From the bridge wing he could see that the men all looked Asian. Nothing strange for the Atlantic, but he hadn’t heard of a shipwreck. Normally an SOS would have whole fleets scrambling to render assistance. Lines were thrown down to secure the raft alongside, and a boarding ladder was lowered so the men could climb up.
They were met by willing but cautious hands as the British crew helped each man aboard. The appearance of two crewmen with automatic weapons kept the men coming aboard quiet and somber. They were all herded into a tight circle on the deck. The last man up was much older and had a book in his hand.
Captain McPherson came out of the superstructure and onto the deck as the last man came aboard. McPherson looked resplendent in his white uniform and the older man immediately recognized him as the man in charge. He turned and began to walk to him but was stopped by one of the British crew. “Hold on a mo,” the sailor said.
Captain McPherson waived the sailor back and motioned for the man to come forward. Captain Sohn looked into McPherson’s wary but compassionate stare. It was now or never. “I am Captain Tien Sohn of Democratic People’s Republic of Korea ship Baiku,” he said in very broken English. “We thank you for assistance and turn ourselves into you custody.”
At first McPherson thought the old captain had simply chosen the wrong words. Then the old man said a few words to his crew and they all placed their hands on their heads. The men looked scared to death. Bloody Hell, thought McPherson. What have I stumbled into? Regaining his composure McPherson placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Captain, are all your men aboard and safe?”
Sohn looked into the man’s eyes. Seeing no hatred he nodded his head. “This all that left.”
“How did you lose your ship, Captain?”
“Missiles burn through bottom and it sink. Only this piece float.”
“Were there no lifeboats?” McPherson asked. Something was definitely wrong. Hopefully the boats were in the vicinity and could be rounded up.
“No. Party Official make holes in all boats. Only control room stay.” Sohn’s English remained very broken, but his choice of words was screaming in the Captain’s ears. Then Sohn’s face changed to one of great sorrow and shame. “We not know start war.”
Only then did the enormity of his rescue efforts become realized. McPherson suddenly had the answers to questions that people around the world had been looking for over several days. These men knew exactly what had happened and they had surrendered to him. A part of him said to place them all under heavy guard, but another part realized that these men may just be poor sailors and not a real threat.
Things just didn’t add up exactly right. If they had done this on purpose, what was their goal? Why were they here? The first thing he thought about was their ship had sunk and an official had disabled their boats. They had been meant to die with their ship. But the man had turned himself and his men over to their custody. It was a surrender, plain and simple. There was too much to take in. Turning to a sailor he said, “Jones, take the men into the crew’s mess and give them something to eat. I want them under guard at all times.” Then turning to another, “Tell the First Officer to set up cots in the passenger lounge. Once they have been fed, take them there and keep them there. I don’t want anyone harmed in any way. Once there, we will get this all sorted out. Now get cracking.”
The group of sailors was herded into the superstructure as McPherson addressed the captain again. “Captain Sohn, is your vessel sinking?”
Sohn nodded in understanding. “Leaks too many. No more power to fix. Sink slow.”
McPherson turned to one of his men. “Bos’n, get a party aboard this thing right now and see if she’ll float. If we can, I want to tow this thing to New York.” The man scrambled to the watertight door and reached inside to a telephone. In a few minutes men were scrambling down ladders and lowering pumps.
McPherson asked if Sohn would take him aboard the vessel and take some photographs. Sohn had readily agreed. McPherson had his camera sent down and brought another crewman with one of his own. As the crew slaved to try and stem the water coming into the vessel, both men completely documented every nook and cranny of the makeshift raft while Captain Sohn pointed out the various equipment and publications that were inside. Photographs were taken and the manuals and other documents removed to the ship. After an hour of steady work the Bos’n walked up to the Captain. “It’s no use sir. Every time we try to patch one leak, ten more pop open. Frankly I don’t know why she has lasted this long. Every wave is popping welds. We need to leave, sir.”
Captain McPherson nodded in agreement. The level of water on the deck had not gone down, but had risen. He knew that if the Bos’n said it was no use, there was no arguing the point. The men removed the equipment and everyone returned to the containership. The lines were cast off and the little raft was left to meet her fate. As she passed astern a large wave struck the vessel and a terrible grinding and shrieking could be heard. A huge gust of air and moisture poured out of the top hatch as the makeshift raft slipped quickly beneath the seas. Captain Sohn stood on the bridge wing and watched. He mentally thanked the little vessel for saving his crew. After a moment he turned back to Captain McPherson who was watching the old man closely. “May I tell story of what happen?” he asked.
Nearly 4,000 miles away, Jack Latham threw his pencil down in disgust. Since the war started, he and his men had done everything they could to get the ships they had in the shipyard back to sea. He and the other company officials knew that the ships and any other assets had to get back online as soon as possible. Working his men at a furious pace, the jobs had gotten done. Unfortunately, no jobs were left to do. A telephone line had been reestablished between his office and the few other places that were deemed a national asset. That included other shipyards and repair facilities as well as seats of government. Now he was trying to figure out what could be done to keep his men occupied and the company going. So far, he had run up against a brick wall.
Latham walked out of his office and onto the pier in front of the facility. The small shipyard was all that was left of the once giant Mare Island Naval Shipyard in Vallejo, California. But what had once built some of the largest ships in the fleet was now just a backwater operation only repairing smaller civilian vessels. The Navy closed the facility in the 1990s turning it over to the city of Vallejo. Latham was able to lease some of the buildings and a couple of drydocks. He moved his company here just ten years earlier. Even though it was small, there was enough traffic to keep the company in the black. It was a nice little company that made sure their employees were well treated. Most had worked with his company all their lives. Something would come up.
As he walked along he looked over at the memorial sitting further down the Mare Island facility. The old Navy ship had been requested by a group of city officials many years before and had established a naval museum around it to go along with the other historic buildings at the old naval shipyard facility. Tourists came in every day to see the old ship and it also served as a sort of community center for group meetings on occasion. He himself had been aboard many times, if only to marvel at the engineering that had gone into her.