Disclaimer: The Deadliest Catch is the property of Original Productions and the Discovery Channel. The Aquila and it's crew are fictional characters.
"Coast Guard Kodiak, Alaska to the Westward Wind. Rescue Two's ETA is 50 minutes."
Another mayday, Sig Hansen thought. The Westward Wind was too far away for him to hear the reason for the mayday. There had been nine maydays in the past four hours, after the small but intense gale had engulfed the eastern part of the Bering Sea. Two boats had been lost, but luckily, the Coast Guard had plucked the crews off their disabled ships before they sank. Automatically he rapped on the console in front of him, hoping the fleet's luck held.
Once again, the vague premonition of disaster he had felt before and during the season again wormed its way up from his subconscious. He rubbed his hand over his chin and exhaled loudly, banishing the bad thoughts.
Sig thought of another day, during another ferocious storm, when the calls for assistance came so fast that the Coast Guard could not keep up. They had not escaped that gale. It was one of the most harrowing days he had ever experienced, and for a time, he had wondered if the Northwestern or her crew would survive as the towering waves slammed into the boat; the wind making it all but impossible to maneuver the boat. So far, the Coast Guard seemed to be handling the mayday calls, although he noted the response times were getting longer.
Fishing in the far western part of the fishing grounds near the Russian border, they would miss this monster. At their present position, the seas were a manageable eight to ten feet, the winds easterly at fifteen to twenty miles an hour. It was paradise compared to what most of the fishing fleet was enduring.
They had spent the entire season on the same area, on fishing grounds that had not seen activity in several seasons. The gamble had turned out to be a good one. After dialing in the crab, they had discovered the area contained a huge biomass of large Opies. After that, it had been a matter of following the crabs. They had not pulled a pot with less than 600 crabs, and had averaged almost 800 crabs a pot.
For the most part, their only company had been the Cornelia Marie and another Bering Sea veteran, the Aquila, captained by Sig's good friend, Karl Pederson. The three boats had kept plenty of distance between their respective strings, giving each boat maximum crab counts.
Now the three ships, after offloading at St. Paul, had skirted the the storm and were traveling back together in the darkness, the Aquila on his port side and the Marie to the starboard. He knew the three ships would separate at some point to head to their respective strings.
"Aquila to the Northwestern. Anybody awake over there?" Karl Pederson asked.
Sig laughed as he grabbed the microphone. "Only us vampires," Sig said. "How's everything with the Aquila?"
"Good, Good… Have you been listening to the mayday calls?" Karl asked, his voice turning serious.
"Yeah, I'm very happy to be heading west and not east."
"Roger on that. I'm reminded of another day."
"I know. I've been thinking about that day too. I can't wait until the season is over." It was as close as he was willing to mention any premonition he felt.
"Roger, I'm ready to head home, too. I must be getting old."
"Buddy, I feel the same way sometimes, but a boatful of crab usually cures it."
"That's the truth," Karl said, with a laugh.
The two men chatted for a few minutes, shooting the breeze, talking about their families, news from home, everything but fishing. He turned his head as he heard someone climbing the stairs. A sleepy eyed Nick approached, mug of coffee in hand. "Well, it looks like it's my naptime."
"Roger, Sig. I'll see you back in Dutch," Karl said.
"Will do," Sig said, then placed the microphone in its holder.
"How's the weather?" Nick asked.
"Mother Nature has opened a can of whoop ass on the eastern grounds," Sig said. "A storm blew up without warning. You know how it goes. Winds are gusting from 120 to 130. Seas are from 40 to 50 feet. I count nine maydays in the last four hours. Two boats went down, but they got the crews off."
"Damn..." Nick said. "I'd hate to be flying in one of those Coast Guard Jayhawks in that mess."
"I'd hate to be anywhere near there." Sig stood up, yawned as he arched his back, and grimaced when it popped. "See you later, Nick."
Nick settled into the chair, and took a drink of coffee. "Have a nice nap."
Sig snorted, then trudged downstairs. He knew Nick would wake him up if the weather took a turn for the worse. Entering his stateroom, he climbed into bed and was asleep in a matter of minutes.
As the Northwestern steamed into the night, Nick kept an eye on the wind and wave level while he listened to the Coast Guard respond to two more distress calls. Nick came to attention at the Coast Guard's next message.
"This is the United States Coast Guard Kodiak, Alaska Communication Station. We have received an Epirb signal registered to the fishing vessel Wave Dancer. The vessel is 108 feet in length; black and gray in color. The position of the signal is 165° west and 85° north. All vessels in the area are asked to keep a sharp lookout for the Wave Dancer and assist if necessary. Rescue One is on its way to the position of the signal. This is the United States Coast Guard Kodiak, Alaska Communication Station, out.
Nick grabbed a pencil and wrote down the location of the Epirb, then marked the coordinates on the plotter. The Northwestern was too far away to be of help. He held out hope that the Epirb had been knocked off the boat by a wave. The area was too far away for the sideband radio to pick up any radio transmissions from the crab boats in the area.
Nick gazed outside his window; it was barely dawn. With the storm in full blow, he knew it would be hard to make any headway in the storm, and visibility would be horrible, but he knew any ships in the area would try to locate the Wave Dancer.
Nick heard footsteps coming up the stairs and saw Edgar, who was taking the next watch. "The Epirb's gone off on a boat," Nick said. "The Wave Dancer."
Edgar closed his eyes, he did not know anyone on the boat, but that did not matter. The crew had family and friends who cared about them. "When did it happen?"
"Ten minutes ago." Nick said, and relayed to Edgar the information about the storm.
Edgar shook his head. "Man… How far away are they?"
"150 miles. Want to wake up Sig?" Nick asked.
"No, he can't do anything about it, except worry. Let him sleep." Edgar smiled faintly when Nick raised his eyebrows. "I know, he'll yell at me because I didn't get him. I'm a big boy, I can take it."
Nick patted him on the shoulder as he passed. "Whatever you say, Edgar."
Sig's eyes flew open and he shot upright, wide-awake. For a few moments he listened intently to the sound of the engine, felt the motion of the boat. Reassured all was well, he laid back down again, but could not go back to sleep. He wondered what had caused him to wake up so abruptly It did not seem to matter that the Opelio season ran for weeks rather than a few days, he and the crew existed in a permanent state of sleep deprivation, and usually once he did get to sleep, it practically took seal bombs to wake him.
He ran his hand through his hair, then climbed out of bed and went downstairs to the galley. Jake and one of the Discovery cameramen were sprawled across the seats at the table, sound asleep. Pouring himself a mug of coffee, he climbed the two flights of stairs to the pilothouse.
"You're early," Edgar said.
Sig shrugged. "Couldn't sleep." He noticed the serious look on his brother's face. "What's the matter?"
"Know anybody on the Wave Dancer?"
"No." Sig's stomach knotted in sudden apprehension. "Why?"
"The Epirb went off on the boat. Happened about thirty minutes ago."
"Oh, hell."
"Yeah."
"What's the position?"
Edgar pointed to the plotter position he had marked for the Epirb. "Nothing we can do." He saw his brother's eyes narrow in irritation. Oh, boy, here we go, he thought. Sig's standing order was to be awakened if anything out of the ordinary happened. But his brother needed all the sleep he could get, just like the crew.
"Why didn't you wake me up?" Sig asked.
"Because there's nothing you can do, either," Edgar said, looking Sig in the eyes.
After a moment, he realized Edgar was right, and he slowly nodded. He sat down in his chair, and checked the radar. The Aquila had changed course and was three miles west of their position. The Cornelia Marie was now six miles west of them. At their present speed, he estimated they would reach the first string in about two hours. Their own quota was complete; they were now fishing leased quotas from other boats. If the crab held up, they should plug the boat in a few days. Then they could finally head home.
"Well, since you're up, I'm going to try to get another hour of sleep," Edgar said.
"Roger…"
Sig worked the throttle to clear the waves, then froze as the Coast Guard radio came to life. "United States Coast Guard, Kodiak, Alaska communication station, to all vessels. Rescue One has arrived at the Epirb's position, and there is no sign of the vessel. Rescue One is commencing a search pattern. All vessels in the area are asked to continue to search if possible. Rescue Two is currently on its way to Cold Bay station to refuel, then it will join the search. United States Coast Guard, Kodiak, Alaska communication station out."
Sig grimaced as he thought about how difficult it would be to conduct a search in those conditions. He was lifting his coffee mug to his lips, when the sideband radio suddenly came to life.
"Mayday, mayday, this is the fishing vessel Aquila."
Sig almost dropped the mug, as he recognized the voice of his friend Karl Pedersen.
"We have an electrical fire which we cannot control," Pederson said, his voice filled with anxiety. "We are going to survival suits. We have five people on board. Requesting assistance as soon as possible. Our coordinates are 94 degrees east by 48 degrees south. Aquila out."
Sig turned the boat towards the Aquila's position and pegged the throttle, then he slammed his hand down on the general alarm. The Northwestern began to speed toward the stricken boat. He grabbed the microphone to tell Pedersen they were on the way, but before he could say anything, the Coast Guard responded.
"Aquila, this is United States Coast Guard, Kodiak, Alaska communication station. We have received your mayday. Rescue Two is presently refueling at Cold Bay station. Rescue Two will proceed to your position after refueling. Their ETA to your location is 55 minutes. The cutter Stimpson is being dispatched as well. Their ETA is two hours. Over…"
Sig could see smoke on the horizon as the boat turned towards the Aquila. He flicked a switch on the Coast Guard radio. "Coast Guard, Kodiak, this is the fishing vessel Northwestern breaking in. We are approximately three miles from the Aquila and can see smoke on the horizon. We're on our way to assist the crew. Over…"
"Roger, Northwestern. Will await word from you. Coast Guard Kodiak, Alaska communication station, out."
Sig heard Phil Harris tell the Coast Guard the Cornelia Marie was also responding to the Aquila's mayday. As he watched the smoke rising into the sky, and waited for his crew to come up the stairs, his thoughts raced, debating the best course of action to take. They could either rig a line between the boats, and have the crew come over one by one. He shook his head, discarding the idea. It would take too much time, and the last thing he wanted to do was to be tied to a burning ship. There was only one option open to them. He mentally gathered himself for the task ahead.
Edgar jerked awake at the sound of the alarm, and numbly jumped out of his bunk and reached for his boots, jamming them on his feet. Beside him, Norman, Nick, and Matt did the same without saying a word. A few seconds later, they tumbled into the galley, one after another, where a bleary-eyed Jake met them.
"What's going on?" Jake asked.
"Beats the hell out of me," Edgar said, as everyone charged up the steps to Sig.
"The Aquila's got an electrical fire," Sig said, without waiting for them to ask the question he knew they would ask.
Everyone froze in shock and surprise, then Edgar came to life. "The Coast Guard?"
"An hour away."
Norman could see the smoke on the horizon. "They're never going to make it in time."
"I know," Sig said, curtly. "Phil's five miles west. We'll get there first. Rig a foothold on the crane. Bring 'em over that way."
"Roger," Edgar said, as the other men nodded; they drilled once a week for this very emergency, and each man knew their position. Everyone but Matt ran down the stairs, he would remain behind to work the radios if Sig switched to the port side controls.
Edgar grabbed his slicker and hurriedly pulled it on as he stepped onto the deck. Between the adrenalin and the blast of frigid air, he felt wide awake. He hurried over and grabbed a length of line already rigged into a foothold, kept for this very purpose. He turned and saw Norman climbing the ladder to work the upper crane controls. Jake would work the intercom, and he and Nick would take care of the crew after they came on board the Northwestern.
After Norman lowered the end of the crane to the deck, Nick and Edgar quickly attached the line to the crane. Edgar placed his foot into the foothold and grasped the line. He nodded to Norman, who raised the crane until Edgar was suspended a few feet off the deck. Assured the line was attached securely; he gave a thumbs-up to Norman, who lowered him back to the deck of the boat.
"Tell Sig we're good to go," Edgar yelled to Jake.
"Roger," Jake said and punched the intercom button.
Jack Taylor, their Discovery producer on board, and one of the camera men approached Edgar. "Edgar, what's going on?" Taylor asked.
Edgar told him about the Aquila.
"My god… What can I do to help?"
Edgar thought for a moment, then pointed to Norman. "Jack, stand here, and relay to Jake whatever Norman says."
"Got it."
"Norman, use Jack as a relay to Jake," Edgar shouted to Norman.
Norman nodded, then scowled as the cameramen climbed the ladder and prepared to film whatever happened on the deck.
"I'll stay out of your way," he said,
"You'd better," Norman warned.
The Aquila was a house aft boat and as Sig peered at the boat in his binoculars; he saw he needed to adjust his course to approach the stricken fishing boat at the correct angle. He could see waving men at the stern, waving, smoke billowed from the wheelhouse; a few flames were now licking out of the door.
Sig's maneuver would bring the Northwestern in for a straight in approach, her stern to the Aquila's bow, the Northwestern's port side to the Aquila's starboard side. It would be more awkward to operate the crane this way, but the wave wall and wheelhouse would provide some protection for the men on deck. "Matt, I'm going to need you on the hailer," he said, as he crossed to the port controls.
"Rog…" Matt said.
As they approached, Sig throttled back so he would not overshoot the Aquila.
"The crane's ready to roll," Jake said, from the deck, on the ship's intercom.
Sig nodded, but did not speak. He concentrated on bringing the Northwestern into position; ignoring the smoke; ignoring the flames coming out of the wheelhouse; ignoring the fear in his gut; the knowledge that if the flames reached the fuel lines the Aquila would go up like a fireball, taking a good chunk of the Northwestern with her.
"Roger, Jake," Matt replied over the hailer. He briefly turned towards the Discovery cameraman who had come into the wheelhouse; he began to film out the back window behind Sig. He started to tell him to back off, but Sig did not seem to be aware of him, and he was not in the way, so he stayed silent. He could smell the smoke, and it was getting warmer by the minute. He knew it must be even hotter on Sig's side. They had two cameramen and a producer on board; he wondered where the other guys were.
"That's good, right there!" Jake said on the intercom.
Sig put the throttle into neutral to let the boat drift with the Aquila. He felt a familiar vibration, and knew the crane was in motion. He did not look back; his eyes remained glued to the spacing of the boats, making small adjustments with the rudder, throttle, and the steering jets. Suddenly the wind shifted, and the Aquila began to drift closer to the Northwestern. With a hissed intake of breath, he moved his boat away from the Aquila. As he felt the crane begin to move again, the smoke began to blow towards the Northwestern, at times obscuring his vision.
"Got one," Jake said, a few seconds later over the intercom.
"Roger that," Matt said. "Four more to go," he said to himself.
Matt watched his boss; his friend, as Sig coolly worked the controls, using subtle movements to maintain the proper spacing. He knew the wind and waves would make it difficult to keep the boat in place. The heat was becoming uncomfortable on his side of the pilothouse; Matt knew it must be damned hot on the port side. He waited for the next man to be brought to safety.
"Holy shit," Josh Harris said, as he stood on the bridge of the Cornelia Marie, peering through binoculars at the unfolding rescue. He watched intently as another Aquila crewman was moved to safety.
"Sig's got the bow jammed right up there next to the wheelhouse," Jake Harris said. "Why didn't he come in on the starboard side? It'd be a hell of a lot easier to get them off."
Phil knew why his friend had chosen the more difficult path. "Because if the Aquila goes up, it'll give the guys on the deck some protection from the explosion," Phil said, grimly. "Not a whole lot of protection, but some…"
Jake and Josh looked at their father, understanding dawning in their eyes. "But there's no protection for Sig," Jake said.
"No, there isn't…" Come on guys, Phil thought. Thanks to the Discovery cameramen shooting footage from the bow of the Marie, they would document the event, and hoped it was not the last testament to the Northwestern and her crew.
"Got four," Jake said.
"Roger," Matt said. "Come on, come on, and get that last guy."
Sig felt the crane move for the last man. He waited, poised to take the Northwestern to safety. At last the crane shuddered, bringing the man, probably Karl, over to the Northwestern.
"That's it bro," Edgar yelled over the intercom. "Get us out of here."
Sig did not hesitate; he moved the jog stick all the way to starboard then moved the throttle to full power. The ship responded as if she too, wanted to be away from danger. Only then did he turn to look behind him. He blinked in surprise to find the cameraman. "When did you get here?"
Moving back to let Sig see behind him, the man laughed nervously. "When it started."
Sig shook his head, and watched the Aquila recede in the distance. Finally, satisfied they were out of range of an explosion, he walked over to the starboard controls, and began to turn the boat around to face the Aquila. He throttled back to neutral, and then he took his seat.
Matt could see he was drenched in sweat, his face red from the heat, which had turned the wheelhouse into an oven.
Sig wiped his face with his sleeve and took a deep breath. "Matt, go down and check on everybody, okay?"
"Right," Matt said, who darted down the stairs.
Sig peered out the window as he heard a loud whomp of an explosion. The Aquila was listing, engulfed in flames. "That was too damn close," he muttered
Presently, Matt returned with a towel and a bottle of cold water for Sig. He took the items gratefully. "Thanks… How are they?" he asked, as he toweled off his head, then twisting off the top of the bottle, he gulped half of the bottle.
"The heat melted the rubber on the bottom of their boots," Matt said. "They've got burns on their feet, but other than that they're fine."
Sig winced in sympathy. "I'll be down in a minute, after I talk to the Coast Guard."
Taking the microphone for the Coast Guard radio, he opened the channel. "Coast Guard, Kodiak, Alaska, this is the fishing vessel Northwestern, over." He wiped his face on the towel again, then opened the window to let some cold air into the room.
"This is Coast Guard, Kodiak, Alaska communication station, go ahead Northwestern, over."
"Kodiak, we've retrieved the Aquila's crew. There was an explosion a couple minutes ago, and the ship is listing to port and fully in flames now, over."
"Roger, Northwestern. Are there any injuries?"
"The crew have burns on their feet, but otherwise they're in good shape."
"Roger, Northwestern, thank you for the information, and your good work. Rescue One has refueled and is awaiting your coordinates to pick up the crewmen."
Sig checked his position and relayed it to the Coast guard. "The Aquila is a quarter of a mile from me. I don't think she's going to last long," he said, regretfully. Like the Northwestern, the Aquila was a family owned boat. And like the Northwestern, she had been passed down from father to son. She was not the fastest, or the biggest boat in the crab fleet, but Karl was one of the best at finding the crab, and they and they always made their quota.
"Roger, Northwestern, I'll relay that to the Stimson. The ETA for Rescue One is twenty five minutes."
"Thank you, Kodiak, we'll stand by. Northwestern, out."
"Coast Guard, Kodiak, Alaska communication station, out."
"Have you ever done anything like that before?" the cameraman asked, who had filmed the exchange between Sig and the Coast Guard.
"I damn sure haven't," Sig said, handing the towel to the man, who like Sig, was sweating heavily. Picking up the bottle of water, he went downstairs to the galley.
The Aquila's crew had pulled off their survival suits, rubber work boots, and socks, and had bags of frozen vegetables beneath the soles of their feet. He was shocked to see the extent of the burns. Despite this, Karl painfully got to his feet and embraced Sig. "My God, thank you, Sig. I can't tell you how happy I was to see you," Karl said, his voice hoarse.
Steve Puckett, the Aquila's deck boss, was next to grab him in an embrace. "Thanks, man," he said simply, overcome by emotion. Steve had crewed on the Northwestern for several years, and Sig had recommended Karl hire Steve for the deck boss job. He knew Steve's wife was about to have a baby.
"I'm glad we were around," Sig said. "Now sit down will you two?"
"Is she gone? I heard the explosion." Karl said, as he sat down.
"She was still afloat when I came down. I don't think it's going to be long. What happened?"
Karl nodded, then thought for a minute. "A circuit blew, and it started a chain reaction. We followed the emergency procedures to the letter, but it still got away from us."
"Sig, Phil wants to talk to you when you have a chance," Jake said, as he came down the stairs. "They're going to stay around for awhile." He hesitated before speaking again. "The Aquila's gone," he said softly.
"Damn…" said one of the Aquila's crewman. "She was a good boat."
"Sure was," Karl said.
"Jake, let the Coast Guard know about the Aquila," Sig said.
"Roger," Jake said, then turned and climbed the stairs again.
"I'll go wait for the chopper," Nick said, putting on his slicker. "Karl, I'm sorry about the boat."
Karl nodded and sighed. "I guess I should be glad she went down with empty hold. We were having a great season, too. We sure found us a honey hole."
"Yeah, I got paid and I'm alive," another crewman said. "Can't beat that."
"And I get to see my baby," Puckett said, as his eyes filled with tears. One of the other men put his arm over Puckett's shoulders in support, until he regained his composure.
Sig winced and flexed his left hand, then turned it over and gazed at it. The underside of his left hand stung and was red and blistered in places he saw. He turned it over again, hoping no one had noticed; but he was too late.
"What happened to your hand?" Edgar asked sharply.
"I don't know, the throttle control must have gotten hot," Sig said. "I didn't notice it until now." It was really burning now; Sig wondered how he could have missed it before.
Without a word, Norman walked over to the freezer, and took out a bag of beans from the freezer, then handed them to Sig.
Sig started to say he was okay, but at Edgar and Norman's set expression, he obediently held the bag in his hand. And the numbing cold did help with the pain, although he would never admit that to his brothers.
"Hey, have they found the Wave Dancer?" Karl asked.
"Last I heard, they were still searching," Sig said.
"I hope it turns out okay," Matt said.
"Yeah, me too," Karl said.
"Hey, sorry about the crane," Sig said. "It must have hurt like hell to step into that foothold."
"No problem, we'd never had made it in time if we'd had to cross from ship to ship on a line."
The group lapsed into silence, lost in their own thoughts, until Nick came in to the galley from the deck. "The chopper's here," he said.
One by one, with grateful thanks, the men were helped to the deck to be hoisted into Coast Guard chopper. Finally, the only man left was Karl Pederson.
"You gonna be okay?" Sig asked.
"Yeah. I'll be mad at myself for a while, and feel like I let my Dad down. Then I'll try to figure out what I could have done differently. But everybody's alive, and that's what counts. I know one thing; your Dad's damn proud of his boys, today. We owe you guys our lives, and I'll never forget that. I'll be back. I already have a name for the new boat. The Aquila II."
Sig grinned. "I'll be proud to fish with her."
Nick and Matt came into the galley. "Karl, they're ready for you," Nick said.
Sig went to one side of Karl to support him, but was stopped by Matt, a sly grin on his face. "Sorry, Sig. Edgar said you couldn't carry him because of your hand."
Sig took a long breath and gave Matt a hard stare, but he allowed Matt and Nick to carry Karl outside, who seemed amused.
"I'll give you a call when we get back to Seattle," Sig said loudly over the chopper's noise.
"You do that. Talk to you later," Karl said, then climbed into the basket.
After the rescue swimmer had returned to the chopper, Sig motioned to Edgar. "I want to take a look at the boat." He climbed the two flights of stairs to the pilothouse and went outside; while the rest of the crew climbed the ladder, and walked around to the bow.
The port side of the Northwestern's wheelhouse was stained smoke gray, and Sig figured it was the same below the rail. "She's going need a new paint job. The paint's blistered," he said, moving his hand over the side of the wheelhouse.
"Five lives are worth what we'll pay," Norman said.
"Damn straight…" Sig said, as he reentered the wheelhouse.
"There you go, bro," Edgar said, as he finished bandaging Sig's hand loosely with gauze.
"Thanks," Sig said. In truth, his hand felt better bandaged. He would probably take a couple of Advil's later.
"If it gets infected, we are heading in to St. Paul," Norman said firmly.
"Yes, Dr. Hansen," Sig said, sarcastically.
"So what's the plan?" Matt asked, as everyone laughed.
"I want to do a systems check, and make sure the heat didn't effect anything," Edgar said.
"Good idea. I'm going to talk to Phil," Sig said. He stood up and after awkwardly pouring himself a cup of coffee, he turned back to the crew. "We haven't had breakfast yet. How do pancakes sound?" Sig smiled as five pairs of eyes looked at him in surprise. He had not cooked breakfast for the crew in a long time. "You earned it today. Good job, guys."
Chuckling to himself, he climbed the stairs once again. Sig dropped into his seat and reached for the microphone. "Northwestern to the Cornelia Marie, you there Phil?"
The answer was not long in coming. "I'm here, Sig. My God… I heard what you told the Coast Guard. Are the guys going to be okay?"
"I don't think they're going to be running marathons any time soon, but I think they'll be okay. It could have been worse."
"Much worse. You sound beat," Phil said.
"I am, man. I had all this adrenalin blasting through me, and now I feel like I've been run over by a truck.
"Have you heard the latest about the Wave Dancer?"
"No, the last I heard they hadn't found anything."
"I got a call from Andy a couple of minutes ago. They've found the bait box."
"Crap… That's not good."
"Nope… He said the gale blew up all of a sudden, no warning, no time to prepare the deck."
"That's what it sounded like."
"He was impressed as hell about what you did," Phil said, with a chuckle. "Hey, we drove over and looked at your port side. Looks pretty smoked up."
"Yeah, the paint's blistered, too. We're going to have to paint that side. Like Norman said though, five lives are worth the cost."
"Roger that. Our camera guys got the whole thing on tape. Discovery is going to wet their pants when they see the footage."
"Our guys were filming, too. I haven't seen anything yet, but it should be good," Sig said.
"Well, now that the excitements over, we need to get back to work."
"I'm going to fix pancakes for the guys. Everything should be okay below deck, but Edgar's going to do a system check before we take off."
"Sounds like a good idea. Hey, Sig, you and your guys did a good thing. When you get back to Dutch, the first round's on us."
"Thanks, my friend. We'll take you up on that. Be safe, Phil."
"You too, Sig. Talk to you later."
Sig replaced the microphone and stared out the window. Within a few hours, five men had more than likely died, and five more lives had been spared. He knew he would think about the irony of that later, and of their part in the rescue. But for now, he could not spare the emotion. For now, he had breakfast to make for the five men whose lives he was responsible for. Then, with luck, after the season was over, they would return home to their families.
Sig rose and with a determined step, descended the stairs to cook pancakes for his crew - his family.