Читать книгу Permafrost - M. Schwartz - Страница 10

3

Results

The mother and daughters were huddled tightly with a warm wool blanket wrapped around their shoulders as the rescue boat came into Frankfort Harbor. With practiced fingers, Baron moored the boat to the station’s dock, which was on the left side of the channel, just before coming into Betsie Lake proper. There were two ambulance crews, a host of firefighters, and police on the dock waiting for them to help the rescued family off the boat and take them to the hospital. Once the boat was raised completely on the boat lift, the paramedics slowly eased them off the boat and began checking the family’s vital signs with their fingers and stethoscopes. After the family had been cleared of immediate danger by the medical crews, they were carried away by the ambulances leaving the Coast Guard rescue crew by themselves. The boat crew stepped off their boat and was surprised to see they were welcomed back by a wave of firm handshakes and heavy backslaps.

“Good work out there, Boats,” Sheriff Neelan said. “Saved a whole family.”

“C’mon, sheriff, wasn’t that big of a deal. We were close to them anyways, and besides, it’s our job. Shouldn’t be thanked for just doing our job,” Baron replied.

“Nonsense, son, you did a great thing! Own up to it.” He retorted with a wide smile. Baron looked over the shoulder of the sheriff and saw a news van sitting just outside the station’s property. Although it was the coast guard, they still were a branch of the military, and this still was a military installation, even if it didn’t look like it.

“Tell you what, Sherriff, I’ll own up to it, if you get them out of here,” Baron said, lifting his head and nodding to the news crew.

“No problem, Boats. Good job again.” Baron shook his hand, and the small-town sheriff took off to deal with the small-town press.

“Okay, everyone, inside for the after-action report, let’s go. Oh, and great work out there, y’all. Though Kens, you need to work on your freestyle stroke, didn’t see you take many breaths,” Baron said jokingly. He needed something to break the post-action tension and let the nerves and adrenaline wear off. Sometimes it could take minutes, sometimes hours before the shaking stopped and you quit feeling jittery. Kens, still soaking wet since she gave the blanket and towel to the mother, didn’t look amused, but she did appreciate the attempt at humor.

“Easy for you to say, Baron, you’re dry,” she replied sharply.

“You could be too if you ever got around to qualifying coxswain,” he replied with a smile. “Now c’mon, I am eager to know what Chief thinks we messed up on.”

With that, the crew walked almost shoulder to shoulder the fifty yards to the station and stepped inside. They made a quick left into the communication and radio room and looked around at the watch stander’s desk where there were notes and scribbles all over the nautical chart regarding the case. Papers with various notes had been sprawled chaotically that depicted the behind-the-scene action of a rescue. The station’s officer in charge, or OIC, was standing there to welcome them home.

“Welcome back, crew, solid rescue.” Was all the gruff and salty chief said. Chief Maynes had been in the coast guard some twenty years, and the majority of them were out to sea. They gave him this command since he was from the area and it would be his last. What people in the coast guard normally called a “twilight tour” as it would be the last one of your military career. Usually, it was somewhere nice and low stress. It was an unspoken “Thank you for your twenty plus years of service” type of thing. He was what others would call “an old salt.” He had seen and been a part of many rescues, drug interdictions, migrant action, and more. Him saying “solid rescue” was about as good as any compliment they would get from the man.

“Thanks, Chief,” Baron replied. He glanced past their OIC and noticed his office was closed. Strange, Baron thought, he had a solid, open-door policy, and his office was always open since the day he got there.

“Kens, go get a shower and warm up. Withers and Rod, get to writing your after-action report from your perspective, and I need those AARs as soon as you can get them. Baron, in my office please,” Chief Maynes said in a solid voice. A chirp of “Aye!” filled the station, and everyone went back to business like the rescue hadn’t even taken place. Just another day for these sailors that would probably be forgotten soon, but for the family, they would remember it clearly for the rest of their lives. Baron followed his chief into his office. As he walked inside, he saw a Navy officer sitting in dress blues on the chief’s old and faded worn-out blue-cloth couch. Tired from the rescue, Baron didn’t follow proper protocol of snapping to attention but instead nodded his head and just said, “Sir.” The Navy officer stood up and shook his head, nodding back.

“Sit, Baron,” Chief Maynes said in a friendly voice.

“Aye, Chief,” Baron snapped in reply, sitting next to the officer in a pristine uniform. Through his military training at boot camp located in Cape May, New Jersey, he knew this man was a lieutenant commander or otherwise known as an oh-four, for being the fourth officer rank. His uniform was littered with chest candy, the colloquial term for ribbons, indicating he has had a busy service record. Wonder what he did to earn all that candy? Baron thought to himself, making a note of all his decorations. His uniform was perfect, and his hair was cut short. There were a few scars on his face, and his right ear was mangled. If anyone had looked like a warrior, it was this man. Though, through the scars and mangled ear, he still had confidence and a general handsome look to him. Baron decided he liked this officer; he got out behind the desk and did the work. He had a gold pin above his ribbons, but the uniform’s lapel covered it, and Baron couldn’t make it out. He thought he could see a trident, though.

“BM3, this is Lieutenant Commander Stermer of the Navy Special Operations Command,” Chief Maynes said in his normal, matter-of-fact voice. “He is here to speak with you about your package you put in.”

Although the Navy SEALs were indeed the Navy’s special operations combat unit, members of the coast guard could apply and try out. If accepted, they could be a Navy SEAL, wear their uniform, be in their command. However, the nametag next to the last name of the uniform would still say “US Coast Guard.” Baron had been an excellent swimmer in high school and college. He had competed regularly before his life had taken a sad turn. He scored expert on the pistol and long-gun training, was first in his class at the coast guard’s law enforcement school when we went to get his Boarding Officer qualification and excelled at hand to hand combat techniques. Baron not only wanted to save lives, but also he wanted to make a difference as much as he could in this life before passing to the next. So trying to be the best at that had become his default mind-set.

Two weeks prior, Baron was put on temporary orders to Chicago where the Great Lakes Naval Training Center was located. While he was there, he was tested and put through the trials of the SEAL physical requirements test. He hadn’t known what they were, just did whatever he was told: swam until he couldn’t breathe, ran laps until he collapsed, push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, every “up” he knew, and some he didn’t; marksman shooting, more running, and more swimming. After it was all over, they told him they would let him know soon. I guess this is them letting me know?

“Sorry I am not better-dressed, sir. I was just—” He was cut off quickly.

“Oh, I was here for the whole thing, BM3. Good work out there. You like working under pressure, huh?” the O-4 said, looking Baron up and down, judging him intently with deep ice blue eyes.

“Yes, sir,” Baron said, looking at the tip of his nose trying not to make eye contact with him.

“Why?” the officer countered.

“It…it calms me.”

“Oh? How’s that?” the pitch in the officer’s voice raised with curiosity.

“We all keep demons, sir. I have some from my past. When I am under pressure, they…kind of go away. I think only about the current situation I have been placed in, and I become very focused and perform well. The stress it…it focuses me,” Baron continued. “I am sorry, sir. Did I fail the tests? Is that why you are here?” Baron asked, trying to change the uncomfortable subject.

“No, Baron, I am here because you passed the tests. Actually, out of all the applicants, you came in first in most of the evaluations.” The words hit Baron like a ton of bricks in the chest. He had passed. He had a real opportunity to make a tangible difference, not only in the lives of families on vacation in Michigan but also to the whole country.

“So…um…what’s my next move, sir?” Baron asked, trying not to show too much excitement.

“Well, we will have to do a background check on you, of course, then you will have to fill out an SF-86 form, provide some information, and if all that comes back clear, you will be granted an interim TS-SCI clearance. Once you are given your new security clearance, orders will then be cut for you, and someone from ONI, the Office of Naval Intelligence, will be by here to pick you up. After that…well, you don’t have the clearance to know at the moment, so I will just say, it’s classified.” He finished, staring at Baron, trying to decipher his emotions.

“Roger that, sir. I will get to the paperwork first thing tomorrow.” Baron smiled and replied. “I do not mean to be rude, sir, but I have an AAR to file from the rescue and a boat to clean.”

“Of course, BM3, I came here just to congratulate you and inform you of your acceptance to the SEAL program. I have done both, so with that, I will be on my way. Bravo Zulu, BM3, that’s what you coasties say, isn’t it?” Chief Maynes and Baron both smiled at the Navy officer trying out coast guard phrases. Bravo Zulu was what coasties said to each other to mean good job or congratulations. It didn’t have one meaning but was ultimately congratulatory.

“Yes, sir, that’s correct. Thank you.” The officer stood up, and they shook hands again. Chief Maynes walked the commander to his car, saluted, and watched him drive off the station grounds. After he had cleared the station’s property, Baron was assaulted by questions about who the man was, why he was there, and if Baron was in trouble or not. He answered them quickly, then sat down at a computer and wrote up his report. Once the report was printed and signed, Baron went to his room to be alone for a minute. He smiled, holding a picture of his dad he took out of his left breast pocket. I did it, Pop. I am going to make it up to you. I will make up for all of it, he thought.

After a hot shower, Baron put his blue coast guard T-shirt, pants, and boots on. He left off the uniform blouse for a more relaxed posture befitting a Saturday evening. Falling into the broken-in brown couch, he dipped a hot burrito in Sriracha sauce and turned on college football. LSU had just beaten Michigan State with a field goal in the final seconds of the game, and Baron allowed a small chuckle to himself.

*****

As Baron was sitting in full combat gear, helmet, and air mask in the back of a C-130 Hercules, he remembered that day fondly—the day his whole life changed. Those days were what he hung on to when the missions got too hard or when life became almost too much to bear. The interior light of the plane turned from a pitch-black to a deep-red hue as the ready light turned on and the rear hatch to the plane began to drop. Baron and the rest of his team stood up in unison going over last-minute checks. The night was cloudless and vast, and he could see the endless stars with perfect clarity. Although the four-engine turboprop engines were loud, vibrating every bone in his body, he could still hear the mic clicking in his helmet as it came on.

“Thirty seconds.” A collection of clicks responded, symbolizing the team’s acknowledgment of the information. With each member placing a hand on each other’s shoulder in a straight line, the elite team of SEALs waited calmly and professionally. No jitters or nervous habits, just another day at the office. The light turned a bright green, and they piled out of the C-130 without hesitation beginning their free fall, northeast of St. Petersburg, Florida.