“And if not?” he asked, under his breath.
“Then a sea road for their souls,” Ky said, words she was surprised to remember. “We’ll speak the words and sing them home.”
He nodded. “That we will, Admiral. And it’s cold, that’s one good thing.”
“Master Sergeant!” That was a yell from the raft. “There’s no com equipment aboard! No navigation beacons, nothing! No optics, either.”
“Not anything? Sure you’re looking in the right pocket?”
“Yessir! Just where you said, and we looked in the others, too.”
“Where would that have been stowed?” Ky asked.
“Sidewall, number seven pocket,” Marek said. “Should be a transponder, a two-way com for surface, a satellite phone, a GPS.” He looked around. “If they were taken out at the station—there wasn’t much time to unpack and repack—some of that stuff could be in other lockers here.” Without waiting for Ky to say anything, he turned to the others. “Lanca, Hazarika, check every starboard compartment for any com or nav gear, anything electronic—it’s not in that raft, probably not in any of them. Droshinski, Riyahn, same for portside. The rest of you—when I launch the second raft, you’ll go into that one. I’ll send down the spare raft; get it lashed down on the opposite side from the entrance, to weight that side. Then we’ll send down the medic, the wounded, and the deaders.”
“Master Sergeant, either my aide or I should be in that raft—” Ky pointed out the hatch. “I think she should go next.” A little separation would do neither of them any harm.
“We’ll want Tech Lundin in with the injured.” Marek’s brow furrowed. “With respect, Admiral, I think it would be best if you went on in the first raft, and Commander Bentik went in the next. I’ll be last out, so I can loose the mooring lines—if we cut ’em from the rafts, we lose that rope and we might want it.”
Ky nodded. “I agree with the assignment, but I’d prefer to stay until we’ve got the wounded out.”
“I understand, Admiral, but with respect, I want you aboard that raft to ensure that when I’m in the water hanging on to that line, someone’ll pull me in and not cut it.”
“You think we have a saboteur here—?”
“Don’t you?” He gave her a long look.
“It’s a possibility and no time to sort it out here. Right.” She liked the obvious competence of this man, so similar to other good senior NCOs she’d known. She signaled and Jen came closer. “I’m going down now, to board this raft. You’ll be the officer in charge of the next.”
“I don’t know what to do! You can’t leave me with these—” Jen’s voice rose. Ky took her arm and moved her aside.
“Jen, you’re the only other officer aboard. We need an officer in each raft so if one goes down there’s still an officer in the group. I know this isn’t what you were trained for, but you do know procedures.”
Jen took a deep breath, pressing her lips together. “They’re strangers,” she said finally. “I don’t know any of them.”
“I don’t know them, either. But I do know you, and you can do this,” Ky said. “They’re just people; you’re good at managing people.”
“What—what do I need to do, then? I don’t—I don’t know what orders to give.”
“You’ll have Sergeant Chok—” Ky consulted her implant. “He’s from Hylan Reef; he’ll have more knowledge of seamanship than you, and I imagine—” She turned to look. “Sergeant Chok—”
“Yes, sir.” He came over, easily balancing on the lurching module, a stocky man Ky guessed to be about her own age. Dark hair, brown eyes, skin a shade or so lighter than hers.
“Do you have small-boat or raft experience?”
“Yes, sir; my family has a fish farm. We use inflatables quite a bit.”
“Commander Bentik will be in the raft with you. Her background is different.”
Chok smiled and nodded to Jen. “Commander, these rafts are very sturdy. Bigger than the ones I learned in, but I have had training with this type. Anything I can do, be sure I will do to keep the raft and you safe.”
“Very well, Sergeant,” Jen said. Stiff, but no longer sounding panicky.
“We’ll want the two rafts connected by a line,” Ky said. “Getting separated would worse than halve our chances of survival.”
“Where can we go?” Jen asked.
“Right now, where the wind and water take us. That land to the north, Miksland, is uninhabited and inhospitable but if we can’t get into a northward current that will carry us past it, we’ll have to make for it and stop there—at least for a while.”
Jen shivered. Ky couldn’t afford more time trying to help her aide. She had everyone to think of. She said nothing, and after a moment Jen said, “Yes, Admiral. I hope—I hope you believe I will do my best.”
“Of course you will,” Ky said, despite the conviction that Jen’s best in the matter of organizing receptions and office staff was not going to be meaningful in this crisis. She watched as Jen moved carefully away from her and over to Marek. His nod to Jen was cordial, but he was watching Ky.
“Ready?” he asked. “I’ll give you Go when we’re at the best part of the wave. Grab on hard when you get to the raft.”
Ky moved to the hatch. The weather had not improved; wind blew harder, and the distant land had disappeared in rain and windblown spume.
“Go!” Marek said. Ky threw herself onto the slide, startled at the feel of the water shifting and heaving underneath as she slid down. The wet wind felt icy cold; her face stiffened under it. But she smacked safely into the raft, grabbing the ropes just below the entrance, and struggled to get her feet on the rope ladder. Hands from above grabbed her p-suit, pulling her up and finally over the inflated side into the raft. She rolled over, pushed herself back to the side, and looked around. The canopy was up, the struts firm, holding even when spray landed on it. The raft floor was already wet, from the water people had brought in with them, and someone had thrown up; she could smell it from here.
Across from her, one of the spare rafts in its container was lashed firmly to that side, holding it down, but the people in this raft were clustered too near the entrance along with the extra supplies. They stared at her, some pale, clearly nauseated. Her implant provided names, ratings, and a home location, but no more. “Spread out,” she said. They’d been told that, while still in the module, several times. “Take some of these supplies with you. Weigh down the perimeter.” After a moment, they did so.
She remembered her own first time in a life raft, on a day out sailing with her father. It had been warm, the sun pouring down making the raft fabric hot enough to burn. Still, she’d thought it was fun, that first time, something new, an adventure. Nothing like this; she lurched to the side as a wave heaved them up, higher than the shuttle hatch, and their tether dragged them back down.
Out the canopy opening she got her first good look at the passenger module. It was three-quarters the length of the whole shuttle and half as tall, riding on six long bright-orange, sausage-like inflated tubes, each larger than one of the rafts. She couldn’t tell if all were equally inflated, because the module leaned one way and another as the waves passed underneath. She could see Marek in the hatch, Jen beside him, and others moving around.
Even with one raft already in the water, it seemed to take a very long time before the next raft launched. Ky watched what she could see through the hatch for a short time, then turned back to those in her own raft. Her implant provided the names: Staff Sergeant Kurin, Sergeants Cosper and McLenard, Corporals Lakhani, Yamini, and Inyatta. Tech Betange, who was going on compassionate leave, Gurton and Kamat, both Specialists, and Ennisay, Private. Frightened faces looked back at her, uncertain.
They needed something to do. So did she; what was next? Always have a rescue ring ready to throw, and a spare handy. Another of her father’s rules. Kurin and Cosper were each in easy reach of a rescue ring. “Staff Sergeant Kurin, pass me that ring to your left. And Sergeant
Cosper, pass me that one to your left,” she said. She tucked the first one into the rim pocket directly behind the canopy opening, and made its line fast to the grabon just left of the ladder outside, ignoring the cold water splashing her face as the raft bobbed and tugged on its line.
Next task? Have a line made fast, ready to throw to another vessel. Where was a line? Fatter than the rim pocket, a storage compartment bulged out. She felt for an opening, then pulled it free. Inside were several coiled lines, labeled with lengths from ten to thirty meters. She chose a ten-meter and lashed one end to the grabon to the right of the ladder. She could use that to connect the two rafts together.
Next? Attach a sea anchor to one rescue ring, in case of drift; it gives the person in the water more time to get to it.
“We need a spare sea anchor,” she said, and explained what she wanted to do.
Kurin nodded at once. “Yes, sir. Everyone look in the storage spaces nearest you. It may look like a canvas bucket—” She looked back at Ky.
“We can use a canvas bucket if there’s not a spare,” Ky said. Sergeant Cosper was already rummaging in the storage bag next to him, and urging those nearest him to hurry.
Corporal Lakhani found one first and said, “Here’s a sea anchor, sir.” He handed it to Gurton, sitting next to him, and the others handed it around to Ky. It already had a line attached to the handle and a thinner line to the bottom; she gave thanks for the raft’s supplier. She lashed the sea anchor’s line to a third rescue ring.
“Admiral!” Marek yelled from the hatch.
She turned around and peered out from the canopy entrance.
“Ready to launch number two,” he said. “Letting out your tether to make room for it.”
Ky raised her hand. He loosened their mooring line, bracing himself, as the raft drifted downwind, opening a gap of water between the module’s flotation and itself. Then he made it fast again. Another raft’s container moved into position in the hatch, tipped over the edge, and started down; Marek yanked the line attached to it, and it popped free, inflating almost instantly, floating when it hit the water. The canopy came up a moment later.
“Now!” he yelled, and one by one those waiting in line at the hatch slid down, bumped into it, grabbed hold, and clambered aboard. Next came the spare raft container, wrestled aboard with difficulty, then the wounded Corporal Barash with her splinted arm, then the bodies, and finally Jen. That raft steadied in the water as weight came into it and the passengers spread around its perimeter.
“Admiral!” Marek called again. “We need a line from one raft to the other.” He was letting the line to the other raft out slowly; the wind pushed that raft closer to Ky’s. Ky threw the line she had prepared downwind into the canopy opening of the other raft, where Sergeant Chok caught it and hauled it in. The two rafts swung together.
“Make it fast,” Ky said into the other raft. She kept an eye on Marek, in the hatch. “Don’t let it slip—we need to stay together.” Chok signaled when he’d done so. Then she signaled Marek.
He let loose the second raft’s tether and slowly reeled in the first raft’s line until both rafts reached the bottom of the slide. Ky wrapped the end of the mooring line around her hand. Marek had unclipped the single mooring line from the bracket just inside the module hatch, wrapping it around a cleat for a little help in reeling in the raft. Now, as the raft bumped into the bottom of the slide, he made a loop in the end of that line, then lifted it to put it over his head.
Just as he did, one of the forward flotation sausages burst with a loud bang and whoosh. The module lurched, leaning toward them. Then a second one blew, on the other side. The module nose slammed into a wave, sending a large splash downwind, toward the slide and raft. Marek stumbled, fell out the hatch onto the slide, and tumbled down it. Through a faceful of water Ky saw the loop of rope flying through the air, blown by the wind away from Marek.
Instantly, the rafts drifted away from the slide, rotating in the swirl of water from the splash. Ky had just time to see Marek hit the water meters short of the raft, when the raft rotated so she could not see him. “Hold on to my legs!” she said and leaned out, trying to keep an eye on him. Someone grabbed her ankles; the raft swung back and she could just see him, now swimming determinedly toward the raft, but the two rafts, their canopies acting like sails, moved faster than he could. Behind him, the passenger module dipped lower and lower, lifting its aft flotation bags out of the water.
Only one thing to do—connect line to line, hoping to leave enough trailing behind for Marek to grab. As it was, the mooring line did him no good; she’d have to make it longer, and make it move slower than the rafts with the slack in it. Ky reeled in the mooring line as fast as she could, coiling as it came, then took the end of the spare rescue ring’s line and threw a fisherman’s knot to join them, tugging it into place, mentally thanking her father for all those boring knot drills he’d insisted on.
She tossed the rescue ring into the face of the next wave. The bucket of the sea anchor she’d attached to it earlier filled instantly, pulling the ring under briefly, but she saw it rise to the surface again as the line uncoiled between it and the raft. The wave lifted the raft; Ky spotted Marek and yelled into the wind, though she knew he might not hear.
“Ring. Swim to it!”
He lifted his head, got a faceful of water, then came up and looked again as a wave lifted him. Ky pointed. He swam on, now aiming more for the ring. The raft moved faster, but hadn’t yet used up the extra line. Wind and waves were pushing Marek the right direction, if only he could get to the ring before the rafts pulled it away. Coil after coil of line slid out. Ky leaned out farther, as the wind turned the linked rafts again, to keep an eye on him.
He was gaining on the ring, still losing on the rafts—would he make it in time? Not without still more line. She could leave the other rescue ring still attached to the grabon, but she would have to risk untying the mooring line so she could tie that line to the ring. Her hands were stiffening with cold; she took extra care, wrapping the mooring line elbow-to-hand several times before untying it from the raft, and struggling to make the right connection to the ring. Risky. Her father would not have approved, but she had no choice. She used her teeth to pull the line snug; her hands were too cold. And tossed the second ring out the canopy. She rubbed her hands hard and ducked her head back inside for a moment, blinking the stinging ocean water out of her eyes.
“Don’t let go,” she said to those still holding her ankles. “There’s more to do.”
“Would this help, Admiral?” Kurin asked, holding up a carabiner.
“Yes, thanks,” Ky said. She took it, hooked it into one of the attachments on her suit, then clipped into the nearest grabon. If she fell, she’d get wet but be dragged along with the raft. The wind blew cold spray in her face, but she could see well enough to spot Marek only a meter from the first ring, though the spare line she’d thrown was almost extended and his swimming less coordinated.
Then he caught the ring, got an arm through it. A wave came down on him; she held her breath until she saw him come up through it, still clinging to the ring, now with both arms through. He started trying to swim, kicking his legs, but sluggishly. Ky took a firm grip on the line and slid back into the raft. The canopy entrance was reinforced but she laid a coil of rope on it before she started hauling in, as steadily as she could, given the waves and wind. The line dripped as it came into the life raft. She glanced back; the puddle of seawater and vomit in the middle was growing.
“Staff Sergeant, there should be a hand-pump in one of the sidewall pockets; we need to get that water out of here.”
“Yes, sir,” Kurin said. “All of you—check the pockets nearest you. When you find it, pass it around to me. Admiral, is it safe for me to come assist in pulling him nearer?”
“Yes, Staff. Good idea. Done this before?”
“No, sir.”
“We want a steady, even pull, no jerks that might break his grip on the ring.�
�� Ky looked outside again. The line was still attached to the first ring—she couldn’t quite see—no, there was the second ring, with Marek’s orange p-suit sticking out of it. His arms moved, but not very effectively. If his suit had leaked, he’d be wet and chilling rapidly. Even if it hadn’t, he looked exhausted. She nodded to Kurin, who took hold and adjusted to Ky’s movement. That was easier. Meter after meter of wet line added to the water inside the raft, though she could hear the whish-grunt, whish-grunt of the pump, and water spurted out the slender hose beside her. She looked to see who was working it. Sergeant Cosper. “Good work, Sergeant,” she said over her shoulder.
She and Kurin had a rhythm now. Ten meters, twenty, thirty. In came the nearest rescue ring. Ten meters more and twenty and thirty and more of the mooring line. The knot she had thrown came under her hand; she could see Marek’s orange suit clearly now, even in the blowing spray and cold rain. His face looked grayish in the dimming light; had he been poisoned, too? He hadn’t looked sick at all in the shuttle. They kept pulling, hand over hand, and finally he was bobbing in the water only a meter away, his lips purple-gray. Toxin? Or cold? No way to tell until they got him into the raft.
Ky pulled him right up to the raft. “Master Sergeant, how are you?”
“C-cold.” His voice was barely audible over the noise of the sea and the rafts. “C-ca-can’t—swim—any—”
He wouldn’t be able to get himself into the raft, either, she could tell. She looked back into it, chose the two tallest of its occupants, and pointed to them. “Cosper and McLenard: need you to help pull Master Sergeant Marek inside. He’s too cold to climb the ladder. The rest of you, space yourselves around the far side of the raft to keep it weighted evenly.”
Ky’s hands, even in gloves, were so stiff with cold that she could do nothing but hold on to the line. When the two men came up beside her, she explained what they would have to do: lift Marek’s full weight out of the water and into the raft.
“We’re in the way, Admiral,” Kurin said. “Let me help you get your suit free.”
Cold Welcome Page 8
