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3
Dangerous Trawling
Falmouth Coastguard Centre, Cornwall, Five Years Earlier
    Stan Bullock had been on morning duty for almost three hours when the first Mayday call of the week came through on one of the emergency radio channels. It was Wednesday, just past 9 a.m. and although the weather was cold and rainy, there were no signs of a storm within hundreds of miles south of the Cornish coast. ‘Mayday! Mayday! Help! Sinking!
Maruxa
!
Maruxa
… this is captain of
Maruxa
! Mayday…’ In broken English, the captain of a Spanish fishing boat was hollering frantically into his radio mike, repeating over and over again the name of his vessel and that it was sinking fast.
    ‘
Maruxa
, this is Falmouth Coastguard. We read you.’
    As per procedures, Stan’s first reaction was to check on the originating signal’s position and type it into the rescue network system. The screen soon brought up the coordinates and the satellite map locating the stricken vessel’s exact position. Whilst maintaining conversation with the captain, registering further information on its status, he sent out rescue requests to all shipping in the area. The response was immediate. The nearest ship was the
Saint Vincent
an 80,000-ton container en route to Dublin from Miami whilst another two fishing vessels were some twenty miles further away. Stan was about to ask the container to send out a rescue craft when an unexpected answer came in from yet another ship in the vicinity.
    ‘Falmouth, this is Commander Sheppard from
HMS Piper. Maruxa
distress noted, please confirm.’
    Stan immediately tuned in and responded on the two-way radio. ‘Affirmative
Piper
. This is supervisor Stan Bullock, Commander, have you received all info?’
    ‘Affirmative; will advise once we’ve picked up the survivors.’ Commander Sheppard went quiet for a few seconds and then added, ‘Please advise all other shipping to restore normal routing.’
    Stan acknowledged then switched the output of the phone to the centre’s loudspeaker to continue monitoring the rescue operation. As a last thought he checked on
HMS Piper
’s position. It was within five miles of the
Maruxa
. The British-registered fifteen-foot trawler, based in Vigo, Spain, supposedly operating in the Irish Box fishing area had reported an explosion in the engine room causing sufficient damage to the vessel’s hull for water to pour into the area and two of the adjoining compartments. By the time the British warship reached the area, the
Maruxa
had sunk and its crew located adrift in the vessel’s only lifeboat.
    Stan smiled as he signed off yet another salvage operation. He knew that the Royal Navy had its own classified reasons for responding to the distress call from the trawler and taking over the rescue operations whilst avoiding further assistance from other ships in the area. His experience had hinted at the suspicion that there was more to the sinking of the Spanish trawler than a reported engine-room fire.
Caught again
, he thought,
these sods will never learn to stick to the rules
.
    Later that evening, Stan was playing his usual game of darts with a couple of friends at the Cheshire Cat pub in one of the side streets that led straight into the entrance to the College of Arts, when a group of students turned up for the evening’s karaoke session. His fellow dart-players, Robin Baker and Jerry Spencer, worked at the town hall and were members of the Cornish RNLI that operated the Falmouth lifeboat.
    ‘Guess the game’s over, guys, the rockers brigade has arrived,’ said Jerry.
    The pub usually held two evening sessions of amateur would-be rockers per week, one on Wednesday that lasted a couple of hours and the other on Saturday that extended till 1 a.m. in the morning. Stan completed his throws and walked over to the bar where the other two contestants were sipping their pints. The dartboard was tucked away in one of the corners of the pub but well within range of the limelight and noise of the