Missing Presumed Lost

by Fred Lockwood

  The first officer was quick to report:

  ‘We have a four to five metre gouge in the hull, port side, just below the superstructure and just below the waterline. The surrounding plates are severely buckled and it looks like there is a breach. It’s impossible to see how big.’

  The first officer paused and then continued:

  ‘We caught the port side bow on their port side. It looks like just a scrape but we need to check the for’ard hold. I’ll go and do that now,’ he said and immediately darted away.

  Less than twenty minutes after the collision the chief engineer walked onto the bridge. Immediately everyone could smell diesel and see its sheen on his face.

  ‘The hull is breached below the waterline. Water is flooding in and it’s impossible to say how bad it is. I’m trying to contain the breach but the surrounding bulkheads are distorted and I can’t close the nearest watertight doors. We’ve taken off the most badly damaged hatches and are shoring up the openings. I may be able to isolate the area below and around the engine room. The pumps are working but they will never overcome the breach.’

  The chief didn’t ask but moved to sit at one of the tall seats next to the console and the array of instruments and gauges.

  ‘The impact ruptured fuel lines and steam pipes. We have managed to secure all of these and we are currently checking all the lines.’

  The chief engineer paused again as though organising his thoughts:

  ‘In daylight I may be able to drape tarpaulins over the breach to reduce the flow of water into the hold. It would only be a temporary fix but may give us the chance to shore up the breach and pump out the space. If all the other watertight doors hold I think we can make a nearby port. I don’t think we can make St. Petersburg,’ he concluded.

  ‘What about the engine and drive shafts?’ asked the master.

  ‘They seem fine,’ he replied. ‘We can start the engine any time but I’d suggest “ahead one-third” in case there’s a problem in shaft alignment.’

  ‘Thanks chief,’ said the master as he placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘When you are ready, restart the engine, ahead one-third.’

  ‘Helmsman,’ the master called out, ‘when we are under way steer one hundred and ninety degrees directly into the shipping lanes,’ he added.

  The master was abandoning his rendezvous. He needed to get away from the collision site and from identification. He couldn’t risk anyone knowing the cargo he was carrying.

  The Gronkowski 34 limped south into the shipping lanes until it could see the navigation lights of other ships. It was only then that the he ordered the AIS to be switched back on as he tried to blend into the other traffic. As they manoeuvred within the sailing lanes he ordered the AIS to be switched off and back on to make their detection harder. The makeshift repairs had reduced the flow of water into the ship but not stopped it. The ship was listing to port and was down at the stern but the watertight doors were holding. However, the misaligned propeller shaft was causing the bearings to severely over heat and vibrate. The ship seemed to be intent on shaking herself to pieces. They had reduced speed even further but the bearings continued to run extremely hot. In darkness they had tried to lower heavy tarpaulins over the side but simply couldn’t get them in place.

  Dawn was still more than an hour away when the master issued a PAN-PAN saying he had hit floating debris and was heading for the port of Syracuse for an assessment of the damage and repairs. He had given a false position so as to be far away from the collision scene and yet en route for the port. Every minute that passed increased the likelihood of avoiding detection and making port. After a few hours they had left the shipping lanes behind them and were en route to Syracuse. Perhaps those on the bridge should not have started to relax. Perhaps the chief should have retained more members of the engine crew and not sent most of them to their cabins to clean up and rest. Perhaps he should have sensed that the main bearing was about to fail.

  At the worst possible time one of the main bearings suddenly emitted a high-pitched whine and began to disintegrate. Sharp edges from the bearing began to score deep marks in the gleaming surface of the main shaft. It started to seize. Within seconds the temperature of the metal soared and reached the flashpoint for the thin film of fuel oil that coated everything. After being contained for hours the main shaft broke free. It kicked and thrashed as though alive; the temporary repair on the fuel line failed. A flash fire exploded around the engine. The blast knocked the chief and his fellow engineer off their feet. The chief flipped over a safety rail and dropped four metres to the deck below and didn’t move. The other engineer was enveloped in flame and then smoke. He dropped to the deck and tried to crawl away as the main propeller shaft thrashed above him. The fire was immediately fed by the mist of fuel oil that was being sprayed into the engine room. Black, choking smoke billowed and began to permeate every corner. It reached through hatches and ventilation shafts and made its way upwards. The very system that provided air for the engine crew to breathe was now encouraging the flames. The sprinkler system should have been enough to suppress the fire but it didn’t work; perhaps the main water line was ruptured. In the following minutes the fire licked over every surface. It sought out those pockets where fuel had collected.

  The collision had sprung a joint in the main feed from the fuel oil tank. It had been overlooked when the crew had frantically catalogued damage to the ship. As the ship listed to port and sank at the stern hundreds of litres of fuel oil began to drain into the bowels of the ship and accumulated beneath the engine room. It floated on the sea water. The tongues of flame reached out. It eventually found a rich source of fuel and began to feed off it. Starved of fuel the engine eventually faltered and then stopped – so did the fuel pump, and the spray of fuel into the engine room. It didn’t matter. The heat created by the fire encouraged the fuel to burn more freely. Gouts of flame now reached through stairwells and ventilation shafts, through long forgotten holes and new ones. The fire became an inferno and a plume of smoke began to mark the spot of the stricken ship.

  The master of the Gronkowski 34 stooped over the navigation table. His hands, palms down, were placed on the chart, his shoulders hunched and his expression grim. Acrid smoke was finding its way onto the bridge and making his eyes water; there was no escape from it. Everyone alive was crowded onto the bridge. It was close to the fire and smoke but also close to the lifeboat; it was the optimum place to be. The master didn’t speak to anyone in particular but started to speak as though thinking out loud.

  ‘With no engine we have no control, with no control, we will simply drift into the main shipping lane. We will continue to list as more water finds its way into the hull.’

  Without asking for it he now had the attention of the officers and crew. They turned towards him.

  ‘The watertight doors are holding but for how long? We may be able to rig up power from the backup generator to power the pumps but they will make little or no difference since the hull is breached. We cannot switch on the AIS because we will be identified as a drifting ship. It doesn’t matter if any ships are close by because we cannot avoid them anyway. Once we drift into the main shipping lane it’s just a matter of time before we are spotted, and with the smoke, are offered assistance.’

  The master ran a hand over his head and face before leaning on one elbow on the navigation table.

  ‘We could ask our friends to transfer the cargo to the mainland but they would need to make two or three trips to do so, if we stay afloat that long!

  ‘The only option is to sink the ship,’ he said as he turned to scan the faces of the men around him.

  He moved to the side of the navigation table and retrieved another chart. It was a plan of the ship. He pointed to the plan of the hull and the maze of passages that connected every part of it.

  ‘We could open and clip all the watertight doors along the main port side and starboard side companion ways as well as the interconnecting passages. We could open the hat
ches to all the holds except hold number 5.’

  As he paused again he started to drum his finger at a point on the chart.

  ‘If I placed a scuttling charge on this watertight door, and blew it open, it would release millions of litres of seawater into the ship. It would race through every passageway, every corner and the ship would go down quickly.’

  ‘What about the cargo?’ asked the first officer with a look of horror on his face.

  ‘There is only one lifeboat. It is just enough for us. There is no way we can take any of the cargo. We have to let it go down with the ship,’ he replied. ‘We are little more than fifty nautical miles from the Sicilian port of Syracuse. We could be safe ashore by this evening,’ he added.

  As though to add emphasis to his words there was a sound, a dull boom from the bowels of the ship; everyone felt the vibration through their feet.

  Chapter 32

  Abandon ship

  ‘Attention everyone,’ shouted the master. ‘We are going to prepare to abandon ship. Listen carefully to my instructions and all will be well. We will prepare the lifeboat with all we need for the short journey to the Sicilian coast and the port of Syracuse. We will have a meal before we leave the ship and everyone will have the chance to collect personal possessions before we get into the lifeboat. However, I want everyone to assemble in the mess for a meal and wait for me there. Is that understood?’ he challenged.

  The master stood upright and scanned the faces around him. No one offered a comment but a few silently shook their heads in disbelief. Then, turning to the first officer, he said:

  ‘Oleg, take a man with you and check the lifeboat. Make sure the fuel tank is full and stow two twenty litre cans of extra fuel.’

  Turning to the navigation officer she said,

  ‘Yuri, collect the charts and equipment you need to get us to Syracuse and stow them in the lifeboat. Dmitri, I want you to prepare a meal, a quick meal, for everyone. I also want you and the others in the galley to pack enough stores in the lifeboat for three days. There will be no cooking!’

  Looking behind those closest to him the captain caught the eye of two other members of the crew, the two men he was looking for.

  ‘Stepan, Vasily, come here,’ he ordered as he moved to create space around the navigation table and towards the other side of the bridge. ‘The rest of you go and collect your personal items. Remember, one small bag each, no more. Be back in the mess in ten minutes,’ he ordered.

  The master turned to Stepan and Vasily:

  ‘I’ve got a job for you,’ he said in a no-nonsense tone. ‘Stepan, I want you to go down the length of the main port-side companion way. Open and secure every hatch along its length. Open and secure every interconnecting hatch and those into all the holds, except hold no. 5. Do not open hold no. 5, do you understand?’ he demanded.

  ‘... but the fire, the smoke...’ Stepan blurted out in protest.

  ‘We’ve got fire hoods,’ replied the master.’ The fire and smoke are in and around the engine room, not the companion ways. The hood will give you enough air for fifteen minutes. It will take you less than ten minutes to open all the hatches,’ he added. ‘Vasily, I want you to take the starboard side companion way and do the same. Open and secure every watertight door, interconnecting hatches and entrances to the holds, except hold no. 5. I’ll be waiting for you here. Come with me and I will give you the fire hoods and a torch,’ he added as he moved away from the bridge and towards the general store on the deck below.

  Outside the bridge, with no lights to guide them, the black acrid smoke swirled and appeared to engulf them. In seconds all of them were coughing and covering their mouths, trying to filter the air they were trying to breathe. By memory alone the master led them down the stairway, around a corner and into the general store. As quickly as he could he ushered Stepan and Vasily into the store and slammed the hatch closed. Some of the smoke had followed them into the store but it was easier to breathe. Automatically he reached for the light switch and was surprised when it came on. Someone must have hit the emergency lighting button. He moved quickly to a tall metal cupboard with a sticker symbolizing a fire on the front. He wrenched it open and picked up the three packs on top of the pile and gave Stepan and Vasily a pack each. He held the pack in one hand, pulled a red tag to rip it open, and pulled out the bright yellow hood.

  ‘Watch me,’ said the master as he unpacked the hood and slipped the light harness over his shoulders before clipping it and the canister containing compressed air around his waist. He pointed to the knurled knob that would release air into the hood. ‘All you have to do is turn the air on like this. The valve will feed the air into the mask and you breathe as normal. When you breathe out that air is expelled through this vent. It’s simple. You slip it on, like this, and make sure the mask is over your mouth and nose.’

  The last part of the demonstration was garbled as the master tried to speak with the hood fully in place. He went on but they struggled to hear him.

  ‘Pull on these loops and the hood is drawn around your neck to stop any smoke creeping inside the hood. The supply is enough for fifteen minutes but you will not need that long. Any questions?’ he added.

  The dull, pale light from the emergency light cast dull shadows around the store as he looked into the faces of both Stepan and Vasily. Even in the short time they had been outside you could see the traces of black smoke around their mouth and nose. He couldn’t help noticing that Vasily’s hand was trembling and Stepan’s eyes appeared bloodshot. He pulled off the hood so the two seamen could hear him.

  ‘Five to ten minutes’ work and you will be in the lifeboat. Are you ready?’ he asked as he picked up two torches from the rack below and handed one each to the crewmen. Neither of them replied but they turned towards the door.

  ‘I’ll lead the way to the corridor connecting the two main companion ways,’ said the master as he opened the valve on the canister and pulled the fire hood over his head.

  Like a line of blind men, the trio stumbled through the darkness and through the black billowing smoke. They made their way down stairwells and along passageways until they came to the main entrance to the base of the holds. The smoke was clearer as they moved away from the engine room but the beams from the torches still pointed like pale fingers as they flicked around the scene. With one hand on a rail they quickly moved down the last stairwell and paused at the junction at the base of the stairs. The smoke had managed to find its way down the stairwells and along passageways. It wasn’t thick but the torch cast a sharp tunnel of light into the gloom.

  ‘Stepan, take the port side companion way. Remember, open and clip every watertight door and every hatch along the whole length as well as the interconnecting hatchways into the holds, but not hold no. 5. Do you understand?’ demanded the master.

  Stepan nodded. He may have said something but it was difficult to hear. The master turned to Vasily.

  ‘Vasily, you take the starboard side companion way and do exactly the same. Remember, every hatch and water tight door, but not hold no. 5. Do you understand?’ he repeated.

  ‘Check your watch,’ ordered the master. ‘I make it 0335. Ten minutes is more than enough to open every hatch and be back here. If you are not back by 0345 we will come to find you,’ he added. ‘Right, go,’ he said and helped Vasily on his way with a firm push.

  Vasily and Stepan moved off with the two ghostly beams of light searching out their routes. It was only a few metres to the corner of the passageway and then ten more metres to the first watertight door. Stepan held the torch in his left hand as he put the heel of his right hand on the opening lever and pushed upwards. It didn’t move! He braced his shoulder and pushed again, this time with more effort, nothing. It was as though a wave of cold air had wafted over him followed by a sickening dread in the pit of his stomach. Why wouldn’t the hatch open? He moved the torch beam around the edge of the hatch and then he saw it. The cross bulkhead between the hull and the first hold was slightl
y buckled. When they were rammed, plates and bulkheads along the rear port side must have distorted. He ran his fingers along the gap between the hatch and the hatch frame. He could feel how it narrowed and broadened. The hatch was jammed and it opened inwards.

  Stepan, his back against the hull side bulkhead, slid down onto his backside. He had to think. If he had a crowbar, and could get the blade into the gap, he may be able to lever it open. Another wave of cold washed over his body. He looked around in the dark and judged the smoke was getting thicker. Where was it coming from? He stood and rubbed his palm over the surface of the hatch and could now feel how the steel had started to bend and fold as the bulkhead was crushed. He realised he would never be able to open the hatch on his own. A bead of sweat from his forehead ran down into his eye. He blinked and instinctively moved his hand to his face but just touched the outside of the hood. More sweat ran into his eyes. He could feel the sharpness of the salt as he tried to blink it away. He wasn’t sure if he heard it or felt it but there was another sound from the depths of the ship. Sudden panic gripped him. Could that be the lifeboat sliding down the ramp into the sea? Have they left me behind on a sinking ship? He was about to turn and run back towards the lifeboat but stopped. He looked at his watch but struggled to see the time. More sweat flooded into his eyes and blurred his vision. ‘It can’t be,’ he said to himself. ‘I’ve been here almost five minutes!’

  A sudden calmness fell over Stepan. He realised that there was no way he could open the hatch. If he told the master the hatch was jammed he would probably be sent back with a crowbar. He wouldn’t have enough time and air to force the hatch open and then open all the others, that’s if the ship stayed afloat that long! The fear of being trapped inside the ship as it started to go down returned and he thought he might vomit. The solution was easy – he would lie. Vasliy would have opened all the hatches and doors along the starboard side. All the hatches to the holds would be open, the ship would sink anyway. No one would ever know. Stepan checked his watch. He just needed to walk back to the corner of the passageway and wait for a few more minutes before turning the corner and waiting at the foot of the stairwell.