Cruise the Storm

by David Chilcott

  The captain turned to the second officer. "Grab a safety line, get out and look over the side."

  The captain took the binoculars from the first officer, looked through them. "Looks rectangular, barge-like. Can't be a barge, for God's sake. Not very big, but it hit us hard."

  "There's a hurricane got up, must have washed it into us."

  The gale blew the door against wall with a loud crash, as the second officer dragged himself back in. Water streamed from his clothes. He clutched at the instrument table to hold himself upright.

  "It's a container, a forty foot container, must have washed overboard from the ship watching us. The wind is in the right direction for that to have happened."

  A new sound could be heard above the gale a loud persistent hum.

  "Bilge pumps," he said. The others nodded. The captain picked up the phone, and spoke to the chief engineer.

  "What's the damage?"

  "Still investigating captain. I think the pumps will be able to deal with the leak, but I'll know in a few moments if you hang on to the line."

  The captain, held on, looked at the other two officers, glanced over to starboard, saw the hijacker guard, curled into the corner of the bridge, looking miserable, as though he was dying. Seasickness does that to you. The captain had no sympathy for him. The engineer came back on the phone.

  "We've had the forward doors stove in, Captain. Water's coming in at the top of the doors, where they don't fit any more. When we get a heavy wave, we get a lot of water forcing through, but I bet that in normal weather conditions, we wouldn't have a leak at all. I've got men working to deal with it. I'll report when we get to grips with it."

  The captain put down the phone, reported the conversation to the other two.

  "I think we ought to move the ship about half a mile, get clear of the container, upwind of it. Don't want that to happen again. Can you deal with that, Number one?"

  "Aye, aye, Sir." The first officer phoned down for a helmsman.

  Down in the bowels of the ship, two men and the chief engineer, all clad in waders, were knee deep in water that looked black under the overhead lights, swirling with movement of the ship. Sometimes the water came up to their waists, and other times to their ankles. The lights reflected the rainbow glow of oil scum on the water surface. When the ship heeled to port, water sprayed over them from above, coming down in sheets that threatened to knock them over. The pumps pulsed loudly. The men gathered in a group as the chief addressed them.

  "We need to get scaffolding up about twelve foot high, braced in every direction so that it can't be dislodged. Then we can get up to the top of the doors, weld up some rig to hold wadding up against the doors, to caulk the gaps. When we get to port, we can get the doors off, and repaired. That's for the shipyard to do."

  "We'll get a couple of labourers to start bringing the scaffolding up then," said one of the men.

  "Aye", said the chief, I'll get a rough design sketched out, showing what I mean, and you can tell me what you think."

  The captain was on the phone as soon as the engineer got back to his department. "Chief, we are going to move the ship up wind of this damn container. When we're about half a mile clear, I'll get the ship stern on to the wind, put a sheet anchor out from the stern. That should lessen your problem, what do you think? After that, I might come down, have a look."

  The chief engineer, a dour man, sounded enthusiastic. "That will help us no end, thanks. We'll need the aid of a shipyard when we get into port, to get the doors off, straighten them. It's not something we can tackle. Don't have the tools or lifting gear. But we'll be watertight in a few hours."

  The captain was pleased with the handling of this latest problem. The bigger problem of how to tackle the hijackers still weighed heavily over him. The last voyage for him, and the worst, as it was turning out.

  He decided that his next urgent task was get hold of the container ship, tell them they were losing cargo, if they didn't know. His new thought of dozens more containers floating his way alarmed him.

  He had to make a general call on the radiophone, but after five minutes he had located them, and was quickly patched through to the containership captain, a Frenchman, by the sound of his accent.

  "You are aware, I hope, that you are losing cargo? A forty-foot container has just damaged our ship. The container is now moving at a rate of knots towards Tel Aviv, as we speak. Are there more containers in the water?"

  "Unfortunately, we 'ave lost three containers in total. All the rest of our cargo, it is safe from going overboard."

  "Then we must move upwind from you. We cannot risk more damage. Don't worry, we are not leaving you. I hope you will continue to watch us." He signed off, turned to the first officer.

  "You will have to post a look out at the bows, there are two more containers overboard, we will have to get windward of the container ship, or there will be more trouble. Keep your speed to the minimum. Get extra watch up on the bridge, too. I am going below, to check on the damage."

  The captain, weary from lack of sleep, made his way with difficulty, down to the chief engineer's department.

  His office overlooked a fully equipped workshop on one side, the engine room on the other. The chief engineer was standing at his desk, holding on to avoid being knocked over, pencilling something on a large piece of paper.

  "Hello, Captain." He looked up at the sound of the door crashing back on its hinges. "Just sketching a design for the scaffold we need to get to the top of the forward doors, then we can weld a framework to hold some caulking to the gaps. That will get us to port, then, as I said, we need the services of a shipyard." He gestured through the office window at the workshop. "They are busy cutting some steel bars we'll need."

  The captain glanced in that direction, where two or three men in overalls, were working, and a band-saw machine was slicing through a bundle of steel.

  "Are you going to show me the damage?" asked the captain. The engineer pushed the sketch in his pocket.

  "I've got to go back there now, you're welcome to come with me, but you'll be needing waders. There's spare pairs in the cupboard behind you."

  The captain turned and opened a metal wardrobe, containing various clothing, boiler suits, long sweaters, oilskin capes, and at one end a pair of waders. He quickly pulled them on over his trousers and shoes.

  They had to go up a level to get past the sealed bulkhead, then down metal tread stairs, where the lights showed water with waves caused by the lurching of the ship. "Is the water deep," the captain said, preparing himself for all eventualities. Then he regretted asking the question, when he spotted two men in waders, with the water up to their waists, in the worst of the waves.

  The chief said, "No, the pumps are containing the leak, it's slightly better than when I left it."

  As the captain descended the stairs, gripping the handrails on both sides, he smelled salt brine, mixed with diesel fuel. It was cold down here. He gave a slight shiver, desperately tired.

  He was suddenly lashed by water, strangely warmer than the air temperature, just like heavy rain. Without warning, it became solid sheets of water, nearly wrenching him off the staircase. He got mouthfuls of water, coughing and choking, as he stumbled down the last few steps.

  The chief, who had been ahead on the stairway, turned to the captain. "Don't drown, Sir, we can't do without you." And he held the captain's arm, until the captain gruffly asked him to desist. In the water, it felt strangely warm, and the captain was able to look up at the doors, now a mere spray coming in, not even reaching the spot where the captain was standing, with water swirling around his knees.

  The chief was next to him, pointing at the doors, "You see, there, the crease in the metal, the bulge, that distorts the doors, pulling them down at the top. The water only comes in if the sea gets up there, and that's some waves we're experiencing." He beckoned to his two men who waded across, examining the chief's rough sketch pulled from the chief's pocket. The chief was gesturing as h
e spoke, pointing first at the door, then down at the sketch, also waving his arms in several directions. It looked vague to the captain, who couldn't hear the conversation above the noise of pumps and waves, but the men were nodding enthusiastically.

  Eventually the captain caught the chief's attention, and indicated that he was going back aloft. The chief engineer shepherded the captain to the staircase, and followed him up the metal staircase, to prevent him falling. They both went back to the chief's office, meeting on the way men carrying scaffolding coming in the opposite direction, squeezing past them. Once in the chief's office, he took off the waders, and the chief hung them over a chair. Water pooled on the floor.

  The captain shook the chief's hand and made his way back to the bridge. As he arrived, the ship began to move under the surge of its engines, a monster come alive. Everything was as it should be, a helmsman, the first officer by his side, binoculars hanging from his neck. He was studying the radar screen. The captain noticed blips, looking like images of small boats.

  "The containers there on the screen, are they?"

  The first officer nodded.

  "Being steel, they show up well don't they? Just as well, they are moving fast, but all in the same direction. It won't be too difficult to avoid them." He gave a change of heading to the helmsman. On the windows, circular screen wipers moved fast, clearing the screen. The captain could make out two forward observers, and beyond them the glare of the arc lights focused ahead, white spray illuminated, and huge white patches of spume patterned against the black of the ocean.

  The situation was under control. The captain made for his cabin, meaning to turn in. At five o'clock the attack team assembled for the assault on the hijackers. Already it was gone two o'clock. He groaned to himself.

  He entered his bedroom and switched on the light. As he did so, he heard a furious knocking on the main door. Wearily he retraced his steps, cautiously opened the door to the corridor. He saw one of the hijackers, still in uniform.

  Kevin said, "What are you doing captain? You are not allowed to move the ship. Where do you think you are taking it?"

  "Out of danger. Do you want to die, in a shipwreck? Well, I don't care if you do. My responsibility is to save the crew and the passengers, and that is what I am doing. The ship has been holed, and to stay there would have risked being hit again." The captain made to shut the door, but Kevin put his full weight against it, and the captain relented, and let him enter.

  Kevin looked at the captain, saw a man weary with exertion and responsibility, felt somehow sorry. "How far are you moving the ship?"

  "Only about two miles. There are containers, big steel ones, adrift in the water, three of them. One hit us in the bows, stove in the forward doors. We are leaking, the pumps are going, the chief engineer has men repairing the damage. We will be shutting down engines in about half an hour. Now can I go to bed?"

  "Okay Captain, I'm happy with that, you go to bed." He let himself out of the door. On his way back to his cabin, he wondered where the hell Bourne had got to. Not in his cabin at two o'clock in the morning.

  Back on the bridge, the first officer was directing the manoeuvre, coming about, well clear of the container ship. As they steamed up on the other side of the ship, now slowing, their safety now ensured, the officer signalled 'finished with engines', and the generators took over again.

  He turned to the second officer, still in a wet uniform.

  "Perhaps you could get a cape on, and take a couple of crew, and put out a sea anchor from the stern. Can you remember where the anchor is? Perhaps forward, I can't remember."

  "Yes, I remember putting it away, must be three years ago! Never thought we'd need it again." He used the phone to get two crewmen up to the bridge, and reminded them they would be working on deck, so should be suitably dressed.

  They were very quickly entering the bridge and the second officer was herding them out immediately. Whilst they went down the steps, and shouting to be heard over the wind, he explained where the sea anchor was stowed, told them to meet him at the stern, and not to go out on deck without safety lines attached.

  The sea anchor, or drogue was a stout canvas tube, tapered from six feet diameter at the forward end, to about half that width at the far end. It had a framework of steel at the wide end, to keep the tube open. The framework had a solid ring, to which was attached a hook with locking device, so that it was secure against detaching itself. The drogue was trailed, attached to a stout wire cable, at a considerable distance from the ship. When the ship was drifting due to wind, or tide, water was forced through the tapering canvas bag, slowing down movement. This would keep the ship into the wind, in this case stern to it. It is more usual to use the sea anchor off the bows, and to keep the ship bow into the wind. But in this case, they had a hole in the bows, so the idea was to stop large waves forcing water into the ship.

  The deck crewmen, dressed in yellow oilskins, came out, lines attached to the rails, carrying each at one end, the bulky canvas that was lashed with rope to make it portable. The second officer, already on deck, also in oilskins, had already switched on the arc lights. He had also unlocked a gate in the rails surrounding the large deck-mounted winch, the barrel of which was over three feet diameter, wire cable, oiled and neatly spooled, glistening under the lights.

  The problem that faced them was the power of the wind. If they undid the ropes wrapping the canvas, the drogue would fill in the gale and blow back on them, and they would never drop it over into the sea. The three men huddled together to hear what the officer had to say. "We'll hook it up to the wich cable, but leave it wrapped, then we'll drop it over the stern, just below the deck. Then one of us, with a sharp knife, will cut the wrapping ropes, but, for God's sake, don't cut the canvas. We haven't got another anchor, okay?" The two crewmen nodded, and one of them volunteered to cut the rope.

  They went through the gate and attached the drogue, with the safety hook, to the cable, the weight of several feet of loose cable holding the anchor from performing aerial acrobatics. They then had to retire through the gate, and the gate had to be re-locked. All this due to Health and Safety Regulations. The officer went over to the remote switch which powered the winch. He ran it about two revolutions, and switched off again. They reversed the Hand R rules to regain access to the winch area. Now they had about eight feet of heavy cable loose on the deck, but running in a pulley wheel to clear the edge of the ship.

  The three of them, moved the drogue to the deck edge, and a crew man carefully cut the retaining rope, but the cut rope was still retaining the drogue from opening out, but it still took the three of them to get the drogue over the stern. It kept wanting to blow back. They waited for a lull, and heaved together, and it went down to hang, banging, about six feet below them.

  "Come on," shouted the second officer, dashing out of the gate, locking it after them. He set the winch to unwind, and the other two, leaned over the rails they were secured to and watched the drogue hit the surging sea.

  With the line still paying out, it gradually sank, and the lashing rope broke free, and surfaced to drift away on the tide. They saw the huge mouth of the drogue, now just below the water, opened and vertical, the white canvas fill out behind it.

  The cable stretched taut, and running easily now over the pulley, as the officer kept his finger on the switch. Every fathom, the cable was marked with a white band, and the captain was counting. At a count of fifty, he stopped the winch. They now had the sea anchor three hundred feet behind the ship.

  Within minutes the ship was straightening into the waves, which now broke over the stern, not quite reaching the deck. After watching for a few minutes, in case anything went wrong, and it didn't, he discharged the two ratings. There was always the danger that the drogue could split with the pressure exerted on it. But that was the chance they had to take. If it happened they would know about it soon enough, as the ship yawed beam on. When he was inside the ship he undid the safety lines, stripped off his oilskins, a
nd decided to go below, and see how things were in the bows.

  First he went along to the chief engineer's office, and met the chief just coming out through the door.

  "Hello chief, just come to see how the sea anchor's made a difference. I just hope it will survive. There's a terrible hurricane on."

  I'm just going back to the bows, walk with me if you like, you'll not be able to get on the second deck, mind. Not without your waders on, but you can look over the stairs, like."

  By the time they got there, the bilge pumps were winning the battle. Spray and water was no longer cascading through the doors. There was a lot of scaffolding erected, and planking being laid about four foot from the top of the doors, comfortable working height, for welding bars to contain the caulking.

  There was still water sloshing about on the floor, but quite shallow now.

  The welder was up there on the scaffolding, even though the planks were not all laid. As they watched from the top of the metal staircase, he lit the torch and sparks were surrounding the brilliant white flame. The officer shielded his eyes and looked elsewhere, but there was a large red gap in his vision. Damn, he thought. He should be more careful. He thanked the chief, and made his way back to his cabin, already having exceeded his shift by several hours.

  Chapter 39

  The officer was already back with two burly sailors, who quickly took away the prisoner. McBride handed the spare AK47 to Aldo. "Can you use this?"

  Aldo's face lit up: "Si, I use the leetle beauty okay"

  "Well," said McBride, "lend your pistol to one of the sailors coming with us."

  They raced back to the command room as fast as possible, considering the lurching action of the ship. McBride was first through the door. The captain still presided, moving around the room like the host at a cocktail party.

  "Mission accomplished," McBride told the captain, "There was only one hi-jacker on the bridge, and two of your men are taking him to the brig. I've given his AK47 to Aldo, so I think he deserves the spare gas mask. He looked round the room. "Everybody else got goggles? Make sure you all collect some cable ties, to handcuff any captives. I want three of you to also have master keys to the cabins. I've got one, too."