White Water (eBook)

Completing his vacation TO DO list for Mexico was slipping away.

After reporting into station command, Riley was ordered to give a press conference and put a good spin on the SAR mission! In fact, he was ordered twice to do that. Once by Captain Grogan, Riley’s direct supervisor. He, being the man responsible for Riley’s replacement vessel and the guy who seemingly stalled all of Riley’s requests for timely replacement and spare parts and paint…

The second set of orders came from none other than Commander Anthony Smithers. Smithers was several levels above Captain Grogan and commanded the entire Western United States fleet. Riley assumed Smithers made the call just to annoy him because he and Riley were old friends.

Riley was surprised Smithers called at all. How the hell did Smithers hear about it? The last thing he had heard was Smithers was spending time in Washington dealing with senators, budgets, and deployments. Who could have tipped him off about this stupid incident? They served in the Iraq war together as Navy SEALs. Riley had saved his life years ago on a mission in Iraq, but that was ancient history today. It didn’t matter what was going on or where Riley was, Smithers always seemed to know what Riley was doing, good or bad. This always ticked Riley off in a good sort of way.

Troubled by the day’s events and sitting in his well-worn office chair, Riley kept looking around for answers. And there it was sitting in the corner of his desk. He could not miss the bulging file labeled “Grogan”. Muttering to nobody, “FINE” if my bosses want a press conference, I’ll give them a press conference they will never forget. He sent word to the news organizations that he would be only too happy to give a press conference at 1500 hours. Riley also sent word to his superiors, the press conference was a go, and the local news people assured him it was going to be aired on live television. “Don’t miss it!”

At 1500 sharp, Riley came out of his office and walked to the front of the building and presented himself before the media. He was clean shaven yet dressed in dirty dark blue fatigues. His men followed behind him and they stood on either side of him. They too were in shabby looking uniforms. Some had holes in their shirts, others grease stained, and one sailor’s trousers were covered in blood splotches.

A makeshift speaking platform was set up outside the building with Riley’s Point del Rey vessel in the backdrop. Several palm trees lined the property and metal staffs flew flags proudly. The American flag flapped in the wind on the highest staff. Clipped below with stainless steel church keys was a smaller but no less important black POW-MIA flag. The POW-MIA flag was a constant reminder to all that a great number of men and women serving abroad in the armed forces have not been fully accounted for. Many were still MIA “Missing in Action”. A few of those MIA’s were from Riley’s unit in the Gulf War. Another staff held the United States Coast Guard flag.

Funny thing, Riley had his men turn the Point del Rey around 180 degrees in its boat slip. Nobody, I mean nobody ever does that. Motorboats were always pointed out to sea to save time getting out of their slips. For the Point del Rey it meant getting to perilous situations quicker. Not now, the worst looking side of the vessel was in direct view of all the television cameras.

Standing at attention, Lieutenant Riley surveyed the crowd. Several different television crews were there, a few radio stations and several print media outlets including a buddy of Sean’s who was a writer for The Log magazine. All were standing with their credentials clipped to their lapels. A number of looky-loos were there caught up in the excitement and the story of the day. What caught Sean’s gaze was the thirty or so “Greenpeace” followers in their tie-dye shirts on the fringe. Many hand-made signs chastising the US government and the Coast Guard in particular. This cold only spell more trouble.

Just as Sean was about to speak, a chant rose from the back of the crowd, “Whale Killers, Whale Killers, Whale Killers”. He stopped himself and stared at the crowd. He was stunned by the chants and through the corner of his eye he thought he saw his long-time girlfriend, Kate Owens, standing off in the background behind the Greenpeace zealots. Perhaps it was someone that looked a hell of a lot like Kate. This beauty wasn’t holding any signs or wearing a tie-dye tee-shirt, but she looked comfortable mingling with them. What the hell would Kate be doing there? She was supposed to be shopping and packing for their surf trip. The chant “Whale Killers, Whale Killers” rang out again!”

Sean fumbled for his glasses and looked again. No Kate in site. What the hell. Naaaaa! She wouldn’t be here, NO WAY. I must have water on my brain from the swim. “Whale Killers, Whale Killers, Whale Killers” continued to ring out. As he stood silent and dumb founded, the television cameras panned 180 degrees to the protestors. Of course, that only gave them more encouragement, “Whale Killers, Whale Killers, Whale Killers”. The chant grew louder!

Riley gathered himself and held his arms out asking for quiet. After several long moments the crowd hushed. “Thank you for coming today, my name is Lieutenant Sean Riley, Lieutenant Sean R-I-L-E-Y.” He told the gathering he would make a statement, after which he would be only too happy to take a few questions. He read the incident report slowly almost word for word. The report highlighted the 5’-6”, 38-25-34 female, Chet the hole plugger, as well as the brief encounter with the skipper of the commercial vessel “Bucky”.

Other bits of information were noted including a sobriety test was given to Chet, which he passed with flying colors. The 5’ - 6”, 38-25-34 female seemed to be high on something, but no drugs were found. The fishing vessel “Bucky” skipper had failed his field sobriety tests and was taken into custody, shortly afterward his commercial captain’s license pulled. The damage to the pier was still an unknown factor, and the Santa Cruz 70 “Hot Lips” would need extensive repairs in dry dock according to the vessel’s owner. On top of that, “Hot Lips” was out of commission for this week’s California Cup sailboat race, but hopefully it could be repaired in time for the Marina del Rey to Puerto Vallarta big boat race right around the corner. It was the most detailed briefing Riley had ever given in the Coast Guard.

Just when everyone thought Riley was done and would take questions, he paused, looked over the crowd and muttered to himself, “this is for you Captain”. He reached behind the platform and pulled out his “Grogan” file and started sharing the inside story.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t fully inform you of the sad situation the United States Coast Guard vessel, Point del Rey and its crew find themselves in today.” He gestured to the vessel behind him, “after our press conference, we will be taking all of you aboard our vessel. We want you to see firsthand our current working conditions. Pointing to every man behind him, “These men are wearing their best uniforms, the rest of our gear is actually worse than these. There is no doubt in my mind we could have spared that vessel today from harm, had we had a seaworthy vessel. We are very lucky nobody got seriously hurt or died on this Search and Rescue sortie.”

Pointing to the vessel behind him, “you can clearly see by looking at it”, the primer paint splotching and damage to the hull and the missing masthead”, I want you to see our working conditions for yourselves. The vessel is unfit for sea duty, in fact, if we inspected it like we do other vessels in this harbor, it would fail on several counts. It has wood rot through and through. The wiring is corrupted, old, and frayed. The port engine leaks oil, and it actually froze up returning from this SAR mission, the main drive shaft on the right engine is bent. The on-board water supply is contaminated, there is an odor in the galley we can’t identify, and the helm steering mechanism is off - center by at least 5 degrees.

“My men and I spend more time trying to fix problems, than anything else.” He raised his voice and stared directly into the cameras. “My crew and I were given this vessel as a form of punishment. You might recall the previous crew of the Point del Rey their vessel was sunk by terrorists’ last spring. All hands were lost in their attempt to stop the terrorists! My previous assignment was in Long Beach and my last vessel, the Point Long Beach was also destroyed during that same deadly encounter with the terrorists.

“My immediate supervisor” pausing for effect, “Captain G-R-O-G-A-N”, spelling it out slowly as he went, “believes this vessel is seaworthy, just the way it is! Captain Grogan can be reached dialing 562-998-4000. All inquiries about our vessel’s readiness, our punishment and our tattered uniforms should be specifically directed too him. I’m sure you’ll find him a very colorful and motivating fellow.”

“The file I have in my hands addresses each requisition for replacement parts and supplies we have asked for. To date we have received 5% of the needed parts, equipment and supplies to upgrade this vessel.”

“Funny thing, we did receive a five-year supply of mops, buckets and scrub brushes just last week, and they were not even on our order list. I have made...