A Life Wasted

International Incident

I'm most dangerous to myself when bored. Being restricted to the ship at port in Iceland qualified as a dangerous boredom. Sneaking off the ship was a possibility. The Icelandic capital of Reykjavik began at the end of the dock, so civilization was temptingly close. And our mooring lines ran from every part of the ship to the dock so I could easily climb down one and walk to the city. The problem was getting back onto the ship. I doubted I could climb up the mooring lines and there was always a duty officer and armed guard at the top of the gangway. Having a duty officer at the ship's entrance was normal, but the armed guard was not. The Soviet military spy ship tied up in front of our ship was the reason for the sailor with a loaded M-16.

Late one night my three buddies and I stood on the bow of our ship and watched the Soviet spy ship. The ship was as large as ours, perhaps a little longer, and well squared away. Other than the forest of radio antennas it wasn't very impressive. We were impressed by the armed guard on the ship, as well as the armed pair of guards who walked across the back of their ship into our view every thirty minutes. Rifles slung over their shoulder. Before this I had never seen an AK-47. And though we had seen others over the past week, it was still exciting to see uniformed Soviet sailors. It was 1974, and the Cold War was a dangerous reality. We weren't officially at war with Russia, and we weren't actually shooting at each other, but there had been hundreds of close calls. Tensions were high enough that both their sailors and ours were nervous about being so close to each other.

During this last pass one of my buddies waved at the Russians. They paused and waved back. I suggested we throw them a Snickers Bar, but none of us had one in our pockets. After an awkward moment of staring at each other they moved on to continue their round.

Our real interest was the red Soviet flag hanging from their ship's upper mast. It was the reason we had timed the sentry's rounds. We wanted to take that flag as spoils of the Cold War. It had started as a mental exercise born of our mutual boredom. Like a puzzle. Could it be done? How would we do it? Would they shoot us if we got caught? You know, the sort of thing teenage boys do. Getting to the flag was possible because of how our bow mooring line crossed the Russian ship's aft mooring line. A simple matter of crawling down our line, grabbing theirs at the point where they crossed, then pull up their line and climb onto the back of their ship. Once on the Soviet military ship it would just be a matter of avoiding the two roving guards who were as regular as clock work, thus easily avoided. We would then climb up the outside of their superstructure to the flat area above the bridge, pull the red Soviet flag down then retreat the way we had come.

After timing the sentries for the third time we were ready to go. At least I thought we were ready. With the planning stage complete and the time for action required, my buddies found reasons we shouldn't do it. Getting shot seemed to be a primary concern. I argued that we should go. I assured them we wouldn't get shot because there was no way we'd get caught. It was too easy for anything to go wrong. When one of the guys suggested it would only take one of us to do the deed I immediately volunteered.

To prepare I went below and traded my bulky Arctic parka for a dark blue insulated jump suit, and swapped my white Arctic "Bunny Boots" for tennis shoes. I also borrowed a large sheath knife for the trip. During the sentries next round we stayed out of sight to watch them pass. They did look for us at our usual spot, but didn't seem to think anything about our absence. With my buddies watching from the shadows, I crawled across the bow deck to the place where our forward mooring line was attached, then went over the side with a good grip on the line. The mooring line was about six inches in diameter, too big to grip with my hands, so I had to wrap my arms and legs around it. I went head first, hanging upside down like a sloth, crawling towards the Soviet ship's mooring line.

The lines crossed about thirty feet from where I went over the side. Their ship was already tied up when we came into port, so our bow line laid across the top of their stern line. The closer I got to their line the more our line drooped down across it from my weight. When I shifted my weight from our line to theirs our line sprung up above me and the Soviet ship's line sagged down. I was too focused on pulling myself up to their ship to consider the implications of what had happened. Their ship had a small shelf at the point where the line was tied down, so climbing onto the ship was simple. I'd made a plan before I started, so I followed that plan. I stood up straight and walked calmly into the shadow of their superstructure on the seaward side. Away from the shore and the armed sentries on their gangway.

My plan had been to climb up the side of their superstructure, which is something every sailor does for fun at sea, but when I got to the side of their ship I noticed external ladders I could use for most of the way to the top. I climbed those ladders, then climbed the outside of the top two levels to reach the base of mast, where their flag was tied off. There were several flags up there, so several tie off lines. It took a minute to figure out which was the red Soviet flag. At first I tried to untie it, but it was an old knot that had once been wet and was now frozen. Sailors are taught not to cut a line, something that is beat into us, so I tried hard to untie it. After a few minutes of failing to untie the line it occurred to me that if I got caught on a Soviet spy ship, cutting a line would be the least of my worries. So I cut the line and felt bad about it. Seconds later I had the big flag in my hands. Making yet another cut, I cut the lanyard that secured it to the larger line, then stuffed my prize into my jumpsuit.

After climbing back down to the deck, my plan included casually walking to the rear of the ship before slipping over the side, but that plan went out the window. I was giddy with excitement, but mostly I was scared. So I ran across the deck with all I had. When I looked up I saw my three buddies on our bow, silently cheering me on. I patted my bloated stomach to show I had it and they all nodded. Of course they had watched the flag come down, so they knew I had it.

It was simple enough to scurry down their line, but before I was even close to our bow line I realized my mistake. Because their line laid below ours, it sagged deeply under my weight. When I reached the point where the two lines crossed I hung eight feet below where I needed to be. Had I been able to stand on the Russian's line, which I couldn't, I wouldn't have been able to reach our line. So I did the only thing I could think of: to keep going down the Soviet ship's line towards the dock. In theory I could have followed it all the way to the dock, then climbed up on it. But on that section of the dock was our gangway with the Duty Officer, so that would be a bad move. Fortunately my partners in crime saw my dilemma and were busy working on a solution. At first they threw a climbing line across the mooring line I was on. I nearly transferred to it until I did the math in my head. I was so far from the bow of our ship that if I grabbed that line I would hit the water before it went tight. One thing I did not want to do was submerse myself in sea water so close to the Arctic Circle. So I kept going until I reached the dock. Rather than climbing up on to the dock I hung off of it, then moved hand-over-hand until I was a few feet from our ship. At this point a line was dropped to me. Being well trained Coast Guardsmen, my buddies attached a rescue harness to the end. As soon as I got my arms through the harness they hauled me up. They had correctly assumed I'd be too spent to pull myself up.

I was so cold and exhausted that they had to carry me to our quarters. A serious poker game was in progress in the crew recreation room when we got there, but I had all of their attention when I pulled the red Soviet flag from beneath my jumpsuit. Before morning every enlisted man on that ship knew the story.

*Thanks for reading! If you like what you've read, please take a second and vote! Comments always appreciated as dad is constantly asking for feedback. He thinks I'm bias :-)