by Noah Waters
7–14 Days
Our Time Is at Hand
NOAH WATERS
Copyright © 2010, Willison & Fish
ISBN: 978-0-9829074-0-5
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010933678
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
Printed in the United States of America.
There is a dedicated hero in every American.
Chapter I
THE SLEET AND RAIN WERE THRASHING LIKE RAZOR BLADES THROUGH THE fingers of Noah Waters. Noah held on to the side rails of the pilot boat with a trembling grip. The boat tilted to and fro at vigorous speed as it fought to stay afloat. The sea swells were well over 20 feet at this point. The pilot boat was fast approaching the motor vessel Calla Lily. Thunder roared and rolled across rushing clouds enveloped within a cloak of darkness. Lightning lit the motor vessel enough to show the enormity of the container vessel. Its size was intimidating. Shadows crossed the decks—like the Grim Reaper with scythe in hand searching for the next prize. Noah knew the risk of this jump. The commander’s voice echoed in her head, This is a high-risk jump.
The storm grew worse by the minute—the swells higher and the lightning more intense. “It is imperative,” the commander stated, “that we board this vessel. Washington has intelligence of a possible threat aboard.”
The thunder broke Noah’s concentration. As the pilot boat approached the Calla Lily, no crew could be seen.
Casey tapped Noah on the shoulder. “Come in from the rain,” he said. “We will be boarding soon enough.”
“I can’t,” Noah said, as she continued to tighten her grip on the rails. “I may not have the courage to come back out.”
A door on the pilot boat swept open as a large man stepped out in full gear—safety equipment and security tie-downs.
“Looks like the jump master is ready,” Noah advised Casey.
The jump master’s voice was deep and direct, “Two minutes till jump.”
The quick tilting of the pilot boat shifted the footing of both Noah and Casey, leaving them to grasp the small thin pole along the master ladder as they moved forward.
“This jump will be nothing short of hell,” the jump master shouted, attempting to raise his voice above the pouring rain and clapping thunder. He quickly proceeded to climb to the top of the jump master’s small square platform. The platform was the last stable item that Noah and Casey would know until they reached the deck. The pilot vessel seemed like a tiny tugboat against the massive sky scraper-sized container vessel. The pilot boat’s speed slowly came to a crawl several feet “from the Jacobs Ladder”?
“Who is going first?” yelled the jump master.
“I will,” Casey replied. He knew it would take all of his strength and might to make this particular jump. At 6′ 4″ and 250 pounds, he would need to fearlessly summon his inner strength to jump in this type of weather. Casey turned to Noah and winked.
“I will be waiting for you at the top, kiddo,” Casey exclaimed.
Even though Noah was older than Casey by almost 10 years, he had always thought of her as a younger sister. Noah, herself, was of medium height—5′ 6″ and a total of 120 pounds—all gear included.
Casey wanted to go first—the crew could be violent.
“Let’s go,” cried the jump master, “up to the platform.”
Casey turned away from Noah, took a deep breath, and headed to the ladder that led up to the square-shaped jumping platform alongside the jump master.
The sea continued to rage in the darkness—the only light from the lightning—for the first minute on the platform. Casey’s deepest thoughts were filled with intense emotion. Within seconds, he could hear the large propeller churning the sea in anger while struggling to pull a 40-foot draft of water on each side of the vessel; the Calla Lily, continued to crawl forward, unaware of her guest.
“You know what happens, Casey, if you don’t make this jump,” exclaimed the jump master.
Casey replied looking straight ahead at the Jacob’s ladder, “Slice and dice, sir.”
“You got it, son,” the jump master replied.
“Ready, set.”
The jump master’s hand slid down to the small switch that turned on the 1,000 watt candlelight in front of Casey.
“Jump!” he cried with a voice as strong as the lightning that streaked across the sky.
Hurling his body with a mighty force, Casey threw all his energy into a forward leaping motion leaving the platform to grasp the Jacob’s ladder with both hands as he tried to find positive footing. The rain pounded his body.
“To the left,” cried the jump master.
Casey’s foot dangled until he could find a sure foothold that allowed him to proceed with the climb. Noah felt the steady sting of sleet on her face as she watched him climb to the top with breathless anticipation. Suddenly, Casey was out of sight. The silence was deafening. The seconds seemed like hours. Finally, he leaned over the vessel and gave the “thumbs-up.” The first jump was complete.
“Are you ready, kid?” beckoned the jump master.
“Yes,” Noah replied in a half-assured, half-unassuming tone. Within the last few minutes, the winds had grown stronger. The rain slanted at an angry angle. It was as if the Pacific was furious that all these actions had to be taken upon her waters. Noah’s small hands slipped on her gloves as she pulled the string to tighten them with her teeth—her footing shaken by the ever-plunging left and right motion of the vessel. Her stomach tightened and her breathing increased as she took the first step toward the platform ladder that would take her to the jumping area.
“We only have a few seconds left. The weather has gotten worse,” said the jump master; his voice had desperation in it.
The pilot boat’s captain in a shrill voice then shouted, “We are going to have to pull away. The winds are pushing us into the draft.”
“We are not leaving Casey,” Noah responded. “Let’s go, hurry up.” Noah scrambled to the top of the platform. The jump master gripped her safety harness and held on to her as she fought the elements.
“Give it all you have and then some.”
Noah leaned forward in the driving rain and watched as the sea began to swell, causing the pilot vessel to rise in height. She could feel the spring in her calves and could hear an echo in the night from the jump master’s cry. “Jump, jump, jump.” She felt the rope sting through her glove as her hand began sliding down it at great speed. The rusted rope had begun to unravel from the sudden additional weight. Holding on, she could hear Casey’s voice in between thunder claps. As she attempted to find a foothold, the Calla Lily began to sway far over to one side. Noah hung on as her body repeatedly banged the side of the ship.
One step at a time, Noah thought to herself.
Finding an intact wooden plank dangling from the Jacobs ladder, she managed to secure her footing while simultaneously grabbing the rope in order to continue her climb. Noah knew there would only be seconds before the ladder broke entirely.
“You can make it,” said Casey out loud.
The fear in his voice was intense as he challenged Mother Nature’s attempts to deafen his cries. Noah proceeded to climb four more rungs as the second rope began to give way. The lightning lit up the sky; she could hear the pilot boat pulling away—returning to safer shores.
“Keep going,” the jump master’s voice faded in the darkness.
As she looked down, the pitching of the sea caused Noah to feel sick. The only way she could go was up. If she let go, her death was c
ertain.
As Noah’s trembling hand reached for the next rung, her eyes could see a large extended hand stretching out as Casey cried, “grab hold.” Letting go of the single-threaded rope, even long enough to grip the hand of extended safety, took all the courage that Noah could muster. She had faith in Casey as this was not the first time that they had been totally dependent on each other. Letting go with her right hand, she grasped his arm and took another step; her weak legs brought her closer to the top.
The Calla Lily’s crew had suddenly awakened. The lights aboard the vessel came to life with a spotlight searching the decks. The surprise boarding was not a surprise any longer.
“Hurry, they know we are here,” Casey announced.
As Noah hung on to his arm, the Jacob’s ladder suddenly gave way and plunged into the freezing sea.
“Pull,” Casey cried.
He reached out to her to attempt to gain a better hold. Noah could feel that she was slowly slipping from his strong grip as her gloves were pulling off. Looking upward as the icy rain drenched both of them, Noah could see desperation in Casey’s eyes. It was a desperation she had seen before and it took her back to a different place and time. The thunder roared with a sonic boom.
Chapter II
NOAH SAT ON THE FAR SIDE OF THE GREYHOUND BUS CLOSE TO WHERE SHE could hear the wheels roar. The constant humming helped her to think better. Lots of new people to meet, she thought—new challenges and new adventures to be had. As she looked out the bus window, the two-lane road was filled with autumn leaves in multiple fashionable colors—bright orange, deep yellow, crimson reds, and slight tints of lavender. This was Noah’s first time leaving the deep, deep South—the only life she knew. Colors there were not so varied. The sky was crystal blue with fluffy clouds floating about as if in endless play.
“Hi, my name is Rachel,” a young lady quipped as she plopped down on the seat next to Noah. Noah’s daydreams were interrupted; it caught her off guard.
“Hi, I’m Noah Waters.”
“Are you ready for this boot camp? I hear the Coast Guard is a great organization to be in.”
“I hope so,” Noah responded, “because it looks like we are almost here.”
“Yeah, this is really exciting. Doesn’t look like much of a place for fashion though. Where are you from?” Noah asked by looking over her clothes of bright unmatchable colors.
“I’m from San Francisco.”
“Oh,” Noah replied. “No, I don’t expect you’ll find much fashion here.”
Noah looked down at her old BK tennis shoes, faded pair of Levis, and her flannel red-checkered shirt to compare with Rachel’s vibrant purple top, orange miniskirt, and Grecian strap sandals.
“Are you sure you are ready for this?” Noah stated in a questionable tone.
“Oh, it’s going to be the bomb.”
The bus turned left off the two-lane road to enter the Coast Guard training camp at Cape May, New Jersey. Slowly pulling to a stop near the main administration building, the driver proceeded to stand up, turned to the cadets, and said, “Welcome, boys and girls, to your new home.”
In a hushed tone, Noah replied, “Bomb or not, here we are.” The whistling sound of the Greyhound bus gushed out air as the double doors flung outward, squealing and squeaking. The bus tilted slightly to the right as a size-14-core-frame shoe stepped onto the bottom step. Rachel immediately jumped up to fall into place with the other cadets in a single file line. The crisp snap of a clean uniform could be heard all the way to the back of the bus. Noah leaned down to grab her bag, which she immediately threw over her shoulder as if it were weightless. The driver with a clear and forced tone called out “Good Morning, master chief Scots.”
Master chief Patrick “Pappy” Scots, with 28 years of active duty service in the U.S. Coast Guard was about to inherit 12 unassuming cadets. Noah’s quick glance at the master chief revealed a quick synoptic picture of a rather heavy-set man, broad in the shoulders with a slightly rounded beer belly that paid homage to his dedication to the non-commissioned officers’ club. Stubble—although slight—provided the image that master chief was truly an old salty dog and could get by with it. Hair—a mixture of white and gray with slight tints of brown that had faded with time. Glasses—thick and round—reflected eyes that were serious with a slight hint of humor.
“We don’t have all day. When you step off the bus you will see a single yellow line. Fall out, fall in, single file. Much to be done with little time to do it. All walks of life I see have been brought to my doorstep again.” The master chief’s orders were clear and precise.
Little Rachel seemed to jump up and down with excitement while Noah decided to remain silent and take in all the abundant scenery. The 12 new cadets sounded like a herd of cattle heading to a salt trough at feeding time.
Noah, being the last in line, turned to the driver and said, “Thanks for the ride.” Noah never forgot bus drivers, as the love of her life, her endearing grandfather, had driven a bus during the Great Depression.
“Anytime, kid,” the driver answered with a sigh of relief; the cadets were finally off the bus.
The cadets fumbled as they tried to find a comfortable spot to cram into.
“You’ve got about 3 minutes left, folks,” the master chief seemed to be growing impatient. At the head of the line, a rather tall young man continuously seemed to be blocking Noah’s view. No doubt this person had been to the gym a lot as he was lean and muscular and seemed to be filled with energy.
“Hey, too tall,” Noah directed at the young man. “Can you come to the back of the line so everyone else can see?”
His quick and immediate reply was sharp and to the point. “A leader always leads the way. They never follow once they have experience.” Master chief seemed to have turned a deaf ear to any conversation he chose not to listen to but immediately picked up on the young man’s reference to leadership. With a quick about-face, master chief Scot’s snapped his heels in place and proceeded to the front of the line.
“So you think you are a leader, son?” as he leaned in toward the young man’s face—nose to nose, eyes to eyes, and chin to chin. “I am going to put that to the test while you are here. You are now in charge of this motley crew. What’s your name?”
With a loud deep response, clear as a bell, the young man replied, “Casey Maxwell, sir. Former U.S. Marine.”
“Have you lost your way? This is not the Marine Corps, son.” “No, sir,” replied Casey. “I completed my time with the Corps and decided to reenlist with the Coast Guard.”
Master chief stepped in even closer. “I look like a sir to you, son? I have dedicated my life to this country by working on my hands and knees every day until I could earn the rank of master chief, which gave me the right to stand tall. I am a worker, son. Officers are sirs.” Suddenly, as if someone had cut a rope, the conversation was over.
With a second about-face, the master chief called for double time marching.
“You will not walk on this base—everything will be done in quick step. Everything will be at a double time pace. Cadet Maxwell, follow the yellow line and take this crew home to the dorms.”
As if the master chief and Cadet Maxwell had worked together for years, Cadet Maxwell turned to the cadets and replied, “double time march.” Unsure of their footing, the 12 cadets looked like infants trying to take their first steps. Noah, at the end of the line, couldn’t help but take in the beauty of Cape May. The smell of crisp apple pie hung in the air. The wind had a cool, slight calm to it. The multicolored leaves rustled as if announcing to one another, “Look there’s another new class.”
Immediately, Noah’s feet fell into place. “I am going to call you Shortcake” Noah whispered in Rachel’s ear.
Rachel quipped, “I prefer Tall-cake thank you.”
“What’s your job description, Tall-cake?”
“I am going to be a news reporter for the Coast Guard. Isn’t that cool?”
Noah thought out lou
d, Maybe I will do something one day and you can write a story about me. A sharp bark came from the front of the line.
“No talking in the ranks.”
Noah couldn’t help but grin as she thought to herself—he thinks all of us are in the Marine Corps.
Up the sidewalk through the glass doors to a large divided stairwell, master chief called out “men to the left, women to the right. Your names are posted by the doors.”
Noah’s first thought was that Tall-cake was going to have her first adventure just getting up the steps in those Grecian sandals. She whispered in her ears, “Are you going to make it in those shoes?”
“I think so.”
“I will walk a couple of steps behind you, just in case it doesn’t work out that well,” Noah whispered. Among the cadets, another person had caught her eye—a super skinny, blue-eyed, blond-haired young man—not very agile—who did not fit in.
Noah had heard him introduce himself as Gene Weiss to another cadet. Gene appeared to Noah to show no interest in what was going on around him. He was constantly fiddling with his blond hair, tucking it neatly behind his ear instead of focusing on step coordination with the rest of the cadets.
Tall-cake was relieved when she arrived at the green door where she read the names Rachel Booker and Noah Waters. “Wow, we are roommates.”
“OK,” Noah replied with a rather drawn out emphasis on the o’kay,’ not sure of how a deep Southerner and a Californian would get along. Tall-cake threw open the door as if it were the grand opening of a large California closet. Not much storage space. Noah’s focus was on the beds. “Take which one you want and I will take the other.” It was as if Tall-cake had not heard a word Noah said as she was still pondering the closet issue.
“This is really a small closet space. Look at these boxes.”
“Everything must be placed into squares,” Noah replied. It was obvious to Noah that Tall-cake had not done her homework on military living standards. Noah managed to plop down on the bed long enough to grab a short moment of quiet. Seconds later, there was loud banging on the door. While Tall-cake rummaged around the closet, Noah answered the door.
