the bulkhead beside her.
Her shirt and denim pants were soaked, salt water half blinded her, and
her head felt as though the skull were cracked and someone was forcing
the sharp end of a bradawl between her Dimly she was aware that the
diesel engine was idling noisily, and that the deck was sloshing with
water as the boat rolled wildly in some powerful turbulence. She
wondered if the whole vessel had been trodden under the tanker.
Then she realized it must be the wake of the giant hull which was
throwing them about so mercilessly, but they were still afloat.
She began to crawl down the plunging deck. She knew where the bilge
pump was, that was one thing Tom had taught all of them - and she
crawled on grimly towards it.
Hank Petersen ducked out of the wheelhouse, flapping his arms wildly as
he struggled into the life-jacket. He was not certain of the best
action to take, whether to jump over the side and begin swimming away
from the tanker's slightly angled course, or to stay on board and take
his chances with the collision which was now only seconds away.
Around him, the others were in the grip of the same indecision; they
were huddled silently at the rail staring up at the mountain of smooth
rounded steel that seemed to blot out half the sky, only the TV
cameraman on the wheelhouse roof, a true fanatic oblivious of all
danger, kept his camera running. His exclamations of delight and the
burr of the camera motor blended with the rushing sibilance of Golden
Dawn's bow wave. It was fifteen feet hig that wave, and it sounded like
wild fire in dry grass.
Suddenly the exhaust of the diesel engine above Hank's head bellowed
harshly, and then subsided into a soft burbling idle again. He looked up
at it uncomprehendingly, now it roared again, fiercely , and the deck
lurched beneath him. From the stern he heard the boil of water driven
by the propeller, and the Dicky shrugged off her lethargy and lifted her
bows to the short steep swell of the Gulf Stream.
A moment longer Hank stood frozen, and then he dived back into the
wheelhouse and spun the spokes of the wheel through his fingers,
sheering off sharply, but still staring out through the side glass.
The Golden Dawn's bows filled his whole vision now, but the smaller
vessel was scooting frantically out to one side, and the tanker's bows
were swinging malestically in the opposite direction.
A few seconds more and they would be clear, but the bow wave caught them
and Hank was flung across the wheelhouse. He felt something break in
his chest, and heard the snap of bone as he hit, then immediately
afterwards there was the crackling rending tearing impact as the two
hulls came together and he was thrown back the other way, sprawling
wildly across the deck.
He tried to claw himself upright, but the little fishing boat was
pitching and cavorting with such abandon that he was thrown flat again.
There was another tearing impact as the vessel was dragged down the
tanker's side, and then flung free to roll her tails under and bob like
a cork in the mill race of the huge ship's wake.
Now, at last, he was able to pull himself to his feet, and doubled over,
clutching his injured ribs, he peered dazedly through the wheelhouse
