by Derek Fee
Kernow was riding low in the water, weighed down by the thousand litres of fuel in its tanks. The engines screeched as they powered the heavy boat through the waves at over a hundred knots leaping over and then crashing into the grey waters. Kane felt the drag on the boat as it plunged into the waves. He looked over quickly at Morweena and saw that there was a look of intense concentration on her face.
The first of the boats were rounding the buoy ahead of them and Kane prepared himself to drag the heavy machine left in their wake. Morweena eased off on the throttle at exactly the right moment and he swung the nose of the boat around to face the entrance of the bay.
He looked ahead at the scene of boats skimming and leaping over the waves. It was one hell of a spectacle but they weren’t there to sightsee. He felt more than saw the coast peeling away to his right as he fought to keep the boat on course for the second buoy at the Castello del Aragonese beyond the island of Ischia. As the city of Naples unfurled before them, the boats were beginning to spread out and Kane strained to see through the spray-covered windshield. He thought he recognised the colours of Jackson’s Brit1 up among the leaders along with the red sunburst of Tadeka’s catamaran. Cold spray splattered the hull and beat against the windscreen, all but obliterating the scene before them. The engines whined as Morweena kept the boat speeding ahead. Kane could feel the strain in his arms and legs from the buffeting of the waves. There would be no relaxing until they passed the finishing post.
“How are things going?” The strain in David’s voice crackled in their helmets.
“So far so good,” Kane replied.
“The field’s pretty spread out already. Don’t forget that the object is staying in there to the finish. Offshore isn’t for sprinters.”
“Don’t worry, David, we’ve got the message.”
The race was beginning to settle into a pattern. The faster catamarans were already in the lead, burning up the course as they sped ahead. Kane had moved up three places and was firmly based in the chasing group while the deep-V boats ran along steadily behind knowing that their time would come when the catamarans would lighten and need to drop speed to maintain stability.
The leaders rounded the second buoy and raced towards Capri. The boats were spread out along the course as each driver chose his own route to the next buoy. This was where powerboat racing differed from motor racing. There was no racetrack. Each driver chose his route between the buoys trying to gain what little advantage he could from the weather conditions and the sea state. On the most exposed part of the circuit, Kane fought to keep the boat on course as it bucked and thrashed against the waves.
“Enjoying the ride?” Morweena’s voice was strained. The boat jumped clear of the water as she spoke and then landed with a crash.
“Now this might be as good as sex!” He grimaced as their boat crashed into the sea.
“You’ve obviously lived a sheltered life.” Morweena pushed the throttle forward.
“We’ve had our first casualty,” David’s voice came over the line. “The Fanucci is lying dead in the water at the entrance to the bay. There’s smoke pouring out of the engine canopy. Looks like the end for the Italians.”
“One less to worry about,” Kane said through clenched teeth as he braced himself for another crash landing.
“Don’t get too cocky, there’s a long way to go.” Morweena opened the throttle and the hull sped into another spectacular jump.
The lead boats rounded the buoy at Faraglioni and began the last leg of the first lap. Kane followed the procession of powerboats rounding the buoy, leaping clear of the water as he turned sharply left. If this was how the boat was performing weighed down, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to be on board when she lightened up.
The race fell into a pattern with each boat holding its place as the laps progressed. There were five laps remaining when Kane noticed one of the lead catamarans dropping speed.
“Tadeka’s stopped,” David said. “I’ve no idea why. Doesn’t look like engine trouble.”
Kernow was in sixth place right on the shoulder of Tardelli’s crimson coloured Martini and about one hundred metres behind Lemay’s Gitanes. If they could only keep going like that.
The crowd on the edge of the cliffs overlooking the Piccolo Porto shouted encouragement as the boats wheeled past the starting point to begin the tenth lap. As soon as the final boat had passed, the sky blue coloured Fanucci was towed into the port. The first casualty of the European Championship.
The Penhalion boat raced towards the ruins of Pompei steadily closing the gap on Tardelli. Kane felt the adrenaline pounding in his veins as he willed the boat forward. Sweat was running down the back of his neck and on down the small of his back. Every muscle in his upper body and his legs was crying out in pain. The engines screamed as they drew level with and then passed Tardelli. They sped towards the second buoy and swung around it heading towards the entrance to the bay and the island of Ischia.
“The Japanese are on the move again,” David announced on the radio.
Kane smiled. He’d liked the urbane Tadeka and he was glad they were in the race again. As long as they were a half a lap behind.
Visibility was getting worse as the early evening wind began to roughen the water.
“I’ll have to drop speed if the water gets much worse.” Morweena eased the throttle as they took another spectacular leap.
“No,” Kane said firmly. “We go for broke.”
They turned the buoy at Ischia forty metres behind Lemay. Kane could see the light blue boat to his side and took the inside track as they sped towards the entrance to the bay. They listed as the waves struck the port side. The crew were being buffeted around like milk in a churn, first being pushed one way then being pulled instantly back. They bucked and leapt over the waves as they closed the gap on Lemay.
“You bloody fool!” Morweena shouted.
The two boats were now side by side. Each crew strained to get the maximum out of their boats as they approached the third buoy. Kane struggled with the wheel in order to keep his course. Slowly they began to inch ahead.
“We won’t make it,” Morweena said, “the buoy is up ahead.”
“Don’t pull back on the throttle.”
They had a lead of five metres over Lemay as they sped into the buoy at Faraglioni. Morweena dropped the throttle slightly as Kane whipped the wheel sharply to the left. They virtually flew around the corner, passing the buoy in the air and landing with a crash which shook their bones and sent a giant sheet of spray cascading over the boat. As soon as they touched down, Morweena increased the throttle and the boat powered forward. Kane felt every muscle in his arms strain as he wrestled with the wheel to steady the boat and hold it on course. They were in sixth place.
They had been at sea for one and a half hours and during that time their concentration had been absolute. The adrenaline coursing through his body had numbed the discomfort he had felt earlier. He had passed through the pain threshold.
The boat had become noticeably lighter and Morweena was constantly manipulating the flow of fuel from the tanks in order to maintain the trim and keep them on an even keel. Directly in front of them, one of the lead catamarans rose perpendicularly out of the water before crashing down into the waves, skewing to the right and then gradually righting itself. This was the period of the race when their boat’s unique design would prove itself. Up to this point, the virtual catamaran shape had succeeded in keeping them in the race against what were, at least on paper, faster boats. Now as the stability of the catamarans worsened, it remained to be seen whether the deep-V properties would be sufficient to keep them stable at speed.
“Doug Jackson’s out!” David’s excited voice came over the radio.
Kane strained to look ahead and saw that Jackson’s huge catamaran, a cloud of wispy white smoke billowing from the stern, had pulled off towards the shore. A helicopter buzzed overhead. Suddenly Kane felt the boat leap into the air and begin to skew. This was it.
This was the moment every crew dreaded. Either they would come down right side up and continue the race or they would flip over and that would be the end. For a moment it was touch and go as the huge boat left the water and was suspended in mid-air. If ever there was a time to pray this was it. He wanted to look over at Morweena but he could not pull his eyes away from the sky above his head. They were powerless until the boat hit the water. As he was pushed back in the cockpit, he prepared himself for the inevitable return to the water. The impact, when it came, was gut-wrenching. He felt like he had been punched by Tyson Fury but in every part of his body at the same time.
So much for race watching, he thought as he raced past Jackson’s stricken boat.
The two boats raced side by side over the choppy waters separating Capri from the mainland. They powered together through the starting line and on to the last lap of the race. Morweena opened the throttle and gradually the boat, bucking and skimming over the surface, began to pull away from its rival.
Kane marvelled at Morweena’s skill and concentration. For more than two hours she had been focusing all her attention on the dials in the panel directly before her, all the while taking a buffeting which would have daunted even a strong man and yet she was still performing in top gear.
“You’re fourth,” Bell’s excited voice intruded on Kane’s thoughts. “Go for it, laddie. Show them what you can do.”
Kane concentrated on keeping them on course for the first buoy for the last time. Had that really been the voice of the hard-bitten Yorkshire businessman or was it the voice of someone half out of their mind with excitement?
The five lead crews were now pushing their boats to the limit knowing that any weakness in the last lap would finish them in the race. There would be no quarter expected at this stage of the race and none would be given.
Their boat was one metric tonne lighter than when it began the race. They skipped around the second buoy, again spending an uncomfortable amount of time in the air. Morweena kept the pressure on the throttle as they sped towards the city of Naples for the last time. They powered forward skipping along the course like a stone skimmed across the surface of a flat pond. The Penhalion team were gradually gaining on the fourth-placed Spanish catamaran the San Miguel. Kane watched as the distance between the two boats shrank and suddenly they were running along, side by side. The Spanish boat bucked into the air as the throttleman tried to keep pace. As Morweena eased the yellow and black hull ahead of the Spaniards, the throttleman on the San Miguel overcompensated and the Spanish boat climbed high into the sky. Kane glanced sideways in time to see the boat go perpendicular and flip back on itself before smashing into the water and bounding into the air a second time. A helicopter immediately appeared overhead.
“The San Miguel has slowed down,” David said excitedly. “Discretion is obviously the better part of valour.”
Kane and Morweena heard the words echoing in their helmets but their concentration was such that they felt no emotion.
They were closing on the three lead boats but time was running out. The buoy at the Castello Aragonese was now in view and Hakonen’s catamaran, Finnspeed, had already rounded it. Kane could feel the tension biting at his stomach.
It was all or nothing as they rounded the buoy for the last time. The wind whipped the white-capped waves against their port side as they powered past the exposed entrance to the bay. Spray poured in a continuous stream over the canopy, cutting visibility to a hundred feet. Kane saw Barrett’s yellow-coloured Metro running in front of him and changed course to get out of his wake. Barrett changed course with him forcing them to plough into his steep wave. They bucked under the combined action of the sea and Barrett’s wake. Kane altered course again but his change was followed by Barrett.
“What the hell is he up to?” Kane shouted.
“That should be pretty obvious,” Morweena’s voice was high and strained. “He doesn’t want you to get past before Faraglioni. Once we’re around the last buoy there’s only a two-mile run-in and he reckons that he can hold you over the sheltered water.”
“Give it everything you’ve got.”
Morweena opened the throttle slightly and they bucked into a wave leaping forward over the wake being thrown up by Barrett.”
The muscles on Kane’s arms were at breaking point as he steered their boat to the land side of Faraglioni. Gradually they closed the distance, with Barrett enduring a buffeting that only the Kevlar-reinforced hull could withstand. Kane held his course as the two boats came closer. He strained to see through the canopy but the stream of sea-spray obscured his view. He fixed his gaze over the top of the canopy on the island of Capri and began to head for a point in the centre of the island which he thought would be in a direct line with the buoy.
The two boats were neck and neck as they sped for the final buoy of the race.
“You’re too bloody close!” David’s scream filled Kane’s helmet. “Get away from the bastard.”
Kane held his line, inching forward to Barrett’s rear. The two boats sped over the waves at close to their maximum speed of one hundred and thirty knots as the buoy came into sight. Five hundred metres would decide who would get there first. Kane pointed the boat’s nose at the corner of the buoy. The two boats were close. Each racing at top speed for the same spot on the sea’s surface.
Kane’s body tingled with excitement as the competitors ran side by side. They were about to crash. Everybody would be killed and he would finally have accomplished his aim of obliterating himself. He didn’t mind dying but he did mind killing Morweena. Something inside shouted at him to pull away but he couldn’t.
Sweat rolled down Barrett’s forehead. He shouted at his throttleman to give the damn boat more juice but a glance to his side showed the throttle fully open. That bastard Kane had caught him and unless he could get to the buoy at Faraglioni first then he would trail the Penhalion boat to the line. And there was no way he wanted to follow Kane and the Penhalion bitch home. He held his line, inching all the while towards Kane’s boat. Sooner or later one of them would chicken out otherwise there would be a lot of debris floating around in the water.
Kane held his line as Barrett swayed towards him. He took a quick glance at his throttleman. Morweena’s face was taut, her mouth was tight, and her eyes were staring. She was scared out of her wits but her hand never wavered from the throttle. There were only two boat widths between them as they raced over the last few hundred yards to the buoy. The slightest change in the wind or the appearance of a freak wave and they would be into each other. Kane had forgotten everything outside of his desire to get his boat to the buoy first. He could hear the roar of the two sets of engines in his ears but he was blind to the danger.
Barrett’s heart was pounding. Kane had countered his move by moving towards him. What was the bastard trying to do? Get them all killed? The distance between the two boats had fallen below two boat lengths and the buoy loomed ahead. Barrett glanced to the side and saw the look of terror on his throttleman’s face. His courage failed and he pulled away from the Penhalion boat.
Morweena sensed rather than saw the breaking of Barrett’s resolve and opened the throttle to maximum. They leapt over the final hundred metres, forcing Barrett to go steadily wider as the buoy approached. As they reached the buoy, she pulled back the throttle and Kane swept around in a tight curve causing the hull to heel over and toss a huge stream of water into the air. Barrett missed the turn and careened on towards the port of Capri before adjusting and completing the turn.
“Whoa!” the shout of relief filled the cockpit. David and Tom had yelled into the mikes at the same moment.
“I don’t believe that I saw what I just saw,” David’s voice was weak.
Kane and Morweena were pointed at the finish line. The race wasn’t over yet and there were still two boats ahead. Morweena gave them maximum throttle as they raced towards the gap between the island of Capri and the mainland.
Hakonen’s Finnspeed and Angelino’s
Benneton were neck and neck as they passed the first outcrop of the mainland with Kane only eight hundred metres behind. The three boats bucked over the waves as their crews pushed them to the limit.
Kane was closing the gap but they were running out of time and ocean.
“Come on,” David's voice was cracking. “One last effort.”
The gap between Benneton and the Penhalion boat had closed to only six hundred metres but the race was nearly over. The headland which hid Sorrento was barely visible through the streams of spray which lashed the windscreen.
“Give it everything,” Kane said through clenched teeth.
Morweena opened the throttle as much as she dared and they powered forward once more, bouncing off the waves like a shuttlecock in a badminton game. Kane managed to close the gap but there was still two hundred metres between the boats as Benneton crossed the finish line in second place. Harry Hakonen had won, with the Penhalion boat a worthy third.
Morweena immediately eased off the throttle and slumped forward in her seat. The boat gave one last leap through the air before gradually dropping speed.
Not bloody good enough, Kane thought, as he piloted the boat through the flotilla which dotted the entrance to the Piccolo Porto. He reached his hand across and stroked Morweena’s back. She was certainly one courageous lady. She remained slumped, physically and mentally exhausted.
