so much more was racing through Baron’s head and heart, but he sat there quietly listening to the radio, patiently waiting to react appropriately to the case if needed or not at all if the vessel in distress was not in their AOR.
“Um, I don’t know, the electronics are out. We went west from uh…Leland, I think the town is called. Now I think I can see an island to my right and lots of sand to my left. It’s huge like a big sand dune,” the scared voice said.
“Hold on! Coming up, full throttle!” Baron shouted and slammed the dual engine controls to full ahead, turning on the sirens and blue emergency lights as well. From the man’s description over the radio, Baron knew approximately in a few square nautical miles where he was. The vessel was somewhere between South Manitou Island and the Sleeping Bear Dunes just northwest of their position, and Baron was determined to get to them in time before the situation deteriorated. The location the man in distress gave wasn’t that vast, and Baron knew that if he put his boat in between those two landmarks, chances were excellent with current weather conditions, he would be able to see the distressed vessel.
“Rod. Notes!” Baron shouted to the MK2. Although he was higher in ranking, Baron was the coxswain and in charge of the boat and crew, especially during rescue ops, which made his word the ultimate authority at the moment.
“Check, one vessel approximate location marked on the map,” he shouted back while dropping a waypoint on the digital map display.
“Vessel in distress, this is the coast guard. What’s your name, sir? How many people do you have onboard?”
“John, and it’s just me and my family. Two kids, and my wife.”
“Rod, what did he say?” Baron shouted, focusing on the water and driving.
“Zero-four POB!” MK2 shouted back.
Four people on board, got it. We’re coming, bud, Baron thought with gritty resolution.
The rescue boat’s cell phone rang, and Rodriguez answered.
“Zero-two-two! Aye, Chief. Aye, Chief. We will get it done, Chief.” Rodriguez closed the flip phone.
“What did he say?”
“The hell you think he said, Boats? Find ’em, save ’em.”
“Yeah, roger that.”
“John, this is Station Frankfort, a rescue boat is headed in your direction,” the radioman blared. “Just hang on, they are coming as fast as they can. Can you tell me the problem that’s going on?”
“Yeah…shit! Dianne, get life jackets on the kids! Yeah, the engine blew a hole in the deck, and we are sinking, taking on water, whatever. We are sinking! Please help us. We’re going to jump off the boat!” He was losing his cool, turning to pure survival mode.
“John, this is the coast guard, don’t do that, okay? Stay on the boat as long as you can, go to the front of the boat away from the engines. If it does sink, stay together and lock arms. Do you have a phone onboard? Does anyone have any medical problems?”
“No, dammit, no phone! And uh… No, no problems, are people coming? Please help us!” Just then, Baron skipped off a small wave. The boat landed hard, and Baron’s vision was blurred for a moment. When he regained his vision, Baron saw the smoke and sinking boat in the distance.
“John, this is coast guard rescue boat 255022! I am coming to you right now. I see you ahead of me less than one mile. I will be there in a few minutes. Do you see me off your bow, the front of the boat?” Baron said into the mic commandeering the radio conversation, not in a shout but with a reassuring, authoritative voice.
“No, I…yes! Yes, I see you! Hurry please!” John screamed.
“John, I am coming as quick as I can, but I need you to take care of your family until I get to your location, okay, bud? Do they all have their life jackets on?” Baron asked, trying to keep the man focused.
“Yeah yeah, they do!”
“Okay good job, John. I have to stop talking to you for a second to get my crew ready to rescue you and your family okay? I am still here, don’t worry. I will be right back,” Baron assured him.
“Okay, Coast Guard, okay, please hurry!”
“Withers, you’re swimming if it comes to that, otherwise you’re back up to Kens. Rod, you’re going over. As soon as I touch the bow to his port side, you go, kids first,” he ordered.
They all shouted, “Aye!” at once and Baron knew his crew was ready. Closing the gap to ten yards of the smoldering and sinking vessel, Baron brought the throttle down to ease it to the boat. The water was sloshing loudly on all sides of the boat, and it became slightly harder to control at the slower speeds, waves enforcing their will on the boat. Baron took his hands off the helm and put them both on the dual engine throttles. He preferred controlling the boat that way, manipulating the engines to steer and move around. It always gave him better control than the delay of turning the helm.
“John, you there still bud?” Baron said calmly into the mic.
“Yeah, I’m here! What do you want me to do?”
“Get your family together, kids in front. We are coming on your port, left side of the boat, okay? Your boat’s left side. You got that, John?” he repeated.
“Got it left! We will be ready!” John replied, his voice getting more confident as the rescue crew got closer. Baron pulled alongside the sinking Boston Whaler 370 Outrage. The middle engine had blown just like he’d said, shredding the flanking engines and putting a large hole in the rear deck. The previously pristine white-and-blue hull had been tattered with black char and oil from the explosion. The back ten feet of the boat was underwater, sinking fast. A large sheen of rainbow pigments was forming around the boat, about twenty yards in diameter, as gas and oil poured into the lake. Baron made a mental note of it. Baron could feel the heat from the blaze and could smell the acrid scent of the gas-oil mixture burning, billowing thick black smoke into the air. The family had propped themselves up near the bow just above the anchor. Rodriguez was already in position on the bow of the rescue boat when it touched the port side of the sinking vessel.
“Go!” Baron shouted, and the MK2 instantly hopped onto the boat. The waves gently pushed the boats apart, but Baron kept the throttle neutral ahead to keep them touching. Kens ran to his left, ducking underneath the cuddy-cabin and through the lower hatch to the front of the boat. Rodriguez appeared handing off one of a little kids to her. She grabbed the child and pointed through the hatch she had just come through; Withers was there to hug the child and put her in a seat. Strapping the seatbelt on the child and wrapping her in a blanket, she went back to her position. Rod grabbed the second little girl and passed her off the boat to Kens, and Kens sent the child to Withers, Withers putting the other daughter in the seat next to her sister. Next, the wife appeared and slowly made her way over to the bow of the rescue boat, though as she was about to hop aboard, an unseen wave shifted the boats and separated them by a couple of feet. The wife lost her grip and fell into the cold Lake Michigan waters.
“Dammit!” Baron shouted. Man overboard! Starboard side!” Baron stopped the engines immediately to prevent any potential hazard from the spinning screws. He couldn’t see her and did not want her getting near the turning propellers.
“Boats, I have eyes on, starboard side, drifting ten feet, increasing. Request—” Kens request was cut off by the coxswain.
“Go!” He shouted, and she was immediately in the water headed for the panicked woman desperately slapping at the water, anything, trying to keep her ahead above the ever oppressive waves. Kens swam her way to the woman, all the while trying and failing to keep the gas and oil sheen out of her mouth. The sour taste coupled with sharp order found its way into her mouth and nostrils no matter how she tilted her head while she swam. Kens finally got to the woman who, like her, was coated in an oil sheen. She calmed her down, placed her left arm around the woman’s oil-greased neck and life jacket, then swam her back to the boat where Withers was waiting on the starboard