by Robin Crumby
Flynn and his men stood ready on the Nipper’s deck in the shelter of the wheelhouse, bracing themselves against the heavy roll. Another wave smashed into the bow sending spray high into the air, showering down on top of them. Flynn had a grappling line and was intending to hook the railing and climb on board. On his back, he carried a rope ladder some twenty feet long.
Jack brought the Nipper back to the leeward side of the enormous tanker, keeping his distance. Each time the tanker met another wave, it rose thirty feet above them before sinking into the trough. Their plan required exceptional timing. Jack was to get them right in close, a gap of no less than ten to fifteen feet to avoid a collision that could crush the tiny Nipper. As she rose high against the Santana’s superstructure, Flynn would throw the line and, with a large degree of luck, he could climb on board.
Flynn waited by the gunwale. One of the other marines held tight to his belt leaving his hands free to operate. Jack gunned the engines and they surged towards the towering hull, bringing them alongside. The two vessels lurched towards each other, see-sawing higher and higher before plunging towards them. Jack shouted “Now!” at the top of his voice and Flynn swung the grappling hook. He threw it high towards the railing but the gap closed and with a loud clang, the line fell short, plunging into the sea between the two ships. He shook his head, hauled in the line and waited to try again.
The gap between the vessels closed again and briefly, there was contact, a dangerous scrape of metal on metal, tearing a hole in the Nipper’s toe rail before Jack could get a last-minute response from a sharp turn of the wheel. Flynn tried again, taking careful aim. This time he found his mark and pulled hard to secure the line. As the ship rose again, he clung to the rope and was lifted off his feet, soaring higher until his body slammed into the hull. They watched nervously from below as he clambered hand over hand, hauling himself up the rope. After what seemed an age, he got one hand on the railing, pulled himself up and flopped on to the deck, safely on board the Santana.
As soon as he had caught his breath, he took the pack off his back and removed the rope ladder. After securing it fast to the railing on both sides, he unfurled the ladder and waited for the first marine to make the climb. Jack closed the gap to within a few feet and waited for the hull of the Santana to plunge towards them once more. The marine timed his jump to perfection and made it safely on to the bottom third of the ladder, pulling himself clear of the waves and straddling the rail. The next marine stood ready. Jack noticed him visibly shaking, terrified of the leap of faith he had to make. When the moment came, he jumped just too late as the Nipper lurched to starboard. He clutched for the bottom rungs of the ladder but fell short, disappearing into the waves behind the Nipper.
Jack cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted “Man overboard” as loud as he could.
Sam looked round anxiously. He ran to the back of the boat, snatching a life ring and threw it towards the flailing arms of the man in the water.
The marine was not wearing a life jacket and struggled to stay afloat, groping for the line attaching the ring to the boat, as he drifted away. Sam took up the slack, ready to pull him in.
The marine floundered, fully clothed, desperately trying to keep his head above the water. He drifted towards the ring, fighting for breath. He reached for the life ring, swallowing another mouthful of seawater. It was just within touching distance, yet the current was sweeping him past it quickly now. Another wave surged through and the ring jerked back towards the Nipper, leaving the man flailing before he disappeared from view.
Sam bellowed toward the wheelhouse: “Jack, we need to circle round to pick him up.”
Jack hesitated, looked forlornly up into the darkening sky. It was a terrible choice. They wouldn’t get another chance at boarding. He glanced up at Flynn who was gripping the rail, helplessly watching his man drift away. Flynn looked down blankly and shook his head. He was right, without a life jacket and fully clothed, he would not last long. There would be a low chance of even finding him again. Certainly, not in this weather. Even if they could, there was no time to mount a man-overboard rescue and get the rest of the team on board the Santana.
The two remaining marines steeled themselves to the task, taking extra care before readying themselves to jump. To Jack’s relief, they both made it up the ladder without incident, leaving Jack his turn.
He handed over the wheel to Sam.
“Get clear but stay in the lee of the ship just in case we can’t restart the engines and need taking off again.”
Sam nodded, patting Jack on the shoulder for reassurance. Jack waited for the Nipper to roll back and stood ready, mid-ships, waiting for the distance to close and the ladder to level off in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he lunged forwards, groping for a handhold. His right foot slipped sideways on the wet rail and he fell.
For a few terrifying milliseconds, his arms flailed in mid-air, reaching for the ladder. He thought he might fall short until the Santana rolled away from him and, to his huge relief, the bottom of the ladder appeared out of the water. He grabbed hold of it with his left hand, smashing his body against the steep sided hull. He swung his right arm up, searching for a good handhold. If he couldn’t climb up before the next wave swept through, he knew it would be over quickly.
With all his might, he heaved himself up the ladder. Soaking wet, he made slow but steady progress as the ship rolled back to starboard. He looked up and saw one of the marines reaching down to grab him. The outstretched hand was almost within touching distance, just a few more rungs. He felt the aspect of the ship begin to change again and the angle of his climb revert to the vertical and then the ladder seemed to swing in mid-air. He clung on, not daring to climb. Voices from above were shouting, imploring him to keep going. Beneath him, he saw the Nipper head away from the Santana. There was no way back. The only thing he could do was climb or die.
When the roll of the ship swung back the other way, he summoned every ounce of remaining strength and reached high, hand over hand, until he felt a strong arm gripping the sleeve of his jacket. He was manhandled soaking wet on to the deck, panting. His eyes closed as he said a small silent prayer, whispering “thank you”.
“Come on,” said Flynn. “We don’t have much time.”
CHAPTER THREE
Jack followed Sergeant Flynn and the three marines as they climbed a series of stairwells to reach the doorway to the bridge. Peering through the reinforced glass there was no sign of the crew. Cranking open the water-tight door, they raised their weapons. With a nod to his men, he waved them inside. The three men were well trained and systematically swept the room, covering the angles and corners before each calling clear, one hand raised. Jack stayed close behind Flynn as he stepped inside, peering round him to see what lay within.
The bridge was relatively modern with all of the latest navigational aids. It was a different world from the merchant ships Jack had known as a young man. Back then, there was a more traditional look and feel to a bridge. Binoculars, brass fittings, dials, compasses, teak and green screens. This felt like stepping into the control room of a nuclear plant. Everything was automated and electronic. He felt completely out of his depth surrounded by all this technology. All of the screens were blank, although there was a panel of lights blinking in the corner. One of Flynn’s men put his rifle flat on the counter and conducted a number of system checks, moving from console to console, calling out what each gauge was telling him.
“Main power systems are all off-line. Backup power generator is in stand-by,” he said flicking the handle into the on position. There was a reassuring hum as the screen nearest him lit up. “Oil pressure, water pressure, fuel, hydraulics, pumps, everything looks normal. Hard to say what happened here, sir.”
“So, where’s the crew?” asked Flynn.
“Beats me. Maybe they abandoned ship when they lost power.”
“Unlikely, all the lifeboats are still on-board. Unless the crew was rescued. Makes no sense.”
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Jack noticed some dark liquid spilled on the floor and reached down to touch it, lifting his fingers to his nose. It was coffee. He looked around behind a computer terminal and noticed a grouping of bullet indentations in the bulkhead. He called Flynn over and they inspected the marks, inserting the tip of his finger into each one, noticing other holes in the ceiling.
“Small arms fire. Nine-millimetre most likely. Perhaps there was a hijack or scuffle.”
“It’s possible the crew never left. They could still be on board or dead. We’ll need to search the ship and make sure. Osler, Mathews, you two check the crew quarters and engine room. Stay together and report back anything suspicious. No heroics mind.”
The two men nodded and set off on their search. One man was armed with a revolver, the other had a standard issue SA-80 assault rifle.
“Lucas, you stay here and focus on getting the engines and pumps back on line. Whatever it takes.”
“Yessir.”
“Jack, let’s you and me search the hold and forward compartments. We’re not taking any chances with infection. If we find anyone alive, we quarantine them until we reach port.”
Jack nodded his agreement and followed Flynn through a doorway that led down a steep ladder, gripping the rail as the ship rolled heavily again to starboard. Below the main deck, they opened up a water-tight doorway and entered the corridors that ran alongside the ship’s hold.
The air down here was stale and the temperature several degrees cooler close to the waterline. Stepping into the next compartment, Flynn switched on a powerful Maglite. It was pitch black inside. Their heavy boots clanked noisily on the metal walkway. Below them, they could hear water sloshing around. As they moved closer to the bow they saw water ahead of them. The forward compartments were completely submerged.
Satisfied that there was no one left alive down here they were turning around to head back when the radio crackled into life.
“Sergeant Flynn. Mathews here. We’ve found survivors in the crew quarters. Looks like someone locked them in here and sealed the door.”
“Standby, we’ll be with you in a few minutes. On our way to your position now.”
The two men exchanged surprised looks, Flynn’s eyebrows raised. They hurried back the way they came. As they reached the next bulkhead door, the ship lurched violently again to starboard and they were both thrown against the wall. Jack helped Flynn up. He was nursing a bruised shoulder where he had fallen, grimacing in agony.
The ship remained at an unnatural angle. Perhaps her buoyancy was compromised and her seaworthiness slowly deteriorating, thought Jack.
“She’s not going to take much more punishment. She’s taken on too much water already. If we can’t get the engines started and the ship turned into these waves, she’s not going to last much longer.”
“I hear you. We need to get the pumps started or we’re done for.”
It took a few more seconds before the Santana returned to an even keel, fighting slowly to right herself. It was hard to tell down here, but Jack thought the conditions might also be getting worse. Either way, they were reaching a critical point. He wondered whether he would be better off helping Lucas on the bridge. Perhaps his many years of experience below decks in engine rooms could still prove useful.
Outside the doorway to the crew quarters, Osler and Mathews were waiting in silence. The door was sealed shut from the outside with a rope securing the handle from being opened.
Flynn reached down to his waist and unsheathed an enormous bowie knife and started cutting away at the rope. Jack grabbed his hand.
“Wait, how do you know the crew is not infected? Maybe that’s the reason they were locked inside.”
“Good point,” said Flynn, coming to his senses.
At the sound of their voices, there came a metallic clanging from inside and the faint sound of voices shouting for help.
There was a rumble from beneath them as the dull rhythmic whirr of the engines began cycling up and a voice on Flynn’s hand-held radio confirmed that power was coming back online. The lights in the compartment flickered and then steadied as they switched from backup power. There was an audible cheer from behind the locked door.
“I say we leave the crew where they are and concentrate on saving the ship. If we can get her back to safe harbour, we can deal with this lot then.”
Back on the bridge, Lucas had a thin smile on his face. “Report?” demanded Flynn.
“Sir, I’ve got all primary systems coming back online, both engines look fine and I think I’ve figured out how to get the pumps in the forward compartments working again.”
He reached across to another terminal and typed in a few commands before sitting back and watching the panel lights switch from red to green.
“Good job, Lucas. What are you waiting for? Let’s get her turned into wind.”
Another huge wave hit the ship broadside and again she rolled heavily. Jack grabbed hold of the console nearest him as the bridge tilted alarmingly. Looking down over the deck towards the bow, the massive surge of water had engulfed the forward sections, submerging the foredeck for a few seconds. Jack gritted his teeth, fearing the worst.
She was heeling nearly fifteen degrees to starboard. Any further and she might just broach. Once hatches were submerged, he feared a chain reaction would begin that would result in her flooding. From his days as a merchant seaman and senior engineer, he knew that the stresses placed on the ship’s structure would be enormous. The bow was already partially submerged and the damage from the force and weight of each new wave on the integrity of the hull would be beyond imagination. He willed the Santana to fight.
The bow seemed to hear him, surging upwards, resisting the enormous forces holding her down, sending water cascading over the side again. With a slow lurch, the ship started righting itself again.
“We’ve got to get her turned into wind,” said Jack. “She can’t take many more of these broadsides.”
They looked up from the screens, dreading the next series of waves surging towards them. It was taking far too long. How much longer did she have?
“She’s turning, sir,” enthused Lucas, watching the compass reading begin to change one degree at a time.
“It’s too slow,” worried Jack. “Can we give her any more power?”
Flynn nodded and Lucas increased to full power, hearing the electrical hum change and increased vibration judder beneath their feet as the engine revolutions surged towards ninety per cent.
Another enormous roller was approaching, its crest breaking and foaming. As they sank down into the trough, the wave looked set to break over them.
“Brace yourselves,” shouted Flynn, as the huge wave smashed into the hull of the Santana which juddered, as it fought to absorb the force of the impact. There was a terrifying sound of metal screeching. Jack imagined the hull flexing under the incredible stresses, its bulkheads bulging, rivets popping below the waterline.
Jack remembered stories of vessels broken clean in half by Atlantic storms. If the hull was ripped open amidships, they would stand little chance of saving the ship. They were so close to the safety and shelter of the Solent and yet, right now, they might as well be in the middle of the ocean. They were on their own and nearly out of time. If only they could turn the ship faster.
The digital compass dial began to rotate a little quicker. Each digit change improved their chances of survival but remained painfully slow. Their eyes flicked from the compass to the approaching wave. Jack grabbed hold, his knuckles white, braced for the next onslaught. The unrelenting wave smashed into them, but this time, caught them a glancing blow. The angle of impact was reducing. The tearing of metal and the groan of the ship’s hull seemed more muted.
Fully three minutes after they had started their turn, the partially submerged bow began to take the full impact of each approaching wave, weathering the storm a little better. Was it Jack’s imagination or were the pumps also beginning to have an effect? The ship was still v
ery low in the water, but her seaworthiness was perhaps a little improved. With any luck, they could still wait out the worst of it before heading into port.
In all the excitement, Jack had completely forgotten about the Nipper and Sam. Looking to the right, he caught sight of the little fishing boat’s keel as she launched off the top of a crest, surfing down the backside of the wave, her bow submerged for a second under a torrent of water. The Nipper looked tiny down below but somehow seemed to be more than a match for the atrocious conditions. He thought he could see Sam in the small cabin fighting hard to keep her bow on to the waves, frantically turning the wheel from side to side. Knowing Sam, he’d have a big grin on his face, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
He grabbed the radio and hailed the Nipper, waiting for Sam to pick up.
“Sam, there’s nothing more you can do now. We’ve got things under control here. I’d get the hell out of here and head for home.”
“You sure you don’t need me? Was just beginning to get the hang of this.”
“No, we’re all good. Just be careful on making the turn. Timing’s everything. Don’t get broadsided. Turn between the waves ok? Once you’re stern on, you’ll surf all the way home.”
He watched with some trepidation as the Nipper waited for its chance. As a massive wave raced through, he saw Sam put the wheel hard over. He had fifteen seconds to make the turn before the next wave. He didn’t make it. He was three-quarters way through when the wave hit.
Jack watched helplessly as water cascaded over the stern, flooding the deck and surging around the small wheelhouse, disappearing inside. Jack held his breath for a second, losing sight of the Nipper behind the crest of the wave as it was submerged beneath a torrent of white spray and foam. Just when he thought she must have been rolled, the Nipper reappeared. Her positive buoyancy made her pop up again like a cork. With a sigh of relief, he saw Sam complete the turn and head away from the Santana. Flynn cheered and they all congratulated Jack, who was still clenching his fists but trying to master his breathing again.