THE PRIME DIRECTIVE

The Prime Directive

By Frederick J. Morales


The dark jungle on the expedition was all too familiar. About a year it has taken

him to regain this part of himself after so many years. He had to come back to the island

to find himself a second time. The first time had been pushed back to the deepest

recesses of his memory, but he always felt that something important was left behind.



A transom could be seen in the distance. The vessel's bow was buried in the ocean

floor. Its masts were below water. Quit a majestic vessel she was, a "Sloop" that he had

modified to the point of ocean worthiness. he had managed to swim ashore from the twenty-

four foot sail boat. He had saved himself and had lived on the charted island of "Dead

Chest" near "Deadmans Bay", the only human for miles.



He had survived the ordeal in the ocean but had formulated a death wish while trying

to get ashore. He had used the breast stroke wishing not to drown. This need was so

strong within his soul that he bluntly refused to die! He had promised to drown at a

later time. There was no one with him, but he felt as though he had spoken to somebody.

He now faced the ocean remembering that first time as though there was someone waiting

for him. Something drew him closer and closer to the ocean's floor from his clear patch

of jungle just two miles away where his "Bell" helicopter and pilot waited patiently. He

wanted to leave the island after he had won his battle with the ocean.


He was being drawn ever closer to the sea and relived every moment. He remembered how

the sudden strong blast of wind blew his vessel, "My Lady", off course. She was sleek and

had two masts plus jibstay for speed. The helm was made of solid oak as was the cabin and

the hull. It had sunk to the bottom because of a large hole in its stem caused from

hitting a protruding barrier reef three miles away from the island. The charts stated the

reef didn't exist! He had known he needed his compass as he had abandoned ship. It had

all happened so fast. He had wished suddenly then that his death be postponed.


He had come back! The mighty ocean awaited his payment in full! He awoke there on

the beach as the sun rose to the east and the birds chirped and the parrots sang of their

presence on the island. Mid morning after regaining consciousness, he explored the

island. The night before had been a long struggle. There were a variety of wild life and

vegetables. He felt that this time was going to be different. he had to recover his maps,

charts, and other personal effects. His charts showed no small island off the

northeastern coast of Peter Island.


It had all started so innocently. "My Lady" had been docked in Biscayne Bay off the

coast of Miami, Florida. It was being made ready for its maiden voyage to the Virgin

Islands and back. He had wagered that he could do it in record breaking time. He had

heard tales of the USS Tumbleweed attempting a similar voyage a long time ago. He had

stood on the dock, his long blond hair wind blown, watching a messenger load some last

minute provisions. His facial expression clearly had shown the pride that he had felt

anticipating the glory of recognition from his fellow sailors if were successful. He knew

he would make good time. It was May 2, 1956. The weather reports read clear skies and

winds of up to twenty-one knots or twenty-three miles an hour. A wager of a thousand

dollars had been set for the entire return voyage providing it would take him no more

than 30 days. He was fun loving and adventurous. At the age of 21 he had mad a name for

himself racing in regattas. He stood at about 5' 11" tall, and was very muscular.


A lady handed him a leather bound book about the thickness of his fist. She walked

over to the transom and broke a bottle of Champayne saying loudly, "I,Christen thee, "My

Lady." She was petite, very attractive, and had blond hair that reached down to her lower

back. It seemed that she too had lived a lifetime in the sun. There had been a brief

exchange of words confirming that she would be spending the night on board before he cast

off first thing in the morning.


At the break of dawn his sails were under "Jury rig jib" at the mouth of Biscayne

Bay. He had raised the main sail pulling ever so hard and fast. Ropes slid up the main

mast to catch the chosen gust of wind and the ocean current. He stood at the helm

watching his sails unfurl. He looked up at the sky and had sung a jolly chorus of "Blow

the man down." A few days later, the wind had formed white caps on the ocean so he had

been forced to set his sails at "Mainstay" and had gone below to rest. He had made his

daily entry in the ships log. During the night, the wind had challenged his mighty soul

for days and days but he had shown no alarm and had not thought to send a "Mayday" or

"SOS" on the radio telegraph below in the cabin. The hours had turned into days, He had

fought to stay awake and had lost. The ocean had slowly claimed its victim. On the night

that he thought he had a nightmare of swimming and almost drowning, the hurricane had

reached its most severe point. It had subsided and slowly ceased to exist.


Now he was finally ready. He decided to submerge the 18 feet into his ship's cabin he

felt much stronger. He was more at ease with ocean than he was 7 1/2 years before. Had

the cabin not contained his log book, he would have considered the sunken vessel his

"Soul's underwater grave." After 2 1/2 minutes, he was able to surface with his soul

intact and return to civilization adding his story from the log to other legends and

superstitions.



THE END