trapped birds as the wind blustered and swirled in the confines of glass
and steel.
Nicholas reached the Captain's body, protecting his own face with an arm
crooked across it, but there was nothing he could do for him. He left
Randle lying on the deck and shouted to the others.
Keep clear of the windows. He gathered them in the rear of the bridge,
against the bulkhead where stood the Decca and navigational systems.
The four of them kept close together, as though they gained comfort from
the close proximity of other humans, but the wind did not relent.
It poured in through the shattered window and raged about the bridge,
tearing at their clothing and filling the air with a fine mist of water,
flooding the deck ankle deep so that it sloshed and ran as the tanker
rolled almost to her beam ends.
Randle's limp and sodden body slid back and forth in the wash and roll,
until Nicholas left the dubious security of the after bulkhead, half
-lifted the corpse under the arms, and dragged it into the radio room
and wedged it into the radio operator's bunk. Swift blood stained the
crisply ironed sheets, and Nicholas threw a fold of the blanket over
Randle and staggered back into the bridge.
Still the wind rose, and now Nicholas felt himself numbed by the force
and persistence of it.
Some loose material, perhaps a sheet of aluminium from the
superstructure, or a length of piping ripped from the tank deck below,
smashed into the tip of the bridge like a cannon ball and then flipped
away into the storm, leaving a jagged rent which the wind exploited,
tearing and worrying at it, enlarging the opening, so that the plating
flapped and hammered and a solid deluge of rain poured in through it.
Nicholas realized that the ship's superstructure was beginning to go;
like a gigantic vulture, soon the win would begin stripping the carcass
down to its bones.
He knew he should get the survivors down nearer the water line, so that
when they were forced to commit themselves to the sea, they could do so
quickly. But his brain was numbed by the tumult, and he stood stolidly.
It needed all his remaining strength merely to brace himself against the
tearing wind and the ship's anguished motion.
In the days of sail, the crew would tie themselves to the main mast,
when they reached this stage of despair.
Dully, he registered that the depth of water under the ship was now only
fifty-seven fathoms, and the barometer was reading 9 5 5 millibars.
Nicholas had never heard of a reading that low; surely it could not go
lower, they must be almost at the centre of the revolving hurricane.
With an effort, he lifted his arm and read the time. It was still only
ten o'clock in the morning, they had been in the hurricane for only two
and a half hours.
A great burning light struck through the torn roof, a light that blinded
them with its intensity, and Nicholas threw up his hands to protect his
eyes. He could not understand what was happening, He thought his
hearing had gone, for suddenly the terrible tumult of the wind was
muted, fading away.
