Chapter 2: Open Ocean Rescue

As the captain suspected, the owners and crew may well have retired for the evening, but they most definitely had not gone to sleep. Malcolm and Caroline had gone to their cabin in the bow, while Phoebe had enticed Robby to spend the night in her cabin.

Robby had already gotten off with Phoebe once when the horn blast startled him. Disdaining any foreplay, the pair had promptly stripped naked. Phoebe had knelt on her bunk while looking over her shoulder as her lover for the night stepped up behind her to place his cockhead at her gaping slit and lunge forward. She had orgasmed immediately, gasping and crying out with joy as his hips set up a wild pace, plunging deep and tearing backwards. Robby’s grunting orgasm only lifted her to a second peak, and his strong hands held her hips against him as he spewed into her. Afterwards, they had lain at each other’s side, hands manipulating their bedmate’s groins, in preparation. Finally, Robby had knelt between her outstretched legs and had stuffed his engorged cock back into her wetly sloppy cunt. He had only managed a few heavenly strokes when the horn bellowed and stopped him in mid-thrust.

“What the...,” he said, his cock wilting inside Phoebe. He scrambled back off the bed and reached down for his shorts.

“Robby!” complained Phoebe.

“Get dressed honey! That’s an all-hands blast! Come on, let’s go!” said Robby. Yanking his shorts up, he zipped and buttoned the flap, then grabbed her hand and pulled her upright. Phoebe had just enough time to grab a short robe before he pulled her out the door.

Down the short hallway, Malcolm and Caroline were mightily confused by both the blasting of the horn and the scurrying of feet in the passageway. Their lovemaking had taken a more genteel pace, and now they were resting in preparation for a second go. They were lying head-to-toe, stretched out after a lengthy and languorous session of sixty-nine, with Caroline gently stroking her husband to sufficient stiffness so that she could mount him. She stopped as she heard the clamor.

“Darling, what in the world is going on?” she asked. Just then, another few blasts of the horn sounded. The air horn was mounted on the bow above their cabin, and the room reverberated with the sound.

“Damned if I know, but I think we had better go see.” Malcolm reached over to grab the bathing suit his wife had stripped away from him, and his wife stood, tying her robe around herself. Together they left their stateroom to ascend to the deck.

They found Robby at the helm, steering the vessel by the compass, while Captain Jimmy shrugged into a life jacket. Phoebe looked confused and scared and came over to the Jensons as they appeared. Caroline wrapped her arms around the frightened girl as Malcolm spoke up. “Really, Captain, what in the hell is going on?” he demanded.

Captain Jimmy settled the life jacket on his large torso and zipped it up. Pointing to the bow, he responded, “We’ve got a flare over the horizon there. We’re heading there to see what the problem is. Now, I want everybody dressed and in a life jacket. As soon as you get back, I’ll head up to the flying bridge.”

Everybody looked at the darkness beyond the bow, but the flare had long since descended to the surface and all was darkness.

“Really, Captain, is this necessary? Couldn’t you simply call the Coast Guard or something? This seems like an awful lot of ruckus for the middle of the night,” protested the sleepy owner.

With a look born of a lifetime of staring down ignorant yet willful ensigns, the captain gazed at Malcolm. “Sir, you may be the owner of this vessel, but I am her master, and that was not a request.”

Malcolm was so startled by such an unexpected and forceful response; he took a step back in shock. A thought of arguing died as he saw the determination in the captain’s eyes, and he turned to go inside. As they turned, he saw the skipper pick up a radio microphone. “Mayday, mayday...”

Caroline and Phoebe, now more confused than ever, followed him in. Once inside their cabin, Caroline said, “Malcolm, what is going on? What are you going to do now?”

Her husband smiled wryly as he stepped out of his shorts and began to pull on some khaki slacks. “Why, my dear, I thought it was obvious. I’m getting dressed. I would suggest you do so as well.”

Once everyone had reassembled on the bridge, Captain Jimmy gave new orders. Robby was to steer while he climbed up to the flying bridge, then Robby and Malcolm were to sort out some ropes and lines to throw in case a rescue was required. The women were detailed to stand by with some heavy-duty flashlights, battle lanterns the captain called them, and fire extinguishers. After the captain had clambered up on top, Malcolm and Robby went down to the storeroom and grabbed some thin but sturdy ropes and took them up to the bow. These were secured to the railing around the boat, and Robby brought over a pair of life rings as well.

“Hey, Doc,” Robby said, “don’t take it so hard when Captain Jimmy gives you an order like that. He’s just doing his job, is all.”

“I suppose so, but it certainly seemed a bit brusque for my taste.”

“It’s nothing personal. It’s just that when there’s an emergency, the captain is the one who gives the orders. It may not have happened until now, but he’s perfectly legit. If you had hired him to fly your plane and got into trouble, you wouldn’t dream of taking the controls away from him, would you?”

Malcolm shrugged and muttered no. “Still, we aren’t in any danger.”

“No, but somebody out there is.” To put a final point on Robby’s argument, a second flare launched from the horizon, which everyone on deck noticed. Up on the flying bridge, the captain adjusted course a few degrees and picked up the microphone. Robby continued, “See? There is somebody out there up shit creek, and we’re the paddle. Maybe. It’s either that or a couple of drunken kids got into the emergency kit and decided to have some fireworks. If that’s the case, then all we lose is a night’s sleep, and we get an excellent chance to be heroic and practice a rescue.”

Malcolm smiled at the thought of a couple of drunk teenagers playing with flares. “Does that happen often?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve never seen it, but you’d be amazed at some of the stupid shit I have seen. God help them if they are a bunch of dumb bastards fucking around. The Coasties will eat them for lunch!”

A flare continued to be launched at roughly fifteen-minute intervals, and the third flare was noticeably closer. It was becoming obvious that this was happening too methodically to be kids screwing around, and Malcolm climbed up to the flying bridge to find out what was happening. Jim noticed him climb up beside him and amiably nodded a greeting. “I imagine you’re a bit curious?”

Malcolm smiled. “A bit.”

The captain turned back to face the bow. Below them the sea foamed as the roaring diesels pushed through the light swell. Their wake seemed visible for miles. “So am I,” he admitted. “We aren’t hearing anything over the radio, and the Coast Guard hasn’t heard anything either, which might or might not mean a damn thing anyway, considering where we are. It’s pretty deserted in this area, and the nearest cutter is almost a hundred miles south of us. They’re headed this way but won’t be here until well after dawn. I think we’re it in case there is trouble up ahead.”