against each other with a rattling roar, and the brash of roitten and mushy sea ice that filled the bay susurrated and clinked, as it rose and fell with the sea.
Now Golden Adventurer was clear of the cliff, she was more fully in the grip of the wind. Although the wind was dying, it still had force enough to move her steadily deeper into the bay, her bows pointed directly at the beach.
Unlike the cliff shore, the bay sloped up gently to the beach and this allowed the big waves to build up into rounded sliding humps. They did not curl and break into white water because the thick layer of brash ice weighted and flattened them, so that these swells joined with the wind to throw the ship at the beach with smoothly gathering impetus.
She took the ground with a great metallic groan of her straining plates and canted over slowly, but the moving pebble beach moulded itself quickly to her hull I giving gradually, as the waves and wind thrust her higher and higher until she was firm aground; then, as the short night ended so the wind fell further, and in sympathy the swells moderated also and the tide drew back letting the ship settle more heavily.
By noon of that day, Golden Adventurer was held firmly by the bows on the curved purple beach, canted over at an angle of ice. Only her after end was still floating, rising and fallen like a see-saw on the swell patterns which still pushed in steadily, but the plummeting air temperature was rapidly freezing the brash ice around her stern into a solid sheet.
The ship stood very tall above the glistening wet beach. Her upperworks were festooned with rime and long rapier like stalactites of shining translucent ice hung from her scuppers and from the anchor fair-leads. Her emergency generator was still running, and although there was no human being aboard her, her lights burned gaily and piped music played softly through her deserted public rooms.
Apart from the rent in her side, through which the sea still washed and swirled, there was no external evidence of damage, and beyond her the peaks and valleys of Cape Alarm, so wild and fierce, seemed merely to emphasize her graceful lines and to underline how rich a prize she was, a luscious ripe plum ready for the picking.
Down in her radio room, the transmitting key continued to send out an unbroken beam that could be picked up for five hundred miles around.
Chapter 5
Two hours of deathlike sleep - and then Nick Berg woke with a wild start, knowing that something of direct consequence was about to happen. But it took fully ten seconds for him to realize where he was.
He stumbled from his bunk, and he knew he had not slept long enough. His skull was stuffed with the cotton wool of fatigue, and he swayed on his feet as he shaved in the shower, trying to steam himself awake with the scalding water.
When he went out on to the bridge, the Trog was still at his equipment. He looked up at Nick for a moment with his little rheumy pink eyes, and it was clear that he had not slept at all. Nick felt a prick of shame at his own indulgence.
“We are still inside La Mouette ,” said the Trog, and turned back to his set. “I reckon we have an edge of almost a hundred miles.”
Angel appeared on the bridge, bearing a huge tray, and the saliva jetted from under Nick’s tongue as he smelled it.
“I did a little special for your brekker, Skipper,” said Angel. I call it “Eggs on Angel’s Wings”.
“I’m buying,” said Nick, and turned back to the Trog with his mouth full and chewing. “What of the Adventurer?”
“She’s still sending a DF, but her position has not altered in almost three hours.”
“What do you mean?” Nick demanded, and swallowed heavily. “No change in position. Then she’s aground,” Nick muttered, the food in his hand forgotten, and at that moment David Allen hurried on to the bridge still shrugging on his pea-jacket. His eyes were puffy and his hair was hastily wetted and combed, but spiky at the
Now Golden Adventurer was clear of the cliff, she was more fully in the grip of the wind. Although the wind was dying, it still had force enough to move her steadily deeper into the bay, her bows pointed directly at the beach.
Unlike the cliff shore, the bay sloped up gently to the beach and this allowed the big waves to build up into rounded sliding humps. They did not curl and break into white water because the thick layer of brash ice weighted and flattened them, so that these swells joined with the wind to throw the ship at the beach with smoothly gathering impetus.
She took the ground with a great metallic groan of her straining plates and canted over slowly, but the moving pebble beach moulded itself quickly to her hull I giving gradually, as the waves and wind thrust her higher and higher until she was firm aground; then, as the short night ended so the wind fell further, and in sympathy the swells moderated also and the tide drew back letting the ship settle more heavily.
By noon of that day, Golden Adventurer was held firmly by the bows on the curved purple beach, canted over at an angle of ice. Only her after end was still floating, rising and fallen like a see-saw on the swell patterns which still pushed in steadily, but the plummeting air temperature was rapidly freezing the brash ice around her stern into a solid sheet.
The ship stood very tall above the glistening wet beach. Her upperworks were festooned with rime and long rapier like stalactites of shining translucent ice hung from her scuppers and from the anchor fair-leads. Her emergency generator was still running, and although there was no human being aboard her, her lights burned gaily and piped music played softly through her deserted public rooms.
Apart from the rent in her side, through which the sea still washed and swirled, there was no external evidence of damage, and beyond her the peaks and valleys of Cape Alarm, so wild and fierce, seemed merely to emphasize her graceful lines and to underline how rich a prize she was, a luscious ripe plum ready for the picking.
Down in her radio room, the transmitting key continued to send out an unbroken beam that could be picked up for five hundred miles around.
Chapter 5
Two hours of deathlike sleep - and then Nick Berg woke with a wild start, knowing that something of direct consequence was about to happen. But it took fully ten seconds for him to realize where he was.
He stumbled from his bunk, and he knew he had not slept long enough. His skull was stuffed with the cotton wool of fatigue, and he swayed on his feet as he shaved in the shower, trying to steam himself awake with the scalding water.
When he went out on to the bridge, the Trog was still at his equipment. He looked up at Nick for a moment with his little rheumy pink eyes, and it was clear that he had not slept at all. Nick felt a prick of shame at his own indulgence.
“We are still inside La Mouette ,” said the Trog, and turned back to his set. “I reckon we have an edge of almost a hundred miles.”
Angel appeared on the bridge, bearing a huge tray, and the saliva jetted from under Nick’s tongue as he smelled it.
“I did a little special for your brekker, Skipper,” said Angel. I call it “Eggs on Angel’s Wings”.
“I’m buying,” said Nick, and turned back to the Trog with his mouth full and chewing. “What of the Adventurer?”
“She’s still sending a DF, but her position has not altered in almost three hours.”
“What do you mean?” Nick demanded, and swallowed heavily. “No change in position. Then she’s aground,” Nick muttered, the food in his hand forgotten, and at that moment David Allen hurried on to the bridge still shrugging on his pea-jacket. His eyes were puffy and his hair was hastily wetted and combed, but spiky at the
Similar Books
