boat slid forward on the greased rails, nosed off the end into open space, and Liu leaned over the side to watch it fall, as gracefully as a diver, toward the churning sea.
It struck with a tremendous eruption of spray, much larger than anything Liu had seen during the drills: a geyser that rose forty, fifty feet, swept backward in ragged petals by the tearing wind. The VHF channel let loose a squeal of static.
But instead of plunging straight into the water and disappearing, the lifeboat’s forward motion, combined with the added speed of the ship, pitchpoled it sideways, like a rock skipping over the surface of a pond, and it struck the ocean a second time full force along its length, with another eruption of spray that buried the orange boat in boiling water. And then it began to resurface, sluggishly, the Day-Glo hull brightening as it shed green water. The static on the VHF abruptly died into silence.
The woman—Emily Dahlberg—caught her breath, averted her eyes.
Liu stared at the lifeboat, which was already rapidly falling astern. He seemed to be seeing the boat from a strange angle. But no, that wasn’t it: the lifeboat’s profile had changed—the hull was misshapen. Orange and white flecks were detaching themselves from the hull, and a rush of air along a seam blew a line of spray toward the sky.
With a sick feeling Liu realized the hull had been breached, split lengthwise like a rotten melon, and was now spilling its guts.
“Jesus . . .” he heard Crowley murmur next to him. “Oh, Jesus . . .”
He stared in horror at the stoved-in lifeboat. It wasn’t righting itself; it was wallowing sideways, subsiding back in the water, the engine screw uselessly churning the surface, leaving a trail of oil and debris as it fell astern and began to fade away in the gray, storm-tossed seas.
Liu grabbed the VHF and pressed the transmit button. “Bruce! Welch! This is Liu! Respond!
But there was no answer—as Liu knew there wouldn’t be.
67
ON THE AUXILIARY BRIDGE, LESEUR WAS FACING A TORRENT OF questions.
“The lifeboats!” an officer cried over the others. “What’s happening with the lifeboats?”
LeSeur shook his head. “No word yet. I’m still waiting to hear from Liu and Crowley.”
The chief radio officer spoke up. “I’ve got the
on channel 69.”
LeSeur looked at him. “Fax him on the SSB fax to switch to channel . . . 79.” Maybe choosing an obscure VHF channel to communicate with the
“What’s the rendezvous estimate?” he asked the radio officer.
“Nine minutes.” He paused. “I’ve got the captain of the
on 79, sir.”
LeSeur walked up to the VHF console, slipped on a pair of headphones. He spoke in a low voice. “
, this is First Officer LeSeur, acting commander of the
. Do you have a plan?”
“This is a tough one,
but we’ve got a couple of ideas.”
“We’ve got one chance to do this. We’re faster than you by at least ten knots, and once we’re past, that’s it.”
“Understood. We’ve got on board a BO-105 utility chopper, which we could use to bring you some shaped explosives we normally use for hull- breaching—”
“At our speed, in this sea and gale conditions, you’ll never land it.”
A silence. “We’re hoping for a window.”
“Unlikely, but have the bird stand by just in case. Next idea?”
“We were thinking that, on our pass, we could hook the
with our towing winch and try to pull her off course.”
“What kind of winch?”
“A seventy-ton electrohydraulic towing winch with a 40mm wire rope —”
“That would snap like a string.”
“It probably would. Another option would be to drop a buoy and tow the wire across your course, hoping to foul your propellers.”
“There’s no way a 40mm wire rope could stop four 21.5-megawatt screws. Don’t you carry fast rescue craft?”
“Unfortunately, there’s no way we can launch our two fast rescue craft in these seas. And in any case there’s no way we can come alongside to board or evacuate, because we can’t keep up with you.”
“Any other ideas?”
A pause. “That’s all we’ve been able to come up with.”
“Then we’ll have to go with my plan,” LeSeur said.
“Shoot.”
“You’re an icebreaker, am I right?” “Well, the
“Good enough.
, I want you to chart a course that will take you across our bow—in such a way as to shear it off.”
A silence, and then the reply came. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I read you,
.”
