Frag Out! Magazine
Issue link: https://fragout.uberflip.com/i/1542142
A s speed ramps up, the RIB lengthens its jumps ri- ding the wake left by the cruise ship we're closing on. The small vessel grows larger. Seconds separa- te me and the rest of our eight-person team from the mo- ment of truth. How much have we learned over the last two days of the VBSS course? 28 hours earlier. I'm walking through the empty lanes of Hel Penisula way after the season. It's still before nine in the morning, there are no tourists and no Chinese souvenirs at the stalls from the Polish Sea. Hel looks the way it does for most of the year. I head down a side street where the seaside-resort style hasn't yet ar- rived. I pass neglected port warehouses that someone will likely turn soon into expensive lofts with a view of the "Small Sea", as the local wind/kite surfers call the bay. Gulls cry overhead. Hel Penisula isn't large, so it takes me a few minutes to reach the arranged meeting place, and I stop in front of a stylish local restaurant. I pull the handle, glancing only briefly at the "Closed" sign. Inside the dark room, a do- zen men turn toward me, most dressed in popular multicam. So I've come to the right place. That's how my* (m_c) adventure with the VBSS course began, orga- nized by former operators and coxswains of Poland's oldest special unit, Formoza naval special warfare unit. Training and other events run by ex-operators for civilians have the taste of an adventure. I've had the chance* (P.Ż.) in my life to walk through, sometimes literally, with a heavy backpack, many such events… I've been blown onto the legendary Fan Dance in Wales and out into the wilds of northern Sweden. Yet there's one event I return to regularly, which I consider the greatest adventure… It's the VBSS course (Visit, Board, Search, and Seizure), in plain translation: ap- proach bessel, board, search and secure/seize, in short, a boarding! Pirate's life! The hiss of air, the roar of engines, the taste of salt in your mouth… and of course the Polish Navy SEALs, Formoza. Nothing pumps ad- renaline into your veins like a RIB charging toward a ship while your whole team prepares to go aboard. Then, when the boat clamps to the ship's side, the coxswain shouts the command, "pole up!" and the fight with the elements begins: the heavy ship bounces on the waves… someone kneels on the RIB's deck and tensions the caving A U T H O R : PA W E Ł Ż U C H O W S K I & M R _ C U LT R O I M A G E S : B A R R A C U D A E L I T E & F O R M O Z A R I B V.B. S.S. THE STEADY THUMP OF THE RIB'S HULL AGAINST THE SURFACE OF THE BALTIC SEA IS INTERRUPTED BY THE SYNCHRONIZED RUMBLE OF 350 HORSEPOWER ENGINES. I CAN'T TELL WHETHER MY GLASSES ARE BEING WETTED BY RAIN OR BY SEA SPRAY. OR MAYBE IT'S THE WAVES? IT DOESN'T REALLY MATTER. I'M ONLY THINKING ABOUT NOT BEING FLUNG OVERBOARD DURING THE NEXT ONE-METER HOP OF THE "BOAT" ON A SWELL. www.fragoutmag.com