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sun immediately went to work warming his core. Many of the crew were still tying up loose ends, but the brow was already over. Cole made his way over to the side with his sea bag slung over one shoulder. He could feel a single bead of sweat making its way down his chest.
    Allison stopped him. Another classmate from the academy, she’d been on the ship for two years with Cole, but had worked for the engineering officer. Her choice in jobs was a calculated decision on her part to avoid Walters and she was smart for doing so. Allison was always nice to Cole and watched with compassion as Cole was repeatedly raked over the coals by the command. Most of the junior officers avoided him, but Allison was always kind and could joke around with him after his beatings were through to raise his spirits.
    She asked, “Cole, where are you going?”
    Cole smiled and looked over his shoulder in the direction of Duval Street. “Potts just fired me. Apparently he had a suitability board behind my back and the Coast Guard opted to let me go. I figure I’ll find a hotel for a few nights then sort things out from there. I’ve got a few months’ pay from the severance, so I’m good for a while.”
    Allison gave a slight nod as she pieced together that Cole had just been kicked to the curb.
    “Cole, I’m so sorry. Can I do anything?” She asked with a friendly voice and her tone asked much more than a simple question. Cole realized he would miss their friendship and in his last few minutes aboard the cutter, Allison was saying just as much.
    “Nah, I think I’m better by myself.”
    Allison hugged him and held both his shoulders with her hands, saying, “Come out tonight. You’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t.”
    Cole knew she was worried about him and agreed to meet later that night. Cole didn’t show it, but he was worried about himself as well. With that, he took one last look at Delaney and turned for the pier.

 
    Chapter 2 – The Conch Republic
    COLE WALKED DOWN the aging pier away from Delaney with his eyes partly focused on the bright blue water of the small harbor, home to the Coast Guard’s fleet of cutters and boats that patrolled the Keys and the Florida Straits. The morning air smelled of salt and subtle hints of gasoline mixed with engine oil carried along by the gentle breeze. A cruise ship’s whistle sounded in the distance, signaling one either arriving or departing from the downtown waterfront, only a 15-minute walk away. He slowed to keep the sweat from building too fast and looked with half-hearted curiosity at the evenly spaced patrol boats tied up pierside. Their white hulls and orange Coast Guard stripes were clean and well maintained, a testament to the orderly discipline of a seagoing military service—the same one that had just kicked him out. Blue fitted canvas covers were lashed down over their deck guns as the small flotilla bobbed gently and baked under the climbing Caribbean sun. Their mooring lines were neatly made up to rusted cleats bolted to the pier, while a radio played country music from inside the garage of the small-boat station as petty officers and non-rates tended to their daily chores. A half dozen or so of them tinkered quietly on an engine of one boat as Cole passed within earshot without saying a word. A resting black lab with tired eyes, the mascot of sorts for the station, looked up at Cole from the shade of a palm tree and rolled over slowly, going back to its morning nap. It was warm, the breeze was light, and the bright sun reflected off the turquoise water and the bleached concrete, forcing Cole to squint as he walked. In so many ways, it was the ideal Coast Guard lifestyle.
    From there, Cole passed through the side gate that led to a shortcut downtown. He had come and gone through that gate more times than he could count, often drunk and stumbling back to Delaney after a night of partying with the crew. The port calls always came and went too fast. Delaney had patrolled for