This work of adult fiction, loosely based on characters portrayed by Russell Crowe, includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned.  No copyright infringement on the original work is intended.  ©Reagan Kavanagh 2006.
  
Author’s Note:   NOAA – the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Association – maintains research and rescue vessels in ports throughout the United States, one of those locations being Charleston, South Carolina.  Two vessels are stationed in Charleston, the Ronald H. Brown and the Nancy Foster.  Both vessels are dedicated to research.  I have been unable to determine whether or not either vessel actually has onboard facilities for marine mammal rescue, but the fact that I’m a lover of marine mammals enticed me to take poetic license in this instance rather than relying strictly on what I could find in my research.  The story of Reagan’s encounter with Road Kill is true; that was my personal experience in August, 1991, off Cape Cod, Massachusetts.  RK



JACK AUBREY
Whilst I am aware that Reagan is a somewhat seasoned sailor, caution demands I take the same precautions with her safety as I shall with Max. 
 
They had made good on Max’s promise to visit during the Academy’s Spring Break if Reagan were not with child.  Their flight arrived on time, and I collected them at the airport.  We had dinner before returning to my flat and passed a jolly evening before retiring just after ten.  We would be up early – at two bells – and on board within the hour.  I would issue their PFDs before putting them through the MOB. 
 
The colleague from whom I borrowed this lovely craft has safety harnesses with tethering lines for all passengers.  Though I normally would not wear such a contraption, I shall on this voyage knowing that if I do not do so, Max likely will not wear his own; it is my responsibility to set the example.  I doubt I shall have any difficulty in persuading Reagan to wear her device at any time she is on deck, as she seems to be a very safety-minded woman.
 
We donned our safety harnesses once on board.  I attached the tethering lines to Reagan and Max’s devices, and she attached the line to my harness.  I advised them that their lines would be attached – and would remain so – at any time they were on deck.  Should we encounter foul weather, we would bring in the sails and use engine power.  Though I do not anticipate any one of us going overboard, in the event that should occur I do not wish to be attempting to bring in sail whilst effecting a rescue.  I gave instructions for behaviour in the event of an incident, noting that Max in particular attended fully.
 
“NO ONE is to be on deck alone at any time, not even myself.  In the event one of us should go overboard, it is imperative that the others not panic.  I shall most likely be the one of us at the wheel.  The first to realise one of us is in the water must raise the alarm by shouting ‘MAN OVERBOARD’ as you toss the lifebuoy to him, keeping your eyes fixed on the one in the water at all times.  The lifebuoy’s bright colour in addition to that of your PFD makes it easier to keep an eye on your position in the water. The one of you remaining on board must point continuously to the one in the water, changing your own position so as not to lose sight of him as I bring the boat round for recovery.
 
“Recovery from the water should not be problematic, as once in position we can winch you back aboard by your tethering line.  It is my responsibility to note our precise location in the event we are unable to recover you so I may give that information to the Coast Guard recovery team.  Knowing the tides in the bay, we will know how fast – and how far – you are likely to drift and plan your recovery accordingly.
 
“We will not be sailing at night; it is too dangerous unless I have a very experienced crew, and we will put into port well before nightfall.  Now, shall we begin our drill?”  They acquitted themselves proudly, and we set sail for Virginia Beach.
 
 
REAGAN
I love many things in this life, but in the top five is running before the wind with the salt spray in my face.  It was March; it was still cold, especially when you’re running with all sails flying because the wind slices through you like a knife as it rips along them; I loved it.  Jack was at the wheel, and Max and I had come up for Spring Break at Annapolis, making good on Max’s promise to visit this spring if I wasn’t pregnant.  We had seven glorious days with Jack before he had to return to his teaching duties at the Academy.  I wasn’t teaching this spring; the accident and miscarriage had put paid to that possibility.  Next month Max and I would be trying once more to get pregnant. 
 
Jack had borrowed a sailing vessel from one of the other professors at the Academy.  She had a diesel engine for use in moving in and out of her slip in the yacht basin and manoeuvring during foul weather, but for the moment, we were doing it the old-fashioned way, sails unfurled as we flew southward on Chesapeake Bay.  She was a beautiful little sloop with three cabins and double births in each.  There were two hot water showers and an additional cold shower in the stern and two toilets.  The interior was teak; she could sleep six and carry 12 people for day trips.  We were the only three on board, and it was absolutely glorious. 
 
I’d pulled my hair back into a queue, and Max said that from the back I looked like a smaller, more feminine version of Jack.  I took that as a compliment because Jack Aubrey does have beautiful hair, and he did say smaller and more feminine.  At the moment, I had one arm round Max’s waist and the other round the main mast as Jack piloted us south toward Virginia Beach.  I looked up at Max, and he turned to look into my eyes.  I think the last time either of us smiled this broadly was the day we married.  The trials of my accident had already put us through more Hell than many unions ever experience.
 
Jack and Max had made up after their blue the first of the year and now corresponded at least weekly.  I also knew they talked on the phone at least that often.  Jack and I had resumed our e-mail correspondence and IMs and talked a couple of times a month on the phone. 
 
Max had realised Jack was no threat to him and could never be; he seemed no longer to mind the friendship Jack and I had formed in the least.  I’d wondered what it cost him to repair the damage that fight he’d provoked had done to Jack’s flat but never asked.  I think the chagrin of having to deal with a very pissed off wife had hurt him far deeper than the hit to his bank account.
 
I let go of the mast, and Max and I made our way back to where Jack stood at the wheel.  The boat has a canopy that fits over the cockpit, but we’d removed it.  The temperature was in the mid-40s, and the sun was struggling weakly through the clouds.  We were seeking all the sun we could find for its warmth. 
 
The smile on Jack’s face was a broad as those on Max’s and mine.  I suspect there’s never a time when Jack Aubrey is happier than when commanding a sailing vessel of any size.  He speaks so fondly of Sophie and his children, but he was truly never comfortable on land; I suspect he was particularly uncomfortable when land-locked in the English countryside. 
 
Annapolis was a different matter entirely.  His flat faced east, and the entire east wall was glass and overlooked the Bay.  He owned a car, but it was second-hand and just this side of being a clunker.  I did know that unless the weather was totally foul he walked to and from the Academy because he enjoyed the sea breeze and smell of the ocean
 
I’ve periodically wondered what strings were pulled and what documents forged to get Jack his appointment at the Academy but didn’t ask and didn’t care.  Jack was happy, and that was all that mattered to me.
 
 
MAXIMUS
The boat seemed to fly over the water, and I smiled.  There was none of the sea sickness on this craft that had plagued me when on the Roman galleys that transported me to and from North Africa and throughout the Mediterranean.  Roman galleys and warships were wide and shallow, wallowing constantly and were enough to turn the stomach of even the most seasoned Roman sailor.  Those of us accustomed to solid earth beneath our feet seemed to spend much of our time hanging over the rails and vomiting our entrails.
 
I found it interesting that in spite of the speed with which we raced southward over the waves, it was easier for me to keep my footing on the deck of this vessel than on that of the ships of my time.  I should have thought the speed would make my footing less sure and was comforted to note that I found what Jack termed my sea legs rather quickly. 
 
I watched Cassandra darting about the deck as sure-footed as any one of the variety of geckos in our yard climbs a wall in the summer.  I knew she had sailed in years past, but this was the first time I had seen witness of that fact.  Jack seemed most pleased with her ease under sail, shouting orders to her as he would have done to one of his seaman of old.  I smiled to see both of them so happy.
 
Following her accident and the loss of our babe, she had slipped into a depression for a time, though she had struggled mightily not to let me see it.  I took it upon myself to call Sharon Fletcher, and Sharon promptly called my wife.  Later that same day, Cassandra called to ask if I would stop at the chemist’s on my way home and collect a prescription for her.  She began taking the pills the following morning, and within a week, her depression had lifted.  The wonders of modern medicine are a gift from the gods.
 
Terry and Diana were the only of our circle to know of Cassandra’s pregnancy.  They would not have known had I not told the physicians in Houston in order that they might better care for my Cara.  I had permitted Terry to tell Diana, though we had asked that they not speak of it to anyone else, other than Dino and Ellen.  It was a most private matter, and we wished no company in our grief. 
 
Cassandra and I held our own service in memory of our lost child; we did not invite anyone to the service, and we interred him beside Cassandra’s mother in Palestine.  Corlyss Abernathy – the cleric who performed our marriage – made the trip with us and spoke the ritual for our child.  I found more comfort in her words and the sacrament of this modern faith than ever I had felt with my own gods.  
 
We named him Marcus James Espan; the date of his birth and death were the same, duly recorded on the small marker at the head of his grave.  I held Cassandra as the tiny coffin was lowered into the red earth, and we wept for our son.  She was only days out of hospital and still weak and fatigued. 
 
Memories.  I have endured my share of the loss of loved ones, as has Cassandra, but there is life even in death.  She has now returned to health, and Sharon has said that next month we might again try to conceive a child.  Hopefully, the gods will bless us this time with a safe pregnancy and delivery and a healthy child.
 
 
JACK AUBREY
It was a joy to have Max and Reagan make good their promise to visit me this spring that I might take them sailing.  I had borrowed a fine sailing craft from a colleague at the Academy; he is getting on in years and does not use her as frequently as in the past and welcomed someone to shake out her cobwebs.
 
Whilst it is good to be with people I consider my family, I sense a change in them not present when last we met.  I am aware of Reagan’s brush with death these months past, and she appears to have healed splendidly, yet there is a sadness in both her and Max I have not seen before.  When they were here earlier, I noted that she seemed fuller in the bosom than I recalled from earlier times together; that fullness is no longer present. 
 
I do admire a lovely bosom and notice such changes in a woman.  I had
wondered at that time if she might be with child, but it would have been unseemly to ask.  In my day, the condition was scarcely mentioned in the bosom – ha, ha, I have made a joke! – of one’s family, and if discussed at all, the lady was said to be indisposed for a time. 
 
There is pain in their eyes, and I do wonder if she might have been breeding at the time of her accident.  If so, she has certainly miscarried of the child.  I would never ask as it does not concern me, and I would not pry.  That being said, I fear they have lost a babe, and I grieve for them.  Hopefully, the good Lord in His wisdom will soon bless them with another.
 
Reagan has recovered well from her injuries, and springs about the craft as spryly as did Barrett Bonden in years past.  It is quite clear she is no stranger to either the water or sailing craft, and she is a great help to me as we make our way south to Virginia Beach. 
 
Max is a lubber but is learning quickly.  He follows direction better than any midshipmen ever to serve under me, and is not hesitant to ask questions in the event he is unsure of something.  I believe that by the time we return to port in Annapolis, Reagan and I will have made him a confirmed blue-water sailor.
 
We left shortly after six bells in the morning watch, and it is now just after eight bells in the forenoon watch.  The first few hours we were at sea had shown us a weak sun, but that had now disappeared.  I checked the weather reports on the Bay and was not surprised to learn a sudden squall line had appeared to the south of us.  There were low, dark clouds on the horizon ahead of us, and we were heading straight for the line.  We could not but sail through it as it encompassed the Bay from Maryland on the mainland to the peninsula on the east.  I must speak to Reagan immediately; I set the auto-pilot on the craft and moved forward.  Barrett Bonden would dearly have loved the ease of auto-pilot; what a fascinating, modern age we live in.
 
“Reagan, dear Lady, have you ever sailed through a squall line?”  She turned with a smile on her face.
 
“I spent half my summers in Houston with a cousin, aunt, and uncle and they had a boat berthed in Galveston.  We spent most weekends on the Bay.  Does that answer your question?”
 
“More than adequately!  In good conscience and consideration of safety, we must pull in the sails, but running through the squall line will be invigorating.  Are you game?”
 
“Lay on, McDuff!”  She turned back to look at the lowering horizon before we moved aft to the cockpit, and I shouted to Max.
 
“Max!  Over here, I have need of you!”  He hastened to join us as Reagan pointed south to the approaching squall line, and his gaze followed. 
 
 
MAXIMUS
I heeded his call and hurried to join them in their position by the wheel.  Jack indicated where I was to hold the wheel to ensure our heading, and he and Cassandra hastened to bring in the sails.  They had no sooner made fast the lashings than the storm hit us with all its fury.
 
The ocean seemed to suddenly change colour from its deep greenish-brown when we set sail to almost black as the wind whipped the waves high round us.  The white froth on the waves as they crashed over our small craft was beautiful in spite of the danger of the following waves.
 
Our heading was straight into the wind, sparing us the force of waves striking us from port or starboard.  Instead, waves that seemed to increase in height by the second crashed over the bow of the vessel, seeming ready to swamp us as our craft ploughed into the void left behind the last wave.  Jack had closed and locked the door leading to the cabins below deck to avoid taking on more water than was necessary.  I wondered if we should have such weather throughout the day and if the storm would preclude our making port this afternoon.  It would be my preference not to spend the night being tossed to and fro on angry seas.  I raised my voice to speak to Jack, shouting in order to be heard over the roar of the storm.
 
“Is the storm likely to last the day?”  He shook his head at me, a smile on his face as he shouted his response.
 
“It is but a spring squall – a line of small storms common here – and we shall pass through it within the hour.  There will likely be others behind it, but there will be a break between each of them.”  Within 20 minutes, we had passed through the wall and into the weak sun and calmer waters on the other side.
 
 
REAGAN
We made it through the first squall line with no problems other than wet clothing, but you expect that when you’re sailing in the spring.  Jack set the compass heading and auto-pilot and the three of us went below to change into dry clothing and make a pot of strong coffee. 
 
We made a thorough check below deck to insure we’d not taken on water and needed to start the pumps …nothing.  She was dry as a bone, and Jack smiled.
 
“A hearty vessel if ever I have seen one!”  Ten minutes later we were in dry clothing and back on deck, mugs of steaming coffee in hand, and again looking to the south.  Max and I followed Jack’s pointing finger as he indicated the next line of squalls.
 
“We shall encounter that line within the hour if it does not change its course, which is may …they often do.  It does not look from here to be as heavy as the first.”  His hand dropped suddenly as his head craned forward, and he moved to the bowsprit for a closer look at something.  He turned and motioned us to join him, again pointing, but this time it was at something in the water.
 
“Look there …two points off the port bow.”  I looked and thought I saw a spout of water in the air.
 
“A whale …a humpback unless I miss my guess.  It will be a juvenile, most likely confused and wandering as it is not yet accustomed to being without its mother.  You do not often see them this far into the Bay.  Let us take a closer look.”
 
Jack altered course, and we approached the animal cautiously.  It was on top of the water and clearly very young.  It was not quite 15 feet in length, and one of its flippers and its lower jaw were tangled in a fishing net; the poor thing was trailing the net behind itself and was clearly exhausted from the effort.  Jack’s face flushed red with anger, and he turned to Max and me.
 
“Reagan, cut the engine.  Get on the radio and summon the Coast Guard immediately.  Put in a call to the Woods Hole observatory.  They are located in Massachusetts, but they maintain rescue vessels throughout the north and east to include this Bay.”  I had tears in my eyes as I headed for the radio and heard Jack speaking to Max as I headed aft.
 
“We will remain here and keep the poor beast company.  They seem to respond to human companionship and intervention.  We shall talk to him; that may give him strength to hold on until help arrives.”
 
 
It took a couple of hours for the rescue team dispatched by NOAA’s station at Woods Hole to arrive; the Coast Guard was on site in less than an hour.  Jack had dropped anchor, and the three of us were hanging over the bow talking to the baby whale as it wallowed on the surface.
 
I could see the lines of the net trailing from its mouth and flipper.  The lines had cut deeply into the poor animal’s flesh, and at one point when I glanced at Jack and Max, I could see their anger in the rigid set of their jaws. 
 
“Gill nets,” was Jack’s stern pronouncement.  “Was he a mature animal, he could likely pull it for weeks, but a young one like this …he’ll be dead in another day if he’s not rescued.”  It was only moments following that pronouncement that we heard the engines and loud hailers of the approaching Coast Guard vessel.  With his own loud hailer in hand, Jack directed the ship to the side of our craft away from the whale. 
 
Within half-an-hour, the Coast Guard crew had marker buoys in the water, basically a “Coast Guard Line – Do Not Cross” barricade, and we waited for the ship from Woods Hole.  It would have taken a ship a day-and-a-half to get down the coast from Massachusetts and round the point at Cape Charles, then back up into the Bay where we were, but they were on location by late afternoon.  I later learnt they had dispatched one of their research vessels – the Ronald H. Brown – out of their port in Charleston, South Carolina.  The Brown had been less than 100 miles to the south of us, and moved north with all possible speed.
 
It took less than an hour for the Woods Hole group to assess the situation and put divers into the water.  I’ve been on whale-watching trips in years past, and I’m always amazed at how well whales relate to people.  Even an injured whale in distress stays incredibly calm when people approach it.  This poor baby seemed so grateful to have any sort of help; his large eyes shone with apparent intelligence as they followed the swimmers; he made no move to get away from them or to sound.