A Ravel of Waters

by Geoffrey Jenkins

  I turned to Tideman. By hindsight later, I realized that he had had time to work on his story while Brockton was explaining his.

  'John, your stamping-ground is Cape Horn, by your own from it. What do you hope to get out of Jetwind? You, plus four paratroopers?'

  'Our Navy got tipped off by the U.S. Navy of a build-up in the South Atlantic,' he replied. 'We're even more handicapped by lack of ships and aircraft than the U.S. We're a shoestring outfit. Like Paul, I'm also taking a chance on something turning up.' There was an imperative knock at the door. 'Come in!’

  It was Arno, his face expressionless. He gave me a half-formal salute as if to underline the importance of the signal he handed to me. It was in plain language. It was from the Argentinian Navy.

  TO RAINIER, JETWIND, JWXS, POSITION…'

  I gasped — our position was stated exactly as it was half an hour before! I thought I had.brushed Jetwind’s tracks clean! RETURN TO PORT STANLEY IMMEDIATELY. SURRENDER TO ALMIRANTE STORNI. NONCOMPLIANCE WITH THIS ORDER WILL BE FOLLOWED BY APPROPRIATE AIR AND NAVAL ACTION.

  I read the signal over to Tideman and Brockton. Tideman noted the position fix give-away even before Brockton.

  'How the hell could the Argentinian Navy possibly know our position?'

  'It tallies with the satellite navigator's read-out barely half an hour ago,' I replied. 'I mean to find out more about this.'

  'Do you intend to comply with the order?' asked Brockton.

  'What the hell do you think?' I retorted. 'It's a bluff. "Appropriate air and naval action"!' I snorted derisively. 'In this kind of storm? This is the sort of weather to exploit the sailing ship's built-in advantage over power. We're doing better all the time. I mean to get even more out of this ship still once I get on the bridge!' 'Good man!' Tideman said with warm sincerity.

  Brockton paced the cabin excitedly. 'We'll lick these Red sonsofbitches yet — just the three of us! No goddam Soviet Fleet is going to seal the Drake Passage!'

  My reply was aimed at throwing a bucket of water over his fervour. 'Both of you talk as if there's a war on.'

  My remark had the desired effect on Brockton. His excitement vanished. The gravity which took its place was all the more striking by contrast. Tideman nodded agreement when he said,

  'The war is on, Peter. It's not a shooting war — yet. It's a silent war. It's a war of move and counter-move deep under the oceans — deep as the nuclear subs run. The Drake Passage is the West's last great bastion. I am at war, John is at war’ I indicated the Argentinian signal. 'It looks as if Jetwind is also at war.'

  Chapter 19

  A radio phone call I had put through to Thomsen in Cape Town broke up our meeting. Brockton and Tideman left the cabin, Tideman under orders to get some rest as soon as I could relieve him on the bridge.

  My news left Thomsen ecstatic. He brushed aside the implications of the Almirante Storni. His enthusiasm was unbounded when he heard Jetwind's progress and speed. There was a tough, Pll-show-them admiration in his voice when I told him the route I was taking. Fastest, but most perilous — the Trolltunga route. I cut short his congratulations. A lot could happen in 2100 miles to Gough, I told him before I rang off. What I wanted most now was to icoax Jetwind up to her maximum.

  I made for the door. As I reached it, it was thrown open as if the gale had suddenly burst its way below-decks. It was Sir James Hathaway.

  The impetus of his entry and a lurch from the ship caused him to stagger and trip over the old ship's bell on the floor which Robbie Lund had given me at Comodoro Rivadavia. Sir James stood glaring at me and the bell, as if torn between which he should curse first.

  'Rainier! Why the devil do you hide yourself away? I've been trying to get hold of you all morning!' I bit back my retort; he was Jetwind's potential purchaser.

  I said as civilly as I could, 'My job is to keep this ship moving. That comes first.'

  Maybe he wasn't used to being answered back, but what I had to say seemed to mollify him. He reached for my hand. His grip was like a welter-weight's at a fight weigh-in.

  It cost him an effort to say, 'Congratulations! You've done well, Rainier. Yesterday I couldn't have imagined myself saying that to any skipper who took over this ship.' 'Thanks.'

  'Everyone on board is full of what you did to that bloody dago warship.'

  'There may be more people than those aboard talking about it soon,' I said. 'The Argentinian Navy, for example.'

  'The hell with them,' he rejoined cheerfully. 'The United Nations included., They'll blow it up and make capital of the incident before the international forum, make no mistake. Lots of tub-thumping from the Reds into the bargain. That's my view. Take it or leave it.' 'They won't leave it, you can be sure.'

  His attention seemed divided between me and the old bell. 'Where'd you get this from? Ship's bells are my hobby.'

  I was surprised that he admitted to having any weakness. I explained and he bent down and examined it. 'Ambassador, you say? She was a Lund ship, wasn't she?'

  'It's generations since that line went out of business, Sir James.'

  'Ship-owning is an ongoing business,' he retorted saltily. 'Ships driven by fossil fuels such as oil are on their way out, in the same way that coal killed the windjammer. The next phase is the genuine sail-driven, aerodynamic cargo carrier. That's why I became interested in Jetwind.’ 'I hope you still are interested,'

  He seemed to dance up and down with excitement. 'Drive her, man! Show the world! Drive this bloody ship under! What's she logging at this moment?' 'Twenty knots — but she can do better.' 'Then why aren't you doing better? How much better?'

  'Three, maybe a maximum of four, if the gale rises above Force Ten. And if I'm given the opportunity to get on my own bridge.'

  For a second I thought he would explode, then he grinned. 'I don't like anyone brushing me off, but this once I'll take it.'

  I didn't leave immediately; I paused for a diplomatic minute or two to tell the irascible little so and so about the ship-owners' rendezvous Thomsen had arranged at Gough. He appeared wary of my softer approach. Perhaps he thought I was trying to con him. I added Weather Routing's warning about Trolltunga.

  He considered me shrewdly. 'Why don't you deviate to miss the ice?'

  'If I could sail Albatros that way by my own devices, then I can manage it with a ship full of electronic gadgetry.'

  'I really believe you mean what you say, Rainier. But that first officer of yours will let you down — Grohman.' 'He won't. He's suspended.'

  'That's what I like to hear. If a man can't go along with your ideas, there's only thing.' He gave one hand a mini karate chop with his other. 'The axe.'

  He seemed a man of unpredictable switches of mood. Grohman having been disposed of, so to speak, his interest returned to the old bell.

  'Have it for yourself,' I offered. 'Anything aboard this ship which hasn't got a computer attached belongs to the Dark Ages.'

  'I'll keep it in my quarters for good luck,' he said. He hefted it up to go. I was surprised at his strength. He reminded me again of a Cock Robin boxer. 'One always needs the luck at sea, especially in a sailer.'

  I hurried up to the bridge. The sea was a wild scene. My instinct told me even before I consulted the anenometer that the wind speed was over fifty knots. It was shearing off the overhanging crests of the rollers — about ten metres high and throwing the foam and spray in streaks like a giant fireman's hose. The rollers themselves had a thudding, killer punch to them, each one a threat to the fleeing ship.

  In the bows there was enough water and spray over Jetwind's deck to match an anti-nuclear washdown system. The ship was steady, but lying over far — almost to her full count of nine degrees. If she were ambushed by a sudden gust she would go over on her beam-ends and never come up again.

  Kay was standing with Tideman at the control consoles. He had taken the royals off her; she was down to top gallants. Kay looked worried. As I joined them, Jetwind put her bows far down; hundreds of tons of sea
came sweeping along the deserted decks.

  Kay gave me a brief smile of welcome and said, 'Peter, the slamming is slowing her down. The resistance component of the sea-way is getting bigger all the time. In spite of the wind she's not travelling faster.' Tideman added grimly, gesturing for'ard, 'Look at that!'

  The next blow against the ship's bow was like hitting a solid wall.

  Sweat poured down the helmsman's face. He wore only a shirt and jeans; they had big wet patches. He compensated heavily on the wheel as the bows tried to break away.

  'She's very hard to hold any more,' he panted. 'I can't keep her steady, sir. If any of the rudder controls go, the ship's had it.' Tideman gave me an inquiring look. 'Kay,' I asked, 'what sort of thrust is there on the sails?'

  'I made the calculation about five minutes ago — roughly, about forty thousand horse-power.' 'But she's not getting the full benefit of that?'

  'No, she's not. She's actually losing speed instead of picking it up. If we could stop the slamming it would raise the speed. I know theoretically what's happening, but I don't know what the practical answer is.'

  'What — in theory — is happening?' I questioned her with my eyes fixed on Jetwind's sails. 'A converter of solar energy into thrust,' Thomsen had termed them. Here then was that process — the sea white with fury, the tearing overcast black with rage, stooping so low at times that Jetwind's royal masts were lost to sight, the ocean itself raging uncontrollably. I formulated orders — radical, unheard-of orders.

  'Jetwind is plunging violently in a pitching plane,' she was explaining. 'That's the problem. The movement is playing havoc with the aerodynamics. As the bow falls into the trough of a wave, there is an upward component of span-wise flow on all her foresails. Then as the bow hits the solid water of the next wave, that flow, is ended abruptly and replaced by a sudden downward component as her bow rises to that wave. And so on. Jetwind could experience a stall like an aircraft — brought about by the span-wise flow if this continues.'

  I interrupted her, noting how the lower part of the fore-course was blanketed and went slack as Jetwind dived deep into the troughs. 'Where is the main driving force centred?'

  Kay answered unhesitatingly. 'About fifteen to twenty metres above the deck.'

  Jetwind crashed into a bigger roller. It felt as unyielding as the Berlin Wall.

  'She can't take this sort of punishment very long,' Tideman cautioned. 'Something must go.'

  'Stand by,' I ordered. 'Stand by to slack off the fore-course.' Kay looked startled.

  'No way,' answered Tideman. 'You can't slack off Jetwind's type of sails. They're fitted to form a single aerodynamic unit from truck to deck.'

  'The thrust of the wind so high above the deck is ramming her bows down’ I said; 'Plus the fact that there's no lift for'ard.' 'Plus no stay-sails,' added Tideman. 'What's the size of the fore-course?' I asked Kay. 'About two hundred square metres.'

  'That's a lot of sail,' I said. 'It's the sail for the job of lifting her bows if we can get the wind under it and balloon it out.' 'You can't do anything with it…' began Tideman.

  'Raise the lower yard ten degrees port and starboard as for cargo loading,' I ordered. 'There's only one way then the sail can go — out like a balloon.'

  'My oath!' exclaimed Tideman. 'Whoever would have thought of that!'

  Kay grabbed my arm in protest. 'You can't do it, Peter! It'll wreck the effect of aerodynamic efficiency!'

  I looked into her eyes. 'There are times at sea when you have to do what the sea calls for, not the wind-tunnel,' I said gently.

  I turned away from her puzzled, resentful gaze. 'Carry on,' I told Tideman.

  His fingers manipulated the controls. The great yard folded upwards, halted. The heavy dacron billowed. The wind started to get underneath it. 'Give it another five degrees,' I said.

  Up went the yard again. Out ballooned the great sail. The next wave rushed at Jetwind with the solidity of a concrete tank-trap. Her bows rose, shouldered aside the water. There was no sickening slam.

  Tideman exclaimed, 'You've lifted her bows two feet out of the water!'

  The quartermaster was grinning. 'That's done it, sir! She steers like an angel now!'

  Kay came close and took me impulsively by the upper arms. Her laugh had some tears in it. 'You're… you're a magician, Peter! You're the best afloat since Woodget skippered the Cutty Sark!' I wanted to kiss her, but a ship's bridge isn't the place.

  I tried to laugh off her praise. 'It's just one of those things one learns at sea.'

  But she wouldn't have it and pointed to the speed reading. 'She's making twenty-one knots already!'

  Jetwind did better during the day. At times she nudged twenty-three knots, surfing, I suspect, a little on some of the biggest rollers. She remained dry and safe, tearing along as the wind reached Force 12, or nearly seventy knots. The earlier sickening cork-screwing was gone now that the fore-course held her bows high.

  There was no sun. The twilight greyness of the storm was illuminated in a curious unreal way by the sea's surface which the harrowing of the gale had seared white. If there was growler ice about, we would never have spotted it in that streaming whiteness before it ripped open Jetwind's hull. I didn't think about ice; I kept her going; and in the next twelve hours Jetwind had put 480 kilometres between herself and the last land. Ahead lay nothing but Gough. And Trolltunga.

  Chapter 20

  I knew I was in love with Kay when I saw her death-fall from the mainyard next day. That morning death struck three times aboard Jetwind. I was on watch; it was about seven bells, 7.30 a.m.

  Our speed had fallen slightly during the night, but she was still logging a splendid eighteen knots. The storm had eased but the ocean remained an awesome sight. In the grey first half light the crests seemed steeper than before. Jetwind was putting her shoulder into them and every time her bows went down mountains of water swamped her long, unbroken main-deck. It was the sort of situation I had foreseen when I had criticized the deck's lack of 'breakwaters' to Thomsen.

  I had just spoken to Jim Yell, the bo'sun, on the intercom. Jim's quarters were aft, under the poop. The bo'sun in a sailing ship occupies a-different status from a bo'sun aboard a steam ship. Jim had almost officer standing. Since Grohman's suspension and 'house arrest' a much greater burden had been put on him. I intended to use the half-hour before the relieving watch came on duty to inspect the after-peak which housed the auxiliary engine nacelle, the stern dropkeel, and the steering gear.

  I arranged to meet Jim in the crew's mess3 also aft near his own quarters. I passed Arno's office on my way and told him where I was going. He eased the head-phone clear of his blond hair and nodded. It was the last I saw him alive.

  Kay and I almost collided as I started down the companion-way from the bridge to the main-deck. She had watched her moment with the seas coming aboard and had sprinted along the deck from her cabin in the stern. The icy cold air — contrasting with the air-conditioned interior — had brought colour to her cheeks. She was wearing sneakers and a green and white tracksuit with a loose top. It did nothing for her figure; I was not to know then its importance in the forthcoming drama.

  'Isn't it enough to sprint a hundred and fifty metres along a deck without running up and down the mast as well?' I joked.

  She held on to the handrail and looked up at me. I should never have let her go.

  'Exercise is a sacred cow with me,' she smiled. 'If it's not milked every day, it becomes sloppy.'

  'There seems to be a strictly feminine undertone to this conversation.'

  She laughed and was about to reply but then exclaimed urgently, 'Watch out, Peter! Here it comes!'

  The water did not reach the top of the companion-way where we were but swirled along the deck. It was cold, green, hostile. The big deck ports clanged as it flooded overboard. 'This is my moment,' I said, and started down. I managed the deck without the life-lines. An additional precaution was safety nets. I barely had time to dodge up the quar
ter-deck companion-way before the next roller swept the decks. I glanced aloft before making my way inside. There was ice on the burnished yards above.

  Jim's cabin was the fourth down the passage. As I passed, his phone rang. I answered in his absence.

  The scream of terror was Arno's. The shot was someone else's. 'Arno! Arno!'

  I dropped the silent instrument and ran for Jim Yell. He was standing smoking and talking to a seaman eating breakfast. 'Jim!'

  He spun round as I burst in. I jerked my thumb in the direction of the bridge. We both erupted on to the main-deck.

  The nearest companion-way to our objective was on the starboard side of the bridge. But that was the weather side, the side which was shipping hundreds of tons of water. It created a waist-deep, freezing barrier. We hung on to the life-lines. There was an interminable delay while we waited for the sea to drain

  'It's Arno!' I explained hastily to Jim. 'He gave a scream. There was a shot…'. 'Now — run!' shouted Jim.

  We had reached No. 3 mast when Jim grabbed me and pointed aloft.

  Kay was standing on the mainyard of the next mast for'ard, No. 2 mast, the one which bisected the bridge. This was her daily run. She was far out along the yard, hanging on with one hand to a loading cable. She spotted us, gesticulated urgently forward seawards. From our level nothing could be seen but the next wall of water waiting for Jetwind’s bows. 'Hang on, sir!'

  I made an uncompromising gesture in response to Kay. I grabbed the life-line and braced myself.

  To my horror, Kay let go the cable and cupped her hands like a megaphone to her mouth. 'Ice! A growler! Right ahead! Port! Hard-a-port!'

  The wave dealt a right cross to Jetwind’s jaw. She gave a wicked lurch, like a boxer absorbing a hay-maker. Kay grabbed frantically for her support. The yard was coated with ice. I saw her feet slip. She tried to regain her balance by tottering out along the yard. Her plan might have worked had there been no ice and no second lurch from the ship.