by Wilbur Smith
Open Form on a bomber that's beating herself to death on Cape Alarm. I'd
explain it to you offered Nick solemnly, only I don't know enough words
of one syllable. The Chief Engineer grinned wickedly at that and Nick
went on quickly, Just believe me when I tell you that I'm playing with
someone else's chips. I'm not risking anything I haven't lost already.
That's good business/ the Australian agreed handsomely, and helped
himself to one of Nick's precious cheroots.
Your share of 21.2% of daily hire is peanuts and apple jelly/Nick went
on.
Too right/Vin Baker agreed, and hoisted at his waistline with his
elbows.
But if we snatch Golden Adventurer and if we can plug her and pump her
out, and if we can keep her afloat for three thousand miles, there will
be a couple of big lim'sil and that's beef and potatoes. You know
something/ Vin Baker grunted. For a Pommy, I'm beginning to like the
sound of your voice. He said it reluctantly and shook his head, as if
he didn't really believe it.
All I want from you now, Nick told him, are your plans for getting power
on to Golden Adventurer's pumps and anchor-winch. If she's up on the
beach, we will have to kedge her off and we won't have much time.
Kedging off was the technique of using a ship's own anchor and power
winch to assist the pull of the tug dragging her off a stranding.
Vin Baker waved the cheroot airily. Don't worry about that, I'm here.
And at that moment the Trog put his head through the doorway again, this
time without knocking.
I have an urgent and personal for you, Skipper. He brandished the telex
flimsy like a royal flush in spades.
Nick glanced through it once, then read it aloud:'
Master of Warlock from Christy Marine. Your offer Lloyd's Open Form "No
cure no pay" accepted. Stop.
You are hereby appointed main salvage contractor for wreck of Golden
Adventurer. ENDS. Nick grinned with that rare wide irresistible flash
of very white teeth. And so, gentlemen, it looks as though we are still
in business - but the devil knows for just how much longer. Warlock
rounded the headland, where the three black pillars of serpentine rock
stood into a lazy green sea, across which low oily swells marched in
orderly ranks to push in gently against the black cliffs.
They came round to the sudden vista of the wide, ice choked bay.
The abandoned hulk of Golden Adventurer was so majestic, so tall and
beautiful that not even the savage mountains could belittle her. She
looked like an illustration from a child's book of fairy tales, a lovely
ice ship, glistening and glittering in the yellow sunlight.
She's a beauty/ whispered the Chief Engineer, and his voice captured the
sorrow they all felt for a great ship in mortal distress.
To every single man on the bridge of Warlock, a ship was a living thing
for which at best they could feel love and admiration; even the dirtiest
old tramp roused a grudging affection. But Golden Adventurer was like a
lovely woman. She was something rare and special, and all of them felt
it.
For Nick Berg, the bond was much more deeply felt. She was child of his
inspiration, he had watched her lines take shape on the naval
architect's drawing-board, he had seen her keel laid and her bare
skeleton fleshed out with lovingly worked steel, and he had watched the
woman who had once been his wife speak the blessing and then smash the
bottle against her bows, laughing in the sunlight while the wine spurted
and frothed.
She was his ship, and now, as he would never have believed possible, his
destiny depended upon her.
He looked away from her at last to where La Mouette waited in the mouth
of the bay at the edge of the ice. In contrast to the liner, she was
small and squat and ugly, like a wrestler with all the weight in his
shoulders. Greasy black smoke rose straight into the pale sky from her
single stack, and her hull seemed to be painted the same greasy black,
Through his glasses, Nick saw the sudden bustle of activity on her
bridge as Warlock burst into view. The headland would have blanketed La
Mouette's radar and, with Nicks strict radio silence this would be the
first time Jules Levoisin knew of Warlock's presence. Nick could
imagine the consternation on her navigation bridge, and he noted wryly
that Jules Levoisin had not even gone through the motions of putting a
line on to Golden Adventurer. He must have been completely sure of
himself, of his unopposed presence. In maritime law, a line on to a
prize's hull bestowed certain rights, and Jules should have made the
gesture.
Get La Mouette in clear/ he instructed, and picked up the hand
microphone as the Trog nodded to him.
Salut Jules, 9a va? You pot-bellied little pirate, haven't they caught
and hung you yet? Nick asked kindly in French, and there was a long
disbelieving silence on Channel 16 before the fruity Gallic tones boomed
from the overhead speaker.
Admiral James Bond, I think? and Jules chuckled, but unconvincingly. Is
that a battle-ship or a floating whorehouse? You always were a fancy
boy, Nicholas, but what kept you so long? I expected to get a better run
for MY money. Three things you taught me, mon brave: the first was to
take nothing for granted; the second was to keep your big yap shut tight
when running for a prize; and the third was to put a line on it when you
got there - you've broken your own rules, Jules. The line is nothing. I
am arrived. And I old friend, am arrived also. But the difference is
that I am Christy Marine's contractor. ITU ri goles! You are joking!
Jules was shocked. I heard nothing of this! I am not joking! Nick
told him.
My James Bond equipment lets me talk in private. But go ahead, call
Christy Marine and ask them - and while you are doing it, move that
dirty old greaser of yours out the way. I've got work to do. Nick
tossed the microphone back to the Trog. Tape everything he sends/ he
instructed, and then to David Allen, We are going to smash up that ice
before it grabs too tight a hold on Golden Adventurer. Put your best
man on the wheel Nick was a man transformed, no longer the brooding,
moody recluse, agonizing over each decision, uncertain of himself and
reacting to each check with frustrated and undirected anger.
When he starts moving - he really burns it up, thought David Allen, as
he listened to Nick on the engine-room intercom.
I want flank power on both, Chief. We are going to break ice.
Then I want you in full immersion with helmet, we are going on board her
to take a peek at her engine room. He swung back to David Allen.
Number One, you can stand by to take command. The man of action
glorying in he end to inactivity, he almost seemed to dance upon his two
feet, like a fighter at the first bell. Tell Angel I want a hot meal
for us before we go into the cold, plenty of sugar in it., I'll ask the
steward/ said David, Angel is no good at the moment. He's playing dolls
with the lass you pulled out the water. God, he'll be dressin
g her up
and wheeling her around in a pram You tell Angel, I want food and good
food/ growled Nick, and turned away to the window to study the ice that
blocked the bay, or I'll go down personally and kick his backside. He'd
probably enjoy that/ muttered David, and Nick rounded on him.
How many times have you checked out the salvage gear since we left Cape
Town? Four times. Make it five. Do it again. I want all the diesel
auxiliaries started and run up, then shut down for freezing and rigged
to be swung out. I want to have power on Adventurer by noon tomorrow.
,Sir., But before he could go, Nick asked, What is the barometric
reading? I don't know. From now until the end of this salvage, you
will know, at any given moment, the exact pressure and you will inform
me immediately of any variation over one millibar. 'Reading is 8. David
checked hastily.
It's too high/ said Nick. And it's too bloody calm.
Watch it. We are going to have a pressure bounce. Watch it like an
eagle scout.
I thought I asked you to check the gear. The Trog called out, 'Christy
Marine has just called La Mouette and confirmed that we are the main
contractor but Levoisin has accepted daily hire to pick up a full load
of survivors from Shackleton Bay and ferry them to Cape Town. Now he
wants to speak to you again.
Tell him I'm busy. Nick did not take his attention from the ice-packed
bay, then he changed his mind. No, I'll talk to him. He took the hand
microphone. Jules?
You don't play fair, Nicholas. You go behind the back of an old friend,
a man who loves you like a brother., I'm a busy man. Did you truly call
to tell me that, I think you made a mistake, Nicholas. I think you
crazy to go Lloyd's Open on this one. That ship is stuck fast and the
weather! Did you read the met from Gough Island?
You got yourself a screaming bastard there, Nicholas. You listen to an
old man. Jules, I've got twenty-two thousand horses running for me I
still think you made a mistake, Nicholas. I think you're going to burn
more than just your fingers. All revoir, Jules. Come and watch me in
the awards court. I still think that's a whore-house, not a tug you are
sailing. You can send over a couple of blondes and a bottle of wine
Goodbye, Jules. Good luck, mon vieux. Hey, Jules - you say "good luck"
and it's the worst possible luck. You taught me that. 'Oui, I know.
Then good luck to you also, Jules. For a minute Nick looked after the
departing tug. It waddled away over the oily swells, small and
fat-bottomed and cheeky, for all the world like its Master and yet there
was something dejected and crestfallen about her going.
He felt a prick of affection for the little Frenchman, he had been a
true and good friend as well as a teacher, and Nick felt his triumph
softening to regret.
He crushed it down ruthlessly. It had been a straight, hard but fair
run, and Jules had been careless. Long ago, Nick had taught himself
that anybody in opposition was an enemy, to be hated and beaten, and
when you had done so, you despised them. You did not feel compassion,
it weakened your own resolve.
He could not quite bring himself to despise Jules Levoisin. The
Frenchman would bounce back, probably snatching the next job out from
under Nick's nose, and anyway he had the lucrative contract to ferry the
survivors from Shackleton Bay. It would pay the costs of his long run
southwards and leave some useful change over.
Nick's own dilemma was not as easily resolved. He put Jules Levoisin
out of his mind, turning away before the French tug had rounded the
headland and he studied the ice-choked bay before him with narrow eyes
and a growing feeling of concern. Jules had been right this was going
to be a screaming bastard of a job.
The high seas that had thrown Golden Adventurer ashore had been made
even higher by the equinoctial spring tides. Both had now abated and
she was fast.
The liner's hull had swung also, so she was not aligned neatly at right
angles to the beach. Warlock would not be able to throw a straight pull
on to her. She would have to drag her sideways. Nick could see that
now as he closed.
Still closer, he could see how the heavy steel hull, half filled with
water, had burrowed itself into the yielding shingle. She would stick
like toffee to a baby's blanket.
Then he looked at the ice, it was not only brash and pancake ice, but
there were big chunks, bergie bits, from rotten and weathered icebergs,
which the wind had driven into the bay, like a sheep dog with its flock.
The plunging temperatures had welded this mass of ice into a whole; like
a monstrous octopus, it was wrapping thick glistening tentacles around
Adventurer's stern. The ice had not yet had sufficient time to become
impenetrable, and Warlock's bows were ice-strengthened for just such an
emergency - yet Nick knew enough not to underestimate the hardness of
ice. White ice is soft ice was the old adage, and yet here there were
big lumps and hummocks of green and striated glacial ice in the mass,
like fat plums in a pudding, any one of which could punch a hole through
Warlock's hull.
Nick grimaced at the thought of having to send Jules Levoisin a Mayday.
He spoke to the helmsman quietly. Starboard five midships/ lining
Warlock up for a fracture-line in the ice pack. It was vital to come in
at a right angle, to take the ice fully on the stern; a glancing blow
could throw the bows off line and bring the vulnerable hull in contact
with razor ice.
Stand by, engine room/ he alerted them, and Warlock bore down on the ice
at a full ten knots and Nick judged the moment of impact finely. Half a
ship's length clear, he gave a crisp order.
Both half back. Warlock checked, going up on to the ice as she
decelerated, but still with a horrid rasping roar that echoed through
the ship. Her bows rose, riding up over the ice. It gave with a
rending crackle, huge slabs of ice up-ending and tumbling together.
Both full back. The huge twin propellers changed their pitch smoothly
into reverse thrust, and the wash boiled into the broken ice, sweeping
it clear, as Warlock drew back into open water and Nick steadied her and
lined her up again.
Both ahead full. Warlock charged forward, checking at the last moment,
and again thick slabs of white ice broke away, and grated along the
ship's side. Nick swung her stern first starboard then port, deftly
using the twin screws to wash the broken ice free, then he pulled
Warlock out and lined up again.
Butting and smashing and pivoting, Warlock worked her way deeper into
the bay, opening a spreading web of cracks across the white sheet of
ice.
David Allen was breathless, as he burst on to the bridge.
All gear checked and ready, sir. Take her/ said Nick. She's broken it
up now - just keep it stirred up. He wanted to add a warning that the
big variable-pitch propellers were Warlock's most vulnerable parts, but
he had a high enough opinion now of his Mate's ab
ility, so he went on
instead, I'm going down now to kit UP.
Vin Baker was in the aft salvage hold ahead of him, he had already half
finished the tray of rich food and Angel hovered over him, but, as Nick
came down the steel ladder, he lifted the cover off another steaming
tray.
It's good/ said Nick, although he could hardly force himself to swallow.
The nerves in his stomach were bunched up too tightly. Yet food was one
of the best defences against the cold.
Samantha wants to talk to you, skip. Who the hell is Samantha? 'The
girl - she wants to thank you. Use your head, Angel, can't you see I
have other things on my mind, Nick was already pulling on the rubber
immersion suit over a full-length woollen undersuit. He needed the
assistance of a seaman to enter the opening in the chest of the suit.
He had already forgotten about the girl as they closed the chest opening
of the suit with a double ring seal, and then over the watertight
bootees and mittens went another full suit of polyurethane.
Nick and Vin Baker looked like a pair of fat Michelin men, as their
dressers helped them into the full helmets, with wrap-around visors,
built-in radio microphones and breathing valves.
Okay, Chief? Nick asked, and Vin Baker's voice squawked too loudly into
his headphones.
Clear to roll. Nick adjusted the volume, and then shrugged into the
oxygen rebreathing set. They were not going deeper than thirty feet, so
Nick had decided to use oxygen rather than the bulky steel
compressed-air cylinders.
Let's go/ he said, and waddled to the ladder.
The Zodiac sixteen-foot inflatable dinghy swung overboard with the four
of them in it, two divers and two picked seamen to handle the boat. Vin
pushed one of them aside and primed the outboard himself.
Come on, beauty/he told it sternly, and the big Johnson Seahorse fired
at the first kick. Gingerly, they began to feel their way through an
open lead in the ice, with the two seamen poling away small sharp pieces
that would have ripped the fabric of the Zodiac.
In Nick's radio headset, David Allen's voice spoke suddenly.
Captain, this is the First Officer. Barometric pressure is 11 02 I - it
looks like it's going through the roof. The pressure was bouncing, as
Nick had predicted. What goes up, must come down - and the higher she
goes, the lower she falls.
