Last Leg

They were making great time towards Mayport, despite Reynard’s many misgivings about the transit. They narrowly avoided the hurricane off of Bermuda, but Machen still didn’t understand why the captain was continuing to be skittish. The wind was calm at a breezy ten knots and the swells behind the hurricane were fat rollers, only around five or six feet, easily managed by the 300 meter Eternal Dawn.

Turner Machen is the First Mate on the Dawn, and he’s been a friend and frequent companion of Captain Reynard Spiegel for over ten years, although this trip has been much different than the dozen or so before. Reynard’s countenance has been out of sorts on this voyage, with him spending more time in his cabin when not standing his watch rather than his usual routine of checking in on the crew and relaxing in the officer’s lounge with the other ship’s officers. He’s been rarely seen outside of his bridge duties and collecting his meals, which he takes to his cabin, since the last course change at Bermuda which is the final trackline towards Mayport.

Machen tells himself to have a proper conversation with his friend when he comes off his watch, just under an hour away. Placing his misgivings aside, he scans the horizon with his binoculars before walking over to the radar screen to check for any vessel traffic ahead that may be of concern.

“Mark your head,” he commands the helmsman, a young Able-bodied Seaman named Dato. A series of rapid clicks are heard from the helm control as Dato keeps the massive bulk carrier steady with the ship’s wheel.

“Two-zero-one,” Dato replies in heavily accented English.

“Very well,” Machen replies, noting the report in the ship’s log. He makes a round of the various instruments on the bridge, noting the wind, barometric pressure, and the ship’s current GPS position in the logbook before placing it on the chart table set against the aft bulkhead. He steps to the chart plotter, a computer connected to a massive display that acts as a digital version of paper nautical charts and saves the ship’s position. He mentally computes the ship’s set and drift based on the trackline and the ship’s real-time position displayed on the screen. Satisfied they are not too far off-track, he turns and leans against the console, his head down as he debates in his head how to present his concerns to his now-erratic Captain.

Captain Reynard Spiegel takes his meal in his cabin, yet it sits to his left on his desk cooling and undisturbed. He has the look of a man on borrowed time, staring at the hastily re-wrapped brown paper package in front of him. He received it before crossing the Atlantic, no return address and the handwriting addressing him as the recipient was unknown to him. He hadn’t thought much of it until he opened it when the Eternal Dawn was east of Bermuda. At first he was confused for it was book written in what appeared to be ancient Greek, a language foreign to him. Yet, upon glancing over the first page he began to understand every word. He was drawn into it and before he realized, he had read through two chapters when his first mate called his cabin, warning him that they were headed into the projected track of a class five hurricane.

After heading up to the bridge and making the necessary course and trackline adjustments to avoid the cyclone, he faintly recalled reading in the book that a ship had altered its course to the south to avoid a similar confrontation with a tropical storm. A cold realization coursed through him at that point, a feeling of dread that there couldn’t be that much of a coincidence between a mysterious book and the situation he just encountered. Reynard was never the superstitious type, even for a lifelong mariner, but he didn’t much stock in coincidences either. He sat staring a the book while tapping the fingers of his right hand on his leather journal, trying to gather his thoughts and make sense of what had just occurred.

Machen sits in the officer’s lounge, absentmindedly stirring his tea while the other off-watch officers banter back and forth over their various plans upon mooring up in Florida. The occasional mention of strip clubs, bars and casinos barely register to the first mate as his anxiety creeps up concerning his impended meeting with Reynard.

“Turner? Mate, ya keep stirrin’ that thing it’s gonna suck all the air outta this room,” Remy Osgood, the ship’s engineer from somewhere in England that Machen can never remember, chides him from across the table. “You all right, mate?’

The question raises Machen’s eyebrow and he stops stirring, slowly shaking his head, trying to ground himself in the here and now.

“Yeah, Remy, just lost in thought. The Captain in his cabin?”

“Are we underway?” Javier Navarro, the Brazilian third mate says, laughing. The rest of the officers chuckle at the joke, confirming Machen’s suspicions that Reynard’s absence has been noticed by the other’s and probably the crew itself. Machen stands and bring his barely-touched meal to the scullery before stepping outside onto the catwalk. He lights a cigarette and inhales deeply, bringing the smoke into his lungs before slowly exhaling to steady his nerves. The cigarette burns slow as Machen rehearses what he wants to say to his friend. Moments pass as the ashes grow long before he flicks it over the side and re-enters the skin of the ship to talk to Reynard.

A knock comes at the door to the Captain’s Cabin, but Spiegel can’t hear it. There’s a rush of wind and waves and breaking surf filling his ears, blocking out all other sound from his mind. His eyes are fixed on the pages of the book before him, sweaty hands and damp fingers turning page after page, his eyelids twitching as they remain open and tears stream down his cheeks from the strain. His left hand turns each page as his right scribbles furiously in his journal as the knocking turns into banging and yelling and frantic attempts to open the locked door. Moments pass and keys jangle at the lock to no avail, since Reynard Spiegel holds the only key.

“Reynard, it’s Turner. Look, we need to talk,” Machen says after knocking softly on the cabin door without a response. He waits further for a reply before knocking again when it doesn’t come.

“Reynard, let me in. This is important. We need to talk about what’s been going on with you since Bermuda.” Machen is more forceful in his tone as his patience wears thin, the soft knocks replaced by aggressive banging.

“Dammit, Reynard! You can’t hide in your cabin for the rest of the trip! Open the bloody door!” Machen slams his fist into the solid metal, rattling the door in its frame. He grabs the handle to turn it, finding it locked. He swears at his friend, his captain, as he pound on the door, almost oblivious to his rage that another of the officers, Navarro, rushes up from behind him, startling him.

“Turner, we need you and the Captain on the bridge. Now,” Javier informs him, his face pale and coated in a light sheen of nervous sweat.

“Shit He won’t let me in. I’m heading up. Get the ship’s keys and drag Captain Spiegel from his cabin and to the bridge of you have to. He’s not listening to me,” Machen replies, exasperation plain on his features. He turns on his heels and hurries up the ladder to the pilothouse as Navarro digs into his pocket for the keys.

Machen reaches the bridge and does a double-take at the side windows before checking his watch. It’s only an hour after noon, yet the sky is cloaked in darkness being provided by foreboding steel grey clouds from one edge of the horizon to the other. The deck officer on watch, Rene Cartier, is hunched over the radar pedestal as the screech of the weather fax breaks the silence of the bridge. Machen tears the sheet off the printer and scans the report, trying to determine the cause of the dark skies above.

“This can’t be right,” he says, stepping up to the computer console and bringing up the weather site.

“Don’t bother,” Cartier replies, a slight tremor to his voice. “I’ve checked three times since the sky changed and all it sys is scattered clouds, no rain and seas less than a meter. Whatever is coming ahead of us isn’t being picked up by the weather services.”

“What ‘is’ ahead of us, Rene?” Machen asks.

“See for yourself.” Cartier steps away from the radar to allow Machen to step in and see the screen. Tiny blips of green are scattered around the display, likely the building waves around them. Three miles ahead of the Eternal Dawn, however, is a thick wall of dark green, something large and dense and getting closer to the ship. Machen steps away, snatching a pair of binoculars off the shelf next to the starboard bridge wing and steps outside. Bring them to his eyes, he scans the horizon and focuses on the dark grey bearing down on them. Turning in small steps while leaning against the rail for support, he turns around completely, scanning the entire horizon seeing not a single break in the storm wall. It’s as if they are surrounded by a ring of dark clouds with the ship at the center. He steps back inside the bridge and drops the binoculars back into their rack with a thud. He turns to Cartier, a stern look on his face to mask his own unease.

“Call one of the technicians to look at that thing. There isn’t a cloud cover, storm or fog bank that could create such a dense return. The radar is malfunctioning. I’m going to get the captain up here.”

The thin metal splits under the repeated blows of the fire axe, paint flaking away with each strike. The top hinge falls to the carpeted deck of the cabin followed by the bottom. The door knob pops out at last like a cork, bouncing across the worn fabric that may have been royal blue a decade or so ago and rolls to a stop. Spiegel calmly closes his journal and the book, gently sliding his center drawer out from his desk as the door is kicked in and falls to the deck. Lifting a false bottom, he places the two books inside, neatly placing them next to a small wooden box and fabric bag. He then places a single leaf of paper over them before lowering the lid and sliding the drawer closed as Machen steps into the cabin. He turns a small key as Machen grabs him by his left shoulder and spins him with force to face the other man. The sudden moment sends the small key into the air, landing several feet away without a sound.

“Reynard, what the hell is the matter with you!?” Machen booms, all decorum lost in the panic and urgent nature of the ship’s situation.

Calmly, and without a trace of ambivalence, Spiegel responds, “I was just putting some final words to paper before our journey ends, Turner. Now, if you please, let’s proceed to the bridge to oversee the conclusion of our voyage.”

Spiegel stands and brushes past his bewildered friend, stepping over the fallen door and into the passageway.

“Oh,” Spiegel says, as if recalling a trivial fact, “Could you have maintenance see about repairing my door?”

Machen stands next to the desk, dumbfounded at the placid words spoke as Spiegel walks down the passageway and steps unhurried up the ladder towards the bridge.

By the time Machen shakes himself from his shocked reaction at Spiegel’s non-chalance demeanor and runs to the bridge ladder, he is swayed to the side, feeling the ship turning in an unnatural fashion. It feels as if it is turning on its pivot point without making any way through the water. Upon ascending the ladder, he is taken aback at the sight outside of the panoramic windows of the pilothouse. The wipers are working at a furious pace to keep the rain and sea spray off the glass, only to show a view of coal black clouds and the sea swirling around the ship at a speed Machen cannot comprehend. He glances at the gyrocompass, watching it spin counter-clockwise and increasing in speed. The radar screen is filled with the dense return he witnessed earlier while the technician and Cartier stand at the port-side windows transfixed at the scene outside. Machen can hear a faint voice coming from the radio speaker to his right, he recognizes the voice of the ship’s radio officer, Trevor Patel, broadcasting a distress call.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is Motor Vessel Eternal Dawn in position -” The transmission is blown out by static before continuing, “We are beset by weather and in need of immediate assistance! We are in a waterspout that contains high winds and seas and cannot launch our lifeboats! Please help us!”

Machen switches the speaker off, knowing now that they are beyond any kind of assistance short of an act of God. Spiegel stands at the center window, lightly swaying with the movement of the ship, gazing into the maelstrom that surrounds them, his hands clasped behind his back like a soldier at-ease. Machen walks up beside him, looks out the window, then back at his captain and friend.

“Ah, Turner. Good of you to join us. It’s been a pleasure sailing with you, my friend. I only wish we had more voyages left to enjoy.”

Spiegel reaches out his right hand and Machen grasps it with great reluctance and they shake, the gesture feeling solemn and final. The lights on the bridge extinguish, plunging the Eternal Dawn into darkness, the only sound the roar of wind and sea as the vortex takes a final hold of the vessel and plunges it into the abyss below.

Image by Mike Gagne