He looked at the chart plotter again, checked their depth carefully as he motored slowly into Squirrel Cove, a convoluted inlet on the southeast side of Cortes Island – and deep inside Desolation Sound. It was almost seven-thirty, and while the sun was still up, somewhere up there behind the clouds, they'd been at it all day – setting sail at four in the morning and pushing-on through one heavy rainstorm after another. Now, with the end of their journey at hand, visibility was down to fifty feet and at ferocious wind, right out of the south at sixty knots, was pushing Altair towards the rocks on the right side of the narrow, westernmost inlet. Tracy looked terrified; Ted looked bored. He knew his father, knew he was enjoying this, the extra challenge at the end of a long, hard day...
A violent gust rocked the boat and he turned Altair into the wind a little, though she rolled more than thirty degrees right for a moment – and Tracy shrieked her displeasure then, now, suddenly, beyond terrified. Yet Altair stood up again and he added power, his eyes now fixed on the chart plotter...and the way ahead.
"Another hundred yards or so and we'll be out of this wind," he said for Tracy's benefit – just as another gust slammed into Altair, sending her almost on her beam.
"Jesus, Dad, the wind gauge hit ninety...!" Ted called out, but he was still focused on the rocky ledge about fifteen meters ahead – because these gusts were pushing him right for it...
He waited for the wind to settle a little, then slipped the transmission into reverse and backed down hard, his rudder to starboard a little, and as Altair's bow pointed away from the ledge he put the transmission in forward again and gunned the engine, kicking the old girl with his spurs on one more time. A minute later they were inside the sheltering cove, and the wind, just as he said it would, fell off to the gentlest breeze imaginable.
"Get the eighty pound ready first," he said, quietly, to his son, and Ted ran off to the bow to get the anchor ready to drop. "How you doin', kiddo?" he added, looking at the disbelief in Tracy's eyes.
"How did you do that?" she asked.
"Do what?"
"Get us in here...?"
"Badly, I'm afraid. I should have anticipated those last two gusts."
"Badly?"
"Yeah. Sorry about that...that really could've gone smoother," he sighed, but his eyes were on the plotter again. He overlaid radar on the display and he could see the contours of the cove now, and every boat anchored inside, too, even though visibility in the heavy rain was still under fifty meters. He changed range scales and fiddled with the gain setting, knocking back the rain-clutter, then he saw a likely place near the far east end of the cove.
Ted had the eighty pounder on the roller now, ready to go, and he waved him back to the cockpit. "No reason for you to stand out there," he said as his cold, wet son clambered back into the cockpit.
"How far?"
"'Bout a half mile, and I don't think this rain is gonna let up anytime soon."
"What's the forecast look like?"
"More of the same, like maybe two, three more days."
"Swell," Ted grumbled. "Just what the doctor ordered."
"It's pretty here," Tracy sighed, peering into the murk. "Nothing but trees..."
"Oh," he said, grinning, "there's more here than meets the eye."
"Like?"
"You'll see," Ted added, though he was grinning now, too.
"What's the big mystery," she whined.
He looked at the plotter, confirmed there were no wayward currents pushing him around inside the cove, then he looked up, checked the radar against the boats he saw looming out of the mist and rain just ahead. "About three hundred yards, Ted."
"I'm gonna get another fleece, my gloves, too."
He powered back a little, turned away from a group of boats anchored along the south side of the cove, then noted several were rafted-up together, forming a sort of floating community out here in the middle of nowhere...then Ted was bounding out into the rain again. He picked his spot and throttled down, let Altair drift to a long, arcing stop, then he toggled the windlass and let the anchor down...slowly...and then, when Ted gave him the signal, he backed down until he felt the anchor set.
He shut down the engine, marveled at the quiet of this place once again – even as he listened to the wind through the pines and rain pelting the cockpit enclosure...then he noticed Tracy looking at him.
"Does anything bother you?" she asked.
"What?"
"That storm...the rocks...you could've lost your boat, maybe our lives, but it was like you were, well, on heroin. Nothing seems to upset you..."
"People get in trouble when they panic. When they stop thinking the problem through, when they just start acting. That's probably the first thing a student pilot learns, too, by the way."
"So, that's it? You run into things like this all the time, so it's like...just no big deal? Is that what you're saying?"
"Yup."
"What happens if you screw up?"
"People die."
+++++
He opened his eyes, looked around. Navy gray everywhere, and ductwork...the thrum of air conditioning and heavy machinery buried deep within the bowels of the living, breathing ship. A medic of some sort fiddling with his bandaged leg, then adjusting an IV hanging from a tree over his face.
"Oh...you're awake..."
"If this isn't a dream," he replied, "I am."
"No, sir, Lieutenant, no dreams allowed in here."
"Where am I?"
"Back on the Roosevelt, sir. Docs operated on both legs, and turned out that snake's venom was pretty mild, like maybe he didn't get a good strike or somethin', but I'll go get the doc..."
He nodded, then looked down at his legs and shook his head. "Fuck," was about all he could think to say, then he just stared ahead until a man in blood-splattered green scrubs came up to his gurney.
"Guess you had a helluva night, Lieutenant."
"What happened?"
"Beats me. By the time the Seals got to you, well, you were out cold and seriously fucked up. Good thing you powdered that wound on your right leg...that shard got close to, well, let's just say you had a close call and we'll leave it at that."
"And?"
"We still don't know what kind of snake got you. One of the Seals got it with an M16, brought back some pieces so we could ID the thing. I think what saved you was, well, your vascular network down there was already pretty compromised, so the venom just couldn't spread. It's responding to anti-histamines so it's probably a hemotoxin, so it wasn't a cobra or something like that."
"When can I get back to flight status?"
"Well, that's the good part. No fractures and no major muscle damage, so assuming no infection I'd give it about two months..."
"Two...MONTHS?"
"Believe me, Lieutenant, when you get on your feet again you'll realize how close a call you really had..."
"Can I go back to my quarters now..." he asked, clearly perturbed.
"You're leaving for Germany on the next COD," the physician added, "then stateside."
The squad CO, Dan Green, came in a few minutes after the doc left, and Green looked at his leg for a while, then came closer. "Close one, Jim. You remember what happened?"
"First SAM – went wide right, the second went just aft. What about the Sukhois? Did I get 'em?"
"Yeah, you sure did. Nothing got airborne, and the base is history. We got some Seals in there to secure the place this morning. It's a done deal now, anyway. Saddam's people are bugging out, disappearing into the hills, and their air force is, well, they split too, flew to Iran."
"Iran? I thought..."
"Everyone thought they'd go to Jordan. They didn't."
"So, what? They're just going to sit this one out?"
"Guess none of them felt like being martyred this week, if you know what I mean."
"I guess, yeah."
"So, they tell me you're headed to Wiesbaden?"
"Can you talk to someone, Dan? No broken bones...shit...I ought to be ready to fly in a few days."
