It was November, with temperatures falling into the teens. The wind was howling, and Davis, who had been a demolition specialist in the U.S. Army, knew that he was in as much trouble as he'd ever been in during three tours of duty in Vietnam. He had no more than a swallow of water left in his bottle, no dry matches, and no food. No one knew where he was. Nor were high tides likely to come to his rescue. He'd have to wait for another storm surge or attempt to hike 18 miles across oyster bars and sand shoals, plus swim dozens of deep water channels, to reach the safety of the mainland. To make matters worse, he'd torn one of the boots out of his waders when trying to drag the boat and knew that if he tried to walk, the sharp edges of the oyster shells would slice his foot to ribbons.