I will give you the word; as soon as we reach the twentyfathom line and
she touches bottom, you will go over the side. We will try and get a
raft away. There is a chance you could be carried ashore. He paused
again, and he could see that Randle and his two seamen realized clearly
just how remote that chance was.
I will give you twenty minutes to get clear. By then, the pod tanks
will have begun breaking up -'He didn't want this to sound melodramatic
and he searched for some way to make it sound less theatrical, but could
think of none.
Once the first tank ruptures, I will ignite the escaping crude with a
signal flare. Christ! Randle mouthed the blasphemy, and the storm
censored it on his lips. Then he raised his voice. A million tons of
crude. It will fireball, man. Better than a million-ton slick down the
Gulf Stream/ Nicholas told him wearily.
None of us will have a chance. A million tons. it Will go up like an
atom bomb. Randle was white-faced and shaking now. You can't do itV
Think of a better way/ said Nicholas and left the table to stagger
across to the radio room. They watched him go, and then Duncan looked
down at the signal flares in his hand for a moment before thrusting them
into the pocket of his Jacket. In the radio room, Nicholas called
quickly into the microphone. Come in, Sea Witch - Sea witch, this is
Golden Dawn. And only the static howled in reply.
warlock, Come in, Warlock. This is Golden Dawn. Something else went in
the wind, they heard it tear loose, and the whole superstructure shook
and trembled.
The ship was beginning to break up, it had not been designed to
withstand winds like this.
Through the open radio room door, Nicholas could see the control console
display. There were seventy-one fathoms of water under the ship, and
the wind was punching her, flogging her on towards the shore.
Come in, Sea Witch/Nicholas called with quiet desperation. This is
Golden Dawn. Do you read me? The wind charged the ship, crashing into
it like a monster, and she groaned and reeled from the blow. Come in,
Warlock. Randle lurched across to the forward windows, and clinging to
the rail he bowed over the gauges that monitored the condition of the
ship's cargo. Checking for tank damage, At least he is still thinking.
Nicholas watched above the Captain's head, the sounding showed
sixty-eight fathoms.
Randle straightened slowly, began to turn, and the wind struck again.
Nicholas felt the blow in his stomach, it was a solid thing like a
mountain in avalanche, a defeaning boom of sound and the forward bridge
window above the control console broke inwards.
It burst in a glittering explosion of glass shards that engulfed the
figure of Captain Randle standing directly before it. In a fleeting
moment of horror, Nicholas saw his head half severed from his shoulders
by a guillotine of flying glass, then he crumpled to the deck and
instantly the bright pulsing hose of his blood was diluted to spreading
pale pink in the torrent of wind and blown water that poured in through
the opening, and smothered the navigation bridge.
Charts and books were ripped from their shelves and fluttered like
