Always Ready

by Susan Page Davis

  Copyright

  ISBN 978-1-60260-575-6

  Copyright © 2009 by Susan Page Davis. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Truly Yours, PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. niv®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  One

  Caddie Lyle stood on the bridge of the ship, watching out the windows ahead as the farthest Aleutian Islands came into view. The crew of her ship, the U.S. Coast Guard’s buoy tender Wintergreen, was carrying out its early summer assignment to check their most remote navigational aids and deliver supplies to a few isolated Native Alaskan villages. Volcanic mountains formed an eerily beautiful backdrop to the frothing seascape that stretched before them into infinity. The 225-foot ship seemed a tiny bit of flotsam.

  The Bering Sea writhed all around the ship, tossing it up and down in nauseating plunges. Caddie braced her feet as a particularly violent lurch hit the ship and focused on a large map hanging on the wall across the room. Seasickness rarely overtook her, but she’d struggled the past forty-eight hours in the inhospitable waters of the North.

  The skipper paused beside her and looked forward out the big windows at the barely visible land in the distance. “In a few hours, we’ll be at the western end of the USA.”

  Caddie nodded and pulled in a deep breath. Her stomach settled down as the deck found a more level plane. “Can’t believe I’m really out here.”

  “You can believe it. We’ll put in at Attu soon. When our errand there’s completed, we’ll head on home.”

  Home and family seemed worlds away. Of all the people Caddie loved, only her father had seen these waters. Like her, he had come years ago with supplies for the Coast Guard station at Attu, the last in the chain of Aleutian islands.

  She stared out the side windows, where nothing but waves and sky existed. This wild setting reduced the massive Wintergreen to a fragile bark. But God was still above, keeping them afloat. She smiled at the thought.

  “Sir,” Lindsey Rockwell, their operations specialist, called to the captain from her post at the radio desk, “I’m getting a distress signal.”

  The skipper hurried to her side. “What type of vessel?”

  “It’s a Russian trawler. We’re the nearest ship, although they may be just outside our jurisdiction.”

  “Let’s go. What’s their position?”

  Caddie dashed to the desk where she worked when plotting the ship’s course. As the captain gave the orders for a change of direction, she entered the new course on her computer console then carefully wrote it in the log.

  In less than an hour, during which Lindsey maintained contact with the Russian ship’s crew, the trawler appeared on the horizon. As they drew closer, Caddie could see that the fishing boat sat very low in the choppy water, sluggishly riding each wave and turning willy-nilly with the elements. She wished she had her camera but couldn’t leave the bridge to fetch it from the tiny cabin she shared with Lindsey.

  “Crew of fourteen in a small boat,” Lindsey called out. “The skipper is now leaving the trawler, and he’s the last man off.”

  “Where are they?” The captain searched the heaving surface with his binoculars.

  “I’ve lost contact, but I assume they’re pulling away from the trawler.”

  “Well, that thing’s going under before we can reach it.” Captain Raven shook his head.

  Every man on the bridge scurried for binoculars. All was silent for several seconds as they scanned the water around the trawler.

  Caddie prayed the fishermen could get far enough from their doomed boat that they wouldn’t be capsized by the waves it made when it sank.

  A shout came from outside. “Lookout reports the vessel on the horizon, sir,” Lindsey said. “Small boat at two-eight-zero.”

  “There!” The captain pointed. “Alter course.”

  As the crew rushed to obey, he whirled toward Caddie. “Get down on the main deck, Lyle. I’ll give you half a dozen hands to help get those Russians on board. You oversee the operation.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Caddie turned and ran for the ladder, hearing the captain’s voice echo over the loudspeaker. When she hit the bottom stair, seamen were already streaming onto the buoy deck. She rattled off orders to prepare to lower a workboat over the side to assist the Russians.

  The small boat was swung out and lowered until it was even with the rail. She and the men grabbed lifejackets. The deck crew scurried to man the falls that would lower the workboat.

  Caddie hastily fastened her bright yellow life vest. She tried not to think too hard about the job ahead. Nerves wouldn’t help her now. The boatswain was surely watching her from the forecastle windows above, but she avoided looking up there. She kept her eyes on either the Russian trawler or the men assigned to her. Boatswain Tilley always set her adrenaline pumping with his critical frown. Even when she did well, she sensed that he didn’t completely approve of her.

  The Wintergreen drew nearer to the small boat in which the fishing crew had escaped. It was little more than a rowboat, tossing on the violent waves. A dozen men huddled inside it, while two more clung to the gunwales, their bodies in the icy water. They’d never make it without help.

  Caddie and her crew boarded the workboat and she radioed the bridge. “Boat crew is ready.”

  “Affirmative.”

  The deck crew lowered the workboat with her and the crew inside. It hit the water perfectly, on the crest of a wave, and she gave a mental cheer for the men manning the apparatus. She nodded for Jackson to start the motor, and they cut across the mammoth waves toward the Russians. Leaving the side of the Wintergreen, they caught the full force of the wind and rolling seas. She grabbed the gunwale beside her as a huge sweep of water caught them and heaved them skyward.

  Lord, get us through this!

  As they rushed down into the trough between waves, the thought that she and her crew might end up needing rescue flitted through her mind, but soon they were close enough to the Russian boat that her helmsman cut the engine so they could approach with caution. Two of the fishermen were leaning over the side of their craft, trying to haul another man aboard. Their boat tipped precariously. Caddie prayed that she could reach the men in time.

  She radioed back to the ship, “Wintergreen, this is Wintergreen 1. We’re approaching small boat to give assistance.”

  One of her seaman apprentices yelled, and she looked where he pointed. The beleaguered trawler’s prow had tilted upward, and with the next large wave, it sank from sight. The Russians who saw it paused in their labor for a moment, staring back toward the empty sea where their ship had been. The two trying to help the man in the water seemed oblivious.

  As Caddie turned her attention back to their small boat, a giant wave caught the little craft broadside and tilted the hull, spilling several of the fishermen into the water on the other side.

  She yelled into the wind, “Hurry!”

  Jackson nodded and moved the throttle, sending them between two flailing Russians. One of them swam toward the Coast Guard boat and caught hold of the side. Two seamen hurried to assist him. On the other side of the boat, the fisherman in the water thra
shed and sank below the surface. His head bobbed up again, and one of Caddie’s men tossed out a life preserver tied to a line. The man lunged at it and hung on as the seaman pulled him in.

  Caddie assessed the situation. The Russian lifeboat was still afloat, though it had taken on a lot of water. She counted seven men in it. Two in the water held to the sides, though she wasn’t sure they were the same two who had clung to it earlier. Another man floated between her and the other boat, and beyond it, a nearly submerged fisherman waved frantically.

  With two Russians now in her boat, Caddie gestured to Jackson, urging him to approach the nearest swimmer. In less than two minutes, they had another coughing, shivering man aboard. A seaman’s apprentice distributed blankets and extra life vests to those who needed them.

  They were close to the little boat now. It was only half the length of the Coast Guard workboat. Caddie cupped her hands and screamed to one of the men in it, “Are you okay?”

  He looked blankly at her and pointed to the man in the water on his side of the boat. Caddie looked beyond to the man fifty yards out on the other side. That man didn’t stand a chance, whereas the two clinging to the boat might last a few minutes while the Coast Guard helped their comrade. It was a judgment call, and she couldn’t waste time agonizing over it. She threw the Russian in the boat a lifejacket—their last extra—and waved Jackson to head for the swimmer beyond.

  When she looked back, the Russian was leaning over to help the man in the water pull the lifejacket on. If they couldn’t hoist him into their boat, at least he’d float until she returned. On the other side, more Russian fishermen succeeded in lifting the other man who had clung to the gunwales at the side into the boat and comparative safety.

  Jackson skillfully judged the waves and brought the workboat close to the swimmer. Caddie stared in disbelief. The bearded Russian held another man’s head barely above the surface of the water. Jackson turned the boat and edged in closer. Caddie and the three Russians they’d rescued balanced the weight of the seamen as they leaned over to grab the inert man first.

  As soon as they pulled the body away from him, the swimmer sank, thrashing his arms.

  “No!” Caddie screamed. Jackson puttered close to where he’d gone down and swung the boat sideways.

  Afraid they’d run over him, Caddie leaned over to peer into the water. A wave lifted them and drenched her. She fell back into the boat. How would they ever find him again? Was he already drifting to the bottom?

  When the boat stabilized once more, she grabbed a life preserver and stood amidships, testing her balance as she swung the life ring back and forth. A moment later she tossed it out over the waves. Not until it landed with a splash did she see the fisherman’s head. The man reached, fell short, rallied, and tried again. Once more, he failed to catch the life ring.

  Awkward movements to her left caught her eye. Seaman Gavin, in the bow of her boat, had clipped a line to his life vest and handed the coil to another man. Now he stooped and was removing his boots. Before Caddie could protest, he dove over the side and swam toward the Russian.

  Her heart leaped into her throat as she watched his progress. Even though Gavin wore the lifejacket, he wouldn’t be able to survive in this rough, icy water for long.

  As the Russian man began to sink again, Gavin reached him and yanked him to the surface by his hair. The man dove toward Gavin, overwhelming him in an embrace that carried both beneath the surface.

  “Pull them in,” Caddie yelled. Three seamen jumped to obey.

  Already, Gavin had popped up again and managed to turn the weakened Russian to a towing position. In minutes the two were in the boat.

  Again Caddie evaluated their situation. They now had five Russians aboard, and the fishermen’s boat held eight. Had they lost one? She looked all around, searching the waves. The Russians had four oars in the water and attempted to row toward the towering side of the Wintergreen.

  Caddie cupped her hands and yelled at them, but the wind caught her words. One of the Russians saw her and raised his hand. Caddie shouted, “Five!” She held her gloved hand high, fingers outspread and then pointed into the bottom of her boat. “Five men!”

  The Russian frowned then nodded. He jostled the man next to him and spoke to him.

  “Should we head in?” Jackson yelled.

  She swung around and scanned the sea again. There had to be one more man. When she looked back toward the Russians, their boat had reached the lee of the Wintergreen and huddled against the ship. Coastguardsmen above yelled instructions down at them, and one of the Russians reached for the ladder he could climb to safety.

  Caddie pulled out her radio. “Wintergreen, this is Wintergreen 1. I have five Russian fishermen in my boat. Request you get a count on the passengers in their boat. There should be fourteen total.”

  During the pause that followed, she looked over the drenched men shivering in her boat. They shook with cold, despite the blankets. One man lay on the deck with his eyes closed, his lips blue. Caddie watched his chest for a long moment, terrified until it rose with his gasp for breath.Gavin also trembled uncontrollably. Several of her other men were soaked through and hugging themselves for warmth. They all stared at her, waiting for her order.

  “Wintergreen 1, we’ve got eight Russians. Over,” came the captain’s voice over her radio.

  Caddie’s heart sank. “Any sign of another man in the water? Over.”

  “Negative. We’ve been looking. We thought you’d got the last one.”

  She inhaled deeply. “Await your instructions, sir. Over.”

  “Come aboard, Lyle.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. We’re en route to the Wintergreen. Our ETA is five minutes.” She nodded to Jackson. “Return to the ship.”

  The last of the eight Russians from the rowboat was climbing the ladder as Caddie’s boat approached the ship. The now-empty, fifteen-foot wooden boat was tied to the ladder and bounced as each wave hit it. It swung around and crashed into the ship’s hull.

  “Careful!” Caddie turned to tell Jackson to ease in and let one of the other men latch onto the empty boat. They would have to move it out of the way and position the workboat beneath the davits to be lifted.

  Just beyond them a giant wave towered. “Hold on!” she screamed and groped for a firm grip on the gunwale.

  The wave hit them with a shock that pulled loose her grasp and threw her against the thwart. Air rushed out of her lungs. Icy water engulfed her for a few seconds. Amid the yelling and thrashing of the men, cold and weakness overwhelmed her. Then came excruciating pain.

  ❧

  Boatswain’s mate Aven Holland picked his way among a horde of huge salmon, across the slippery deck of the fishing boat Molly K. The skipper, Jason Andrews, who fished out of Seward, had crossed his path before. He operated his boat just within the boundaries of safety and commercial fishing regulations. Aven determined to check every detail today.

  Two of his crew of four seamen climbed up the ladder from the fishing boat’s hold and crossed the deck to where he stood near the boat’s owner. Aven took a few steps to meet them.

  Seaman Kusiak kept his voice low and glanced past Aven, then back into his eyes. “Sir, their weight is off.”

  “Don’t call me sir.”

  “Sorry. But it is.”

  “You sure?” Aven asked.

  “Yes, s—Yes.”

  “How much?”

  “Five hundred pounds, give or take.”

  Aven whistled softly. “I’ll come down. We don’t want to make any mistakes.”

  Kusiak’s shoulders relaxed. “Right.”

  Aven said to the second man, “Wayne, you stay up here with the skipper. Don’t take any guff from him.”

  As he headed for the ladder, Aven called his commanding officer on his handheld radio. The law enforcement cutter stood off a quarter mile, waiting while three teams conducted inspections on fishing vessels.

  Aven wished he’d gone to check another boat. But no, he�
�d asked for this one. Did he want to cross swords with Andrews again? He didn’t like to think he was spoiling for a fight. Last time he’d let Andrews by with a warning on a minor violation and regretted it. Did he secretly hope for a rematch and a chance to catch the fisherman breaking the law? Aven had nothing to prove. Maybe he should have let the other boatswain’s mate take this boat and avoided the confrontation with a man who already disliked him.

  When the operations officer on the bridge of the Milroy answered his call, Aven said, “We have a weight discrepancy and will be issuing a citation.”

  He climbed quickly but carefully down into the work area in the lower part of the fishing boat. The deck below lay ankle-deep in fish, mostly big salmon. Refrigerated lockers on both sides bulged with thousands of pounds of fish. The footing was slimy and treacherous, the stench overpowering. Aven gritted his teeth. At least he was in charge of the detail now, but it seemed he would still end up weighing, measuring, and counting fish, the same as his men had been doing all day. He might never want to eat salmon again.

  Two more seamen, wearing jackets and gloves in the refrigerated area, continued the inspection process of weighing, measuring, and recording. They probed into all the recesses of the ship to be sure they’d seen everything. Sometimes fishermen pulled in a catch and threw overboard the lower-grade fish they’d snagged, keeping only the top grade. The only way to prove this illegal and wasteful practice was catching the fishermen in the act. Or they might accidentally catch protected species. Apparently this crew hadn’t tried to keep any illegal bycatch.

  Checking the amount of fish in the hold against the numbers in the fishermen’s records was tedious but doable. Aven spent more time doing this than anything else during Alaska’s fishing seasons. The crew of his law enforcement cutter made sure commercial fisheries didn’t harvest more than the law allowed from Alaskan waters.

  The Milroy had been out a week from Kodiak, plying the most popular fishing shoals. The cutter’s appearance in a new location this morning had no doubt made a lot of fishermen uneasy.

  As soon as today’s work ended and all hands were back aboard the Milroy, the cutter would head back to Kodiak. The quick thought of his home base brought an eager longing. Aven had been at this for eight years now, the last four in his home state’s frigid waters. He didn’t mind a cruise on the roiling, icy sea, but the hassle he got from fishermen who broke the law made the job less attractive. Still, it was worth being close enough to home that he could get to Wasilla to see his family several times a year.