They all grabbed hold of something as the floor began to slope.
‘You sure about this, Stratton?’ Scouse asked as the ship leaned further over.
‘Course I’m not bloody sure. How many times do you think I’ve done this?’
In the engine room and steerage locker, operatives were scurrying up stairs, along gangways and through doors, spewing out of the various exits and to the side, all eyes on the town not far away and speculating the outcome.
A dozen steel pipes, several metres long and big enough to crawl through, which were stacked in the centre of the main deck, snapped their bindings and rolled with a chiming clatter down the deck to burst through the rails and spill into the sea.
‘She’s going over,’ Scouse said in a raised voice as the boat continued to lean and started creaking eerily.
But as it took the tight turn it appeared to reach its maximum pitch and hold. Stratton kept the wheel hard over, his eyes never leaving the coastline.
‘She’s holding,’ Scouse murmured, not sure if he was correct. ‘She’s holding,’ he said again, this time a little more certain. ‘Come on, baby. Turn you big, fat bitch.’
The end of the tanker moved away from the town and along the coastline like the second hand of a clock.
‘Christ! She’s gonna clear it,’ Scouse said, excitement creeping into his voice. ‘She’s gonna clear!’
Then suddenly the tanker began to jolt violently as a terrible deep creaking came from below, as if the ship were moaning in pain. The wheel shuddered in Stratton’s hands and the massive jerking motion worsened. Then as the ship started to lurch to one side it was suddenly obvious.
‘We’re running aground!’ Stratton shouted.
‘She’s gonna rip open!’ Scouse said.
Then as if enormous brakes had been brutally applied, the boat jolted to a stop and those on deck not holding on fell forward.
The tanker had ground to a halt broadside to the town which was little more than a mile away. The propellers continued to turn as the engine hummed sending vibrations throughout the ship, but it was stuck fast.
Tip stepped through the door on to the bridge deck and walked to the rails. ‘Holy cow,’ he shouted. ‘Take a look at this.’
‘She’s broken in half,’ Scouse called out, guessing the worst as he followed Nick outside.
‘Bloody hell,’ Nick exclaimed as he got to the side.
‘Stratton!’ Tip shouted.
Stratton grabbed his weapon, hurried on to the wing, and even his jaw dropped when he saw it.
The huge ship, 330 metres long with 22 metres of its sheer sides below the water, had been slipping its vast tonnage sideways against the ocean as it turned. This was effectively how the tanker had reduced its speed so quickly, by transferring its forward cutting energy to its long broadside where it was slowed by millions of tons of water. But energy doesn’t disappear, it just turns into something else; in this case motion, in the shape of a very, very large body of water. The tanker had become an enormous wave-making machine.
‘It’s a bleedin’ tidal wave,’ Scouse said.
The wave was the entire length of the tanker and spreading, six or seven metres high, and heading directly for the Torquay coastline.
‘Two boats,’ Tip shouted.
Stratton pulled a pair of binoculars from a pouch and looked through them. ‘Fishing boat . . . the other looks like a tour boat.’
‘They’re fucked,’ Scouse said.
Stratton pushed away from the rails and ran as fast as he could down the exterior staircase as he talked into his throat mic. All heard his communication as he hit ‘C’ deck and ran around to the next stairway.
‘Zulu one. Come alongside now! And I mean now!’
Scouse and the others followed, not knowing what Stratton was planning.
Stratton hit the main deck and ran to the rails where other operatives stood watching the wave. He looked over the side to see one of the VSVs coming around the stern. Stratton climbed over the rail and, without a pause, continued over the side, dropping feet first. Scouse arrived in time to see him hit the water. The VSV slowed as it approached and Scouse suddenly realised what Stratton had in mind.
‘Stay here,’ Scouse said to the others then sprang over the rails and plummeted to the sea.
Scouse hit the water a couple of metres from Stratton and when he surfaced the VSV was alongside. The crewman, Jab, a young corporal SBS operative, grabbed Stratton’s arm and helped him aboard.
Stratton pushed aside the heavy rubber flap that covered the entrance to the cabin and went inside.
‘Jock?’ he shouted, recognising the coxswain at the controls.
‘What’s up, Stratton?’
‘Other side of that wave are people in boats.We’re gonna get them.’
Jock was an experienced SBS sergeant and immediately understood, although he blew a soft whistle to himself at the audacity of such an attempt. He kept his thoughts to himself for the moment, aware that time was of the essence, and checked to see Scouse was on board as he grabbed the throttles.
‘Hold on,’ Jock shouted in his West Coast Scottish brogue that twenty years in the SBS had hardly softened, and he pushed the throttles forward, easing the engines to half power as he turned the boat away from the side of the tanker.
Scouse and Jab entered the small cockpit, gripping the roof support bars to hold themselves against the powerful acceleration. The inside was like any military vehicle: basic, zero comforts, all struts and hard surfaces and jammed with communications, radar equipment and other technology. It was solid and confined.
The wave was visible through the narrow cockpit windows. Even though it was moving relatively slowly, it was only several hundred yards away.
‘Round the end or through it?’ Stratton asked.
‘The sides. I ain’t tried surfing this bitch yet and today ain’t the day for it,’ Jock shouted above the engines as he increased power. ‘Where’s the boats?’
‘Straight out from the tanker’s side. Less than a mile.’
‘You reckon we’ll make it in time, do you?’
‘No idea. You?’
‘Doubt it,’ he said, glancing at Stratton for a second. ‘Trying to make me as mad as you?’
‘We’re all bonkers in this business, Jock.’
‘Aye, true enough.’
The VSV roared like a fighter jet on the water as the engines increased in power, the two tachometer needles pushing towards the red zone. The sheer thrust could be felt in the confined metal space, the vibrations echoing along every surface.
The end of the wave was soon visible, tapering off to flat water. Jock suddenly decided not to wait until they reached it and turned the boat sharply to face the back of the wave. It leaned over like a Formula One racing bike and straightened out as it cut into the slope at a slight angle. It pierced the hump, partly submersing for a second, and dropped down the other side before levelling out on the flat.
All four men glanced back at the mountain of sea that towered behind them, all thinking the same thing. If they carried on they would soon be trapped between the wall of water and the coast and there was going to be only one way out of it. Stratton scanned ahead for the boats and quickly saw them in the calmer waters of the bay. The fishing boat was heading towards the mouth of the walled harbour, its three-man crew oblivious to the encroaching danger.The tour boat was further away from the wave and looked as if it was carrying a dozen people or more.
‘What do you want to do?’ Jock asked as he aimed for the nearest boat.
‘We won’t have time to empty both,’ Stratton said.
‘Be lucky if we empty any,’ Jock murmured.
‘Give the fishing boat a heads up and go for the other one.’
Jock sounded his klaxon as he started to turn away from the fishing boat.
