We've practised it/ one of them replied.
Let's go, said Nicholas.
It was a job that was scheduled for a dozen men, and there were three of
them. Duncan was of no use to them, and Nicholas left him in the pump
control room on the lowest deck of Golden Dawn's stern quarter, after he
had closed down the inert gas pumps, sealed the gas vents, and armed the
hydraulic releases of the pod tanks for undocking.
They worked sometimes neck-deep in the bursts of green, frothing water
that poured over the ultra-tanker's fore-dec. They took on board and
secured Warlock's main cable, unlocked the hydraulic clamps that held
the forward pod tank attached to the hull and, as David Allen eased it
clear of the crippled hull, they turned and lumbered back along the
twisted and wind-torn catwalk, handicapped by the heavy seaboots and
oilskins and the confused seas that still swamped the tank-deck every
few minutes.
On the after tank, the whole laborious energy-sapping procedure had to
be repeated, but here it was complicated by the chain coupling which
connected the two haff-milelong pod tanks. Over the walkie-talkie
Nicholas had to coordinate the efforts of his seamen to those of David
Allen at the helm of Warlock.
When at last Warlock threw on power to both of her big propellers and
sheered away from the wallowing hull, she had both port pod tanks in
tow. They floated just level with the surface of the sea, offering no
windage for the hurricane winds that would soon be upon them again.
Hanging on to the rail of the raised catwalk Nicholas watched for two
precious minutes with an appraising professional eye. It was an
incredible sight, two great shiny black whales, their backs showing only
in the troughs, and the gallant little ship leading them away. They
followed meekly, and Nicholas anxiety was lessened. He was not
confident, not even satisfied, for there was still a hurricane to
navigate - but there was hope now.
Sea Witch/ he spoke into the small portable radio. Are you ready to
take on tow? Jules Levoisin fired the rocket-line across personally.
Nicholas recognized his portly but nimble-figure high in the
fire-control tower, and the rocket left a thin trail of snaking white
smoke high against the backdrop of racing, grey hurricane clouds.
Arching high over the tanker's tankdeck, the thin nylon rocket-line fell
over the catwalk ten feet from where Nicholas stood.
They worked with a kind of restrained frenzy, and Jules Levoisin brought
the big graceful tug in so close beside them that glancing up Nicholas
could see the flash of a gold filling in Jules'white smile of
encouragement. It was only a glance that Nicholas allowed himself, and
then he raised his face and looked at the storm.
The wall of cloud was slippery and smooth and grey, like the body of a
gigantic slug, and at its foot trailed a glistening white slimy line
where the winds frothed the surface of the sea. It was very close now,
ten miles, no more, and above them the sun had gone, cut out by the
spiralling vortex of leaden cloud. Yet still that open narrow funnel of
clear calm air reached right up to a dark and ominous sky.
