TERMINAL ISLAND, Calif. -- Sidearms in place, batons and pepper spray latched to their belts, the two sea marshals scrambled aboard a pilot boat under a sliver of moonlight. Still hours before sunrise, they sped off into black waters, headed for the day's first job on this stretch of the homeland front line.
The mission: Meet the incoming cruise liner Ecstasy and ensure no one tries to commandeer it on the way into one of the world's busiest ports.
"Semper Paratus!" one called out in the darkness. "That's our motto: Always be ready."
At the sprawling Los Angeles-Long Beach Port, U.S. Coast Guard marshals have escorted cruise ships to and from sea ever since the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks. But the job took on new meaning with the start of war with Iraq.
"Like a policeman on a beat, after a while you get into a routine. It's not routine anymore," said security Chief Eric Smith, who supervises one team of marshals. "I pass it on to my guys in the morning: 'Listen, the war is on. Let's be on our toes."'
The marshals are but one squadron in an army of federal agents, state troopers, hometown deputies and private security officers charged with protecting the homeland.
Like the soldiers in the Middle East, some have given up day jobs and left families behind to assume new wartime roles. The coastline, the borders, the train stations and airports -- these are their front lines.
Here, victory comes not from missiles and bombs but with the calm that assures peace in a nation that remembers terror.
Near Mission, Texas, Border Patrol agents in a shallow-bottomed boat scan the mighty Rio Grande.
To the south, Mexican children fish for guppies with plastic cups and wave as the agents cruise along. From the north come more waves, from birdwatching retirees.
The river's midpoint is the boundary, and agents watch any boats edging toward the U.S. side. They could carry migrants looking for work, but the new threat to watch for is terrorists slipping through.
For the hundreds of agents guarding the border, that means longer hours and heightened monitoring -- by boat, on foot and with sophisticated technology such as remote sensors and infrared cameras.
"We've got every possible resource, other than lining up at the border and holding hands with one another," assured agent Xavier Rios.
On another front, in Homewood, Ala., policeman Jeff Harris has amended his patrol route to include drives by the local mosque. Harris isn't so worried about what the Muslims might do. He's more concerned about what some stirred-up "Bubba" might do to them.
"The main thing," he said, "is just watching for any possible retaliation."
Even in Homewood, a quiet community of 25,000 near Birmingham, the emphasis on security is evident. "Mind your P's and Q's," Harris' supervisor warned at roll call. "Anything can happen."
As he spoke, a television showed images of bombs falling on Baghdad.
In bigger cities, beefed-up patrols and bomb-sniffing dogs augment security on streets and other public places.
In Manhattan, New York State Trooper Brian diLorenzo walks his bomb dog, Pit, out of a grimy subway corridor as two elderly women toting shopping bags step aside nervously, halting their conversation in Cantonese.
Trooper and dog move around the city as directed -- Herald Square, the Javits Convention Center, a plaza near ground zero. "Where's the bomb?" diLorenzo prompts again and again, and Pit methodically sniffs.
At Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, 7-year-old German shepherd Bobby is working 12Y-hour shifts, four or five days a week. "Bobby, seek!" Port of Seattle Officer Mick Autuchovich commands during a search of the Level Four garage.
Autuchovich slackens his hold on the leash as the shepherd makes a counterclockwise sweep of a pickup truck, taking a whiff first of its tires, then along the edge of its bed.
For now, all is clear.
By midmorning in Southern California, Coast Guard patrols are in full swing. The Ecstasy and its 2,400 passengers made it safely to port after marshals boarded and examined its engineering room and emergency steering compartment.
A second team of marshals met up with a German ship carrying ammonium nitrate. The container seals weren't tampered with, and the crew was verified.
Immediately after the Sept. 11 attacks, some 60 marshals were stationed at LA's port, which spans 7,500 acres of land and water along 43 miles of waterfront. The number had decreased to about a dozen, but is back up to 38 -- and more are arriving every week.
Marshal Darin Masterton was called to duty in January. An immigration investigator in Bakersfield, Masterton now spends his time plying the seas near Los Angeles. His partner on this day, insurance agent Bill Veon of Cypress, has been on active duty since November 2001.
As the sun shone high above the Pacific, the two stood on the bridge of the Catalina Express, peering at oil platforms, sailboats and fishing vessels as the ship ferried several hundred vacationers and residents back and forth to Santa Catalina Island.
On the two-hour, roundtrip voyage, the marshals inspected the engine room, examined luggage and strolled through the passenger cabin.
"You'll have people come up to you, 'Is everything OK? How come you guys are on board?' So we try to reassure them," said Masterton, clad in a navy T-shirt labeled "Sea Marshal" in huge, gold letters.
"We want to make sure the mothers and dads and the kids going to school don't feel the stress of 'Is something going to happen to me?"' added Veon.
Susan Lansdowne, a Santa Cruz property manager returning from a week on the island, was glad to see the marshals.
"I don't think there's anything to really be worried about," she said, "but it's always nice to see the man in uniform. That's the man that's protecting us from everything."
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EDITOR'S NOTE -- AP reporters Lynn Brezosky in Texas, Jay Reeves in Alabama, Michael Weissenstein in New York and Melanthia Mitchell in Washington state contributed to this report.
