Note from Loth: I feel the need particularly with this fic to make the following disclaimer:
'MacGyver' characters and trademarks are the property of Paramount. They are respectfully used in this story without permission.
This story inspired by the adventures of Captain Paul Watson and the Sea Shepherd, references taken from his book 'Ocean Warrior', also used without permission but with the utmost respect intended.
I have used names of people, places, and ships involved, but the story is completely fictional.
This story contains some graphic violence, but no cetaceans (or humans) were harmed in the writing of this fic.
Thanks to 'Beth for beta and much needed editing!
Mac's Voice Over:
You never know when something is going to happen to you that will change your life. Sometimes, you don't even know it when it happens. It follows you like a shadow, silent and easy to ignore… especially if you are like me, running from place to place too fast to look back.
Other times, it hits you like a ton of bricks…and there can be no doubt in your mind that you'll never be the same again. That's what happened to me after I found myself stranded on the Azores Islands.
My friends and I had planned to travel through Europe together, but when we had some 'interesting' times in Martinique, we had to leave those islands quietly and quickly. Jack, resourceful fellow that he was, had found seats on a commercial flight… but only for two of us. I told him to take Mike with him and I'd meet them in Madrid in a few weeks. I was sure that I could get a ride on a tramp freighter or something; I was good on a ship, having worked my way across the Adriatic on a steamer not long before.
I did find a berth… but when we reached Azores, the freighter's captain was arrested and his ship was impounded. I didn't stick around long enough to learn why; I narrowly managed to escape being arrested with the rest of the crew by hiding in the engine-room while the ship was towed to the impound yard, where I slipped off in the dark of the night and disappeared into the city of Ponta Delgata.
I made friends with some local fishermen, who took me in and helped me blend as a local, staying under the radar of the police. It was through them that I heard about a fishing vessel that was discreetly searching for new crewmembers. 'Discreetly' being a euphemism for 'willing to hire anybody useful, no questions asked'.
I didn't ask any questions myself--though maybe I should have. I signed on as the engineer's assistant. Once I was introduced to the ships engines, I was kept busy. There was always something going wrong with the engines.
The crew was tough, close-mouthed, and suspicious—I avoided them as much as possible. The captain was a coarse Norwegian fellow with the disposition of a barracuda, only colder. He was ruthless and demanding of the men, but dissent among the crew was unheard of. There was a sense that contrary sailors tended to disappear during the night watches.
I worked hard to stay out of the captain's sight. But one day a call came down for an engineer... and guess who got sent up to answer the call? Yep, you guessed it... Yours Truly!
Sea Shepherds
Chapter One: The Wrong Ship
On a bitter gray sea, a small ship nosed through choppy waves. She rolled in the swells, heavy for her size because of her unique design; heavy engines, processing machinery, and refrigeration units filled out her lines. Her stern slipway gaped like a greedy maw, ready to sip the bloody water she left in her wake. Never needing to return to port until her holds were bursting-full, the Sierra was a floating factory and warehouse… as well as an abattoir. Her quarry were whales, and she prowled the whole of the Atlantic, north and south of the equator, ignoring territories and international regulations, killing whales wherever she found them.
She was very, very good at finding them.
Sierra sailed this day just as she had every day since she'd left port, cutting through the waters at a cagey speed, seeking her prey. She was capable of moving much faster, but she didn't need it now. She waited for the inevitable signs; a white ripple of foam like a breaker where there was no surf; a hint of darkness beneath the water, or the unmistakable flag of spume shooting skyward.
Such signs had been spotted just after the morning sun had risen. Seamen were moving about the deck, singing and chattering and shouting obscenities at one another as they worked to prepare the ship for the catch. It was another working day, as far as they were concerned; the more meat they packed in the hull, the sweeter their cut of the cash.
But the optimism of the crew wasn't shared by their captain. Arvid Nordengen propped his fists on his hips and glared at his men. His mind was as restless as the sea he exploited, but today he wasn't thinking about how many kills it would take to fill his hold... he was looking for a saboteur.
The troubles had begun before they'd first put into harbor in Portugal—they had trouble with the power supply to the refrigeration units, which had to be expensively repaired before they could get underway again. Then several of the crew went missing; Nordengen had been forced to hire whatever he could get as replacements. Like most of his crew, they were scupper rats and ruffians, with dark, weathered faces and rough hands. As long as they had strong backs and empty pockets, Sierra would use any man... but the captain was finding reason to regret his hasty recruitment.
Spoilages in the mess, engine failures, and vital components of electrical equipment inexplicably damaged—it was too much to believe it was coincidence. If it had all happened in port, he would have suspected those damned Greenpeace degenerates who touted themselves around the world as 'enforcers' for international conservation. Nordengen called them 'pirates'. But the problems had followed them out to sea, so he couldn't blame any of those land-hugging hippies.
Captain Nordengen turned to his first mate, to question him about the newer crew members, when he spotted something that made him forget about vinegar in the coffee grounds or missing fuses. In the distance, a geyser of mist shot upward; a submarine body broke the surface of the gray sea.
"Dead ahead! See 'er! She's dead ahead! Harpooner! Man your station!" Nordengen shouted. He muscled his first mate aside and took the controls personally, swinging the nose of the ship to cut across the whale's wake and give his man a clear shot.
Knut Hustvedt was an expert harpooner, but he needed all the help that he could get to target the huge creature sporting in the rough sea beyond their starboard bow. His job was always a balancing act of time... waiting long enough for the best shot, but not so long that the whale had time to dive down beyond the reach of his cold irons. He had the advantage of modern equipment however... one true strike would be all he needed, as the harpoon was equipped with an explosive head.
The whale blew water up like a geyser. Sierra was so close that Knut could feel it falling like rain on his shoulders. He sighted on his target and found the shot good... but when he depressed the trigger and the harpoon sang out of the barrel, there was a mighty jolt!
The cable attached to the harpoon was entangled, and the force of the harpoon firing had snapped the line. The spear spun away and sank into the sea, the coiling cable behind the snare unspooled and fell to a tangled mess on the deck. A hot smell filled Knut's nostrils, telling him that the harpoon gun's winding mechanism was stripped and likely ruined.
Captain was not going to like this!
"Goddamit!" Nordengen roared, swearing all down the length of the ship as he blustered his way toward the bow and the smoking ruins of his harpoon gun. Not many of the other words he said could be understood; the captain ranted in his native tongue, foamy spittle flying from his chin like spume. "Get an engineer up here to fix this friggin' thing!"
Knut climbed out of the chair, calm as a surgeon. He opened one of the boxes bolted to the deck near the cannon, and extracted something that looked like a surface-to-air missile; a hand launcher for a harpoon. It was much lighter and smaller than the barbs fired by the cannon, but they could be just as deadly. Nordengen kept a number of these smaller weapons on hand for just such an occurrence; it might take more shots to kill a whale with the smaller harpoons... unless the harpooner was exceedingly skillful.
Knut carried the weapon to the bow of the ship, climbing out to the very end of the elongated prow. He sighted on the whale, now several hundred yards away… too far to take a shot. He didn't shout, but raised his arm to signal to steer the ship's pilot to close the distance.
Nordengen noticed what Knut was doing and finally stopped his ranting and raving. He hurried back to the control cabin, shoving the engineer he had just summoned out of his way, sending the man sprawling to the deck.
MacGyver tried to roll with the fall, but he came up hard against the base of the cannon with his head. Stars danced behind his eyes.
Knut lowered the harpoon launcher. Setting it on the deck, he moved to where MacGyver lay and offered the man a hand up. "Ja, you are all right?" His accent was thick, but his English was very good.
MacGyver looked up at him for a moment before accepting his hand. Knut heaved him upward easily, steadying him as he wavered a bit with the motion of the deck as the captain revved the engine. "I'm fine… just a knock." Mac touched his forehead and checked his fingers. "No blood… I must be okay."
Knut offered him an ironic smile. "Enough blood later. Hopefully not yours. Come and help me. We fix the harpoon later."
MacGyver followed him to the bowsprit platform. "Take the cable and secure it," Knut directed. Mac did what he was told, feeling a little detached by his fall and the constant rocking of the ship, but aware of the fact that the captain was watching them both closely. He anchored the harpoon cable firmly.
Knut raised his harpoon again, and MacGyver saw the target. A great whale broke the surface of the water about fifty yards ahead.
MacGyver's breath caught in his chest. He'd seen whales before, from a distance, and he'd always been impressed by their size and grace. This whale was so close that he could see clusters of barnacles crusting the massive nose. He saw not one but two blow-holes above its flattened rostrum, and through them he heard the great beast make several exhalations. The glistening skin covering the back of the beast was brownish-gray, and as it swum by, MacGyver glimpsed a pale patch of skin on its right jaw. A fin whale, Mac guessed. A big one, too! he thought, judging the distance from its pointed snout to its dorsal fin.
MacGyver's wonder became horror as Knut fired his harpoon. The shiny flesh that looked so hard and impenetrable was pierced easily by the cruel shaft, creating its own geyser as it struck the whale and the explosive head of the shaft detonated.
A spout of red burst from the wound and the sea trembled perceptively as the great creature thrashed in pain. The cable whined as it was spent out violently, then the ship shuddered as it was drawn tight as the whale fought to escape. MacGyver grabbed the rail to prevent himself from flying overboard as a wave of bloody water washed over the bow and drenched him. It was icy, but it was nothing compared to the cold he felt inside. He fought to keep himself from retching.
The whale was rolling and thrashing in the water, yanking the cable this way and that. MacGyver watched, praying that the beast could somehow break free; but the cable was built for this kind of pressure, and the harpoon had been fired true. The whale was dying.
It turned on its side, the white chevrons tracing down its flanks visible in the tainted water. MacGyver saw one of its eyes; blue and slitted like a Siamese cat, but as big as a softball. He felt himself held in the whale's regard, and a flash of insight and recognition passed over him like a charge of electricity.
Mac's Voice-over:
I can't say why I felt what I felt, but somehow I knew that the whale saw me… saw me, recognized me, knew me…and though all that I've ever learned told me that it was impossible, I saw sadness in his eyes. At that moment, I knew that I was witnessing the death—the murder—of an intelligent creature. And all I could do was watch.
The great beast in the water ceased his struggling, his life and pain ended at last. I felt sick knowing that I had helped kill him.
