by Joe Nobody
After the fleet crossed the Bolivar Roads, they began the turn southeast, heading for the gulf. As Boxer rounded the bend, Wyatt was stunned at the scene that appeared off the bow. Boxer’s path was blocked by dozens and dozens of anchored ships. For as far as his eyes could see, a congestion of freighters, tankers, and cargo vessels crowded the Galveston entry channel, the line of ships stretching far out into the gulf.
The radio instantly came to life with an indecipherable gargle of hails.
Wyatt glared at the radio with a confused expression, not recognizing any of the voices. It took a few minutes, but finally the broadcast traffic settled down, and one voice came through. “Pleasure boats in Galveston Channel, this is the Estes Marie. I repeat, pleasure boats exiting Galveston Channel, this is the Estes Marie. We are anchored off of your starboard bow and are in desperate need of assistance. We have a medical emergency. We are out of food and cannot raise anyone on land. Please respond – over.”
No sooner than that message had made it through, the frequencies were again flooded with garbled traffic from several of the ships. Wyatt could isolate a few calls for assistance, another request of ferry service to the shore, and one offer to barter. All of the radio operators scrambled for airtime - talking over each other - and it was nearly impossible to untangle the mass of chatter.
Movement caught Wyatt’s eye as a slender and sleek speedboat suddenly roared out of Galveston, its course on an intercept for the Marinaville boats. Wyatt hit the intercom button next to the radio and commanded, “Morgan, I need David up here right away.”
A few moments later, David’s head appeared at the top of the ladder. “What’s up, Dad?” His question was quickly punctuated by a distinct wolf whistle. “Wow…look at all those ships,” he remarked, admiringly, as he took in the surroundings.
Wyatt nodded toward the approaching speedboat, now close enough to determine four men toting rifles, riding in the craft.
“Oh, crap,” was David’s response, and he disappeared to fetch his own firearm. Wyatt slowed Boxer, hoping some of the other friendly boats would catch up. They would need reinforcements if there were going to be trouble.
The speedboat came alongside Boxer, staying out about 100 feet. One of the men held up a handmade sign that read, “RADIO – 4.”
Wyatt acknowledged the sign, flashing a curt nod toward the bobbing craft, and switched to channel four on the VHF. A gravelly voice spoke through the speaker. “Stay away from our ships, buddy…unless you want trouble.”
Without thinking, Wyatt keyed the mic and responded, “Your ships? I’m not sure what you mean.”
“These ships out here belong to us. We’re handling all of the business with them. We ain’t going to have anyone nosing in on our territory.”
Wyatt shook his head, still not quite comprehending what the guy meant. Two of the fleet’s boats were catching up now, each one brandishing a shooter. This is turning into some sort of waterborne showdown at the O.K. corral.
After a moment, Wyatt responded. “We are just passing through, friend. We don’t want any trouble,” and then cursed himself for the B-grade Western movie response.
The answer seemed to cause a debate on the speedboat. Wyatt could see from the body language that there was disagreement among the crew. David’s voice sounded from the deck below. “Dad, I see two more boats full of armed men heading toward us. I think these guys have called for reinforcements.”
A few moments later, “Dad, we need to either get out of here, or let me sink these guys. We are going to be way outnumbered in less than a minute.”
Wyatt weighed the options while scrutinizing the four men. Their gestures were very animated, waving arms and pointing fingers. Wyatt didn’t believe they had spotted David just yet. The other robber-boats were coming closer; he had to do something.
Picking up the radio mic, he switched to the fleet’s channel and announced, “Everyone go around Boxer and hurry…full speed…we’ll hold these guys off.”
Wyatt looked down into the cockpit. “David, go tell your mom and sister to lay flat on the floor.” He watched as his son’s eyes flashed large with realization. David nodded, immediately turning to the cabin door and delivering the message.
The Marinaville boats started passing by Boxer, going to full throttle as soon as they were clear. Wyatt turned the radio back to channel four and announced into the microphone, “Hey, you guys still on this channel?”
The response came quickly, “Yeah. What do you want?”
“What I want is for you to back off and send those other boats away. We only want to pass through. I’m getting tired of watching you guys argue.”
“We’re trying to decide if we want your boats, too. I wouldn’t be getting up in anybody’s face if I were you, bud.”
Wyatt held the radio down to his side and exhaled. I don’t want this, he thought. I wish there was another way.
Taking a deep breath, Wyatt’s voice was so calm; he didn’t recognize it as his own. “David, shoot out their engines.”
David fired the first shot a few seconds later. It was the signal Wyatt was waiting for. He pushed the throttles forward for full power while turning the steering wheel at the same time. David’s first round took the crew of the small boat by surprise. Before they could recover, Boxer was barreling down directly at them, gaining speed. Round after round flew at the small boat. Small geysers of water erupted into the air around the hull of the pirate’s vessel, soon followed by sparks flaring from the hood of its outboard motor. David was adjusting his aim, his bullets now hitting the mark.
Boxer covered the distance in a few moments, her massive bow bearing down at almost 12 knots. Men started jumping overboard, motivated by Boxer’s clear intent to ram their tiny craft. At the last second, Wyatt swung the wheel hard, barely missing a collision. That first boat wasn’t his main concern. He was more concerned over the two new vessels and holding them off until the rest of the fleet could get by.
David shifted his fire toward the next enemy craft, small splashes of water rising in front of the rapidly approaching threat. Wyatt saw small flashes of light blinking on the oncoming craft and instinctively ducked low behind the dash – they were shooting at Boxer. The cracking-thump of a round impacting a few feet from Wyatt confirmed the nightmare. The bullet punched a small hole in the fiberglass bulkhead of the bridge, missing critical helm components by mere inches.
Boxer was rolling at full speed now, her 45,000 pounds plowing through the sea and leaving a huge V-shaped trough of water in her wake.
As best as Wyatt could, he tried to ram the first boat, but it was far too nimble and easily veered away. What it couldn’t escape was Boxer’s stern wake, a six-foot high wall of fast-moving water. The driver hit it at a bad angle, causing the attacking vessel to ramp high into the air. Wyatt watched as the airborne boat rose over the crest of Boxer’s stern-wave, gradually turning on its side. The boat-turned-aircraft slammed down into the water, the jarring impact throwing all aboard into disarray. The landing was so violent, the driver instinctively slowed his boat down, providing the window David needed.
The twin outboards began receiving lead as David’s barking rifle poured round after round into the motors. The outboard closest to Boxer caught fire, initiating even more scrambling by the already confused crew. Men were climbing all over each other in an effort to escape David’s withering hail of bullets and find the vessel’s fire extinguisher.
The skipper of the third boat saw what was happening to his predecessors and decided to turn around, engines wailing as it sped off, back toward Galveston.
Wyatt swung Boxer around in a wide arch and slowed the big yacht down. He yelled for David to check on the girls while he remained on vigil, watching as the Marinaville boats scuttled past. It would be a few minutes before the last of the armada was safely headed out to the gulf.
Father and son gazed from the bridge as the men from the burning attack boat began swimming, kicking hard for the nearby roc
k jetties. Finally, David broke the silence. “Dad, I gotta hand it to you - that took a rather large pair of nads.”
Wyatt held up a trembling hand for his son to see. “Right now, I don’t feel so brave. I have no idea why I just did that. Seemed like the right thing to do – I guess.”
Morgan and Sage appeared from below, shaken, but okay. The crew of Boxer had just finished exchanging a round of hugs when the last of the fleet streamed past.
Boxer hung back from the long line of Marinaville boats heading out into the gulf. Progress was slow in order to avoid the obstacle course of anchored ships occupying the narrow passage. The route was bordered on both sides by the Galveston Jetties. The 800-foot wide space between the protective walls of concrete and rock was congested not only with ships, but also their long anchor scope of chain and steel cable.
The jetties stretched for over 35,000 feet into the open waters of the gulf. Boxer was just closing the gap when the first of the fleet’s vessels reached the end of the breakwaters and entered the open, unprotected waters beyond. The captain of the lead cruiser didn’t report good news. “We have 5 to 6- foot seas out here. They’re rolling in pretty strong. I’m not so sure this is a good idea.”
The captain of the second boat in line quickly chimed in. “Ouch! This is going to be one very rough ride. Is there any alternative?”
Wyatt’s family, gathered on the bridge heard him grumble. “We can’t seem to catch a break. What are we going to do now? Those guys from Galveston are going to come back with a bunch of buddies if we anchor. Unless we go back up the bay, I don’t see any way to wait for calmer seas. We only have enough fuel to do that once or twice. Talk about a rock and a hard place.”
Six-foot waves weren’t normally associated with shipwrecks, and all of the vessels in the armada were designed to handle them under normal operating conditions. There was an old saying among boaters – the boat will handle more than you will. Six-footers would pound the smaller boats to death. At good speed, this trip required almost four hours of offshore travel. The high seas would lengthen that time considerably. In addition to the crews having their dental fillings jarred loose, there were other ramifications to a rough water passage.
In rough seas, things broke more often. Wiring bounced loose, hoses popped off, and machinery gave out. There wasn’t a single skipper in the fleet that wanted to spend an hour in six-foot rollers. In addition, all of the boats were loaded with hundreds of pounds of extra supplies. Having a twenty-pound box of canned food acting like a pinball inside of the cabin was a recipe for someone or something being damaged.
The lead boats were circling at the end of the jetties, waiting on the rest of the line. Several of the captains were discussing the situation as Boxer approached. Their conversation was interrupted by a new voice crackling over the radio. “Pleasure boats at the mouth of the Galveston jetties, this is the Diego Maru; my ship can offer shelter on our leeward side. We would also like to discuss a trade.”
Wyatt’s eyebrows lifted, and he drew David in close. “Now there’s an idea. One of the massive tankers could protect us from the waves until things calmed down. I wonder what they want to trade.”
David shrugged his shoulders. “Ask ’em.”
Wyatt picked up the radio mic. “Diego Maru, this is Boxer. Go on, Captain, what do you have in mind?”
“Boxer, we are a Suez-Max class tanker of 290 meters in length. We are anchored two miles off the jetties. I’m watching your group right now. I can offer a place to tie up, my hull providing shelter. I also have diesel fuel aplenty, and would consider bartering.”
David whistled, “Wow, 290 meters is a lot of ship. That’s bigger than all of Redfish.”
Wyatt radioed the other boats, “Captains, what do we have to lose? Anybody have a problem with nestling up to big brother until things settle down?”
No one voiced any objection. Twenty minutes later, the fleet approached the giant ship - and a giant she was. Just over three football fields in length and standing almost 10 stories high, the Diego Maru was a floating mountain of a vessel. Even the short, two-mile ride out to the tanker had banged and thumped all of the smaller boats. As soon as the vessels starting pulling alongside the tanker, the water’s surface became almost flat.
Boxer approached what appeared to be a solid, endless wall of steel. The black hull of Diego Maru seemed to rise straight out of the water and disappear into the sky. Wyatt felt odd being so close to something so massive. Normally, when these huge carriers were underway, pleasure boats avoided them like a mouse avoids a stampeding elephant. New boaters are warned over and over again that the huge ships can’t stop or turn. If your little fiberglass hull gets in the way, it will be crushed by the bow and whittled to toothpick-sized bits by the truck-sized propellers. It’s a visualized lesson that doesn’t often have to be repeated.
From somewhere above, giant dock lines were lowered. These ropes were as thick as Wyatt’s leg, but provided a secure point for all of the pleasure boats to tie on. A quick exchange of radio messages resulted in the captain of the supertanker agreeing to visit Boxer. Wyatt radioed for one of the jet-skis to pick up the hitchhiking shipmaster. Before long, a single man lowered himself via the steel ladder bolted to the side of the large vessel’s hull. After a descent of several minutes, the man managed to climb aboard the Jet-Ski, and before long a passenger was aboard Boxer.
The captain of the Diego Maru was much younger than Wyatt had imagined. In his late 30s, Captain Roland Ripple was dressed in deck shoes, khaki pants, and a bright yellow polo shirt. He sported a trim, short beard and wore a baseball hat with the logo and name of his ship underneath the embroidered title of “CAPTAIN.” Wyatt liked the man immediately.
As Captain Ripple was introduced to Wyatt’s family, he bowed slightly at the waist and shook everyone’s hand in turn. When he finally reached Wyatt, the man addressed Boxer’s master as “Captain,” a sign of respect.
Morgan fussed over their guest, offering something to drink and eat. A glass of water was accepted and everyone sat down to talk.
“Do you have any news of what is happening? We came through the Panama Canal 21 days ago. Since arriving here, I can’t raise the harbormaster or my owners on the phone. The shortwave is dead. Other than the rest of these ships here, we don’t have any source of information - no satellite television or phone.”
Wyatt relayed what he knew, which wasn’t much. When he described the conditions onshore, Captain Ripple’s eyes conveyed a solemn, almost sad understanding. “I’d pretty much assumed there was some sort of collapse or attack.”
Morgan asked, “What about your crew? Is everyone all right?”
Captain Ripple nodded, adding, “We’re lucky. We have a top quality sick bay and well-trained medics onboard. Most of these other vessels here are short-range haulers with limited resources. We are fully equipped and stocked for weeks. It won’t last forever, but right now I’ve only cut back on rations for a few items.”
Sage was calculating the number of heads peering over the tanker’s rail above Boxer. “How many crewmen does it take to run a big ship like this?”
“We have a total crew of 28. My seamen and officers hail from 11 different countries. I’m sure several of them are observing us right now.”
Morgan cleared her throat and asked, “Are we the first people from shore you’ve seen?”
The captain shook his head, “No. About ten days ago, a small boat approached and hailed us, indicating they wanted to trade. They tried to rob us, but my men kept them away by blasting them with our fire hoses.”
Wyatt grimaced, “I think we met your friends a little while ago. They weren’t very welcoming.”
Captain Ripple nodded. “I was listening to the play-by-play on the radio. You did a lot of people a favor. Those guys were pure thugs, career criminals. They’ve been extorting most of the vessels anchored here for several days now.”
David glanced at Wyatt, smiled and shook his head, still not belie
ving his father had pulled that off. “So captain, you mentioned something about a trade. What is it that you need?”
The tanker’s skipper reached in his pocket and removed a piece of paper, passing it to Wyatt. “Anything on the list would be appreciated. We have diesel fuel, some medical supplies, and a small machine shop onboard. I’m willing to make a fair trade. I’m taking the position that we are going to be here for a while. Many of the other ships have reached the same conclusion.”
Wyatt examined the list while his family peeked over his shoulder. He grunted at the first item, fishing poles. Most of the list made immediate sense, but a couple of the items defied explanation.
“Captain, what do you mean by ‘ferry service’?”
“We have plenty of diesel fuel, but only a few weeks of food.” The man pointed at a nearby cargo ship, “That bulk carrier over there is full of rice and other foodstuffs. Their captain wants to trade because he’s short on diesel fuel for his generators. The problem is, neither of us have a launch that can ferry cargo back and forth.”
David looked skyward at the deck of Diego Maru, shielding his eyes from the sun. “What about your lifeboats? Can’t you use them?”
Ripple grimaced, “Our lifeboats are flotation units only. They don’t have any propulsion. We’re working on that right now, but even if we do rig something up, it will probably only get us to shore. Some of the other vessels you see anchored here have already been abandoned. They had the old-fashioned boats with oars or motors, and many of them headed to shore days ago. I’m not sure how they fared.”
Morgan wanted clarification. “So you need a boat to haul supplies back and forth between these big ships?”
“Yes, ma’am, that would be a big help. Some of these vessels have cargo aboard that will keep the crews on other ships alive.”
