SILENT GUNS (22 page)

“
Lock lights dead ahead,” Graves
shouted from the foredeck. The
Helga
sagged off. The slow,
methodical, pulsating throb of the engine was soothing.

“
We have red,” Graves
reported.

The wheelhouse door banged open. Madden and Harper
charged in. “Harper’s picked up a weather report. The radio says
there’s a big blow coming. They’re shutting down the airports and
the Coast Guard is chasing everybody off the Sound. Barometer’s
heading down to twenty-nine with 60 knot winds expected from the
southwest. Maybe, we should lay over until it blows over.”

“
We have green,” Graves shouted
up.

“
The
Helga
’s a bad water
boat,” Trent replied dourly. “Any boat that fishes Alaskan waters
is built to take it. Secure for rough weather,” He ordered, his
voice calm and resolute. “Timing at the Navy Yard is critical: no
delay.”

“
From the radio report, every damn
boat is running for shelter,” Harper reported.

“
Deck secured,” Madden reported,
dutifully.

Trent rang down slow ahead.

“
Peter, after we clear the locks,
release Captain Larsen.”

“
What about Schiller?”

“
Keep him tied-up, but see he
doesn’t choke in his own puke.” Madden nodded, his eyes suddenly
very knowing.

Harper stared incredulously as the
Helga
moved into the large Lock and lines were passed up. Trent sensed a
new, unexplained strength in Harper. Harper’s mind had fired off an
order: Get off this stinking tub and away from this crazy Commander
and his slave-like second in command. Wash your hands of this
suicidal adventure and be rid of the lot: Graves, Madden, Newby,
Hirsch, Trent - and good riddance. Harper moved, but his feet held
him riveted. As the
Helga
sailed from the lock, Harper
hammered the bulkhead with his fist, swung on his heels and strode
out the wheelhouse, slamming the door behind him.

“
Jesus,” Madden exclaimed. “What’s
got into him?”

Trent said, “He saw his chance but he couldn’t take
it.”

Madden’s face was puzzled. “Chance for what?”

“
To jump ship.”

“
Suppose he had. If he
talked…”

“
Where would he run to? If he did,
I have a gun tucked under my shirt. Either way, Harper had no good
option and he knew it.” Madden did a quick double-take.

Graves entered and sounded off, “Looks like big
rollers sweeping up from the southwest. The Coast Guard’s out in
force, they’re turning boats back off the Sound.”

“
We’ve all seen worse.”

“
The
Helga
isn’t the
Missouri
, you know.”

“
Take the wheel, Madden. I’d
better tend to Schiller and the Captain.” Bracing himself against
an unpleasant, pitching motion, Trent left. When he reached the
Captain’s cabin, Newby unlocked the door. He entered and said,
“Captain, I’m setting you loose,” he reached over and untied his
bonds. The Captain’s face flashed defiance as he vigorously
massaged his wrists.

“
I don’t get it.” Newby
muttered.

“
We’re in for rough weather,”
Trent replied. “Besides, the Captain isn’t going anywhere,” he
said. “My own ship!” the Captain scowled, his eyes scathing.
“Newby, I need Harper on deck, go sub in the galley.” Trent turned
away and left.

Trent un-gagged Schiller but left him chained to the
ladder. He noticed that the
Helga
’s stern did not pitch, but
swung in a terrible, rhythmic, sidewise waggle that pivoted her
around her stem.

Schiller kicked and screamed. “Let me offa this scum
bucket.

“
You’re not going
anywhere.”

“
I’ll die in here.”

“
I’ll keep that suggestion in
mind,” Trent said quietly. He felt the man’s fury as he quickly
secured and re-checked all movable gear. He swallowed hard as he
felt the boat plunge forward; burying its bow sending a shock wave
aft. The stern lifted, he sprung out of the hatch and furiously
dogged it down. With the
Helga
slewing dangerously, he made
a quick, mad dash forward to the wheelhouse.

“
Madden, check the whaler, this
blow is going to get worse before it’s over.” Madden pulled on a
dripping oilskin and hurried down the ladder. He hit the working
deck just as a heavy sheet of spray rose over the railing and
dashed itself against the cabin. Harper reached Madden’s side and
said angrily, “I told Newby what that crazy Trent was doing. Get
him to turn back.”

“
Watch your tongue, Harper. You
ain’t half the man he is. You had your chance to jump ship, but you
couldn’t cut it.”

Unmasked, Harper eyed him scathingly.

Harper grinned, “I underestimated you, Madden.”

“
You’re a troublemaker, Harper and
if…” Harper cowered; he faced a hovering shadow. His face widened.
A huge roller rose over the railing. The wave broke and struck
Madden across his back and tumbled both men aft. His breath was
pushed from his lungs; it was like being buried alive. Madden
staggered up, his body reeled like some drunk; buried to his hips,
he lunged and grasped the safety line. He hauled up a struggling
Harper. Tearing at the lugs of the engine room door, he tossed
Harper in and dogged it tight just as a cascading sea swept
over.

Maxie sat strapped in his chair in the dryness and
warmth of his engine room. He laughed. The diesel engine pounded
on, purring like a kitten. A careening wave slapped the bow hard
and tossed the
Helga
hard over, the deck angling steeply.
Maxie, restrained by straps, found himself staring straight down at
the engine. “Christ,” said Madden, “Another few degrees and this
tub would go over completely.” Oddly, he felt he could calmly
accept death.

Wind and water twisted the hull and swept the
Helga
to the northeast. Trent felt the fierce pressure
against his chest and thighs as he tried to bring her around to the
southwest face into the full force of the still rising storm. The
wind shrieked past the wheelhouse, flat spray smashed against the
windows like frozen slivers of ice. The wheelhouse door burst open.
Captain Larsen braced his bulk in the doorway.

“
What are you doing to my
Helga
?” he demanded.

“
Get in here!” Trent
ordered.

“
Hold her head up,” Captain Larsen
hollered as he lunged for the wheel. The fury of the wind raged
higher and higher driving the
Helga
on, burying her
forepeak. Masses of green, turbulent water raced aft overflowing
her scuppers. Steel plates strained as if to rend apart. Four hands
steadied the wheel. Then, there was nothing there.

“
The rudder is clear of the
water,” Larsen screamed. The
Helga
staggered, heeled over
and shot off sharply to starboard. “I can’t bring her
around.”

“
We’re broadside!!!!”

“
Shift the rudder hard a port.”
The wheel spun easily.

“
She won’t come around. The wind’s
got her head.” And then, the
Helga
slipped off into a
death-defying dive. First, she simply hung, suspended on the crest
of a huge wave, then she fell off, or was simply flung sideways
down into a valley. Her direction was a frightening, sickening
sleigh-ride straight down to Davey Jones’ locker.

“
Bring the rudder
back.”

“
It doesn’t do any good!!! We’ve
lost steerage.” Trent gritted his teeth: his legs ready to break.
“She’s going over.”

“
No! Not my
Helga
.” The
roll ended and, imperceptibly, she righted, clawing up by inches,
she righted. The propeller raced with nothing to churn against.
Thump! Thump! Thump, it thrashed, catching occasional bites of
black water. Torrential rains blotted out everything. The Captain
prayed out loud.

Aft, Harper had loosened the dogs and shouldered the
engine room door open. The wind backed and tore at his eyelids. “I
warned you, Madden, Trent should have laid over!” Harper shouted;
the wind rammed his voice back down his throat. Madden barely made
out his words. “That damn wind gage hit 77 knots. If that ain’t a
terror, I don’t know what is.” Water madly careened up and down the
deck as it sought to wash everything within reach overboard. Madden
grabbed the safety line as water dragged greedily at his legs, He
pointed, “I’m right. It is the aft hatch…!” A slamming sound
reverberated over the din. “If that hold swamps, we’ll go down like
a rock,” Harper shouted. “Those 16-inch shells are a ticket to
hell. Timing his move, Madden broke for the thrashing hatch and
fell across it. Water swept over him tearing at his body, ripping
at his fingers as he fought to hold on. With a double shattering
roar, a wave cascaded over his prostrate body. Hanging on for dear
life, he rode the floating hatch like a bucking bronco. Harper
jumped to and lashed it down. Exhausted, they let the cascading
waters slosh over them. Overhead, the loose cargo boom whipped back
and forth, describing a dizzying arc across an angry sky.

“
You’re as crazy as Graves,”
Harper said, shaking his head. “That stupid bastard laughed when I
told him Trent was taking us out. We’d better checkout
Schiller.”

“
We’d better not!” Madden grabbed
Harper’s arm and held him back. He nodded aft. The stern wagged
violently, and then quite unexpectedly would slant steeply to
starboard, so steeply, that if standing on it, one would be pitched
off like a shuttlecock off a badminton racquet. “The hell with
Schiller. Let’s get out of here,” catching the rhythm of the rise,
they worked their way back to the engine room.

Maxie lay on the deck, his ear to the deck plates.
He ignored his guests. He listened to the spinning shaft, the
shuddering jolt when the stern lifted free. He then tied himself to
the engine and deftly worked the throttles with his free hands.
When the propeller broke the surface, he stopped the engine to keep
it from tearing itself to pieces. Above the thunder of the engine
exhaust and the pounding of the engine was the monotonous clank of
the bilge pump. “This old tub won’t take much more pounding,”
Hirsch warned over the noise of the straining engine. “No one can
survive in this, even in survival gear,” he remarked to
himself.

Biting winds and driving, icy cold sprays keep
sweeping over the bow. On the foredeck, everything about the storm
was exaggerated. “Mother of heaven,” Graves stood, legs spread
apart, fist held aloft and screamed. “I defy you. You cannot beat
me.” He challenged the storm that sought to sweep him overboard.
Vile profanities poured forth from his mouth. He drew his shoulders
up inside his heavy slicker; a drawstring sealed the hood. He
barely noticed his water-filled pockets. Washed overboard, he would
have disappeared without a trace.

Harper was first to feel the heavy banging. He made
for the upper deck and shouted over the din, “Graves, get up here,
fast, I need a hand.” The whaler had unshipped. It was rocking in
sync with the whipping cargo mast. The
Helga
heeled,
corkscrewed, staggered and plunged like a beast gone mad. The
combination forced a wave over the wheelhouse, lifted the whaler,
and crashed down hurling Harper back down to the working deck.
Washed aft, he became ensnared in a collection of streaming, torn
lines. “I’m goin’ over!” Harper screamed, his face alive with
terror. Graves bounded aft, dove and pinned him to the deck.

“
Hang on, you bastard,” Graves’
mouth tightened. It was clumsy work slashing tangled lines as he
cut Harper free. Coursing water kept sweeping them further aft.
Cursing, Graves spotted Harper sloshing about, face down, and
inches from going over the taffrail and into eternity. “Hold on,
Harper. I’m coming.” Graves dove just as the
Helga
pitched
forward and heaved violently to port, sliding into a new abyss.
Raging waters that stood deep on the afterdeck seconds before,
swept Harper forward. Graves snagged his prostrate body as it
floated by. He dragged him aside he propped him up against the
engine room door. Water under his slickers and chilled to the bone,
Graves collapsed.

Trent gripped the wheel and grimaced as another wave
bore down. Fascinated, he watched the roller’s crest start to
break, “It’s a big one!” Captain Larsen shouted. “Same sound as a
freight train running by Fitzgerald’s,” Trent thought. The
Helga
staggered under the weight. An avalanche of water
crashed and drove her bow deep, as if pounded under by Thor’s
clenched fist. A thousand points of metal screamed. Overstressed
joints flooded the wheelhouse ankle-deep. In one final insane,
maddening crescendo, the wind rose to an ear-splitting pitch. As
the
Helga
slewed off sluggishly, a thunderous, wrenching
grating sound drowned out the wind. Trent turned. It sounded as
though the
Helga
’s bottom had been torn out.

“
The whaler carried away,” the
Captain shouted. “The deadweight’s gone: she’s coming back!” The
Helga
slowly righted herself. The wind shifted with
startling suddenness and just as quickly as the storm came, it blew
over. An unearthly calm descended. The Sound was still streaked in
white and marked with broad, frequent swells, but the crashing
waves had gone. It took another twenty-four hours for the storm to
blow itself out to a whimper.

“
It’s over,” Trent said,
dully.

“
God was not ready for my
Helga
,” the Captain said.