I wasn’t too sure where to post this, but I figured this would be the best place. I just need to get this off my chest and maybe get some advice, I don’t know. I serve in the Coast Guard, stationed in a location I can’t disclose. My days are a mix of intercepting cartel drug smuggling operations and responding to distress calls. This particular incident was one of those search and rescue missions, etched vividly in my memory.
It was around November last year when we received a distress call about a makeshift submarine floating off the coast, approximately 15 miles west of our station. It was about a week of searching for this submarine before we came across it.
I was in the cafeteria with some fellow crew members when the captain’s voice crackled over the intercom, slicing through the chatter and clanking of plates, commanding our attention with urgency. Everyone scrambled to the stern.
When I reached the door that opens up to the stern, I was embraced by the stale salty smell of the ocean. It filled my nose and eventually filled my lungs. Stepping out, my skin felt moist, and the light spray from the waves splashing against the ship kissed my face.
Squinting against the sun’s glare, I saw it - a crude, barely recognizable structure bobbing on the waves. It only took moments for us to reach it, and the captain wasted no time in directing the operation.
The yellow crane, rusted from the salty air, creaked and moaned as it came alive, reaching out to the submarine. Pulling it out of the water, I could see what I could only describe as a half-imploded tin can of a so-called submarine. It looked as if someone had crushed a soda can down the middle and tossed it into the ocean.
On either side of the submarine were pockets of undisturbed metal, as if a plastic bag was squeezed. As I sat there in awe, my curiosity turned into dread as my ears filled with the sounds of screaming and frantic banging. The crew fell silent.
A moment of silence turned into panic as everyone rushed to the submarine, climbing on top to open the hatch.
I can still remember the smell when they opened the hatch, that damn smell. It rushed over me. I had to hold back my vomit as it filled my mouth. It filled my lungs with this indescribable stench, a mixture of rotting flesh, vomit, and human excrement.
I watched as they pulled a man out. He looked to be in his early thirties. He was gaunt and covered in old blood, vomit, and his own waste. He rambled on in Spanish. Personally, I don’t know any Spanish, but luckily the volunteers we had on board did. He rambled and pointed to the other side.
The volunteers translated that there was another in the other half of the submarine. When they finally calmed him down, I caught eyes with him, his stare sending chills down my spine. He looked as if he had seen the horrors of war, his bloodshot red eyes staring as if he was looking right through me.
It felt like hours, but the sound of angle grinders cutting metal snapped my attention back to the submarine. They were cutting the top of the submarine off. When they finally removed the submarine’s top, the crane slowly pulled it off.
As they pulled off the top, my eyes were met with a grisly sight. The imploded part of the tin can submarine was fused with what I can only describe as a hellish mangled mesh of human remains straight from the bowels of hell. I could hear bones snapping and ligaments tearing, and the fused concoction of metal and flesh tearing apart.
A face where eyes would have been stared into my soul, permanently engraving its image of its mangled face. Their mouth stretched open as if frozen in an eternal scream of torment. Petrified in horror, I used all my strength to look away as the face was torn in half, erasing the remnants of what was once a living, breathing person.
I looked back as the rest of the crew screamed and yelled for blankets and ladders. A baby was held, a damn baby. It wasn’t dead, but it might as well have been dead. It made no noise and stared just like the man did.
Its skin was a pale white with tints of green, yellow, and purple hues. It looked as if it had been floating in water for weeks, rotting away. A woman, who I would assume was the baby’s mother, crawled out.
She was withered and frail, just like the man. She was covered in rusted blood, vomit, and human waste. The whole stern tasted of copper and filth. They were the only survivors; there were ten people in the submarine. I later found that out; it just added to the torment.
Apparently, they were refugees and were stuck out in the ocean for weeks, facing the fear of starving. They ate what was left of their deceased passengers that was mangled when the submarine imploded. How did it not completely implode? I have no answer.
I could only come to the conclusion that it was a cruel act from the devil himself. For weeks, they floated in that smell, the water, their vomit, their own excrement, for weeks. I barely sleep at night. Every time I close my eyes, I see that damn baby, the smell, the sound of them banging from inside, desperate to see light again.
It still feels like I have this heavy burden weighing me down, but posting here does help. I just don’t really know how to cope with this ore how to deal with the nightmares. I’m open to any suggestions or ideas, I want to say thank you in advance for taking time to listen to my story. I’ll see you next time.