Donald Harstad: The Big Thaw

"Crap, do you think he's going to wait for dark to make his move?" Good old Art.

Shamrock called with Nancy's phone. Interesting news. "Nancy has been, like, upstairs, and she says to tell you that the robbers have changed their clothes. Like, they are blending in, you know? Like you can't tell them from the rest of us."

"Okay…"

"And that she thinks there might have been, maybe, six or seven, like at first? And that nobody has been hurt yet, so far as she knows."

"All right…"

"And," said Shamrock, "I got some great shots of them, Houseman, great, like at the truck and pushing people around out here."

"Good for you."

"If we sink, I'm going to throw my film out onto the ice. I taped the cans shut, and I taped them to this stupid little life jacket, and I'll throw it out if we sink. Don't forget to look for it…"

The big railroad diesel yard engines arrived a few moments later. The attendant fire departments had rounded up sufficient cable. Now it was time for volunteers to get the cable out to the boat. Although it always surprised me, there was no shortage of volunteers. It was quickly determined that a DNR officer who was off duty and was on scene with the Volunteer Fire Department would drive an iceboat out to the Beau. He was accompanied by a state trooper with arms like tree trunks, who would handle the cable and attach it to the Beauregard when the time came.

Both men were given two Kevlar vests, the outer one with plates, to protect them as well as possible from any shots fired at them during their mission. They also wore large orange life jackets. We almost had to lift them into the boat.

Volont issued the order to have half the FBI TAC team sharpshooters become visible to those on the boat, and to let them see the rifles with the scopes before they settled into a shooting position on the roof and the dock-side. The four of them were each accompanied by a spotter, with a fairly large scope mounted on a tripod. About half a dozen state troopers and four of our deputies were also made prominent, with rifles. The message to the suspects on the boat was pretty clear. Try to take a shot, and see what happens to you. It was the best we could do.

"All shooters have a green light," said Adams over the once-secure radios. "Anybody on the boat with a gun, take him out. Spotters, if a shot is fired, give the location to everybody on the radio, not just to your shooter."

We watched as the iceboat's prop revved up, and it slid off the ramp and began to move toward the Beauregard. The original plan had been to carry the cable to the Beau, attach one end, and then move back to shore, and attach the other end to the big yard engines. That was changed, when it was pointed out that if they were shot after attaching the cable to the gambling boat, we'd lose them, the cable, and any other chance of towing the General Beauregard to shore. It was also determined that we could begin to tow immediately when the cable was attached to the boat, if it was attached to the yard engines beforehand.

Consequently, with the cable already attached to the yard engines, the iceboat crabbed slowly toward the stricken Beauregard, trailing cable over the side. It seemed to take forever, with the DNR officer exposed by sitting in front of the huge propeller cage, and the trooper on his knees in the open bow, cable in hand.

"All shooters, if anybody tries to detach the cable after it's in place, take them out." Adams was talking his sharpshooters through the scenario.

The iceboat moved steadily on, with the trooper in the bow occasionally looking over his shoulder to see that the cable paid out properly. I could feel my pulse in my neck.

When the iceboat was about ten feet away from the tow ring on the Beau's bow, the secure radio crackled to life.

"Alpha Two Spotter has a masked subject with a long gun. He's, uh, on the main deck, and he's behind the glass, just right of center."

I couldn't see him, as there were lots of reflections in the glass.

"And Alpha Two Spotter has the same subject moving to the shore side of the boat, and, and… He's coming out onto the deck…"

I saw the glazed door open, and a man step out onto the deck with what looked like an AK-47 in one hand. He was in a green coverall and was wearing a dark ski mask. He started toward the bow of the Beau, about twenty feet from him. He brought his other hand to the rifle, and began to bring it to his shoulder.

"Shoot," said Adams. Very calm, very matter-of-fact.

I didn't hear a thing, but the man with the rifle just suddenly fell off the deck into the icy water, as if he'd been backhanded by a giant.

The iceboat edged closer to the bow of the Beauregard. All of a sudden we could see a myriad of small splashes erupt in the water around the small craft, and a twinkling from the boat. Automatic rifle fire, and a large bit of it.

"Let's suppress the fire, people," intoned Adams. "Get all of 'em. There's at least one shooter on the river side of the deck… Suppress that asshole…"

An occasional star appeared in the glazed area of the Beauregard, but I couldn't see anything else happening. The sharpshooters were having a hell of a time getting a clean shot at any shooters on the boat, because the passengers were bunched up all over the place. The firing at the iceboat did seem to slacken off, though, and it kept edging closer and closer to the bow. When it got within about ten yards, it should be concealed from the shooters by the bow of the riverboat. A safe zone, although temporary. It slid up to the bow, and we all let out a little cheer.

"Let's not get happy, people," said Adams into his radio. "They gotta get out of there, too. Find the shooters. Take your best shots, but be careful." He said to me, as an aside, "We gotta make a decision as to whether or not to accept collateral damage. We hold a shot to save a passenger, we could lose several hundred in return…"

He seemed awfully calm, for all that to be going on in his head. My respect for him went up another notch.

We watched as the trooper clambered back to the front of his boat, grabbed the towing ring of the Beauregard with one hand, and the cable with the other. Surely, and with what appeared an easy motion, he drew them together, and began to fasten the cable to the ring.

"He makes it look easy," said George.

He did, too. Slicker than hell.

We all began to make noises of relief, when there was another explosion on the Beau, throwing up a gout of water, oil, and mud.

"There she goes!" hollered Olinger. "Damn it, they've sunk her for sure now!"

True enough, the General Beauregard began to settle noticeably, and by the stern.

"Get those fuckin' yard engines moving!" hollered Lamar. "Now, now!"

As the Beau started for the bottom stern-first, the yard diesels began to slowly take up the slack on the cable. Too fast, and they'd tear the towing rig right off the bow. Too slow, now, and they'd lose some 650 people to the icy water.

"Fast as they can," muttered Lamar.

The DNR iceboat accelerated rapidly, and came flying onto the concrete ramp at about 30 mph, lofting and skidding up the concrete slab for about 100 feet, before coming to rest behind a tin shed. The sense of relief was enormous, if fleeting.

As the Beauregard took on more and more water, her weight increased. As she settled deeper and deeper, the drag on the hull also increased. I was beginning to wonder if the yard engines were gong to be able to pull her in at all. So was Captain Olinger.

"It's gonna be goddamned close," he said.

As we watched, she began to glide toward us, but it was pretty obvious that she was going to be down a good amount before she got anywhere near the shore.