Somewhere in the open seas
It had been already a week since they have fled. There had been three fishing trawlers that they intended to use – but in the end, one of them was intercepted by the Agency. These things happened when you wanted to leave. The Agency waited until the last moment – and seized the board when the defectors had already arrived. They never heard of them again – nor Ahmad the captain, nor Dahlia the teacher, nor Mahmood the engineer. These things happened. They had come to expect these.
The second trawler was caught at sea, by patrolling airplanes. There was a request to stop, and of course they did not. They knew that if they did stop, they would also never be heard from again. So they gunned the engines and run for it – but of course the planes were faster. A naval bomber was called in. It missed the boat three times on its first run, the cheap, unguided bombs dropping into the ocean and soaking the people crowding on the deck. On the second run, it missed again with the first bomb – and struck dead on with the second. There was nobody to resecue – a quarter-ton of explosive punched through the trawler's deck and detonated inside, tearing the ship to bits like a king-size hand-grenade.
Then there was a storm. They were happy for it, at first, because it meant they wouldn't be pursued – but then several people were swept off the deck by the waves. The deck had been full of people – the defectors filled the small boat from prow to stern. Some – all too many -huddled on the deck. In the storm, all of these people perished. The captain, captain's mate, and mechanic were gone too – and with them, nobody to keep the ship on course or keep the engine running. The engine broke three days later.
Soon – all too soon – they began to run low. Water, food. No engine – no electric light and no heating on board. Three people got sick. They could not be treated. The doctor had been lost in the storm too, Doctor Hassan Al-Hariri, a kind old man. He had gotten out on deck to help an injured sailor – and a wave swept both of them away. With none to treat them, the sick people died, and were thrown overboard.
When the first man died, they did not know to tie something to his feet – the corpse bobbed up and down on the water for hours before disappearing on the horizon. When the second man went over, they tied a suitcase to his foot. He vanished instantly, with no trace.
They had three days' worth of food left and were already considering the somber options when a small, grey warship appeared on the horizon. Using the late captain's binoculars, they ascertained it did not carry a Fatahlandi flag.
Only then did the refugees go for the flare gun stored on the boat's bridge.
