A Shadow Upon the Shore
“What the hell is that?” Suarez leaned closer to the window as she peered through the binoculars. Then she moved the binoculars away from her eyes, blinking as she tried to understand what she saw.
Tim Asher stood on the bridge of the Sea Spike and watched the small fleet of fishing boats fan out into a wide semi-circle. His dark eyes squinted at the vessels, making out the forms racing on the decks to prepare the ships. Asher felt his stomach muscles tighten, a familiar feeling he got before combat. As a young Navy officer during Operation Iraqi Freedom, Asher had felt the sensation every time he piloted his riverine assault boat down the Euphrates.
That was over twenty years ago; however, the same itch to charge into combat roiled in Asher’s gut as his eyes studied the fishing vessels moving into formation off the coast of the Faroe Islands. How easy it would be for him to propel the Sea Spike forward, ramming the smaller ships and sending their cracked hulls to the bottom of the ocean before they began their hunt.
“You ok, Ash?” a woman’s voice asked as a hand touched his arm.
“I’m just fine, Captain,” Asher turned and nodded to the woman; she had her black OGI, Ocean Guard International, ballcap pulled low. The Captain’s brown eyes studied him carefully, and she ran her thin fingers along the smooth dark skin of her chin, a gesture Asher knew often signaled her concern.
“Ash, everyone on this ship wants to stop what is about to happen,” the Captain’s voice was calm, but her voice was steely. “But OGI sent the Sea Spike here to observe and record this travesty for the world to see. I don’t want a repeat of what happened with the Yakamura; I’m the Captain of this ship, and we will not be ramming anyone today. Is that clear?”
“Crystal clear, Captain Danners,” Asher nodded and smiled, though he bristled at the mention of his taking the initiative to ram the Japanese whaling ship Yakamura the previous year. The incident caused some bad press and legal issues for OGI. As a result, the organization had publicly demoted him from captaining any of their vessels; however, behind closed doors, several of the senior members of OGI applauded his actions.
“Captain Danners, I’m picking up transmissions from the ships,” Edgar, the ship’s radioman, held the headset close to ears buried under a head full of long scraggly brown hair. “Ships report that they have spotted a grindaboð near shore — a large pod of pilot whales. Jesus Christ, they think there are between three and four hundred whales.”
“Chen, get the drone in the air,” Captain Danners directed a young Asian man, who frantically began typing on a laptop.
“I can see the pod,” Gloria Suarez, her sun-weathered framed by an OGI cap turned backward. She held a pair of binoculars to her eyes and pointed toward the island’s rocky shoreline.
“Ships have received permission from someone called the sysselman to move on the pod,” Edgar squinted his eyes nearly shut as he listened intently.
“The sysselman is the island’s sheriff,” Asher bit his lower lip as he watched the fishing vessels tightening their semicircle, preparing to drive the whales toward the shore.
“I’m getting images from the drone,” Chen waved to Captain Danners, who came up behind the drone operator and peered down at the screen.
Lines of men stood on the beach. Danners saw some armed with long blunt gaffs used to hold the beached whales steady by their blowholes while teams of men armed with a mønustingari, a whaling knife utilized by the Faroese, rushed forward to severe the whale’s spinal column.
Chen swiveled the drone’s camera to take in the ships beginning to move in on the whale pod. On deck, men readied weighted lines they would throw into the water to prevent the whale’s escape as the ships drove them inland. The image swiveled back to the beach, and Danners felt bile rise in her gorge at the sight of women and children cheerfully gathered on the beach behind the rows of men as if at a summer picnic.
“Get in close, Chen. Get me images of those kids,” Danner tapped the screen, and the drone operator nodded.
“We have to be careful, Captain, see that,” Chen zoomed in on a bearded man in a red flannel shirt and rubber waders; he held a shotgun in his hand and scanned the sky. “They’ve got guys like this all over the shore; they’re looking for our drones. One of these guys nearly shot ISpy Two out of the air last year.”
“Ok, keep at a safe distance then,” Danners nodded and patted the drone operator on the shoulder. “The success of Operation Amber Shores will hinge on the video you shoot.”
“Yes, Captain,” Chen nodded, not taking his eyes from the screen.
“Captain Danners,” Asher steeled himself for the storm about to come as he placed his hand on the ship’s ignition. “Request permission to intercept the ships.”
“Stand down, Ash,” Danners shot him a glare. “I don’t have time for your savior of the world crap right now.”
“Look, I’m not saying we should ram their ships,” Asher held out his hands in a conciliatory gesture.
“The hell we shouldn’t,” Gloria muttered without taking the binoculars from her eyes as she watched the ships close on the whale pod.
“I can run the Sea Spike between the pod and the ships, keep them from driving the whales ashore,” Asher gave her a small smile. “No one will get hurt. If we block the ships, maybe we can force them to call Sleppið Grindini, ‘set the whales free’, and abort the hunt.”
“You know goddamn well that if we get in the way of those boats, it’s going to escalate into a fight,” Captain Danners crossed the deck and got so close to his face that her ballcap nearly bumped his forehead.
“Well, then we’ll give them a fight,” Asher met her eyes and gave her a withering gaze. “Every year, OGI sends a ship out here, and we watch those bastards drive whales and dolphins onto the shore for their grindadráp, their whale hunts, and slaughter whole pods. In twenty twenty-one, they butchered over fourteen hundred in one day. Everyone cringes and cries at the pictures we bring back; then life moves on until the next hunt.”
“Ash,” Captain Danners stepped back, caught off guard by the ship pilot’s tirade.
“Do you know why they herd the whales here?” Asher pointed out the window. “The Faroese pick this spot because the ground is sandy, with no rocks or land shelves. So the whales’ echolocation does not work; they swim blindly toward shore without knowing they are about to beach. The whales have no chance. They have no chance except for us.”
“Ash, you will stand down or get off my bridge. Do you understand me?” Danner’s voice trembled with rage as Asher stared back at her.
“What the hell is that?” Suarez leaned closer to the window as she peered through the binoculars. Then she moved the binoculars away from her eyes, blinking as she tried to understand what she saw.
“Gloria, what is it?” Danners turned toward Suarez, alarmed by the normally calm woman’s sudden change in demeanor.
“Oh my god,” Suarez dropped her hands to her sides, backing away from the window in horror, eyes fixed on the sea.
“Goddamn it, Gloria, wha…,” Danners’ voice trailed off as she looked out the window.
When the Captain turned back to Asher, her eyes were wide and frightened, “Ash, get us out of here. Get us out of here right now!”
Asher looked down at Chen’s computer screen as the drone operator gasped in horror. The ship pilot felt a cold chill of fear course through his body as he stared at the massive wave that rose out of the ocean and raced toward the tiny island at the speed of a locomotive.
“Ash,” Captain Danners looked at the ship’s pilot, her face a mask of fear, panic, and confusion.
Asher ran to the ship’s control panel and punched the ignition button, bringing the engine’s roaring to life. As the Sea Spike lurched to life, Asher turned the wheel hard, steering the ship directly toward the giant wave.
“Suarez, get on the radar and tell me what you see,” Asher pointed the Sea Spike directly at the rogue wave and gunned the engines to full speed. He flicked on the shipboard communication system, “All hands. All hands, get below decks and seal the hatches!”
“Ash, what are you doing? You’re heading right for the wave,” Danners tried to grab his hand from the steering controls, but Asher held firm and looked sidelong at her.
“Our only chance is to reach the wave and push over the top before it crests,” Asher stared forward as the immense wave filled the window before them, racing toward them as the ship charged toward it. The wave rose so high that it cast a shadow on the shoreline. “Suarez, speak to me; what are you seeing?”
“This can’t be right,” Suarez tapped the radar screen. “Radar says it’s over 250 meters tall, over fifty stories high.”
“That is impossible,” Danners ran over to look at the screen, then shook her head in disbelief. “This can’t be; the largest rogue wave ever recorded was 35 meters high.”
“Well, there she is,” Asher pointed to the towering wall of water before them. “Believe it or not, we’re about to hit her.”
As the wall of water blocked out the view of the sky, Captain Danners keyed the shipboard communication system to life again, “All hands. All hands don life jackets and brace for impact.”
On the bridge, they could hear a cheer from the crew, and Danners looked questioningly at Asher as she slipped an orange life jacket over her head and secured it in place.
“They think we’re about to ram the Faroese ships,” Asher smiled without taking his eye from the wave.
“Ash, where’s your life vest?” Danners stared at the ship pilot as a smile crept across his face.
“A life jacket is not going to make a difference here,” Asher glanced briefly at Danners, then back at the wave.
The bridge crew stood in silence, the whine of the engines and the roar of the approaching wave the only sound.
“Impact in two hundred feet,” Suarez’s eyes stared unblinking at the radar. “One seventy-five.”
“Ash, will we make it to the top of the wave?” Danner spoke low so the others on the bridge could not hear her. Asher did not respond, but the look on his face told her all she needed to know.
“One hundred and fifty feet.” Suarez licked lips dry with fear. “One hundred feet.”
“C’mon baby, show me what you got,” Asher pushed the Sea Spike’s engines to their maximum, and the whole ship shuttered with the effort.
“Fifty feet.”
“Brace for impact,” Captain Danners steadied herself on the control panel as the roar of the wave became deafening.
Asher watched as the wave sprayed water over the pointed bow of the Sea Spike, gritting his teeth in expectation of the bone-jarring impact of the rogue wave. Dark ocean waters cascaded down the windows of the bridge, obscuring their view and blotting out the sun. The Sea Spike shook violently and the muscles of Asher’s arms strained to hold the helm, the ship’s steering wheel, steady on its course. Water beat down on the steel hull of the Sea Spike like thousands of pounding fists.
Asher steeled himself for the groaning crack of the ship’s spine, and the rapid descent into a watery grave that would follow. There were no heroic statements or acts of self-sacrificing bravery like in the movies, just the unrelenting terror of impending death. He resisted the urge to close his eyes as the ship struggled against the colossal wave, intent on witnessing the final moments of his life.
The strain on the hem suddenly slackened and bright sunlight streamed through the Sea Spike’s bridge windows, and a gasp of surprise rippled through the compartment. The violent rocking of the ship ceased and she sailed peacefully into the calm flat sea lay in front of them. Asher cut the power down to one-quarter, to prevent the overtaxed engines from giving out. He was too stunned to speak.
“Are we dead?” Suarez stared from face to face in utter confusion.
“Ash, what just happened?” Captain Danners let out a deep breath; she only just realized she was holding in.
“I don’t know,” Asher could not hide his bewilderment. “We made it through the wave. I don’t know how, but we did.”
“Captain Danners,” Chen looked queasy as he stared at his computer screen. “Come look at this.”
The bridge crew gathered around the drone operator and watched the footage transmitted by the ISpy drone flying high over the beachhead. The Faroe fishermen’s small wooden and fiberglass boats fled from the massive wave, desperately trying to make it to shore. While on the beach, men, women, and children scrambled in a mad panic to get to high ground.
The crew watched, riveted to the screen, as the shadow of the giant wave reached past the fleeing people on the beach to the ridgeline beyond. Then the wave’s crest crashed downward, shattering the small boats and engulfing people on the beach. Those at the forefront of the fleeing mob appeared to be dragged into the receding tide as if held by watery hands.
As quickly as the wave had appeared, it was gone. The waters pulled back from the far reaches of the beach. Not a single person, living or otherwise, remained on the beach. All that remained of the fishing vessels was the flotsam and jetsam created by their destruction.
Chen peered closer at the screen and pointed at a small bobbing orb. “There are people in the water.”
Danners stared at the screen as the drone panned in excruciatingly close to the panicked face of a bearded man gasping for air and attempting to stay above water.
“Ash, turn around; this just became a rescue operation,” Danners struggled to keep her voice sounding calm.
Then Suarez gasped and brought her hand to her mouth. Danners returned her gaze to the screen as the pod of whales circled the bobbing forms in the water. The shimmering gray backs of the whales dipped below the water, then the heads of the flailing swimmers abruptly dipped from sight, pulled into the blue waters of the sea. The struggling swimmers disappeared one by one beneath the ocean’s surface, none re-emerging. They reminded Danners of the Wack-a-Mole game at the Chicago State Fair. One moment the smiling plastic mole heads would be there, the next they would disappear into their holes. Within moments, the ocean’s surface was calm, the current gently pushing the remains of the wrecked ships toward shore. There were no bodies, no desperate swimmers. The gray backs of the whales crested the surface one last time as the pod headed back out to sea.
“Doctor Olmsford, in your expert opinion, what could have caused a rogue wave the size of the Faroe Wave?” Dietrich Wyman, Chairman of the European Commission on Sea Safety, stared at the diminutive, bald scientist.
Doctor Ohlmsford studied the eight-member Commission in their high-backed leather chairs, the clicking and whir of news cameras behind him prepared to capture the expert’s words. “A rogue wave can be caused by any number of factors, most commonly modulation instability in the sea space. As well as unusual high winds and ocean currents.”
“Which caused this specific wave?” Dietrich slid the glasses off his face and placed them on the table before him.
“According to data provided by the Sea Spike, the Faroe Wave’s sole survivor,” Doctor Ohlmsford looked to the stoic forms of Tim Asher and Jess Danners sitting beside him. “None of those conditions existed at the time of the wave.”
“The Sea Spike recorded the wave to be over two hundred and fifty meters,” Freja Pløyen, the commissioner from Denmark, folded her arms across her chest and pinched her face into a sour expression. “Something we can all agree is an impossibility, so I find any data retrieved from the OGI vessel wholly unreliable.”
Danners stared at the commissioner with cold eyes, showing remarkable restraint, in Asher’s opinion.
“My team has checked the instruments on the Sea Spike quite thoroughly, and I can assure you we found no irregularities or deficiencies in the equipment.” Doctor Olmsford nodded to Danners, eliciting a tight-lipped smile from the woman.
“Commissioner Pløyen,” the gray-haired commissioner from Belgium leaned forward and turned to face the scowling woman. “Doctor Olmsford’s statements today is consistent with what oceanographic centers across the EU have testified to this Commission. At the time of the Faroe Wave, there were no conditions that, to our knowledge, could cause this phenomenon present in the waters around the islands at the time if the incident.”
“Yet over two thousand innocent people are dead,” Pløyen stared coldly at Asher as he shook his head at her words. “Mr. Asher, is there something you would like to say?”
Asher looked to Danners, who gave him a warning look and a slightly perceptible shake of her head. The ship pilot smiled broadly at the Captain, then loosening his tie, turned to address the Commission. “Yes, I have testimony to contribute to the record.”
“And what is that, Mr. Asher,” the Commissioner from Sweden stared at Asher with suspicion in his blue eyes.
“Before Mr. Asher provides his statement,” the Commissioner from the UK, a middle aged man with graying red hair, leaned forward and placed his hands on the table. “I would just like to commend Mr. Asher and Captain Danners on the incredible seamanship for the Sea Spike to survive this catastrophe.”
Danners nodded appreciatively, but Asher smiled and shook his head, “Our survival had nothing to do with seamanship or even good fortune. By all rights, we should have been sunk with all the rest of the vessels. The wave allowed us to pass through it unharmed.”
Behind Asher, murmurs rippled through the assembled reporters and observers. Camera’s clicked feverishly as the proceedings slipped from the mundane to the sensational with his outlandish comment. Dietrich closed his eyes in annoyance and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger as the Commissioners exchanged uncertain glances. Only the Commissioner from Denmark, a constant critic of OGI actions, seemed bemused by the ship pilot’s apparent divergence from sanity.
“Are we to believe the Faroe Wave had the ability to think and control its actions?” Pløyen smirked at Asher, but her eyes were as cold as a sharks.
“No,” Asher shook his head and laughed mirthlessly. “No, I am not saying the wave was capable of thought.”
“Then, please, clarify your statement,” Pløyen leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers, elbows resting on the arm rest.
“I do not know if our cruelty as a species has awakened some slumbering sea god, or angered the earth itself. For over fifteen hundred years, the people of the Faroe Islands have methodically butchered whales and dolphins, scientifically proven sentient beings, with wanton, heartless brutalty,” Asher met the eyes of each Commissioner. “What happened that day was not a scientific event. It was a preternatural rebalancing of the scales. We act as if every living thing on the earth is here for our personal use as a species. We think we can pillage and pollute the world’s oceans with no consequence. The people of the Faroe Islands systematically executed living, thinking beings that possessed at least as much right to the world as they had. The wave was not science; it was the will of this planet to bring humans down a notch- to teach us a lesson, to send us a warning.”
Commissioner Pløyen scoffed out loud and waved her hand dismissively at Asher. He turned his dark eyes toward the commissioner, “And mark my words; this is only the beginning.”
This story comes out at a perfect time. With your permission, I would like to read it to my listeners next Wednesday for my weekly podcast on 'An Crann Bethadh Podcast'. I can do my OP ED using this as a center piece in support of this theme of the planet trying to rebalance itself after hundreds of years of human depredations. Let me know please?