Death of a Supertanker by Antony Trew

neck and kissed him. He tried to make more of it, but she pushed him away again. ‘No. For God’s sake not now, Freeman.’ She was suddenly serious, her dark eyes wide under the frown. ‘This is quite crazy. Anybody could come in.’
    ‘Anybody couldn’t‚’ he said. ‘I’ve locked the door. There’snobody about. If anybody wants me, which is highly unlikely at this hour, they’ll phone or use R/T.’
    ‘What happens if George phones from the bridge and I’m not in my cabin?’
    ‘You’d gone up on deck for a breath of fresh air. Gone to the pool. Anywhere. This is a bloody great ship. There’s no law that says you can’t leave your cabin.’ He went to the corner cupboard beside the refrigerator. ‘Calm down. Let’s have a drink. Then you can go back to bed.’
    ‘You must sleep, Freeman. You go on watch at four.’
    ‘No problem. I had a good kip this afternoon and I’ve been asleep in that chair for the last hour or so.’
    She looked at him doubtfully. ‘Are you sure it’s all right?’
    ‘Of course. What’ll you have? G and T?’
    ‘After midnight?’ She made a face. ‘What else can you suggest?’
    ‘Chartreuse.’
    ‘Super.’ She smiled affectionately, sat on the settee. ‘I still think we’re crazy.’
    He ignored the remark, went on pouring the drinks. When he’d finished he put the glasses on top of the coffee table and joined her. ‘Now I’ll tell you a bedtime story.’
    ‘You’d better do that, Freeman.’ Her eyes were mischievous. ‘There’s not going to be anything else.’
     
    By thirty minutes past midnight Foley had settled down to the routine of the watch. The third officer on handing over had made the customary reports of course and speed, ship’s position, distance off shore, traffic approaching, ETA for the next alteration of course – 0250 off Great Fish Point – the engineroom state, manned on this occasion, and he’d handed over the traditional cup of coffee the quartermaster had prepared. He’d stayed chatting with Foley for a few minutes, then made his way below.
    When Simpson had gone, Foley carried out a quick radar check, after which he established the ship’s position by Decca Navigator, took a radar bearing of the light at the mouth of the Buffalo River, and checked it with a gyro compass bearing. He compared the echo-sounder reading with the depth of water shown on the chart, compared the gyro and magnetic compass readings, checked gyro-repeaters, determined the error of the magnetic compass by means of a star azimuth and finished with abrief chat by phone with Jonathan Malim, the engineer on watch in the engine control-room. It was a subdued humourless exchange. Since his wife’s death the third engineer had become more morose and withdrawn than ever, rarely leaving his cabin except to go on watch.
     
    Despite its grim name, ‘The Graveyard Watch’, Foley enjoyed the middle-watch at night and was grateful that by long standing tradition it was his. In the small hours of morning, between midnight and four o’clock, life in a ship at sea was at its lowest ebb. But for the bridge and engineroom watchkeepers, the crew were asleep. Those quiet undisturbed hours suited him admirably. The middle-watch at night was perhaps that part of life in tankers which he relished most.
    Now he had the bridge to himself but for Gomez the quartermaster who was on standby, the ship being on auto-steering. It was a fine warm night with no moon, the southern sky was brilliant with stars and out on the starboard wing of the bridge a light breeze fanned his face. Bracing himself against the roll of the ship he leant over the gyro, turned up the brilliance and took bearings of two ships bound up the coast. They were inshore and well clear of Ocean Mammoth. There were three other ships in sight, all to port. Two were coming up astern and the third, having overtaken in the first watch, showed no more than a dim sternlight fine on the port bow. He judged her to be ten