Читать книгу The Crucible - Joaquin De Torres - Страница 13

Chapter 8

Wolf Among Sheep

La Perouse Strait

North of Rebun Jima

Sea of Japan

Beneath the thick bank of fog there was utter chaos. The strait was cluttered with merchant vessels and cargo ships traversing in both directions, churning the waters violently on a nearly invisible morning.

Late November, before the customary winter closing of the strait because of ice packs, the nerves of the ship captains were as tumultuous as the waters themselves. Held out to sea for days because of seasonal storms lashing the Asian coasts; their cargos of grains, vegetables and other perishables already beginning to rot, many captains began to ‘run the strait’ at high speeds to make up for the lost time. Overdue cargoes meant reduced earnings and bruises to reputations.

With their surface radars sweeping giant swaths ahead of them, search lights beaming to give notice and collision bullhorns blaring, the huge and lumbering vessels barreled forth at high speed. Running the strait was illegal for it was the reason for several fatal collisions in the past. But for the captains, it was a necessary tactic, and a crime worth committing. For three days vessels were alerted of the dangerous traveling conditions in the strait via the La Perouse International Shipping Safety Broadcast which vessels monitored religiously. Captains monitored the recorded English-language broadcast every three minutes. The broadcast was a warning and specific only to those traveling through the strait. Fishermen eager to fill their nets with the seasonal boon of huge halibut and carp needed the greatest vigilance as they trolled in the paths of the behemoths.

The La Perouse Strait, discovered by French explorer Jean-François de Galaup, comte de La Perouse in 1787, divides the southern part of the Russian island of Sakhalin from the northern part of the Japanese island of Hokkaido, connecting the Sea of Japan on the west with the Sea of Okhotsk to the north, and the Pacific Ocean to the east. It is 25 miles long with depths between 167 to 390 feet. It is a vital corridor for shipping and trade between Asia, Russia and the Americas. The Russian Maritime Shipping Federation Center on Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk, on the southern tip of Sakhalin Island was responsible for the weather and warning broadcasts in the strait. Forty-three miles across the strait was Japan’s Weather and Maritime Traffic Station on Cape Soya which also carried the broadcasts.

“Warning to all vessels. Seasonal storm conditions in the areas of the Sea of Okhotsk, Sea of Japan and Northwestern Pacific Ocean are in effect. Condition Four. Condition Four. Traffic through the strait will be very heavy during the next 72 hours. Smaller vessels, fishing trawlers, private yachts, rigs, sloops, and slow moving barges are warned to stay clear of the major shipping lanes or run the risk of collision with cargo vessels. Condition Four is in effect.”

Although the strait’s 25-mile width seemed wide enough for traffic among merchant ships, it could be choked with oil-laden supertankers with lengths of up to 1,000 feet and widths of over 200 feet. The massive vessels moved together like herds of whales, some so close to each other that crewmembers shouted greetings and obscenities to their counterparts from their decks. Vessels of same nationality attempted to stay together in an orderly formation Because oncoming ships wouldn’t attempt to break through their formation. No unnecessary shifts in course meant a faster time through the strait.

From the bridge of the Tadashi-maru, the lead vessel in a Japanese formation of four 300-foot-long freighters carrying iron ore from Port Hardy, British Columbia to Yokohama; the captain looked ahead with his binoculars.

The ships were in an echelon formation--each ship behind the other, 45 degrees off the other’s aft port-quarter. The conditions were hazardous; waves ranged between two and a half to six meters in height. With the fog, visibility was less than a half-mile on the surface and two miles at mast level. Lookouts searched high for oncoming masts, crow’s nests, search lights, pilot houses, and smoke stacks protruding above the fog layer. When a mast was spotted quick calculation of the vessel's course and speed had to be reckoned and reported to the captain to avoid collision, and each vessel in the formation had to know the details simultaneously.

When the captain of the Tadashi-maru started his fifth visual sweep, scanning slowly from right to left. He pulled the binoculars down to quickly rub his eyes, but when he raised them again it was too late.

“CAPTAIN! VESSEL DEAD AHEAD! TWO DEGREES PORT! TWENTY KNOTS!” the helmsman yelled. Instinctively the captain snapped his head to the radar sweep scope and saw the massive glowing blob closing the distance between them.

“Sound collision alarm! Distance!”

“Five hundred and fifty meters!” The klaxons blared, joining the klaxons of the other ships in a deafening cacophony as all ships in the formation came alive.

“The fog’s too thick! I can’t see the vessel type! Is she changing course?”

“No, sir! Coming dead on!”

“Calm yourself, Matsui! She won’t hit us, but she’ll ram vessel two.” The captain grabbed his radio mike. The digital frequency read-out showed that he was already sitting on the bridge-to-bridge channel, linking all the ships in the formation. He pressed the Jake key and bellowed into the speaker.

“FORMATION ALERT! Imminent collision dead ahead! Vessels four, three and two, hard to port 45 degrees, on my command! I say again, hard to port, 45 degrees! Emergency formation break, on my command!” He waited three more seconds then pressed the key. “EXECUTE! EXECUTE! EXECUTE!” The vessels pulled clumsily into their turns, their hulls moaning with the sudden torque.

“Captain, 375 meters!”

“It’s going to be close! Helmsman, hard to starboard! Drop to three-quarter speed on the starboard propeller!” The helmsman spun the wheel down furiously with his left hand while pulling the speed handles down for the starboard engine with his right. The Tadashi-maru leaned its body to the right, her hull creaking under the pressure.

“THERE SHE IS!”

The three trailing ships had just begun to lurch to their left as the Kim Il-Sung’s bow exploded out of the fog wall like a monstrous beak. Moving like a leviathan through the herd, the iron monster heeded no warning as she steamed defiantly through. The Japanese captain’s eyes enlarged as he stumbled out of his bridge and onto the weather deck. His eyes gazed at the vessel passing just 20 meters away. Massive swells, generated by the frantic cavitations of the escaping vessels, slammed into the warship with no effect. Mountainous fans of seawater roared up the valley between the two ships, washing over both decks.

Although the Tadashi-maru was taller and fatter, it seemed belittled by the rigid armored symmetry of the warship. The captain gazed in shock, inspecting the gigantic superstructure. His eyes captured her awesome nest of gun turrets, her forest of antennae and radar dishes, and her cold gray complexion. The sailors of the Japanese ship clutched the side railing to view the vessel, but none of the intruder’s sailors came out onto their decks to look at them. When the warship finally passed, the captain went back into the bridge house and pulled his formation back into position again with several maneuvering commands. When he put down the mike, he felt perspiration in his hands.

“That was close,” the helmsman exhaled, visibly shaken. “Who or what was that?” In his 30 years he had never come so close to such a powerful presence.

“It was an old Russian warship, a Kirov. But I don’t know from what country. I couldn’t see her flag. I thought those ships were scrapped by the Soviet Union.”

“Don’t warships turn on their search lights and running lights when they go through heavy fog?” asked another young bridge crewman.

“The only time you’d run dark in the fog is during wartime,” the captain said hesitantly. He rushed out of the pilot house and stood on the weather deck facing aft. It was gone. The only evidence of the juggernaut was the white, foamy wake leading into the fog.

Sea Breeze Terrace

Columbia, Maryland

When the first scent of smoke reached her nose, Kristina ripped the sheets off herself and jumped to her feet on the side of her bed. The entire room was in flames. She could hear screaming in the other rooms and down below in the kitchen, den and living room.

“I’m coming!” she called out and tried to move through room but stumbled on objects on the floor. She looked down and saw people stumbling around her, choking on smoke. Some were ablaze and screaming, while others lay motionless already burnt beyond human recognition. She tried stepping over the bodies as she headed for the door which seemed to move away from her. The moans from downstairs grew louder.

“Hang on! I’m coming!” When she reached the door and turned the corner to head downstairs she was launched back by an explosion that landed her on a pile of writhing bodies. The black burning arms and hands grabbed her, holding her down despite her struggle to get up. Then a head rose out of the tangle of smoldering arms, legs and torsos. It turned to her and opened its eyes. Her heart stopped as her mouth opened in a silent scream. It was her father.

“NOOO!!!”

Kristina bolt upright out of her sleep as she’d done hundreds of times before.