chart-table.
One of the tanker's junior officers came out of the radio room at the
back of the bridge.
Still no score' he said, and only injury time left now/ and they fell
into a concerned discussion of the World Cup soccer match being played
under floodhghts at Wembley Stadium on the other side of the Atlantic.
If it's a draw then it means that France is in the There was an excited
shout from the radio room, and the junior officer ran to the door and
then turned back with an excited grin. England has scored! The deck
officer chuckled happily. That will wrap it up. Then with a start of
guilt he turned back to his duties, and had another start, this time of
surprise, when he glanced into the radarscope.
What the hell are they playing atV he exclaimed irritably, and hurried
forward to scan the sea ahead.
The fishing boat had continued its turn and was now bows on.
Damn them. We'll give them a buzz. He reached up for the handle of the
foghorn and blew three long blasts, that echoed out mournfully across
the shallow greenish water of the Straits. There was a general movement
among the officers to get a better view ahead through the forward bridge
windows.
They must be half asleep out there. The deck officer thought quickly
about calling the Captain to the bridge, If it came to manoeuvering the
ship in these confined waters, he flinched from the responsibility. Even
at this reduced speed, it would take Golden Dawn half an hour and seven
nautical miles to come to a stop; a turn in either direction would swing
through a wide arc of many miles before the ship was able to make a go
change, of course - God, then there was the effect of the wind against
the enormously exposed area of the towering stern quarters, and the full
bore of the Gulf Stream driving out of the narrows of the Straits. The
problems of manoeuvering the vessel struck a chill of panic into the
officer - and the fishing boat was on collision course, the range
closing swiftly under the combined speeds of both vessels. He reached
for the call button of the intercom that connected the bridge directly
to the Captain's quarters on the deck below, but at that moment Captain
Randle came bounding up the private staircase from his day cabin.
What is it? he demanded. What was that blast on the horn? 'Small
vessel holding on to collision course, sir. The officer's relief was
evident, and Randle seized the handle of the foghorn and hung on to it.
God, what's wrong with them? The deck is crowded/ exclaimed one of the
officers without lowering his binoculars. Looks as though they have a
movie camera team on the top deck. Randle judged the closing range
anxiously; already the small fishing vessel was too close for the Golden
Dawnto stop in time.
Thank God/ somebody exclaimed. They are turning away. They are
streaming some sort of banner. Can anybody read that? They are
heaving-to/ the deck officer yelled suddenly.
They are heaving-to right under our bows., Samantha Silver had not
expected the tanker to be so big.
From directly ahead, her bows seemed to fill the horizon from one side
to the other, and the bow wave she threw up ahead of her creamed and
