by Buzz Harcus
Osa heard, but she was looking at Sigmund for some kind of assurance. He smiled at her. “No problem, Osa. Captain Alward and I ver chust talking about der ship. He has great plans for der Nurad.”
“That’s right,” Alward added, still smiling. “Great plans.”
Osa breathed a sigh of relief. Where she thought something was getting out of hand, it was actually a simple discussion about the ship. She gave a half curtsy, and went back to the galley.
“We are talking on the same level, aren‘t we?” Alward said evenly to Sigmund. “I’d sure hate to see that gal walk the plank.”
“Same level,” Sigmund replied just as evenly. Turning away, he walked over to the dirty dish line and dumped his food. His appetite was gone. The bastard! Nothing would happen to Osa as far as he could protect her. Nothing!
And the Nurad? He really had to give serious thought as to how to get back control of the vessel before Manila. He needed a sure fire plan—or a miracle!
On arriving on the bridge Sigmund was met by Doyle, gun in hand. He held up his other hand stopping Sigmund. “Me and old Sven are doing just great,” Doyle slurred. “We don’t need you. Get your ass off the bridge!” He grasped his AK-47 holding it aimed at Sigmund’s gut, repeating, “Get your ass off the bridge! Now!”
Sigmund glanced over at Sven. The shrug of his shoulders told the story. Doyle was drunk and feeling no pain. The problem was compounded by his having a loaded AK-47 in hand, a dangerous combination.
“We’ve increased our speed to 16 knots, sir,” Sven called with a hesitancy in his voice, looking warily at Sigmund.
“Yeah,” Doyle grinned. “I’ll get this old tub into Manila early tomorrow. Got me a hot gal waiting for me there. Times a’wasting!”
“Are you familiar with the course Alward laid out?” Sigmund said coldly, doubting the seamanship of the mate. “Fourteen knots is more dan sufficient.”
“I know what I’m doing. I know this area like the back of my hand,” Doyle snarled brandishing his AK-47 before him, “Now get the hell off the bridge!”
Sigmund pivoted about and left the bridge. The ship was in the hands of a madman!
Within the hour Second Officer Johanssen reported to Doyle that the radar was malfunctioning. He suggested it would be prudent to reduce speed as daylight was fast fading into dusk and it would be dark the closer they got to Olongapo and the channel which led to Manila Bay.
“Get that damned electrical engineer up here on the double,” Doyle ordered. “We ain‘t cutting our speed!”
The older electrical engineer knew he was under the gun but try as he might, spare parts were not available to fix the radar. Doyle blew his stack. “Step up the speed and maybe we can get into Manila Bay before dark!” he yelled at Sven, “make it seventeen knots!” Turning to the electrical engineer, he yelled, “Get the hell off this deck you stupid moron!”
CHAPTER 30
Hard Aground on a Reef
Sigmund stared into the sweating face of his lover as she sat astride him groaning, whimpering, hips grinding, her lust filled eyes bright, intent, as she enjoyed her young lover. His hands grasped her full white breasts, caressing, squeezing, teasing, and time and again he sampled the hardened tips.
He couldn’t believe there was so much joy to be had in the act of sex. Through her expert ministrations, she had brought him beyond the simplistic thoughts of sex he had always thought. This was far better than he had ever imagined!
“Now!” she screamed driving down hard on him, feeling the explosive, wrenching climax they both sweated for, and now it was at hand.
“Yes,! He roared. “Now!!”
Their screams of joy were met by a grinding, screeching, tearing sound at that precise moment that sent her mind reeling with the power of their orgasm—and at that very same precise moment, she suddenly found herself airborne, catapulted from her lover, screaming as she flew through the air slamming hard against the bulkhead, landing a moment later on the deck, stunned.
Sigmund, too, at the precise moment of climax, also found himself airborne, grabbed as though by a powerful hand, and thrown against the bulkhead. He bounced off and back onto the bed, tumbling onto the deck.
He was already scrambling into his clothes as Osa dazedly glanced up at him. “Oh, my—” she started, a confused grin on her face, “Oh, my—”
“We’ve hit something! The ship is aground,” yelled Sigmund. “Get dressed. I must go topside now!” He left his confused, naked lover trying to get into clothing that had been strewn about the cabin in the heat of foreplay.
Nurad’s bridge was in bedlam when Sigmund arrived. Al-ward was screaming at the top of his lungs, arms flailing, berating Doyle and Sven. “You should have called me!” Alward screamed at Doyle. “If the damned radar’s out, you should have called me! Didn’t you check the damned depth gauge! Reefs! I told you about the damned reefs! You should have stopped and dropped anchor, and then we could go into Manila Bay tomorrow in the damned daylight!”
Doyle stood erect, his face and scalp bloody from slamming into the forward windows. Sven nursed a wrenched back from where he had been thrown forward from the force of the sudden collision with whatever they’d hit, and had bounced off the helm and into the windows. The helmsman, Otto, sat on the deck in pain, holding onto his broken left arm, oblivious to the screaming voice of the captain.
Sputtering, Doyle tried to justify having ordered increased speed. “It’s high tide,” he yelled back at Alward, holding a bloody handkerchief to his face. “We were making good time—could of got into Manila yet tonight—”
“You dumb shit! You were setting yourself up for disaster in these unsure waters,” Alward screamed at the man. “—and, by god, you got it!”
“Get a ladder over the side and lights,” ordered Sigmund in Swedish, taking control of a very confused situation. “Now!”
Sven jumped to and scrambled from the bridge. Hitting the ship’s loudspeaker, Sigmund, ordered all hands on deck immediately. “Report all injuries and any noticeable damage to the vessel,” he added.
Crew members materialized on deck in short order, many dazed from the impact that brought Nurad to a sudden screeching halt. They looked about confused. Bjorg was already moving amongst them checking for injuries. Sigmund ordered Otto from the bridge. “Have Bjorg set your arm,” he ordered.
In a matter of minutes, a Jacob’s ladder was lowered over the side. Sigmund climbed down the ladder stopping on the last rung, and looked down shining his light about on the surface of the water. He lowered his foot into the water finding his foot was resting on something solid. He stepped down; he figured he had to be standing knee deep on a reef. Water covering the reef swirled about him. Sigmund shone his light forward, then aft, and then all about him. Carefully, he walked around on the reef checking under the ship. Without a cargo, the empty Nurad had driven high on a reef.
Returning to the ladder, Sigmund called up at the Second Officer: “Check with Chief Engineer Svenson to see if we’re taking on water.” Sven immediately called the engine room for a damage report.
Sigmund knelt and shone the light under the ship‘s belly. About a third of the way back from the bow there was an obvious split in the plates that ran upwards along the side. A crewman topside held another light shining downward. There was a two-foot break in the plates at the top. “The ship’s keel must have broken,” he called down to Sigmund.
“Water’s coming in by the stern,” called Sven, looking over the railing. “The chief engineer says it’s not gushing in, but a steady stream every time a wave hits us.”
“Javla skitstovel!” swore Sigmund in Swedish. “Son of a bitch!”
Doyle, in his drunken stupidity, had increased the speed of the vessel at high tide and drove it onto a reef hard enough to have probably broken the keel. They would have to wait until daylight in order to check the extent of damage to the ship. Would it be sailable, or even salvageable? He climbed back up onto the deck and reported his findings
to Alward.
Alward slammed his cap hard on the deck and jumped on it, his face red with anger, his eyes burning with hatred as he looked at Doyle.
“Get the hell out of my sight!” he roared at the man. He didn’t have to repeat; Doyle was gone in a flash. “Daylight, then,” Alward said in disgust as he passed Sigmund. “You and me. We’ll check the damned ship out!”
Another cold night found Harry and Karl huddled in the bottom of the raft. They were sore, parched and hungry. There last can of tuna was gone two days ago. The canteens of brackish water were getting low. Salt encrusted their clothing and exposed skin causing raw red sores, and they suffered from an unrelenting sun that glared harshly down at them day after day. They caught relief in the coldness of night.
Harry had caught himself hallucinating at least twice in the last three days. Once, he swore he saw a big ship coming toward them, had even stood up and waved frantically, only to be knocked down by Karl, who had slapped his face several times yelling there was no ship, that he was seeing a mirage. “No ship!” he had yelled, “No ship!!”
“Another damned night,” croaked Harry through split lips.
“Yah,” answered Karl in like manner. After a couple of minutes, he nudged Harry. “Back in Vorld Var Two your man, Eddie Rickenbacker, vas lost at sea for over tirty days in a small raft like dis. He survived.”
“He led a charmed life,” growled Harry. “He was a World War One ace fighter pilot. Yeah, I recall his getting knocked down in the Pacific Ocean and surviving.”
He lay still for a few minutes, then said, “Karl, if Eddie could make it, then by God, Karl Andress and Harry Martin can make it, too!”
Karl chuckled. “Yah, Harry und Karl!”
CHAPTER 31
The Mirage is Real
Morning found Alward, Sigmund, Sven, Doyle and chief engineer, Gueder Svenson, standing on the reef in the shadow of the Nurad. Strong lights had been lowered to them and Sigmund and Gueder shined the lights beneath the ship’s hull. The vessel had struck the reef with such force the impact had lifted the bow upwards and it had literally broke the keel when it settled causing a huge split up the side of the ship. Plates from the keel on up to the top railing on both sides had cracked, splitting apart—almost two feet at the top rail. The keel was definitely cracked. “She’s a goner,” muttered Gueder. “Der old lady has had it.” Sigmund nodded in agreement.
Alward, his hands on his hips, glared at Doyle. “The boss ain’t gonna like this, not one bit! You cost him a million bucks!”
Ignoring the two, Sigmund looked around. At low tide, which he figured had to be right now, the reef stood out starkly, at least five feet above the water. At high tide the reef was probably another five feet below the surface and not visible to the naked eye. The reef was clearly marked on the chart. Doyle should have checked the damned chart, but in his drunken state failed to do so.
In the galley Osa and Hans faced the horrendous task of cleaning up the galley area. Pots and pans and silverware had been thrown about the room, dishes and cups lay smashed across the deck, tables and chairs scattered all over. Yet, in short order, they were able to improvise breakfast for the crew. It was a somber lot of injured men who limped through the chow line. Many bore obvious wounds from being thrown about by the impact of hitting the reef, some with arms in slings, bandaged heads, and many limping. Osa, herself, had a sore back, and it appeared she might be nursing a black eye. This, of course, brought quite a bit of good natured teasing. In spite of the situation, breakfast was a success.
Hundreds of miles away, Harry awoke to the growing heat of the sun. Through slitted eyes he squinted out across the calm endless ocean. It would be another frustrating day under an unbearable sun, and their water supply was almost nil. They had to have another storm soon in order to replenish their water. But they also needed food as it had been two days now since they‘d last eaten. He thought of his knife. Could he possibly stab a small fish and bring it aboard. Raw fish? The Japs ate raw fish. At the moment his poor brain was too tired to think, and he was too damned tired to move. Next to him Karl lay unmoving.
Still squinting, Harry’s head slowly turned to his right. His eyes suddenly opened wider. Was he seeing another mirage—another damned ship like he‘d seen twice before? Yet, this mirage was so close that he thought he could reach out and touch it.
He did. His hand touched something solid. Mirage?
He slapped his hand hard against it. He gave a yelp of pain. The damned mirage was real! Looking upwards, he saw the railing of a boat. It appeared to be a good sized boat from what little he could see, white hull, cabin trimmed in mahogany, and lots of chrome. “Karl,” he croaked, slapping his friend. “We’re up against a boat! We‘re saved!”
Karl’s eyes opened. He stirred around to a sitting position, blinked a couple times, and looked beyond Harry at the whiteness. Leaning forward, he, too, slapped his hand hard against the whiteness. “Ouch!” he yelped. “It is a boat!”
Slowly Harry worked the raft along the side of the vessel toward the stern. There before them was a fancy chrome ladder. He saw a name on the stern: DEVIL MAY CARE. He was surprised that it’s home port was Sydney, Australia.
Grabbing hold of the ladder he pulled himself painfully erect and then unsteadily stepped onto the bottom rung of the ladder. Laboriously he climbed upwards and over the railing finding himself standing on a beautiful teak deck. Karl was only a minute behind. Both stood ungainly from having been in the cramped raft for so many days.
“It’s a hell of a big yacht,” Harry croaked. “Big money for something like this.”
“Yah.” Karl looked over along the side of the vessel and shook his head. “She’s sitting low in der vater. Maybe she is sinking.”
Harry looked over the side. “Your right, it does look like she’s sitting awful low. Let’s hope she isn’t sinking!”
As a precautionary measure, Harry grabbed hold of one of the raft lines and secured it to the boat’s railing.
“Dat looks like blood,” Karl said pointing to the starboard railing.
Harry walked over and peered down. It was a patch of blood. “Yeah. Maybe somebody got hurt fishing, got a hook caught in them—”
“Too much blood,” Karl said. “Damn!” he said pointing again. “Bullet holes.”
“Shit,” muttered Harry. “Just what we don’t need.”
“Let’s find some food,” Karl whispered, pointing toward the cabin.
“Yeah. Food,” Harry agreed. “Funny no one’s come up on deck to find out who we are or how we got on board. Maybe they’re all dead.”
The two made their way forward through a mahogany framed glass door and down a couple of steps, then through a hatchway and into a fairly large galley. Harry started opening cupboards. He spotted the canned goods first. It didn’t take long for the two to open a couple of cans of pears and guzzle down the contents. Spotting a refrigerator, Harry yanked the door open and peered inside. The light was off. “No power,” he muttered to Karl as he grabbed a bottle of pop. It was warm, in fact all the bottles—water, pop, beer, wine and even several packages of cheese were warm. “The engines shut off,” he said. “No power, no electricity, maybe they ran out of fuel.”
Searching the cupboards, the two were rewarded with a box of soda crackers and a couple of small tins of sardines. The two gorged themselves on the makeshift meal, and washed it down with warm pop.
“We better explore the boat and see if anyone’s on board,” suggested Harry. “A boat this size must require a crew. We should have been challenged by a member of the crew by now.”
Leading the way, he started forward through a beautifully appointed salon, then down a short companionway until he came to a sudden stop at a closed, bullet-riddled door to what must be the main cabin.
“Hello—” he called, rapping on the door.
A bullet shattered the door only inches from his head. Startled, Harry jumped back, at the same time yelling, “Hold your fire! H
old your fire!”
“You won’t get in here this time,” screamed a female voice. “I’ll kill every damned one of you bastards!”
“Hold your fire. I don’t have a gun !”
“Don’t lie to me!” she yelled back. “I don’t trust you.”
“Hey! Listen, lady!” Harry called out. “I’m an American, Harry Martin. I’m with Captain Karl Andress, Swedish. We were thrown overboard several days ago by pirates who stole our ship and we‘ve been drifting around in a damned life raft.”
There was a long pause. Harry looked at Karl. He shrugged. “Hello . . . ” Harry called again. “I’ll come in with my hands up, if that’s okay with you.”
“If you were thrown overboard, how’d you get the life raft,” came her questioning voice.
“A mate of ours on the bridge threw it overboard for us.”
Again there was a long pause. Harry looked at Karl, who gave another shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t know,” Karl whispered. “Is dere chust vun?”
“Maybe we can help you—” Harry offered.
“Open the door slowly,” the woman’s voice called. “I don’t believe in good Samaritans. I’ve got a gun trained on the door. One wrong move and I’ll shoot—and I’m a damned good shot!”
Harry grasped the doorknob, twisted it, and slowly opened the door so that he stood in the center of the doorway, arms raised. Before him was a plush bedroom. An older bewhiskered man lay back in bed under the covers staring at him with cautious eyes. His right hand rested on the covers holding a gun aimed at Harry. To his right, kneeling beside the bed, holding an automatic weapon, was a disheveled appearing younger blonde headed woman in a pale yellow sleeveless blouse and blue jeans. Her face was drawn with fearful eyes searching Harry’s face.
“Who’d you say you were?” she demanded, motioning with the gun. His unkempt appearance was not ensuring.
