Chapter 4: The Captain’s Wounds

After confirming the valve couldn’t be repaired, the command center decided that Vessel 118 would tow Ocean Star 2682 back. With a groaning cable and a shudder that ran through the hull, the rescue ship took up the slack. The battered Ocean Star lurched into motion, the long journey home beginning in grim silence.

According to protocol, Captain Caleb was required to submit a report detailing everything that had happened on board. Marcus handed him a pen and clipboard, his tone gentle but unyielding: “We’ll need you to write it all down, Captain. Every detail.”

The report read: "There was a hijacking and murder on board, led by Ben Foster (hereinafter referred to as Ben), from Montana. He joined forces with several fellow townsmen to hijack the captain and tried to seize the ship to sail to Japan. In the process, they killed 11 other crew members. The remaining 11 of us fought desperately and survived. Ben then led the 10 rebels, put on life jackets, took the lifeboat, and escaped. Their whereabouts are unknown."

The words were cold, almost clinical. Yet even on paper, the horror was plain. Marcus read and reread, the corners of his mouth tightening.

After reading the report, Marcus was skeptical. He’d seen enough in his years to know when a story didn’t add up. He motioned for Caleb to step aside, away from the others. He quietly pulled Caleb aside: “Let’s talk in the galley,” he murmured, voice low but firm. The two men slipped into the cramped space, out of earshot of the rest.

"Caleb, what really happened on the ship?" Marcus’s tone was that of a man who’s seen too many lies at sea. His eyes searched Caleb’s face for cracks.

"It’s all in the report." Caleb’s answer was practiced, but his hands trembled ever so slightly.

"Is it true?"

"Of course," Caleb replied firmly. "When they hijacked me, they stabbed my leg. I almost died."

He pulled up the hem of his shorts, revealing pale skin crisscrossed with two angry scars. Two ugly scars puckered across his thigh—one on each side, like a bullet had torn straight through. The scars were puckered and still angry-looking, the kind that itch on rainy days. The kind you don’t forget.

"This...was all from one stab?" Marcus looked at the shocking wounds, imagining the pain, and found it hard to believe. He winced, picturing the crude first aid kit most boats kept—Band-Aids and peroxide, little more. “That’s a hell of a wound, Caleb. Lucky you didn’t get an infection.”

After all, there was little medicine on board and conditions were poor. Such a large wound hadn’t become infected and had actually healed. Marcus made a mental note—either Caleb was lucky, or there was more to the story than he let on.

"One stab, straight through. I thought I wouldn’t make it. But..." Caleb was still a bit shaken. "Honestly, I didn’t expect to make it back alive. With such a huge incident, as captain, I’m responsible."

His voice faltered. He glanced at the floor, the weight of survivors’ guilt settling on his shoulders.

"Caleb, don’t take it all on yourself. Just tell the truth to the folks back at HQ. What about the other 10 people?" Marcus was asking: were these 10 people involved in the hijacking or the killing?

"No, they’re victims like me. None of them killed anyone or kidnapped me." Caleb’s eyes darted away as he spoke, but his voice didn’t waver.

Marcus breathed a sigh of relief and patted Caleb on the shoulder. "It’s good you survived." He squeezed Caleb’s shoulder, a familiar gesture of solidarity among men who’d seen too much. "Let’s just get everyone home."

Caleb smiled, but there was something indescribable in his expression. The smile was thin, strained, the kind you paste on when you’re not ready to talk. Marcus let it slide for now.