Engage at Dawn: First Contact

by Edward Hochsmann

  “Thank you.” Sam picked up the handset. “Two-three-zero-three, one-three-five-one on uniform in the green, over.”

  After a brief pause, the Coast Guard plane responded, “One-three-five-one, zero three, roger, read you lima-charlie in the green, over.”

  At least setting-up communications won’t be a problem. “Zero-three, five-one, we are on the way, ETA three and a half hours. What do you have for us?”

  “Roger, it’s weird. We have a large cabin sloop that’s a total mess. The main deck is awash, heavy damage to the deck structures, and the mast is gone—nowhere in sight. No persons on board or bodies are visible.”

  “Copy main deck awash—is the vessel sinking?”

  “Negative, vessel is upright and stable. The hull’s trashed, but something’s keeping it afloat. Could be sealed contraband.”

  Sam paused as he pondered the plane’s report. A full load of drugs in sealed plastic packages could keep a small sailing vessel afloat, even with extensive damage. But that much product was worth a fortune—the owner’s abandonment of it made little sense. “Roger, can you find the cause of the damage?”

  “We got as close as we could, and we have good camera footage. No apparent weapons damage, no sign of vessel collision. It could be storm damage, but I’ve never seen it like this. It is just—weird. When you get closer, we will send the camera video to you.”

  “Roger that, any other traffic nearby?”

  “Negative. Radar is clear and nothing visual to the horizon.”

  “Roger. Can you hang in until we arrive?”

  “Affirmative. Orders are hold here until you’re on scene.”

  “Zero-three, five-one, roger, see you in three and a half, out.” Sam replaced the handset and stepped over to Ben. “This is a helluva thing. It must be dope keeping her afloat, but it doesn’t figure them abandoning it.”

  The problem intrigued Ben. “A storm could have washed them overboard, but there haven’t been any big storms around here since last October, Captain. Maybe a waterspout or rogue wave?”

  Sam stared out across the bow, rubbing his chin. “Maybe. It’s strange the mast is nowhere around. The stays and running lines should’ve kept it nearby. Like the man said, weird. Let’s go in heavy on this one, XO, full law enforcement load-out. I want Chief to go along too and give that boat a check up close before anybody sets foot on it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get Hoppy to relieve you in a couple of hours. I need your eyes on that boat with no distractions when we approach.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  “Besides, I want my best driver with the conn when we head into weirdness.” Sam winked.

  Operations Specialist First Class Emilia “Hoppy” Hopkins was a “fast-tracker” in her rating. Although that rating covered a wide range of skills, her primary responsibilities aboard Kauai included navigation, communications, and bridge systems. She was an outstanding ship handler and the go-to OOD for any dicey situation. A 13-year veteran of the Coast Guard and above the “cut” for chief petty officer, she would pin on the coveted promotion this summer on rotation from her E6 billet aboard Kauai to an E7 billet elsewhere.

  Hopkins was tall—five-foot-ten, like Ben—and a fit, 33-year-old, widowed mother of 11- and 9-year-old sons. She shared a house with her mother, who cared for the boys when she was at sea. Sam liked and felt a kindred spirit with the warmhearted and professional petty officer, but, as captain, he had to take care not to let it show. His wife Joana followed no such restraint—she and Hopkins were the closest of friends. Ben shared his CO’s admiration for Hopkins and often “leaned” on her for help with operational issues or advice for dealing with the crew.

  “Boss, I’m crushed!” Ben faked a distressed expression at the implied slight on his competence. He knew it was the right call—Sam needed him to have his full attention on the problem instead of focusing on keeping Kauai from running into anything. Also, he had to admit Hoppy was a better driver than he—hell, she could give the skipper a run for his money.

  As Sam went back below, Ben returned to his OOD duties, the watch less quiet than a few minutes ago. The engines were roaring at full power, with a brisk 28 knots of wind produced by the full speed run, and intermittent loud “thumps” as Kauai’s hull cut through the occasional wave.

  U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Kauai, Gulf of Mexico, 56 nautical miles northeast of Key West, Florida

  1203 EST, 13 January

  Right before her approach to the target vessel, Kauai’s crew went to Law Enforcement Stations. All topside personnel donned body armor and helmets. The gunners uncovered and loaded the .50 caliber machine guns, and a carbine-equipped sharpshooter took position on the Flying Bridge above the main Bridge. The video downloaded from the plane did not yield any insights, just a full-round view of a wrecked boat. There was no hiding place topside, and both officers were sure the interior was uninhabitable to anyone not using scuba gear. Still, Sam did not take chances with his crew and his ship. After a slow approach from the south with all eyes on the target, Hopkins brought Kauai into the light westerly wind about fifty yards up-sun and “parked” using throttle and rudder.

  The RHIB, already hoisted in position at the edge of the port main deck, had a crew of three, plus the three-person boarding party led by Boatswains Mate First Class John Bondurant and finally Chief Drake. Bondurant was the senior boatswain's mate, leading the deck department aboard Kauai and supervising the other two boatswain’s mates, the gunner’s mate, and the three junior seamen. He was typical for a mid-grade boatswain: an expert coxswain, competent OOD, and smart law enforcement boarding officer. In his early 30s, Bondurant was an inch shorter than Drake but even more broad-shouldered. His duties with Kauai were demanding, but at least he was home with his family a lot more than on other tours on larger cutters. He was relatively new, arriving at the unit shortly after Sam and Ben took over, but he fit in nicely and liked the crew.

  Although Bondurant was the senior coxswain, his tasking to lead the boarding party meant his subordinate, Boatswain’s Mate Second Class Shelley Lee, had charge of the boat. Lee was also a skilled boat driver and OOD and, being the only other female aboard Kauai, berthing mate with Hopkins. Lee was 25 years old and small, barely five-foot-three, but a superb athlete.

  Once the boat crew and the boarding party had boarded the RHIB and were secure, Lee reported by radio, “Kauai, Kauai-One, boat ready for launch.”

  “Launch the boat,” Sam replied. After the RHIB had lowered the remaining six feet into the water, Lee detached the hook from the lift frame and guided it clear. Firing the engine, she moved the boat smoothly away from the cutter’s side.

  As the RHIB arced to the left to clear Kauai’s stern, Sam walked back to the starboard side of the Bridge. Ben had kept eyes on the wreck during the launch. “Nothing to report, Captain,” he said, sweeping the target with his binoculars.

  “Right,” Sam said, then radioed. “Kauai-One, Kauai, circle the vessel at least once at twenty yards. If satisfied, approach and board from the south.”

  “Kauai, Kauai-One, WILCO, out,” Lee replied. Although Drake and Bondurant were both senior to her, as coxswain, Lee commanded the boat and reported to the CO. The RHIB completed a slow turn around the wreck, with no one aboard seeing anything of concern. “Kauai, Kauai-One, nothing seen, closing for boarding now, over.”

  “Kauai-One, Kauai, roger, out,” Sam answered, not taking his eyes off the scene.

  The RHIB moved alongside the wrecked sailboat, allowing the three boarding team members to jump on and spread out. After Drake boarded, Lee pulled the RHIB back to a safe observation position.

  “Kauai, LE-One, nothing in sight, but I believe there’s a dead body somewhere,” Bondurant stated via his voice-activated headset. “I’m pulling the hatch now.” While the junior member of the team moved to a cover position with his shotgun, Bondurant lifted the hatch. “Oh, Goddammit!” he said, recoiling from the opening.

  “LE-One, K
auai, report status, over,” Sam ordered.

  “Uh, Kauai, LE-One, sorry about that, sir. We’ve got a floater, pretty ripe. Standby.”

  Ben grimaced as he watched Bondurant don a surgical mask from his kit and add a stroke of VapoRub. “Floater” was Coast Guard slang for a human corpse made buoyant by trapped gasses generated during decomposition. This was a drawback of the operational Coast Guard: sometimes, the “R” in SAR meant recovery instead of rescue. It wasn’t just the terrible smell of a decaying human corpse—it was knowing what that smell was that got to you. At least you can mask the odor with a pungent ointment.

  Bondurant nodded when he finished, and the other team members took similar action. Drake stood back with his hand covering his mouth and nose until handed a mask and ointment container. “OK, proceeding,” said Bondurant, moving back to the hatch. He stepped down through the opening and disappeared. After two minutes, he returned to the main deck.

  “Kauai, LE-One, I have a report.”

  “Go ahead, One,” Sam said.

  “Roger. Just the one body. Lots of product down there—looks like it’s the only thing keeping her afloat. The cabin’s full of water. I couldn’t see shit, er, excuse me, sir. I would say she took a hell of a whack. The starboard side’s smashed in. I’m goin’ to let Chief look around if you’ve no objection.”

  Sam paused before replying. “OK, tell Chief he can have a look if he’s sure it’s stable. But call the RHIB over first. If things start turning bad, you guys bail immediately. Clear?”

  “Roger, sir. Also, I cleared the junk hanging over the transom. The boat is the High Dawn out of Greenwich, Connecticut.”

  “Copy one, continue.”

  Ben called the infirmary. “Doc? XO here. There’s a dead body on the boat. Please break out a body bag and stand by. Thanks. Bye.”

  Sam stepped inside and picked up the handset to radio the circling plane. “Zero-three, five-one, we’ve got it, thanks for hanging around for us. For your records, the target’s name is the High Dawn, and the home port is Greenwich, Connecticut. No registration numbers visible and documents are inaccessible at this time, over.”

  “Five-one, zero-three, roger that, laki maikaʻi, hoa aloha!” The technician in the plane knew Sam from earlier encounters and that his last assignment was a patrol boat in Hawaii.

  “Mahalo hoa, out,” Sam replied with a slight smile.

  After about 15 minutes, Bondurant called again. “Kauai, LE-One, Chief is done. He says we might as well get off this tub. It’s not safe to leave a prize crew on board.”

  “LE-One, Kauai, roger, board the RHIB and return to ship. Tell Chief to come to the Bridge as soon as he’s on board.”

  “Kauai, LE-One, roger, out.”

  Sam turned to Ben. “Send Doc with Smitty and Lopez to recover that body. Make sure they get a thorough safety talk before they leave and have masks ready.”

  Ben saluted. “Very good, sir.” He went below to arrange things. The recovery team swapped with the boarding team in the RHIB. The boat set off again, and Ben and Drake headed to the Bridge.

  After exchanging salutes, Drake started his report. “Captain, I’m not sure what we can do. No point trying to dewater. The starboard side is crushed inward. You can also forget about towing her—I’m sure she’ll break up if you try it.”

  “Crushed? The deck’s intact. What do you think hit her, Chief?” Sam frowned.

  “That’s just it, Captain. It couldn’t have been a collision. There’s no dent of any kind. It’s like, well, it’s like the hull slammed flat against a wide stone wall, except that it didn’t leave a mark.”

  “What?”

  “I checked over the side, no scratches or mars on the paint, just cracks from the impact. It’s like somebody set off a big bomb right beside her, but there’s none of the scorching or residue you’d expect to see. The only time I’ve ever seen hull damage like this was when they tried that airdrop of the new oil skimmer and the chutes separated—smacked down from a thousand feet. And it gets weirder, sir.” Drake paused.

  “Do tell.”

  “The mast was yanked right off. Bolts sheared up, and the stays snapped right above the deck. That’s why it’s not dragging alongside; it’s just gone, blown away.” Drake wiped his forehead. “That body we found? I figure he was inside when it hit, or he’d been blown off too. It’s too bloated to be sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he just got smashed around inside the cabin.”

  Sam leaned back against the rail with a furrowed brow. “So, you’re telling me you think this boat was dropped from a great height?”

  “No, sir. I’m sayin’ the damage looks like that other boat. I don’t see how it could have happened, but that’s what it looked like.”

  “Great.” Sam shook his head. “Can’t tow it. Can’t just sink it because of the dope. I guess it’s time to call the boss. Thanks, Chief.”

  “Yes, sir.” Drake saluted and then turned to leave.

  Sam started a “chat” on the command net with the District Operations Center in Miami to report their findings and seek further orders. By the time Health Services Technician Second Class Michael “Doc” Bryant and the two junior enlisted crew members returned with the body, he had the answer he expected:

  “Standby in the vicinity of the subject vessel and await orders.”

  “XO, surprise, surprise. Our orders are to await orders. OOD, stay within 500 yards of the wreck, call me right away if anything changes. Resume the at sea watch, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hopkins replied, turning to check the radar while Sam and Ben left for the Boat Deck.

  “Doc, you got anything for me?” Sam asked Bryant when he reached the Boat Deck. Bryant provided the routine medical services and was the EMT aboard Kauai. A slight build and bookish manner with steel-rimmed glasses hid a quiet intensity gained as an Army medic in Afghanistan before he transferred to the Coast Guard. He had good-naturedly shrugged off the “Army grunt” jokes in his first days on board. When the crew saw Bryant in a tropical blue uniform with his Army Combat Medic Badge on his pocket and the Silver Star and Purple Heart topping his rows of ribbons, the jokes stopped.

  Bryant replied, “Sorry, Captain, we almost needed a strainer to pull him out of the cabin. I figure he went down at least three days ago, based on decomp, but you’ll need a lab to get anything definite. We ought to get him on ice, or we will have to vent the bag. Any chance we’ll be heading in soon?”

  Sam frowned; there was no cold storage aboard Kauai beyond two large kitchen refrigerators. “Sorry, Doc, we’re to standby until further orders, and yes, I told them about the body.”

  “So be it, sir.” He turned to Ben as Sam returned to the Bridge. “XO, I still need to do the workups for your annual. I can clean up and be ready for you in half an hour.”

  “Um, yeah, well, I’ll be a bit busy for a while. Let me get back to you.” Ben waved his hand dismissively, turned, and started walking forward to catch up with Sam.

  “You have to let him take your measure eventually,” Sam whispered.

  “Sir, the best you can hope for from any physical exam is not getting fired. I’m in no hurry to take that chance.”

  Sam turned. “Something I should know about?”

  “No, sir. Just a personal tic. I’ll take care of this in the next dockside, scouts honor.” Ben grinned.

  Sam returned a sad smile. “Mmmm, yeah.”

  3

  Detachment

  U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Kauai, Gulf of Mexico, 56 nautical miles northeast of Key West, Florida

  1732 EST, 13 January

  Ben returned to the Bridge twice for command net chats since completion of the boarding operations on the High Dawn. The first entailed calling Drake up to give detailed, plain-language descriptions of the condition and damage to the hull of the wrecked sailboat. The second had good news and excellent news: the excellent news was the Clearwater Air Station had dispatched an MH-60T “Jayhawk” helicopter to pick up the body
. Also very good news was the buoy tender Poplar would arrive in 30 hours with specialized gear to recover the wreck. The news relieved Ben; they had already been underway for two days when diverted to the new mission. A continued stay would be progressively more unpleasant, even if refueled and restocked on-scene. He was heading for a quick meal when Sam stepped into the room.

  “Hey Number One, we just got a secret immediate message, care to stroll up with me for read?”

  Ben grimaced. “Secret and immediate—either of those words is normally attached to ‘another good deal.’ I expect that together they mean a squared or even higher order of good deal.”

  Sam chuckled. “Courage, son. That’s why they pay us the big bucks!”

  Secret messages were rare for Kauai, and the contents were astonishing. Besides picking up the body for transport ashore, the Jayhawk from Clearwater would deliver a Dr. Peter Simmons of the Defense Intelligence Agency. After the hand-off of the High Dawn, Kauai was to proceed independently and provide all services he needed as practicable under a National Defense mission code. The message also addressed the sector command at Key West with orders for them to give any support Kauai required as a priority.

  “Holy shit, Skipper!” Ben exclaimed. “Keeps getting weirder with this boat.”

  “You said it.” Sam grinned. “What will they do next?” He glanced at the bridge clock. “That Clearwater bird will be here in 45 minutes. Brief out Bondurant and have him detail the deck crew for helicopter ops.”

  “Will do, sir. I suppose I’ll have to room with this DIA guy.”

  “Yes. Sorry Number One, but besides the VIP aspect, I don’t want a spook hanging around with the crew.”

  “Oooo-kay. Sounds like you have some experience. Is there something you’re not telling me, Boss?”

  “Me, no. But I was raised to distrust intel types, and nothing I’ve experienced as a blue-suiter has changed that bias.” Sam finished with a neutral facial expression. “No need to worry about it; just remember he’s no one’s buddy.”