0910hrs - FORENOON WATCH

Morales opened her eyes very gently. Even in the dim light they ached in such a manner as though she were staring at the sun. With her eyes nothing but a blur she had to rely on her other senses to figure out what was going on. She knew she was laying down on a bed because she could feel the padding of the mattress underneath her back. She also knew she was still aboard Amberley as she could feel the gentle rocking of the ship coupled with the low hum of the nearby engine room.

She tried lifting her head up off the pillow but in her dazed and confused state it stubbornly refused to lift up for more than a second or two. Over the sound of the engine she could hear a low muttering that she figured to be the sound of two voices talking. She tried to call out for help but could only produce a low moan.

A figure appeared in front of her. Suddenly the memory of what had happened in the galley came flooding back and she felt her heart jolt as though it's gentle beating had turned in to a hammering. Still dazed and confused she tried to move away from it but her tired arms and legs refused to budge.

"Shhhhh!" cooed a voice softly as she felt a cool towel press against her forehead. "Daniella, can you hear me?" The voice seemed familiar somehow and she had to reach in to the very back of her mind before she realised who it was but before she could acknowledge the question the voice said, "Daniella it's 'Fritz'. Do you know where you are?"

"Mmmmm y-yes," was all she could mumble softly. She struggled to utter the word 'Amberley' but nonetheless she got it out clearly enough to be understood.

"Thatta girl!" said 'Fritz' as he continued to wipe the sweat from her face.

"Will she be ok?" asked another voice. This one was again a man's voice but a little deeper than 'Fritz's who maintained a rather youthful tone.

"Yes sir," replied 'Fritz' to the XO Lt. Satchwell who stood just behind him. "She received a pretty hefty dose in order to calm her down so she is going to be quite groggy for a bit. Right now she's nursing one of the worst hangovers of her life." Both 'Fritz' and Satchwell shared a grin as if to silently tell one another that they both knew what that was like. Morales could do little except lay there while she listened to them talking. Although she was now more awake she was fighting to concentrate on any one thing at a time.

"Right then," said Satchwell before adding, "we have just received confirmation of a warrant being issued to stop and search a fishing vessel believed to have weapons on board. We are enroute to intercept it. ETA is about 1330hrs. The CO wants to have an update on Morales' condition."

"Oh sir I don't think she is going on any boarding party today," laughed 'Fritz' almost condecendingly. Morales didn't like being talked about in such a way but in her almost eneburated state there was little she could do about it.

"I thought as much," said Satchwell. "We could use you on it though. Is she going to be ok on her own for a bit?"

"Should be sir," replied 'Fritz'.

"Alright then, briefing at 1120 in the galley," and with that Satchwell turned to leave.

"Who'll be giving it sir?" asked 'Fritz'. The question stopped Satchwell in his tracks as if to emphasise the oddity of the question. Surely it was obvious who would be giving it?

"Me and the boss of course. Why?" 'Fritz' didn't immediately answer but instead grinned enough for Satchwell to notice but not enough to over emphasise it.

"Nothing sir," lied 'Fritz' rather obviously. Although Satchwell knew that 'Fritz' was just being his usual trouble making self he felt compelled to follow up on his remark. He folded his arms and sighed in a rather annoyed fashion as if to silently demand an explanation. "Well sir...Permission to voice an observation?"

"You're going to anyway so just do it!" said Satchwell through gritted teeth.

"Well sir it just seems to me that she relies on the Buffer a little more than..." 'Fritz' was positively itching to smirk at the sound of his own words. He had intended to mention this as a bit of a joke but Satchwell looked absolutely livid.

"Go on!" demanded Satchwell.

"Well sir," continued 'Fritz' as he found himself backed in to a corner. 'Fritz' stepped away from Morales and lowered his voice so no one else could accidentally overhear their conversation. "It seems to me like those two cut you out of a lot of stuff that goes on. I mean, your the XO and yet her and Buffer seemed to come down on you as well as us over what happened with-"

"That's enough!" interjected Satchwell firmly. 'Fritz' found himself completely cut off and knew there was no point in continuing as he listened to Satchwell go on. "I am sick to death of this whole 'them and us' attitude on this boat. Regardless of which ship we all came from we are now on HMAS Amberley. This is our ship. Clear?"

"Yes sir!" replied 'Fritz' as Satchwell turned away. As he watched his XO walk through the hatch that lead to the main stairwell 'Fritz' couldn't help but think of him as being too weak to want to do anything about it. If Satchwell wanted his respect from now on he was going to have to earn it.

Nikki Caetano had made a point not to sleep in that day after completing her night shift at NAVCOM. She had the following night off and knew that if she stayed in bed too long in the morning then she would not be able to sleep the following night. Thus, as her alarm beeped that it was midday, she rather angrily punched down on the snooze button and fell back to sleep. A short while later it beeped once more and she looked up at it before uttering words that were hardly the mark of a Naval officer.

A cool shower and a mug of coffee later she found herself curled up on the sofa in her living room watching the lunch time news. Although her eyes stared blankly at the screen her thoughts lingered on the emptiness of the room. Her home was well decorated and maintained but the size was barely enough for one person to live in. Nevertheless she felt as though she may as well have been sitting in an immense hall for the room was missing something. Her eyes crossed over to a photograph that sat on the desk next to her personal computer. She clambered off the sofa and went over to look at it.

Holding it in her hands she stared down at the last official photograph of the crew of the Fremantle-class HMAS Hammersley. Her eyes run around all the faces as she remembered each of them fondly most of whom she was still in contact with except for the odd one or two. Going along the back row of people mustered around the Bofors gun that was mounted on the foredeck she spotted someone she hadn't seen for two years and the sight of him was immediately followed by the memory of early morning breakfast at sea.

"Cheffo!" she uttered smiling nostalgically. After the decommissioning of the Fremantle-class HMAS Hammersley Able Seaman Toby 'Cheffo' Jones had been transferred to the frigate HMAS Arunta. She had kept in touch with him through E-mail and on Facebook but it wasn't the same.

Holding the photograph she knew why she had picked it up and that she was deliberately avoiding looking at a certain person. This was a ritual she had been going through ever since that day when her world turned upside down. She took in a deep breath as she almost had to dare herself to look at the man on the bottom right of the photograph. There he was in his smart Navy 'whites' smiling as though he were standing beside her. She tenderly placed her fingertips on the picture of Josh 'ET' Holiday. Ever since his murder she had found each day a struggle. It helped when she was at sea since she could bury herself in her work but now that she had the regularity of a shore posting she had got in to a routine that had inadvertently allowed her time every day to dwell on his death.

After looking at 'ET' for a minute or two her eyes turned to the man standing beside him and saw Buffer with his stone cold exterior that hid his 'big softy' side as she called it. Suddenly she remembered Pete's request from when they had spoke the night before. She had been too busy at NAVCOM afterward and so she decided she would honor his request now. Part of her knew that she was using it as an excuse for something to do but another part of her believed that she was doing it for her friend and so she switched on her computer and got to work.

Once online she accessed a search engine and typed the words 'HMAS Amberley' in to the text box before selecting 'SEARCH'. A short while later a list of the websites with 'HMAS' or 'AMBERLEY' appeared. The first one was a link to the Royal Australian Navy's own website and she decided to check there first. There was a small article describing the ship and mentioning that it was on loan from the reserve fleet of the U.S. Coast Guard but didn't mention it's former name. She returned to the results page and looked again but to no avail. Of all the references to the HMAS Amberley none mentioned her previous identity.

She thought for a moment and then decided to try the search from a different angle. She began a search for a list of ships transferred to the RAN. from the USCG. This proved more successful and she began to read an article on a website belonging to a British Naval magazine outlining the transfer of three U.S. Coast Guard vessels to Australia but again rather infuriatingly it didn't mention which ship was renamed what? She clicked on the link to view each of the three vessels. Two were the same class of Coast Guard Cutter but the third was a little different. She minimised the screen and opened another search engine to look for a picture of HMAS Amberley for comparison.

"Bingo!" she blurted out in delight as she identified Amberley in her USCG colours as USCGS Chocktaw named after a Native American tribe. The USCGS Chocktaw had undergone an extensive refit three years before budget cuts forced the U.S. Coast Guard to put her in reserve. The refit had lengthened the vessel compared to the other two of the same classand this was how she had identified it.

Now that she knew what she was looking for she began a search for any information relating to the history of the USCGS Choctaw. At first the search produced the usual results describing the vessel and it's equipment but very little on her service history but it was not long before she was confronted by a list of news articles relating to two incidents near the end of it's service life. She selected the article offered by a website she recognised as belonging to CNN and read on;

January 23rd 1995
Coast Guard Collision in the Atlantic Ocean

The United States Coast Guard is launching an investigation in to how one of their Cutters, the USCGS Chocktaw, managed to collide with a Haiti registered fishing vessel killing up to four out of five members of a family who were aboard the small craft. The collision happened at approximately 0430hrs on the morning of January 21st during a routine anti-drug trafficking patrol fifty eight nautical miles off the northern coast of Haiti. At the present time the Coast Guard is unwilling to make a statement on the incident but a spokesperson said that 'all factors were being considered'.

After reading several additional articles it was not long before she discovered that the U.S. Coast Guard inquiry had put the blame firmly on the people aboard the fishing boat much to the dismay of the only survivor of the tragedy, the eldest son of the family, who had to be removed from the courtroom as the verdict was read out. What he said was not recorded but witnesses said that the rage in his voice as he was dragged from the room by the guards was such that it left several people unnerved.

Nikki went in to the kitchen to make another cup of coffee before continuing her investigation leaving the computer on the results page of her search. She stirred her beverage with a small silver teaspoon before dropping it on to the counter. She leaned back against the wooden kitchen fittings as she blowed gently in to her mug to cool its contents down all the while her mind thinking of the tragic incident that befell the USCGS Chocktaw. She couldn't imagine how she would feel under similar circumstances and yet at the same time it bothered her that the Board of Inquiry seemed to put full blame on the people on the fishing boat. Having spent most of her career on patrol boats she knew that it surely wasn't as simple as a couple of bad seaman in control of a boat. A good patrol boat crew would accommodate such a vessel by keeping its distance and using its own RHIBs to approach it. This was standard practice for patrol boats the world over and especially for Australia, New Zealand, Great Britain and the United States since the four Navies were so used to operating together that their practices had become almost universal. No, someone dropped the ball and they covered it up!

As she returned to her computer to continue her investigation she suddenly gazed at the screen with confusion.

"That's odd!" she uttered. She could have sworn she had left the screen on the results page but instead she found it on another article dated several months after the collision. The title caught her complete attention and she read on with curiosity.