Brown, Dale - Independent 02

by Hammerheads (v1. 1)

  But Ehrlich had a gut feeling this skipper was dirty, and now he was looking for international waters as fast as his old tub could carry him.

  Of course the Reliance-class cutters weren’t exactly speed demons, either. This intercept was taking forever . . .

  “Range, McConahay.”

  “Eleven miles and closing, sir. I’m picking up a second vessel, sir, moving away from the freighter at high speed . . . possibly a third target appearing now, sir.”

  “Have the Falcon pick up one of the targets and track him,” Ehrlich said. “Better call in Customs and some more of our boats to round up these turkeys. We’re staying on the freighter. I think we’ve got a live one here ...”

  “Should we get the helo on deck and ready, sir?” Ross asked.

  Night helo operations with a cutter going full speed were tricky, but it was a calm night and Ehrlich had some good pilots on board. “Yes, Mr. Ross, see to it. Then get communications on the horn and see if he can get that freighter to heave-to. Broadcast in English and Spanish.” A precaution for a future court appearance. The freighter’s skipper could always claim he did not understand the Coast Guard’s orders. More than one smuggler had received suspended sentences because of that dodge.

  “Communications reports no reply from the freighter on common area or emergency frequencies,” Ross reported. Unless the Numestra had lost all its radios—in which case it would be required to heave to and use light signals to call for help—it was definitely ignoring its radios and trying to flee American waters.

  “Range, ten miles and closing,” McConahay chimed in. “Freighter is approaching the twelve-mile limit.”

  “Have comm start running through the green book,” Ehrlich ordered. The green book was no longer a book—it was a computerized list of private shipping frequencies that each company was required to turn over to the Coast Guard. The Resolute's computerized radio system would broadcast a warning message on each frequency in the book as further proof that it issued a warning it was in pursuit. “Then have them report our situation to District headquarters.”

  The Resolute was closing, but with only about five or six knots’ closure rate it was like watching paint dry.

  “No response on all green-book frequencies,” Ross reported a few minutes later. “We’ve got radio checks from other stations, though. We’re definitely going out.”

  “Any word from District?”

  “They’ve acknowledged our messages,” Ross said. “No word yet from State about permission to board.”

  “Advise District that I have reason to believe an emergency exists on the Numestra del Oro and that I intend to intercept and board her, on my authority,” Ehrlich said. “I’ll need clearance from Area headquarters as soon as possible but advise them that I intend to proceed without delay.”

  “Aye, sir.” As he made the orders to the communications room, Ross asked, “For the record, sir, what emergency did we see on the freighter?”

  “Obviously a radio malfunction,” Ehrlich snapped. “That’s a safety of navigation violation for a vessel theii size. I’m also concerned with those smaller vessels that were spotted around the freighter—they could have been attackers or there could be a medical emergency on board. We need to investigate immediately. I don’t see any running lights, either—definitely a hazard to navigation.” Ross nodded and smiled. The skipper, although fairly young and only a commander, had a veteran’s smarts.

  “Range four miles,” McConahay reported after several more long quiet minutes. “He’s well outside our waters now, sir.”

  “I understand, Mr. McConahay,” Ehrlich said. “But the bastard’s not getting away so easy. He’s either radio-out or ignoring our calls, and both cases give us authority to intercept and board him. Mr. Ross, get the helo airborne. Have him flash light signals at the freighter’s bridge.”

  Ross began monitoring the preparations on the brilliantly lit helipad as the crew made ready to launch. Even though the seas were calm they were using the spear-trap on the helipad—the spear-trap was a device resembling a spearhead attached to the underside of the Dolphin helicopter that helped launch and recover the chopper in bad weather. The spear fitted inside the trap, a large clamplike device in the center of the helipad. When landing in rough seas the spear would be lowered to the helipad and engaged in the trap, the helicopter would take up the slack under power and the trap would winch the helicopter onto even a badly rolling deck.

  “Attention on deck. Prepare for spear-trap launch,” Ross called over the PA, then turned to Ehrlich for final approval, which was given with a quick nod. Ross rechecked the area around the ship on radar, gave the helo a once-over with a pair of binoculars and hit a button that changed a bridge-clearance light from yellow to green. “Clear to launch helo.”

  Moments later the Dolphin rescue chopper carrying medics and rescue specialists—each well armed—was ready for liftoff from the helipad. Liftoff was just the opposite of a landing. With the spear engaged in the trap, the Dolphin began to apply power for liftoff; then, simulating that the ship was at the top of a swell, the trap swung open and the Dolphin shot into the air well clear of the cutter and was quickly lost from sight in the still night air, only its red-and-green running lights visible as it raced ahead toward the freighter.

  "Three-and-a-half miles,” McConahay reported. The freighter was barely visible as a moving shape against the horizon, but its engines roaring at full power could be heard clearly.

  The Dolphin helicopter reached the freighter quickly, and its powerful three thousand-watt searchlight could easily be seen painting the freighter’s entire deck. “Mama-San, this is Puppy. I am over the target now. Wheelhouse is occupied. I can see men on deck. No sign of emergency, no sign of signals being transmitted. Clear night, no fog. Signals should be easily picked up.”

  Ehrlich spoke into the microphone. “Roger, Puppy, give them the stop signal and stand by.”

  The Dolphin searchlight operator shined the light directly into the freighter’s wheelhouse, moved the beam out, then swept it across the deck in front of the bridge—the international signal to stop or shut down engines. The freighter did not respond. The Dolphin moved closer to the freighter and swept the beam across the wheelhouse once again. This time the crew clearly saw men inside the wheel- house shading their eyes and gesturing for the Dolphin to move away.

  “Receiving unfriendly response from the crew on the target’s bridge, Mama-San,” the Dolphin’s pilot reported. “They show no sign of slowing. They’re still going fifteen knots—about full blast for this old tub.”

  “Try ’em on your radio,” Ehrlich ordered. “It’s possible they didn’t hear us.” To the ship’s officer of the deck: “Mr. Ross, signal the crew for intercept procedures. Have the forward 3-inch and the port and starboard .50 cals mounted, manned and standing by. Call Mr. Applegate to the bridge.”

  Ross’ stomach was queasy—the fact that this was not a drill was beginning to sink in. He flipped on the ship-wide address system: “All hands, general quarters. All hands, general quarters. Man your battle stations. Mr. Applegate to the bridge.” The announcement was followed by an electronic gong, the “law enforcement” signal that reverberated through the ship. Before the blare of the gong had stopped, Lieutenant Commander Richard Applegate, the Resolute's first officer, had rushed onto the bridge wearing a lifejacket and blue baseball cap with “USCG U.S.S. resolute” on the peak.

  “You’re relieved, Mr. Ross,” Applegate shouted. He grabbed the binoculars from around Ross’ neck, checked the radar screen and scanned the dark horizon. “What’s up, Russ?”

  “We’ve got a five-thousand-ton Panamanian freighter out on our nose about three miles, Dick,” Ehrlich told him. “No response on any radio channels. We’ve got our Dolphin up flashing him light signals. No reply.”

  “We gonna bust him?”

  “We caught him inside the limit with ships alongside. He intercepted a radio call between us and the Falcon and booked. N
ow he’s heading for open ocean. Yes, we’re going to bust him.”

  Just then on the ship’s radio speaker they heard, “Panamanian vessel Numestra del Oro, this is Coast Guard Helicopter One-Seven Mike from the United States Coast Guard cutter Resolute on Gulf Coast Emergency Channel Nine. You are ordered to stop and prepare for inspection. Acknowledge by radio or light signal.”

  Ehrlich took up the mike again. “Puppy, this is Mama-San. Radio check on GUARD.”

  “Loud and clear, Mama-San,” the Dolphin pilot replied.

  “Well, we know the radio works,” Ehrlich said, making another log entry. “This bastard just doesn’t want to—”

  “Sir, the freighter’s slowing down,” McConahay broke in. “Range two miles and closing rapidly.”

  “All right, ” Ehrlich said. The prospect of a protracted chase and a forced boarding in international waters with an uncooperative— and likely hostile—crew did not sit too well with Ehrlich. The iob would be much easier with the freighter stopped. “The guy turned his lights on, too—he must have just realized we weren’t going to let him go.”

  Meanwhile the reported: “Skipper, the 3-incher and both .50 cals mounted on the starboard side, manned and ready. Chief Morrison and Patrol Team One boarding crew standing by.”

  “Have the boarding crew ready to go on the starboard side. Helm, move us alongside about fifty yards.” Into the ship’s intercom he ordered, “Stand by on the 3-incher. I want it to stay on the lubber line but ready to go at any time. Stand by on the fifty cals.” The cannon on the foredeck of the Resolute remained still, but Ehrlich could hear footsteps just behind the bridge as crewmen mounted and manned the .50 caliber machine guns on their swivel turrets.

  As spotlights on the Resolute now illuminated the freighter Numestra Ehrlich saw a vessel a bit longer than the Resolute, possibly twice the cutter’s age and in the worst condition he had ever seen a large sea-going vessel. Rust seemed to cover every inch of her, paint peeled off the parts that had paint, windows were smashed and whole sections of steel were missing from her sides. The deck was covered with containers of all sizes, some small, others the size of tractor-trailers—but it was obvious the Numestra's broken-down cargo-lading equipment did not load those huge crates onto the deck.

  “Would you look at that rust-bucket?” cartel said, scanning the vessel with his binoculars. “Who in their right mind would put their cargo on that thing?”

  “Depends on the cargo,” Ehrlich mumbled. “She may look like a garbage scow but she was maintaining nearly fifteen knots for an hour—she’s obviously got some horses under the hood. This thing is a lot more than meets the eye.” Ehrlich picked up the microphone and switched his comm panel to the LOUDSPEAKER position. “Attention on the Numestra del Oro. This is the United States Coast Guard. Heave-to and prepare for boarding and inspection.” He turned to McConahay. “Position, Mr. McConahay?”

  “Twenty miles out, sir. Technically in international waters . . .”

  “Plot our position and mark it for the log as the intercept point,” Ehrlich ordered. “Mr. Applegate, see to it that comm radios our position and situation to District. Tell them to get another cutter out here ASAP.” He thought a moment, then added, “I want permission from Headquarters to release batteries as well. Inform them I may need a SNO from Panama.”

  “Yes, sir.” Applegate put a headset up to his ears and began relaying the message. The SNO, Statement of No Objection, was standard for such intercepts—it was permission from the country of registry to allow the Coast Guard to board a foreign vessel in international waters or, for stateless vessels, a declaration from the Coast Guard commandant that the vessel was under Coast Guard jurisdiction. The release-batteries request was not as standard—it was permission from the commandant to open fire on a vessel attempting to escape.

  The port rail of the Numestra was beginning to swell with crewmen shading their eyes from the glare of the searchlights and swearing in Spanish. Ehrlich could see a few heavy tools and ropes in the crewmen’s hands but so far no weapons. Moments later most of those crewmen were chased away by a fat bearded man in a white shirt carrying a bullhorn who stood on the port rail near amidships and glared at the approaching Coast Guard vessel.

  The man raised the bullhorn to his lips: “You Coast Guard, we do not like you to board,” he said in broken, accented English. “Why you stop?”

  Ehrlich made no reply but gave orders to his own men as the Resolute glided in toward the freighter. With Ehrlich on the starboard catwalk giving instructions to the helm, the cutter drifted in to a dozen yards from the rusty sides of the Numestra. Thick rubber fenders were attached to chocks, and the crew unstowed boathooks and ropes, ready to lash the two boats together.

  Ehrlich put on his lifejacket and grabbed his bullhorn. “McConahay, have comm radio our position and situation again.” And to Applegate: “Dick, you have the con. I’m going over to talk to the skipper.”

  “Shouldn’t you wait for another cutter?”

  “The way it’s going, that could be all night,” he said as he began pulling on a bullet-proof vest, life jacket and utility belt containing a flashlight, walkie-talkie, handcuffs and a steel whip “impact device”—fancy name for a high-tech billyclub. “I’ll get the captain’s name and the master copy of his manifest and be back on board in a few minutes. We'll wait for the inspection until we get some more help. Hang tight.” He turned toward the starboard catwalk exit.

  “Skipper?”

  Ehrlich turned. Applegate opened a locked bin on the aft bulkhead of the bridge and removed a .45 caliber Colt 1911A2 pistol along with a pouch containing two extra seven-round clips. “Don’t go aboarding without it,” Applegate deadpanned.

  “Just checking to see if you were awake.” Ehrlich loaded and chambered a round in the big .45, holstered it, checked the radio and left.

  The boarding crew was arranged in standard ready-and-cover formation, with two handlers on the bow and stern lines and two fender handlers, each with sidearms. They were backed up with three riflemen in semi-cover on the port side with weapons at port arms, visible enough for the freighter crew to know they were there but still well covered behind the steel forecastle. Ehrlich glanced up and checked the .50 cal gunner and his mate, both ready with the machine gun barrels pointing toward the freighter but raised high overhead. Two riflemen, one of them Chief Petty Officer Eddie Morrison, Chief of the Boat and head of the boarding and security details, flanked the main starboard gangway just below the bridge, armed with sidearms and slung M-16s.

  Ehrlich moved down the side of the forecastle and stepped between Morrison and the other riflemen at the gangway. The two vessels were still separated by about ten feet, with the line tenders holding ropes and hooks ready to catch the freighter’s horn cleats. The rusty, scummy sides of the freighter loomed over the polished white hull of the Resolute. Crewmen on the freighter hovered in and around the cargo lashed onto the freighter’s deck, visible only as long as the searchlights weren’t aimed at them.

  Ehrlich took up his loudspeakers to his lips: “I am Commander Ehrlich, captain of the United States Coast Guard cutter Resolute. I want to speak with your captain.”

  “I am Captain Martinez,” the burly man in the white shirt and wild black beard shouted back. Then he remembered he had his own bullhorn and used it. “We are in international waters on peaceful business. Why you stop my ship?”

  “You did not obey a lawful order to heave-to while you were in American waters, Captain Martinez. You failed to respond on any area or emergency frequencies. That is a violation of safe navigation laws for commercial vessels. I request permission to come aboard your ship and inspect your documents and your cargo.”

  “You have no right to search! You cannot come aboard this ship—”

  “I am authorized to inspect any vessel transiting American waters if I find they are violating the safe navigation laws of the United States. That includes your logbooks and manifests. If your manifests show you a
re carrying cargo destined for the United States, I am authorized to inspect that cargo. And according to your port requests of three days ago you are carrying such cargo. Now, you are ordered to heave-to and prepare for inspection—”

  “I will not! Not without permission from my owner—”

  “I don’t need permission from your owner or your government,” Ehrlich said, bluffing. “If you have a protest you may file it with my government on reaching port. Heave-to immediately.”

  “You cannot force me to stop in international waters! This is piracy!”

  Ehrlich pulled a walkie-talkie from his holster and keyed the mike. “Mr. Applegate, swing the 3-incher across the freighter’s bow and load one black round. Get Boarding Team Two armed and on deck. Have all hands on deck stay sharp.”

  A moment later the loudspeaker on the Resolute clicked on and Applegate’s voice rang out: “Team One, cover!” The riflemen at port arms behind the line handlers disappeared into cover positions behind the superstructure, the line-handlers dropped to the deck behind the steel gunwale coaming and drew their sidearms, the riflemen at the gangway moved quickly to port arms and chambered rounds in their M-16s. The turret of the foredeck 3-inch cannon swung to the right, pointing just ahead of the freighter’s bow. While the captain of the Numestra looked on, six more armed men ran out on deck and took up cover positions, rifles aimed at the freighter.

  “Once more, Captain Martinez,” Ehrlich said on the bullhorn, “stop your ship or we will force you to stop.”

  Martinez raised his hands, holding his palms towards Ehrlich. “We will stop. Hold your men.” Just then a second man in a gray silk suit came out from between some crates on the freighter’s deck, stepped up behind Martinez and spoke to him. They appeared to have a brief argument.

  “What do you make of that, Chief?” Ehrlich asked Morrison. “Looks like the real driver of the boat has just been heard from,” the security chief said. “We should see who’s really running the show now.”