Free Strawman's Hammock by Darryl Wimberley

to see are close to the coast. ’Sides, it’s more fun to take a boat.”
    They were in Jarold’s four-wheeler, or rather, the Commission’s, an olive-green Chevy Tahoe fixed with the agency’s seal, a V-8, and a boat hitch. Barrett expected to see an airboat trailered behind. The shallow waters near the coast from Deacon Beach to Dead Man’s Bay were extremely hazardous to normally hulled watercraft. An oyster mound or cypress knee could rip through any hull, and props were ruined daily. But you could take a Hartzel propeller and a Lycoming engine, mount it above a long, wide-bottomed hull, and skip over those obstacles at fifty bone-jarring miles an hour. You could sail over grass or marsh, too. However, since most drug runners and poachers used boats, Barrett had never been convinced that this was a significant advantage.
    On the other hand, Bear could cite some definite disadvantages for the airboat. The things were prohibitively expensive to operate and maintain. If taxpayers only knew. The airboat had a very limited range. And they were loud. Very loud.
    Reciprocating aircraft engines designed in the ’40s were not built with noise abatement in mind. Local fishermen hated them, and from the lawman’s perspective they were not well suited to any operation where a stealthy approach or reconnoiter was required. You just sure as hell were not going to sneak up on anybody with a six-foot prop and a hundred and eighty horses of aircraft engine.
    Which may have been the chief reason that Jarold Pearson preferred his own, customized alternative. Barrett was familiar with the newly painted bright-green craft that towed behind the warden’s Tahoe; the bird dog was a working boat designed especially for fishing mullet. Bird dogs were especially effective in shallow water, but were outlawed along with certain dimensions of gill nets when changes in state law made their operation illegal. Barrett had spent one afternoon of his life throwing nets off a bird dog. That was plenty.
    â€œThe hell did you get that thing?” Barrett jerked a thumb rearward.
    Jarold smiled.
    â€œConfiscated. Fixed her up myself.”
    The boat had an unusual design. Fairly broad abeam, the hull only pulled six inches or so of water, even heavily loaded. There was no prop to stern, or even rudder. Instead, a waterwell mounted just forward of amidships served as transom for an outboard motor that would power and turn a prop just below the waterline. Those unique characteristics combined to produce a craft that was rugged, shallow drafting, and extremely maneuverable.
    â€œTurn on a dime?” Barrett inquired.
    â€œYou bet.” Jarold smiled proudly. “And give you nine cents change. And then I made my own modification. I swapped out the old Mercury that came with the boat and put in a water jet.”
    Barrett immediately saw the advantages. With a water jet there was no prop to foul, no blade to become tangled in grass or bent on debris. Instead the engine used impellers to suck up ambient saltwater that was then hosed sternward at terrific pressure. It was a simple system, reliable, easy to operate.
    And fast as hell.
    â€œI can make sixty miles an hour over six inches of water without pushing.” Jarold eyed his creation briefly in the rearview. “And I can turn three times inside any airboat at full throttle.”
    But the biggest advantage for law enforcers related to stealth. The jet engine was, in comparison to an airboat, baffled and quiet. You could actually approach a suspect without advertising your presence eight miles in advance.
    â€œEverybody out here’s got a gun,” Jarold remarked. “You sure as hell want to see him before he sees you.”
    Jarold’s observation reminded Barrett how the role of the game warden had changed over the years, how the stewards of forests and wetlands had extended their role to other areas of law enforcement. Even experienced