by Sewell, Ron
“Here’s your coffee.”
Petros took the cup from Terry and sipped. “Tastes good. Where’s the food?”
“In this box. Help yourself. And that’s it.”
“So what’s the deal, Terry?” asked Petros.
Terry’s hands trembled as he attempted to sip his coffee. “You’re going to throw me over the side, aren’t you?”
“If we were going to get rid of you, you’d be dead,” said Bear. “Out of interest, how did you get mixed up with this lot?”
“Sex, drugs and drinking, and more of the same. You know the score.”
“Drinking, done my fair share and had the hangovers to prove it,” said Petros. “Regrets are a waste of time. Your associates didn’t give a shit and, in the words of the saint for ancient mariners, fucked off.”
“Yeah, bastards. One sat-phone call from my ex-captain to the mother ship and they’ll be picked up,” explained Terry. “It followed five miles astern. This whole thing’s a charade. Someone in authority planned and set this scam in motion. You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Insurance fraud used to be big business,” said Bear. “Now they steal the ship and demand a ransom.”
“You’re way off track. This vessel is a phantom. Doesn’t exist. The norm is for rogue vessels to be re-registered with a huge back-hander to someone in Singapore. I’m not sure how many, but most sail from third world ports, obtaining legitimate cargoes and selling them on to the highest bidder. Loaded with a new cargo, and while at sea, they change the ship’s name and owner, having received false but adequate documentation beforehand. The problem is they run these ships to destruction and make money. Limited maintenance is undertaken to keep them moving.”
In one gulp Terry finished his coffee and placed his cup on the chart table.
Petros and Bear remained silent.
“This tub is at the end of the line and the bosses will make a few million just by sinking it with a bogus cargo. For the last week, we loaded during the day and unloaded at night, replacing full containers with empty. Cargo is the key to making millions.” He turned and checked the ship’s position. “Best speed, fourteen knots. We won’t make land.”
“For the moment we’re out of the wind and dry.” Bear pointed to the bow. “The sea’s getting lumpy and I enjoy my home comforts. A cold wet arse with no food or water does nothing for my sense of humour.”
“I agree,” said Petros, “but without lifeboats we need something that floats when this heap of shit sinks.”
“Life rafts,” said Terry. “Two on top of the bridge. God knows when they were last inspected.”
“One of them will contain boxes of ship’s biscuits,” said Bear. “Standard survival rations.”
“Might as well check them out before we sink,” said Petros.
The three men clambered up the vertical steel ladder.
Terry checked over the white plastic containers. “They appear okay but we can’t tell until we inflate them. Bear, untie this line and for God’s sake don’t pull.”
“What happens if I do?”
“The raft will fill with air and take off like a kite in this wind.”
Terry removed the waterproof seal and lifted the top. “Not rotten. Now the other one.” He grinned. “We need to get them to the main deck.”
“Why?” said Petros.
Terry grimaced. “When this tub sinks, we can float off without getting our feet wet.”
“I read somewhere when a ship sinks everything goes to the bottom,” said Petros.
“Old wives’ tale,” said Terry. “What we need to do is place one of these either side of the superstructure. There’s a good chance the deck will tilt. We wait and float off without getting wet.”
“Let’s get on with it,” said Petros.
With the aid of ropes they lowered one and then the other to the port bridge wing.
“Now we can use the companion ways and carry them to the main deck,” said Petros.
“That won’t be easy. Have you felt the weight of these things?”
Petros looked at Bear. “We have a choice?”
“Terry, you’re the sailor, stay and keep a good lookout. We’ll shift these. Try contacting anyone on the radio,” said Bear. “Channel sixteen.”
With Bear in the lead, he and Petros carried one raft to the main deck.
Sweat ran into Petros’ eyes as he breathed deeply. “Why not leave one on the bridge and this one here? We can always shift this one to whatever side gets damp first.”
“Makes sense,” said Bear. “Might as well find out if it works.” He pulled the cord and the orange raft inflated halfway. “Fuck.”
“Better go and tell our shipmate. He’ll have the answer.”
“Agreed,” said Bear.
The two men climbed the stairs to the bridge. A glum-faced Terry turned to face them. “The radio’s fucked.”
“How come?” said Petros.
Terry smiled awkwardly. “Stray bullet.”
“We need wood to start a fire on the front end,” said Bear. “The smoke will attract another vessel’s attention. A gallon of cooking oil from the galley and the wooden furniture will burn. On top of the bridge is a good position. So, why are we standing here? Shift your arses.”
In half an hour the three men stood around a large pile of debris soaked in vegetable oil. “If a roaring fire doesn’t attract attention, nothing will,” said Terry.
“These life rafts, Terry?” said Petros. “The one we carried to the deck is half filled with air. In other words, useless.”
“Fuck it. We need to find the foot pump and inflate the hard way. I’ll check the other one.”
“Suggestion,” said Bear. “We leave one on the port side of the bridge.”
“Neither here nor there. Let’s test it.”
Bear and Petros carried the container and placed it in a large spot of open deck. Bear tugged on the cord. Nothing happened.
Terry unfolded the orange material. “It’s in good nick.” He removed sealed packages and a foot pump.
“What’s in the packages?” asked Bear.
Terry raised an eyebrow. “Emergency rations, flares, a mirror for signalling and, most important, fresh water. There should be a distress radio beacon in the other.” He inserted the pump nozzle into an opening. “We can take turns, fifty pumps each.”
Thirty minutes later one life raft was fully inflated. Terry checked and double-checked as he secured the orange monster to the deck. “We’ll keep the food and equipment together until we leave. There’s enough here to keep us alive for a fortnight.”
“Don’t you believe it! Not the way Bear eats.”
“Then he’s on a diet until we get picked up,” said Terry. “Let’s go find the distress beacon.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Minister Wang Sheng raised his head and stared as Captain Ling Po entered his office. “The vessel MV Harvest Moon. Has it been located?”
Ling Po bowed. “As we speek, search planes are scanning the China seas.”
His gaze fixed on Ling Po. “The man who knows where the vessel is headed will never tell. His entire family would vanish if he did. My authority is yours to use wisely.”
Ling Po stood motionless. “I will do my best, sir.”
“You will do everything you can and more. These men, who mean nothing to us, must survive or I lose face. Leave me to my work and keep me informed.”
“Sir, Ding Lang is dead.”
“I wanted him to suffer.”
“Sir, we broke him and he ended up insane. His guard, a young man, checked on the hour. He noticed the prisoner crouched in the shadows, motionless. As ordered he made sure the captive was alive. I’m informed as he entered the cell the prisoner attacked. The second guard shot the mad man five times before he succumbed. The guard died later from his wounds.”
For a moment Wang hesitated. “Lang’s body is to be burned and his ashes buried. Make sure the family of the dead guard rec
eive a suitable allowance”
“Yes, sir.” Ling Po saluted, turned on his heel, and marched away. Exhausted, he was aware sleep would be a welcome bonus when he found that accursed ship.
* * *
Bear stared at the sea as the foc’sle dipped, lifted and tossed tons of dark green water into the air. “PK, the wet stuff’s getting lumpy.” The vessel shuddered from stem to stern as she slammed into a monster of a wave.
Petros sat on the deck with his back to a bulkhead. “Tell me something new. My arse is numb.”
“It’s the start of a typhoon,” said Terry. “I heard the weather forecast on my radio as we sailed.”
“Now you tell us you possess a working radio?” said Bear.
“Yeah. What’s the problem?
“Go and get it.”
“What use is it?” asked Petros.
“A storm is the last thing we need.”
“And I thought we were up to our necks in the brown stuff. Three men on a ship, steaming along with explosives ready to blow its arse out, is not my idea of fun.”
“Got any better ideas?”
“No.”
“It works,” said Terry.
“Turn the dial until you get something in English, Russian or German.”
“Apart from English, I’d have to guess the language?”
“I speak Russian and PK German,” said Bear. “What’s happening, Terry? We’re being tossed around like a piece of cork.”
“Auto pilot’s fucked. I’ll steer by hand.”
“I can't stand boats,” said Bear. “So bloody unpredictable.”
“I’ll make the coffee,” said Petros. “I hate to mention this but have you noticed it’s gone quiet?”
“The engine’s stopped,” said Terry.
“Why?”
“How the fuck do I know? Don’t ask. Your guess is as good as mine on how to restart them.”
“Don’t look at me”, said Bear as another wave struck. “What happens now?”
“The wind and sea will turn us until we wallow like a drunken pig trapped in a sty.” Terry pulled a torch from a drawer and descended the companionway two steps at a time. “With luck I’ll be able to start the emergency generator.”
In the sparse battery lighting he walked to the engine space. Fuel oil fumes filled the compartment, making breathing difficult. In the control room he searched for the generator start button. He found it and pressed - nothing. Dejected, he returned to the bridge.
“I gather our luck’s out,” said Bear. “Time to light our bonfire and try our distress beacon.”
“You’ll never get it to catch in this wind. I’ll do it,” said Terry.
Petros and Bear glanced at each other and shrugged as Terry rummaged in the emergency container from the life raft.
Holding a flare in his right hand, he clambered up the vertical steel ladder to the top of the bridge. On his hands and knees he crawled to the pile of debris. With his back to the wind, he squatted, pulled the tab on the flare and shoved the whole thing deep into the pile. The heat ignited the oil, and in a couple of minutes the wood was aflame. With his hands gripping every handhold, he returned.
“The fire won’t last long. The wind’s increasing, and now we’re abreast of this sea, we don’t have a chance in hell of adding more fuel,” said Terry. “Put on your life jackets - just in case.”
MV Harvest Moon, her beam broadside to the sea, rolled through sixty to seventy degrees.
Bear wedged himself in a corner and stared out of the window. Those containers, how secure are they?”
The vessel shuddered, Terry lost his grip and he slid across the deck until Petros reached out, grabbed him and hauled him to his feet.
“If this was any other ship, not a problem but ...”
“I don’t want to hear buts,” said Petros.
“Those containers are scrap metal and the chains holding them are no better.”
“So what are you telling us?” said Bear.
“There’s a good chance they’ll break.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Most will sink. Others will be a hazard to any ships in the vicinity.”
“Got your point, Terry, but our options now depend on the emergency beacon.”
“I’ll go,” said Terry. Nimble as a ferret, he scurried away.
“I’m glad he’s here,” said Bear. “Without him we’d be swimming in deep shit.”
Petros nodded in agreement. “You’re right, but the shit level’s rising. We have no idea if or when those explosive charges will detonate and how fast this rust bucket will sink. Between you and me, I don’t fancy our chances.”
Terry returned. “Here’s the beacon.”
“Appropriately named,” said Petros. “Does it work?”
“We won’t know until it’s in salt water.”
“How long do they last?” said Bear.
“You tell me.”
“Not to worry,” said Bear. “I’ll get a bucketful.”
“You’ll be lucky,” said Terry. “No engine, no electrical power. No pumps, no fucking water.”
On the bridge wing the wind-blown spray cut through Bear’s scant clothing as he peered at the sea. “Long way down.” He walked back into the relative warmth. The vessel rolled, he grabbed a handrail and held tight.
From the bow came several loud cracks as if from a large calibre gun.
“What the ...?”
“Chains snapping,” shouted Terry. “The others won’t be far behind. Hold on and pray.”
For some time the vessel had been rolling violently through eighty degrees. This time she rolled until the port freeboard vanished underwater. Waves no longer crashed against the hull but over it. Another row of chains parted.
From their vantage point they witnessed the liberated steel boxes sway from bow to bridge.
The degree of roll increased for an instant as the deck cargo, unrestrained, slid into the raging sea.
“Thank Christ,” said Terry. “Now we should ride higher.”
“And those on the back-end?” said Bear.
Terry shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. At least we can go and get a bucket of water.”
Bear, bucket in hand, followed him to the main deck. “Fuck, shit, Lieutenant. The life raft went with the containers.”
“Good job I removed the food and water,” said Terry.
“Yeah, but it reduces the odds.” With his bucket full, they made their way to the bridge.
“Tie it in the corner and place the beacon in the water.”
“Can we tell if it’s working?” said Petros.
“Not sure, but on most a red or green neon glows.”
“It’s functioning,” said Bear.
The vessel’s unpredictable motion strained the aft containers’ chains. More cracks resounded as one by one the fastenings parted.
MV Harvest Moon pitched and tossed in a sea littered with containers.
Petros hung on to a handrail with both hands. “I hate to say this but are we rolling more than we were?”
Three dull thumps shook the ship.
“We’ve run out of time. Three explosions, three holes, we’re sinking,” said Bear. “I suggest we wait.”
Petros stared at the storm as it lashed the bridge. Waves steamrollered the hull from every direction. “Don’t fancy swimming.”
“The provisions are safe,” said Terry. “Our fire’s out but we have the beacon. I’m going to check the engine room.”
“Why?” said Bear.
“To close the fucking hatches. We’re better off on this hulk than bobbing around the sea in an orange raft. One hour in the dry is better than being out there.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Bear. “PK, keep your eyes open. We have four flares remaining.”
* * *
In the dim glow of the emergency lighting both men progressed to the engine-room access.
“Be careful when you release any door,” said Bea
r. “There could be a fire - or worse, water on the other side.”
Terry eased the clips, leaving one in position. “Get back.” He waited until Bear was out of the way and booted the clip. The roll of the ship swung the door open. He grabbed and secured it to a hook on the bulkhead “It’s safe but be careful.”
Together, they closed the engine room hatches.
“May keep us afloat a few hours longer,” said Terry.
“Can’t do any harm.”
They returned to the bridge.
“Take a gander at the bow,” said Petros.
Waves now washed over the fo’c’sle and across the deck.
“While those hatch covers hold we’ll be ok,” said Terry.
“How can you tell?” said Petros.
“Okay, I can’t.”
“We’d better get ready,” said Petros. He opened the starboard bridge door and stepped out into hell. The scream of the wind and hail striking his face forced him back. The ship shuddered. He lost his grip and slid into a bulkhead. The inflated life raft secured by Terry remained in position. On his hands and knees, he crawled and punched the tough outer skin. The bridge door opened. Bear’s right hand grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to safety. “Not good, is it?”
* * *
Twenty miles to the west of MV Harvest Moon, a Luyang Class I destroyer, ploughed into the storm. Her captain, Dao Tam, clung to his chair. “Are we still receiving the signal from the distress beacon?”
“Yes, sir. Contact at twenty miles.”
“Full ahead, Officer of the Watch.”
Lieutenant Li Pin turned to his captain. “Did you say full, sir?”
Dao stared into the eyes of the young man. “Yes. My orders are to find a missing vessel in a typhoon and, if they’re still alive, remove two men. To consider our own comfort would be a scar on our abilities.”
Those on duty remained silent, bent their legs and silently prayed.
“I love the sea,” said Dao. “It reminds me of my wife - full of surprises.” While he spoke, a monster wave covered the bow and clawed its way aft. For what appeared an age, visibility remained zero.
The two diesel electric engines forced power into the thrashing propeller blades as she climbed and carved a path through mountainous seas.
