The seaplane rocked gently on the open water, its engines humming low as it drifted under power. Noah stared out at the horizon, sweat cold on his neck. Two long boats had appeared—dark silhouettes cutting fast across the waves. “Heck,” he muttered, “they’re not supposed to be here.”
Jamie leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Could be the Coast Guard,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. Noah shook his head. “They’re too early.” The boats didn’t answer their hails. No radio call. No flag. Just speeding closer, too straight, too silent. His stomach dropped. “They’re not here to help us.”
They watched helplessly as the boats approached, closer with every second. Spray burst around their hulls. Figures stood upright—faces obscured, arms raised, shouting words neither pilot could understand. Noah’s fingers tightened around the controls. Jamie whispered, “What do we do now?” But they both knew. This was no rescue. This was survival.
The morning sun painted the Indian Ocean in silvers and golds, its rippling surface catching every glint of light. Captain Noah Reyes adjusted his headset and glanced at the reflection of the seaplane’s wings in the water below.
To his right, co-pilot Jamie Malik tapped the altimeter, his grin as wide as the horizon. “Flight number one hundred,” Jamie said. “You know what that means?” “That you’re going to bring cake for the ground crew?” Noah replied dryly, eyes still scanning the instruments.
“It means,” Jamie said, ignoring the jab, “that after we touch down in Djibouti this afternoon, I’m officially eligible for international captaincy. No more second seat. No more pretending to laugh at your jokes.”
Noah smirked. “They’re not jokes. They’re lessons in humility.” “Uh-huh.” The two had flown together for over a year now, ferrying everything from scientists and medics to delicate equipment across the African coastline.
Today’s manifest included just three cargo crates, each one sealed and strapped tight in the hold. Labeled with international transport tags and security markings, the contents were marked confidential, but the paperwork hinted at high-value satellite components—lightweight, expensive, and rare.
The flight had started out smooth—calm skies, open sea, nothing but gentle chatter between two men who had flown together long enough to trust each other with their lives. Jamie had been marking the milestone in his mind: flight number one hundred. The kind of flight that felt routine. Safe.
Then a red light blinked on the panel. Noah saw it at the same time Jamie did. “Jamie…?” “Yeah, I see it,” Jamie said, already tapping through the system readouts. “Rudder actuator’s not responding. Manual override’s… failing.”
Noah pressed on the pedals. No resistance. Just dead weight. “We’ve lost rudder control,” he said, the calm in his voice at odds with the rising tension in the cabin. Jamie leaned forward, scanning instruments. “We can’t land like this. Even light crosswinds could spin us out. Flip us.”
“Then we land here for now.” Noah said flatly. Jamie blinked. “We’re too far away—” Noah interrupts, “We don’t have a choice.” There was a beat of silence. Then Jamie took a breath and reached for the mic. “Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Gulf Seaway 5-9,” he said, his voice tight.
“We’ve lost rudder control and are executing emergency sea landing. Coordinates—” He rattled them off, fast but clear. “Request immediate assistance. Will attempt to maintain heading using engine thrust only.”
Noah adjusted the flaps, beginning the descent. “We need to hit the water flat. Nose up. No angle, no dip, or we cartwheel and break apart.” Jamie didn’t answer. He just gripped the sides of his seat, jaw clenched.
The ocean below looked deceptively calm, but both pilots knew better. One wrong touch—too early, too sharp—and the seaplane could tear open on impact. Metal would crumple. Fuel lines would snap. There would be no second chance.
“I need you focused,” Noah said, voice low but firm. “We mess this up, we don’t get a retry.” Jamie gave a single, shaky nod. The plane descended, slicing through a gust of warm wind. The pontoons hit hard.
For a moment, they bounced—once, twice—and then the floats dug into the water. A huge spray of saltwater exploded upward, washing across the cockpit windows. The whole aircraft shuddered like it had been punched in the stomach.
Then, silence. The seaplane bobbed in place, pitching slightly with each small wave. Noah didn’t let go of the yoke right away. His hands were still locked there, knuckles white. “We’re alive,” Jamie said finally, his voice thin and uncertain. Noah exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”
Jamie checked the radio. “Coast Guard’s acknowledged. Closest cutter’s en route. ETA: three hours.” They looked out across the open sea. Noah glancing sideways, added, “Don’t count this as your hundredth if we don’t make it to Djibouti.”
Jamie gave a shaky laugh. “No worries. I’ve got a good feeling.” Neither of them noticed the flicker of movement far on the horizon—two black specks against the shimmering blue. The seaplane drifted gently across the surface of the sea, its engines idling just enough to keep the nose pointed east.
Inside the cockpit, Jamie fiddled with the GPS, trying to calculate how far the currents might carry them before help arrived. The cabin was quiet except for the occasional creak of metal and the soft buzz of the radios.
Outside, the ocean wasn’t exactly calm. Swells slapped at the floats and rolled beneath the plane, giving it an uneven, jerky rhythm. Each wave felt like it nudged the aircraft a degree off course. Noah muttered under his breath. “This thing wasn’t built to bob around for hours.”
Jamie frowned at the map. “At this drift rate, we’ll end up somewhere between absolutely nowhere and very absolutely nowhere.” “How long did they say again?” “Three hours, give or take.” Jamie checked his watch. “We’ve burned twenty minutes.”
The plane groaned as another wave slammed into its side. Noah winced. “We don’t have three hours of this. Something gives, we’ll start taking on water.” “We could try stabilizing the drift,” Jamie offered, “if we can nudge the rudder free.
Maybe steer a bit more east and get closer to shipping lanes.” Noah raised an eyebrow. “You think it’s stuck, not broken?” Jamie stood and stepped toward the rear maintenance hatch. “Only one way to find out.” He climbed down to the narrow service access, crawling halfway to the back while Noah kept watch.
A few minutes later, Jamie’s voice came through the intercom. “Captain. You’re gonna love this. Looks like something wedged itself in the rudder linkage. Not snapped, just… jammed.” Noah replied, “Define something.”
“Looks like part of that insulation mat we had replaced last week. Must’ve come loose and got sucked into the gear mechanism.” Noah, hoping for a resolution asks, “Can you get it out?” Jamie looks in closer, “Not from in here. We’d have to kill power and pop the hatch outside.”
Noah considered that. “Too risky in these swells. If we lose engine power while we’re floating, we’re helpless.” Jamie reappeared in the cockpit, brushing dust off his coveralls. “So we wait?” Noah didn’t answer right away.
He looked at the navigation display, then at the waves, then at the silent radio. “We wait. But we plan something in case—” His voice cut off. He leaned forward, eyes squinting through the front window. Jamie followed his gaze. “Jamie. Three o’clock.”
Jamie turned toward the directions Noah mentioned and shielded his eyes from the sun, then froze. On the distant horizon, two boats appeared—long, narrow silhouettes gliding low and fast over the waves. Their wakes split the ocean like blades.
A pause hung between them. “Could be the Coast Guard,” Jamie said hopefully. “That was fast.” Noah didn’t blink. “They said three hours.” Jamie checked the log. “Yeah. Still over 70 miles out.” They exchanged a look.
“Try hailing them,” Noah said, already knowing it was pointless. Jamie grabbed the mic. “Unidentified vessels approaching Gulf Seaway 5-9, please respond. This is a disabled seaplane, we are in need of assistance.”
Silence. Noah reached for the binoculars. “They’re not Coast Guard.” Jamie turned slowly back toward the window. “Then… who are they?” Noah lowered the binoculars. His voice was flat. “Pirates.” Jamie panicked, “How the hell did they know we were out here?”
Noah didn’t take his eyes off the horizon. “Mayday went out on an open frequency. Anyone listening would’ve heard it.” The weight of that realization settled like a stone in their chests. What had been a technical emergency was turning into something far worse.
“We need to move,” Noah said sharply. “Engines on. We’re not sitting ducks.” Jamie scrambled back to his seat. “We can’t fly.” “No,” Noah agreed. “But we can sail.” He pushed the throttles forward. The seaplane responded slowly, lumbering through the water like a wounded whale.
Spray kicked up as they gained a bit of speed, enough to start pulling east, away from the approaching boats. In the rear of the plane, the precious cargo rattled in its harness. Jamie glanced back at it. “They don’t know what we’re carrying, right?”
Noah didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The seaplane plowed forward with all the grace of a fridge in a bathtub. The engines sputtered and growled against the strain, barely keeping the nose pointed east as waves slapped hard into the floats.
Spray slammed against the windows. Inside the cockpit, tension coiled like a wire ready to snap. Noah gripped the throttles with white knuckles. “This isn’t working. We’re crawling. Eight knots. Maybe.” Jamie’s eyes darted from the radar to the horizon and back again.
“They’re moving at least twice that. Maybe more. God—look at them.” Noah didn’t need to. He could hear it now—a low, rising growl in the distance. Boat engines. Two of them. Closing in. “They’re not hesitating,” Jamie muttered. “They’re coming straight for us.”
Noah’s voice was low, clipped. “No formation, no flanking. They know we can’t maneuver.” Jamie was already sweating. “What do we do? We can’t outrun them. We can’t outturn them. We can’t even fly.” “Keep moving. That’s all we’ve got.”
Jamie glanced behind them. The three sealed crates shifted with each jolt. He stared at them like they were about to explode. “They don’t know what we’re carrying, right?” His voice cracked slightly. Noah didn’t answer.
“Right? Noah?” Noah stared ahead, jaw clenched. “If they’re chasing us this hard, it doesn’t matter. They think there’s something valuable onboard.” Jamie cursed and slammed his palm against the control panel. “We shouldn’t be out here. This—this shouldn’t be happening.”
“I know,” Noah snapped. Jamie pointed at the radar. “They’re right on our tail. Coast Guard’s still over an hour away. That’s—” he looked down at his hands, shaking slightly—“that’s if they even get here at all.” Noah gritted his teeth. “They’ll come.”
“We’ll be gone by then!” The seaplane hit a swell hard. The whole cabin rocked. One of the warning lights on the dashboard flickered ominously. Jamie flinched. “We’re going to flip this thing.” “We won’t,” Noah said quickly, but he didn’t sound certain. “We just have to buy time. Keep distance.”
Jamie leaned closer to the window. His voice dropped. “I can see them now. Faces. They’re standing up, pointing, shouting something. Like they already think this thing’s theirs.” Noah grabbed the binoculars. One look was enough. “We can’t let them board. If they get on, it’s over.”
Jamie’s words came fast. “Okay, okay, then what? Do we—do we cut power? Do we try to hide? Use the cargo to block the doors? What are we even—what are we even supposed to do!?” Noah stared straight ahead. “We make it as hard as possible to get inside. Seal every hatch. Block every door. Buy ourselves time.”
Jamie’s breathing was shallow, chest rising fast. “You’re serious?” Noah retorted, “You have a better idea?” Jamie opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Noah’s voice hardened. “They’re coming. You want to survive? Start moving.” Jamie didn’t wait for another word. He was already up, moving through the narrow aisle as the plane pitched slightly beneath him.
Boxes shifted in their straps. A toolbox clattered to the floor in the cargo area, nearly catching his ankle. “We’ve got the main door on the right side,” he called out. “And the rear hatch. Both need to be shut and locked tight.”
Noah kept one hand on the throttle as he scanned the growing shadows on the water behind them. The boats were closing in, bouncing high on the waves, like they could leap across the sea if they had to. “Use anything heavy you can find,” he said. “Strap it down. Wedge it. Jam it.”
Jamie reached the rear hatch first. It had a manual locking bar, but the mechanism wasn’t built for brute force. He kicked a crate into place and yanked down a length of cargo net, tying it around both handles and cinching it tight.
Then he dragged the toolbox across and stacked it on top, gritting his teeth as the plane shuddered beneath him. In the cockpit, Noah ran a quick systems check — not that it mattered much. The plane wasn’t going anywhere. But he needed to know what systems he still had.
Battery power was steady. Radio signal still holding. Rudder still jammed. He looked over his shoulder. “Jamie?” “Almost done!” Jamie’s voice echoed back. “Starboard door’s next. We’ve only got that folding ramp and the internal lever—if they pry it open—”
“Don’t let them.” Noah stood now, activating the internal lock on the cockpit door, then grabbing the fire extinguisher and setting it just inside the entrance. Not much of a weapon, but something.
Jamie kicked another crate across the cabin, lodging it up against the door with a grunt. Sweat poured down his temple. “This is ridiculous,” he panted. “We’re fortifying a floating tin can.” Noah returned to the cockpit, chest heaving. “It’s all we’ve got.”
Jamie slid into the co-pilot seat, wiping his palms on his pants. “I don’t think this’ll hold them for long.” “It doesn’t need to,” Noah said. “Just long enough.” The engines behind them coughed, then stabilized. The boat engines, however, were louder now—steady, menacing.
Noah dared a glance through the side window. One of the boats was only a few hundred meters out. He could see the figures onboard waving, signaling. “Do they think we’ll surrender?” Jamie asked quietly. “I think they think we’re out of options,” Noah replied.
Jamie’s hands trembled as he clicked his seatbelt back into place. “Are we?” Noah’s lips pressed into a line. “Not yet.” The waves tossed the plane again, harder this time. The floor shifted. From somewhere in the rear, a low metallic creak echoed forward. One of the crates had tipped slightly in its harness.
“Keep an eye on that,” Noah said. Outside, the water surged. The first of the boats veered to the left, matching their drift. The other slowed, angling toward the blocked side door. Jamie stared. “They’re trying to board.” Noah’s voice was a whisper now. “Then we hold.”
The sound of the boats was loud now—no longer distant. The waves crashed harder, and voices shouted just beyond the thin walls of the seaplane. The whole plane shook as the water around it boiled with movement.
Jamie stared at the blocked side door, heart pounding. One of the crates they had used to brace it had started to shift slightly with every bump. “They’re right next to us,” he said, barely above a whisper. Noah said nothing. He was listening too. Then they both heard it.
A dull bump. Then another. Something was hitting the outside of the plane. “They’re testing us,” Noah said. “Seeing how easy it’ll be to climb on.” Another bang—louder now. Then a dragging noise, like someone scraping something heavy across the outside.
Jamie gripped the side of his seat. “What if they’re already trying to climb up?” “They might be,” Noah said, not sounding confident. Then came a loud knock—right on the side door. Jamie jumped to his feet. “That was the door.” “They’re trying the handle,” Noah said.
Jamie rushed to the main cabin. He pressed himself against the crate blocking the door and peered through the tiny window. A figure was outside—just a shadow through the glass. A hand hit the window once, fingers spread wide. No words. Just pressure.
“They’re right here,” Jamie called. “Trying to open it.” Noah joined him, voice firm. “Don’t open it. Doesn’t matter what they do—we keep them out.” Another sound came—a deep, groaning creak. The door was being pushed hard now. The crate jammed in front of it shifted slightly.
“They’re using something to try and force it open,” Jamie said, stepping back. “If they keep going like this, they’ll break through.” “Get behind the crates,” Noah said. “If they make it in—we stay back and out of sight.” Jamie’s breathing was fast and shallow.
“We’re not trained for this. We fly people and packages. This—this isn’t what we signed up for.” Noah looked him straight in the eyes. “I know. But we’re here. And we’re not letting them take this plane.” A sudden hit from the back of the plane made everything shake again.
Harder this time. “They’re trying from both sides,” Noah said. Then everything went quiet. Jamie held his breath. “Why did they stop?” Noah glanced at the radar, though it didn’t tell them anything new now. “They’re figuring out what to do next.”
The silence was worse than the noise. Then came the sound of something bending. Then a sharp crack. Jamie stepped back. “That door’s not going to hold.” Noah nodded once, eyes on the cabin door. “Get ready.”
The lock gave way with a metallic pop, and the cockpit door swung open. Three men barged in. Wet clothes clung to their skin. Their faces were mostly covered—scarves, hoods, even sunglasses—though one of them had a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
The tallest one pointed sharply at Jamie and barked something in a language neither pilot understood. “Back!” Noah said quickly, raising both hands. “We’re not armed.” One of the pirates held a rope. Another grabbed Noah and shoved him back into the seat. “Sit!” the man shouted, his voice rough, the accent heavy. “No noise. No trouble. You live.”
Jamie didn’t move fast enough. The tall pirate stepped forward and jammed a finger into his chest. “You quiet,” he growled in broken English. “Or we make you quiet.” They tied both of them up—hands behind their backs, wrists pressed tight. The ropes were rough, burning the skin. Jamie winced, trying to twist away, but the knot only tightened.
Outside the cockpit, two more pirates were already working on the cargo. Crates scraped across the wet floor, heavy clasps snapped open. Noah strained against the rope, fingers twitching. He looked toward the overhead panel, trying to think of something, anything.
But with his hands bound and two pirates standing inches away, there was nothing he could do. Jamie shifted back instinctively—and tripped. His foot caught under the co-pilot chair, and he tumbled backward—straight onto the center console. The whole plane jolted.
His elbow hit the throttle, and his lower back slammed onto a large red switch labeled “AUX EMERGENCY”. A siren blared through the seaplane like a foghorn gone wild. All five pirates flinched.
One of them screamed something, panicking as the plane began to roll slightly. Another lost his balance and fell against the open crate. One of the smaller boxes tipped and crashed to the floor, spilling delicate contents—silver cases, electronics, pieces of hardware now clattering and bouncing across the cabin.
“Shut it! Shut it!” the tall one shouted. Jamie was yanked off the controls. A pirate slammed the switch back, silencing the siren, but not before the damage was done. The men barked orders at each other, then turned their attention back to the cargo. The tall one jabbed a finger toward the door.
“We take them,” he said. “Now.” Two pirates pulled Noah and Jamie up roughly, marched them out onto the rear float of the plane, and dragged them into one of the boats. The ocean slapped against the hull as the waves picked up.
Jamie sat beside Noah, both of them soaked and shaking. Their wrists were still tied. “We lost the plane,” Jamie whispered. “They’re taking everything,” Noah muttered. Jamie looked out at the water, watching the pirates work together to lift a large crate out of the plane.
“What do you think they’ll do to us?” Noah didn’t answer. Then, above the wind and waves—they heard it. A distant horn. Then another. They turned. Out on the horizon, cutting clean through the sea, was a white cutter with a blue stripe. The Coast Guard. Full speed. Bearing down fast.
The pirates saw it too. Shouting erupted. The crate slipped from their grip, falling with a crash onto the boat deck. Two of them scrambled to pull away from the plane. One dropped into the water. Another tried to start the engine, but fumbled with the cord.
A voice boomed across the sea. “This is the Coast Guard! Drop your weapons and remain where you are!” Searchlights lit up the chaos. Noah and Jamie shielded their eyes. Within seconds, the pirates were surrounded. A smaller Coast Guard vessel flanked them.
Officers climbed aboard with practiced speed, shouting commands in multiple languages. Noah felt his ropes being cut. An officer steadied his shoulder. “You alright, sir?” Noah nodded. “We didn’t… we couldn’t stop them.”
“You held your ground,” the officer said. “That siren? That was the final ping we needed. We had your general location, but that blast gave us your exact spot.” Jamie laughed, stunned. “I sat on it by accident.” The officer grinned, “Lucky accident.”
Within minutes, the pirates were cuffed and loaded onto the Coast Guard boats. The stolen goods—at least most of them—were recovered. The seaplane drifted slightly in the waves, damaged but still afloat.
Later, as they sat under a warm blanket on the deck of the cutter, Jamie leaned back, still trembling a little. “So,” he said, “that’s flight one hundred.” Noah gave a weak smile. “Didn’t go exactly to plan.” Jamie looked up at the stars. “Yeah… but I’ll take it.”
