WHAT TO DO IN A PIRATE ATTACK

by William Thomas

For the past twenty minutes the derelict longliner has shadowed us just outside rifle range, sizing us up while I attempt to edge away under power in this breathless monsoon heat.

Desperation prompts desperate acts. And in the South China Sea, where pirating yachts is the hungry fishermen’s answer to crushing impoverishment, only the knowledge that every vessel encountered is likely armed is keeping us from being attacked.

For now.

Reaching for the 7x50s, I glass our adversary. 

Displaying neither flag nor fishing gear, the hundred-foot vessel is rust-streaked and listing sharply. Decks that should be crowded with gawkers are deserted. 

I order Thea to come to starboard. The stranger follows. And I experience cold terror I have never known facing heavy weather.

“I want two men on this boat,” I tell Thea. “Go below and put on a long-sleeve shirt and jeans. Then get on Channel 16 and make a PAN call.” 

Before bypassing Manila running blacked out last night, we’d discussed this eventuality back on Guam, where a U.S. military “angel” had offered a grenade launcher or an M-16. My choice. As a former expert marksman on a navy rifle team I was not seduced. 

“The problem with guns is they attract bullets. And a plywood trimaran is no place to conduct a gun battle against a steel-hulled ship,” I’d advised my love. “I’ve never read of any yachties being hurt who offered no resistance. But if we’re boarded and I’m not armed, there’s nothing I can do to protect you if they… ” 

I didn’t have to finish. 

“So it’s your call. We can either buy weapons or a radio.”

“No guns,” she’d said.

Through the open companionway, I watch Thea stuff her long hair under a ball cap and switch on the VHF. Her voice is remarkably steady: “PAN, PAN, PAN. Sailing Vessel Celerity II on 16. Over.”

The response is immediate. Also making for Hong Kong, Cement Oronoco is just 30 miles ahead. Changing places with my mate, I ask the shipmaster if he can “come back this way” and intimidate our stalker. I will never forget his deep booming laughter. “Captain, there are no pirates here.”

And then we are out of time. 

“Stand by!” I shout into the mic, watching the longliner turn towards us and increase speed. “He’s making a run on us now!”

My fervent wish for an M-16 is followed instantly by relief. Brandishing weapons has gotten yachties killed.
Instead, I have spent restless nights rehearsing this emergency. Now I put my plan into action…

Celerity jumps ahead as I go to full power on the outboard. “Turn hard into him,” I tell Thea. “He can’t turn inside us. Keep aiming at his rudder. Whatever you do, do not let him lay alongside.”

As if channeling Nelson at Trafalgar, Thea throws the helm hard over, heading directly at our pursuer.  

Our aggressive move is completely unexpected. The hunter becomes prey, sheering off toward the south. We swing  back northwest, putt-putting into monsoon greyness at a frantic 5 knots. 

And then we are alone. 

Alone on the Dragon Sea.   

This story first appeared in my column, "From The Crows Nest" in the Island Grapevine

Photo Credit
Thea sets our Chinese courtesy flag on fetching Hong Kong -"Randy"Will Thomas-photo