Chapter 4

Captain Havers was a seafaring man from a long line of sea folk. By the age of fourteen he was piloting his fathers fishing trawler and by the time he was twenty five, with the death of his father, he was the Captain. When the war broke out he knew what he had to do. He was older than the rest of the sailors at the start but with his experience he was soon promoted to Captain and given the command of the 110 foot Motor Launch 053. She was a sub chaser and mine sweeper. Right now the Captain was harried. Their sailing had been delayed by engine trouble so they were two hours behind schedule. Captain Havers didn't like to be behind. He ran a tight ship.

Two hours out the lookout had spotted something off the port bow and despite not hearing any distress calls their course had been changed. As they neared the area where the flash had been spotted the boat slowed. All available hands were on deck scanning the area. Two searchlight beams reached out into the darkness eventually picking out bits of debris. With the appearance of first one body and then another, they came to the realization that they were cruising the death scene of a fishing vessel, origin unknown. The search went on but no more bodies were found, all hands lost at sea. There was no more they could do.

There was at least one pair of eyes that watched the moon and wondered. First it was a crescent then it went full then back to a crescent. It was like a lunar eclipse he saw once only it kept happening over and over. He thought back to the stories Goyen had told him about how …something , he couldn't remember, crept up and devoured the moon only to find it was bitter and spit it back out again. Was it the snake? Maybe that was why Goyen had told him to never eat snake. No, that couldn't be. There, the moon was back again, no, disappearing. Maybe he was supposed to do something to stop it. What was it that Goyen had done? Maybe if he distracted what ever it was then it would leave the moon alone and then he could see where he had to go. He reached down to get the big knife from his boot but was surprised when he got a face full of water. He would have to use the smaller switchblade secreted on his wrist. He finally got it out but had a hard time triggering the blade. For some reason his hands didn't want to work. Finally he got it into position and began to threaten the moon eating monster.

"Hey, Over here, you bastard." He continued to yell and wave his blade.

Able Seaman Taylor had been at the port bow rail for the duration. He was tired and cold and the constant staring out to sea had made his eyes tired. Each time he thought he saw something it turned out to be just the light reflecting off the water or a bit of flotsam, or even just the shadow of the wave, so he was glad when he heard the order to douse the lights and go below. He wanted not only to get warm but he didn't want to find any dead bodies. Just the thought of looking into those dead eyes looking back into your soul was enough to give him the willies. He shivered at the thought. The light winked out but not before he thought he saw something moving at the edge of the light beam. A body maybe? If he said nothing and pretended he didn't see it then he wouldn't have to look at it. The guy was dead anyway what did it matter? Then he pictured a woman sitting at home waiting for her husband or maybe her son.

"Hey, switch it back on. I thought I saw something about, … No, farther aft. There! Over there!" Yes, there was an arm waving up in the air. He had to be alive. The cry went up, "Man Overboard!"

The rescue was not easy. The Motor Launch pulled in as close as she could and a life ring was tossed. This was standard procedure. Sometimes the downed flyers could grab on and be pulled to the rail. Not this time, there was no attempt to reach for the ring. A small boat with two sailors was used to complete the rescue.

Captain Havers had watched the rescue, his crew had rescued downed fliers before. They knew what to do. He went back to scanning the area. Once he had deeming it clear he left orders and headed below. Hearing the racket he charged into the mess where two of his men were tying to subdue the rescued man.

Chief was fighting. There was no way he was going down. He would rather die fighting. As tired as he was no man would ever do that to him and live. Blindly, he fought.

"All right lads, let him be," ordered the Captain.

The crew had brought him to the mess area thinking to sit him on a bench but he had exploded when he had realized there were people hovering over him, holding his arms. In his fight the three men had landed on the floor. The two crewmen backed off and stood waiting. Chief tried to stand but his legs wouldn't co-operate. He managed to get into a sitting position and backed up against the wall. He knew he was vulnerable but it was the best he could do. He watched his attackers.

"It's all right, son." Captain Havers , at the age of thirty eight, was like a father to the much younger men under his command. At six foot four, two hundred pounds and dark eyes that seemed to look right through you, he was an imposing figure but his easy smile and gentle manner had made him well liked by the crew.

"You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you. All we want to do is get you warm and to do that you have to get your wet things off. The boys, here, just want to help you." Havers knew from experience that being in the ocean too long could make a man confused. They had pulled one pilot out of the water who had taken his jacket off. He had died before they got him to the hospital. He didn't want that to happen again so he considered his options. They had to get him warm.

"Smith, coffee, two cups. Blackmore, return to your station."

"Aye, aye Sir."

Now it was just the two of them. The Captain picked up the blanket and began to approach the man. He noted the lack of uniform. Not a flier. The peasant clothes as opposed to fisherman's gear told him the man was more than likely, an agent for Special Forces. He wondered whether he was Army and what rank. He considered the man's features. He was young, younger than the men they had inserted or removed in the past. He was dark, maybe Italian. Maybe he didn't speak English. He didn't think there was anyone on board that spoke Italian. As he got closer the man began to tense and tried to pull away. There was no place for him to go. He had backed himself into a corner.

"Sir, I'll stay with him if you'd like." The slight Scottish burr told the Captain it was their torpedo man, Able Seaman Neil Thompson, who had spoken. He was a young slight man with an easy going attitude. Maybe he could put their guest at ease. Smith, the radio operator, had returned as well with the coffee.

"All right, Thompson. Take the coffee. See if you can get him to drink it. Smith, return to your post."

A pair of 'Aye Aye, Captain' and they dispersed.

Thompson was alone with the sodden man. A quick look told him he was being watched. Keeping his eyes on the deck he moved over to sit beside the other man, an arm's length away. Keeping one coffee cup he put the other down between them and turned the handle and nudged it closer. Then he concentrated on his own cup and sipped the hot liquid.

Thompson had been brought up on a farm and had worked with animals including injured ones. As he was growing up he had wanted to be a vet but knew there was no money for an education. He had had to be content with watching the vet when he came and just observing the animals. He had learned to read their bodies and actions. This man was not an animal but he showed all the same signs as the wild dog he had found, oddly enough, half drowned in their frozen pond one late winter day. He had managed to get it out and dragged it into the barn. His father had not been too pleased but had not stopped him. First he had to, like with the dog, reassure the man he meant no harm. He had sat with the dog off and on all day and into the night. By the second day the dog had started to eat from his hand. He eventually recovered and became his shadow, following him everywhere. The though of this dark man following him everywhere made him smile.

As he sipped his coffee he surreptitiously watched his floor mate. He knew he was also being watched so he remained as relaxed as he could. He told him his name and explained where they were. There as no response but he knew the sound was all that was required. Talking calmly to an animal had a soothing effect.

He couldn't help but smile when the stranger reached down and picked up the cup. He was shaking so badly the coffee spilled but Thompson remained motionless until a sip had been taken . Putting his own cup down, he reached over and took hold of the blanket. Keeping his eyes on the blanket he tossed it over the man's legs then immediately returned to his coffee. They sat in silence.

It was all quiet as the Captain approached so he just poked his head in. He watched as Thompson finished his coffee. When he put his cup down he inched closer then reached over and pulled the blanket up higher from the man's thighs to his waist. He was now shivering violently though he had drank enough coffee that it was no longer in danger of spilling. The Captain returned to the bridge. His men knew what to do. They were a good crew.

Thompson knew he had to get the man's clothes off but knew that act would make him colder so he pulled off his own shirt and offered it to the man. The stranger shook his head once so the seaman motioned for an exchange. The dark man looked him in the eye then put his cup down. He attempted to pull off his coat but his hands wouldn't work. Thomson gently reached over and helped him. It took a bit of doing because the sodden state of the coat. Once off, Thomson continued with the shirt. He saw the initial resistance but exhaustion put an end to that. Once he was undressed the seaman put his shirt on the stranger who then sank back with eyes closed. He let him rest for a few minutes then pulled the blanket up further.

Chief was so tired and miserable. As feeling began to return to his body memories of being on the chain gang returned. There were days he had been this tired and cold. He was shivering uncontrollably. He would have liked to have pulled the blanket closer but he couldn't get his hands to work. Some one had brought him hot soup which he had held for the warmth and then drank. It was helping. Someone must have escaped. When that happened they sometimes kept the detail out all night in the yard. He remembered the captain of the guard tell them if they had enough energy left to run then they had enough energy to work another twelve hours. By the time they got back they were out on their feet. That's what must have happened. Some guy traded shirts with him. Must have been a new guy or maybe a stoolie. Why pick him though. He didn't know anything. Too tired to care.

What? What did he want? Just leave me here. I'm too tired. The words were thought but not spoken. Finally he gave in and allowed himself to be dragged to his feet; feet that didn't seem to work quite right. He kept tripping over them. Finally they got to his cell and he fell onto the cot. Fortunately he lost consciousness before Thomson started to undo his pants.