“USS Hazleton, do you copy? Over….” And still, there was silence.
37
Aboard the USS Hazleton, Captain Jason McKnight had mere moments to react to the hurried warning given to him by Colonel Sears in the Cobra. He had felt uneasy for the last hour because of one of his gut feelings; feelings that he learned to pay attention to during his long career. In this instance, it would serve to save his ship and crew.
Picking up the ship’s intercom, he announced as calmly as he could, “This is the Captain speaking to all hands: clear all decks and man for heavy seas. A tsunami of substantial proportions is heading in our direction and will be bearing down on us in moments. I repeat, clear all decks and verify activation of all water tight doors.”
Throwing down the mic, he grabbed the watch binoculars and looked to the east. He saw immediately what looked to be a shrouded fog bank on the horizon. The fog bank that he knew to be a colossal wall of water now approached them at the speed of a jet aircraft.
“Aweigh anchors,” Mac yelled in stunned horror as the wave’s monstrous crest loomed closer and could now be seen clearly. “Do it now!” He bellowed as Commander Ewell grabbed the mic and gave the order to the anchor detail.
Mac recalled an earlier story of how one of the ships that survived the Lituya Bay mega-tsunami in Alaska back in the 1950s had been at anchor. The weight of the anchors maintained the ship’s forward direction into the huge column of water and had prevented its destruction. He didn’t know if it would work for them, but he was running on raw instinct now as the terrifying apparition rose ahead of them like a demon unfolding its blackened wings.
The vast wall of seawater had subsided in height as it moved into deeper waters, but at one hundred eighty feet in height, it was still a blood-curdling sight to behold.
Mac surveyed his bridge crew and saw the abstract horror in their eyes as they stood transfixed upon the unfurling monstrosity. He knew he had to shake them back into action.
“Helmsmen, bring her bow into the wave first and do it now!” he barked as the young helmsmen nervously spun the wheel and brought the vessel straight into the rapidly approaching wall of water. As he did, Mac picked up the intercom mic and yelled, “Engine room: I need full speed, now!”
The wave was upon them now. It reared up and blocked out the portal's view of the evening sky like a giant, tormented, greenish-black mountain that the old ship had to surmount. As the ship began its ascent over the massive wave, Mac hoped with all his being that the weight of both six ton anchors would keep her bow down, rather than flipped backward like a piece of flotsam in a storm.
The speed of the awesome wave made it almost impossible for the old ship to reach its pinnacle. As the angle of the Hazleton increased, the ship was slowly taken backward, spilling charts and anything not bolted down to the deck.
“Hang on, everyone!” Mac yelled above the deafening roar of the frightening apparition from hell that carried the Hazleton and her two escort ships higher and higher. Captain McKnight’s last minute decision to release anchors paid off for the ship and her crew, as the anchors’ massive weight dragged over the ocean floor at a frightening speed. The gears of the motorized friction-brake winches controlling the anchors sheared off in seconds, sending the twenty-five pound steel links hurtling outward at a frenzied speed. Smoke from the burned-out winches soon filled the ship's bow section. Though useless against this massive onslaught, the two anchors were enough to keep the bow of the Hazleton straight into the wave.
“C’mon, baby, you can do it,” Mac grumbled under his breath. All of a sudden he heard the massive snap of the anchor links as each were torn from the ship's capstans. In one horrific surge, the bow of the Hazleton buried itself into the hellish blackened water.
The immense pressure smashed the two windows on the port side of the bridge, sending a torrent of seawater cascading inward. Two of the bridge's crewmen were hurled backward against the bulkhead. Total chaos ruled as the lights on the bridge went out, momentarily thrusting them into total darkness.
Mac closed his eyes, expecting this to be the end. He steeled himself amidst the panicked shouts of the bridge crew as total blackness engulfed them. He was suddenly snapped back to reality by the shout of Commander Ewell.
“We’re through! We’re gonna make it!” Mac opened his eyes to see light of day again as the bow of the Hazleton surged through the other side of the wave and down the back side of the roguish beast. The water behind the wave was a torrent of foam-laden white caps for as far as the eye could see. The once calm, aqua-blue ocean was awash with a sickening dark green and brown hue from all the debris.
It was a miracle they made it. The bridge crew let out a cheer as Mac exhaled slowly in relief. Ewell was tending to the two crewmen who were slightly injured from the force of the impact with the bulkhead, while the excess water drained off of the bridge.
“What’s their condition, Commander?” McKnight calmly asked his first officer, who was helping the two crewmen up.
“Porter here will need a few stitches in the back of his head, but they’re okay,” he replied, amazed and elated to still be alive. The crewmen returned to their stations as Mac picked up the ship’s intercom mic.
“To all hands: the wave seems to have passed. However, I want everyone to remain at stations until I’m sure we are no longer in danger. I want all departments to provide damage reports as soon as possible, and make sure all hands are accounted for. Take all injured to the infirmary for immediate treatment.” He paused for a moment, and then said, “We’ve just encountered something that no one in our lifetime will hopefully ever see or experience again. You performed your duties well, people. I’ll keep you informed; that is all.”
“Nicely done, skipper.” Ewell stated happily, relieved to have survived the hellish ordeal. “It was a brilliant move dropping anchor. It probably saved us.”
“Knowing the brass as I do, they’ll probably dock my damned wages for losing two perfectly good anchors,” he said gruffly, but glad to get the compliment.
Just then, one of the crewmen burst onto the bridge, wide-eyed and yelling in excitement.
“Captain! You have got to see this. The sides of the ship have been stripped clean.”
“What are you talking about, Seaman?” Mac responded. He went to the hatchway and stepped out onto the open bridge walk. “My God!” he exclaimed as he gazed upon what used to be a fully-rigged ship. Everything that wasn’t part of the ship’s superstructure had been ripped away from its mountings by the force of the giant wave. Derricks, booms, vents, and life boats were torn off the structure from the massive assault. One grotesquely twisted life boat boom stood as silent testimony to the awesome destructive power of what just transpired.
Mac turned and headed back to the bridge. He picked up the red bridge phone and rang the flight deck.
“Flight deck, this is the Captain. What is the condition of the landing platform? We’ve got choppers incoming.”
“The deck is clear, Captain. We’re standing by to receive.”
“Very well, stand by for an ETA from the CIC,” he said disconnecting the line and redialing.
“CIC: Minichino,” the voice on the other end replied nervously.
“Lieutenant, what’s the status of our away teams?” he asked as he groped for his pipe in his pocket.
“Captain, we lost power to the comm links and tracking systems when we were hit by the wave. They have switched over to back up, and we are reacquiring their position now,” he stated. “Captain, the chartroom says that monster wave carried us over six miles. Also, the Blakeslee reports no serious damage, but the Milford is listing badly to port after sustaining heavy damage. Luckily, both ships have reported only minor injuries, no fatalities.”