” Mudawar didn’t respond. Fatin shook him again until Mudawar moved his head. “What do you mean?”

  “I will be your martyr if it heals your heart, Fatin. Martyr me for Kassim.”

  Fatin growled and smacked Mudawar on the cheek again. “Do not speak of Kassim! You killed Jamal!”

  Mudawar nodded slowly. “Kassim needs you. He needs his father.”

  Fatin grabbed Mudawar by the collar and lifted him off the ground. “Silence!”

  Mudawar let his head hang back and his mouth opened wide, and his vision went to blackness. He felt the ground smack against his head and back.

  “Musad,” cried Mudawar. “My brother. My brother’s death was like my own.”

  Fatin slapped him again.

  Mudawar tried to move, but couldn’t. “Do not forget Kassim. Love him as you would Jamal. And more.”

  “You do not talk about my son, pirate!” Fatin pushed the tip of his dagger into Mudawar’s chest and started to press.

  Mudawar felt the tip puncture his skin. The pain rippled across his ribs and around to his back. He took a deep breath and struggled to press his chest into the blade.

  But Fatin stopped pushing.

  Mudawar’s eyes watered. “Please. Please!”

  Fatin stood, and took a step back.

  “Set me free,” he whimpered.

  Chapter 22

  Home Port

  “One hour to sunrise. How’s it looking?” asked Williams.

  “Think we’re ready, sir,” answered MacFarland. She checked the lines on the starboard side of the boat that were tied to the planks they’d wedged between the hull and the rocks of the jetty. She looked at Smith on the rocks below her. “How’s it looking, LT?”

  Smith tied the last mast to the rocks. “Done!” The four masts were laying parallel to one another, forming a slide over the jetty rocks from the hull of the Dauntless and into the water.

  With the four masts secured to the rocks and the dozen
or so planks that were tied to the side of the hull and wedged into the rocks at various angles, the Dauntless looked like a fish impaled on a spiny sea-urchin.

  “What do you think?” asked MacFarland.

  “I think we should try it now,” said Williams. “We either wait as long as possible to keep us from sinking, or we go now in case we have problems getting off these rocks.”

  Smith climbed up the rocks and stood next to Williams. “Yeah, let’s get out of here before the city wakes up.”

  MacFarland looked toward the city. “Think he’ll kill Mudawar?”

  Williams nodded. “Sure looked like he wanted to.”

  “Wonder if either of those guys mattered. In history,” said Smith.

  Williams started toward the Dauntless. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  ———————

  Marathyachi cut the second anchor loose from the RHIB and motored back to the jetty.

  On deck, Smith hauled in the bow rode and stopped the windlass when the anchor set. The second anchor rode was led through a block on the port side of the deck.

  If Williams timed it right, the port-side rode would tilt the Dauntless onto the wood and the other would pull the bow down toward the water. If that happened, the boat would slide over the rocks on the planks and masts and in to the water. If his timing was wrong, the boat could skid across more rocks or capsize.

  Smith pressed his throat transducer. “Ready, skipper.”

  Williams tapped the intercom icon. “Aye. Stand by.” He looked at Chavez at the helm. “Ready, Boats?”

  Chavez tightened his seat belt. “Start the diesels, start the bilge. Start the diesels, start the bilge,” he said to himself, then nodded. “Ready.”

  “You’ll do fine. This’ll work.” Williams picked up the microphone. “Alright. Ensign, you ready on watch?”

  “Ready, sir,” she answered over the radio.

  Williams pulled his seatbelt straps tight. “LT, start windlass two. Everyone hold on.”

  Smith stepped on the manual windlass switch to start hauling in the rode that was led to the port side of the deck. The Dauntless shuddered, then tilted gradually down to its port side. Wood and metal creaked and cracked under the hull. Several of the planks slammed against the rocks, and some flipped tightly against the hull.

  “Planks are taking on some load,” said MacFarland over the radio.

  “Roger. Stand by, Boats. Few more seconds.” Williams felt the Dauntless shifting beneath him. “Now, Boats.”

  Chavez tapped on the controls for windlass one.

  Smith watched the bow line pull tight. He put both hands on the safety rail and held on.

  “All planks are loaded,” said MacFarland. “Any second!”

  The Dauntless shuddered over loud rips of cracking wood. The sounds of thumping metal reverberated through the hull, and the windlasses groaned under the load.

  “Almost there,” said Williams.

  The port-side anchor rode slipped from the pulley and snapped against the block housing. Smith looked down and thought about stopping the windlasses. He reached for his throat transducer just as the Dauntless broke free.

  Wood snapped and crunched, and deep thuds of hollow metal rumbled through the ship, but it was moving. The Dauntless was sliding down along the jetty, tilted dangerously on its side. Williams held tightly to the arms of his chair and leaned toward the high side of the boat.

  The port side dug into the water and the boat’s momentum pushed it down deep. Water broke over the edge of the deck, but just as quickly as it dove down, it jumped above the surface. The starboard side levered hard against the four masts laying in the water. Two of the masts sprang up from the rocks and stood tall in the air. They shifted between the jetty rocks and the hull of the Dauntless, then fell back to the rocks with a loud thunk.

  After the sounds and movement stopped, Dauntless was sitting in the water again. It was quiet and for a second, Williams had to convince himself that it was once again his boat.

  “Yes!” Chavez tapped at his screen and started the diesels. When they were both idling and not reporting any overheating, he started the bilge pumps. “I’m going down to see how bad we’re leaking.”

  “Nice job, Boats,” said Williams. He grabbed the microphone. “Way to go, team. Now let’s get everyone on board.” He put down the microphone and pushed back in his chair. He looked at his watch. He had to keep the boat afloat for six more hours.

  ———————

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to tell them?” MacFarland took a drink of her coffee.

  Williams nodded. “The truth. What do you mean?”

  “Everything?” She stared at him.

  “I’ve got to. How else can I explain this?”

  “He tried to rape me.”

  Williams bristled. “Grassley? When?”

  She looked down at her cup, then toward the berths. “When you were all gone.”

  Williams looked at the crew quarters where Grassley’s body lay wrapped in a sheet.

  “But that pirate stopped him. Mudawar.”

  Williams twisted his mug on the table. “Did he—how close—”

  “Not close. But if Mudawar didn’t stop him when he did—”

  “Ensign, I’m so sorry.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t know Grassley had a wife and two kids. Boy and a girl.” She looked up at Williams. “Did you?”

  Williams looked at her, then suddenly looked away. “I did.” He paused. “Yes, I did know that.”

  MacFarland lifted her mug and smelled the coffee. “My dad never knew what to say to me. As the only girl in the house.” She put her mug down and stared at it. “Most of the time, he treated me like one of the boys. But he was always watching, like he was ready to jump in any second to protect me.” She smiled, sadly. “He was always there for me. But he never said it. It was just kind of understood, you know what I mean?”

  Williams nodded.

  “I started making his coffee when I was nine, I think.” She smelled it again and took a drink. “In the mornings, I’d ask him about Mom. Why he loved her. What she did for him. It kind of became our thing.” She let a few tears drip from her eyes.

  Williams bit his lower lip.

  “That was the only way I learned about my mom.” She smiled, but it squeezed out a few more tears. “Just his memories. Of her. That was all I had to go with the pictures.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Ensign?”

  “I think you know why.”

  Williams looked at the crew berths again.

  “I just want you to know—.” She wiped her eyes. “He’s gone, and nothing you say will change what he did to me. To us.”

  Williams looked at her.

  “But I just want you to know that good memories are enough to last a lifetime. And his son is going to need the good memories more than you know.” She finished her coffee, put her mug in the galley sink, and closed the hatch to the crew quarters. She walked past Williams on her way topsides, but didn’t say anything else.

  “Ensign?”

  She stopped at the ladder.

  “Why did you tell me?” He paused. “About what he tried to do to you?”

  She looked up the ladder. “I told you so you’d know how important this is to me. Don’t destroy what his kids knew of him.”

  He nodded.

  She started up the ladder. “Thanks, skipper.”

  ———————

  “How much fuel do we have, Ensign?”

  “About a half hour, present speed.”

  Williams checked his watch. “Cutting it a little close.”

  “At least I got good news if this doesn’t work,” said Chavez.

  “What’s that, Boats?”

  “Four hours of cruising at speed’s got the hydrogen levels high enough in the fuel cells.”

  “Shit!” yelled Marathyachi. “We gotta turn on the e-drive, sir!”

  Williams tur
ned toward the gunner’s chair. “Why’s that?”

  Chavez nodded. “I forgot all about that, Shiv.”

  “We should repeat everything we can when got zapped,” said Marathyachi. “We were the only one out there with an electric drive.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

  Marathyachi shrugged.

  Williams shook his head. “Boats, fire up the e-drive.”

  “I hope it didn’t get fried,” said Smith.

  “Have a little hope, LT.” Williams smiled. “Go on, Boats.”

  Chavez tapped at the console, but nothing happened. “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Brewster.

  “Ain’t firing up.” Chavez unstrapped. “Someone take the helm. I’ll go check it out.”

  “I got the helm,” said Smith. He stood next to the helmsman’s chair and took control of the wheel.

  Williams checked his watch again. “Are you guys sure about this? We’ve only got about seven minutes.”

  Smith settled into the helm chair and nodded. “We better try. Duplicate all we can.”

  Chavez opened the engine room hatch. “It’ll only take a minute, sir.”

  Smith looked at the range and bearing indicators and followed the same circular route around the submerged emergency beacon location.

  “Keep your eyes open for our friends, too,” said Williams.

  “Yeah, I think Mudawar would be pretty motivated to get this ship back,” said Smith.

  “If he’s still alive,” said MacFarland.

  Ruiz came up from the belowdecks hatch. “About that time, huh?”

  “Yeah, Doc. Just minutes. Everyone settled in?”

  “Yessir. Rogers and Watts are in your berth.”

  Williams smiled. “That’d be something to see.”

  Ruiz nodded. “Didn’t want to put them with Graves and Childress. Or Grassley.”

  “That’s fine.” Williams looked at MacFarland, but she hadn’t reacted.

  “Conn, engine room.”

  Williams picked up his microphone. “Go ahead, engine room.”

  “I’ve gotta shut down the computers. We’re going dark for a bit.”

  “Hold on, Boats.” He looked at his watch. “We’re minutes away from the bubble. I need our systems on line.”