I hung in the harness, swinging violently in the typhoon‑force winds. The rain battered my face. Below me, 60‑foot
swells and darkness. But as I looked east, through a gap in the storm clouds, I saw them: three small, steady lights on the horizon. The transport ships. Slow, ugly, and still afloat. I smiled bitterly, wiped the salt water from my mouth, and braced for impact.
I spent six hours in a life raft before the rescue helo found me. My spine has never been the same. Neither has my hearing. But every person on those three ships made it home.
Back in the crew lounge in Dallas, the young captain was still standing there. The coffee in his cup was cold now. I could tell he hadn’t taken a sip in a long time.
“I didn’t know,” he said finally. His voice was thin. “Nobody told me you were…”
