Operation: North Sea

- 10 -

There had been no recurrence of the beast’s weird song for the last half-hour, although tensions in the control room on the rig were still running high.

“Do you have any fucking idea how much this shit-show is going to cost us?” the rig manager asked.

“I don’t give a flying fuck about your bottom line,” Banks replied. “And I doubt if many of your crew here, those out on yon lost floatel, or the men we lost down in the dark with what’s left of the supply boat give a flying fuck either. The important thing now is to get everybody to shore safely.”

A huge wave hit just at that moment and the whole rig shuddered under the impact. Banks ignored the still spluttering manager and addressed the operator at the radio.

“Any word on those choppers?”

“I just got off the blower with Aberdeen. One’s incoming, twenty minutes out weather permitting. There’s another two twenty minutes behind that.”

Banks turned to the manager again.

“You need to start getting people out to the helipad for evac. They’ll want to lift and clear as quickly as possible.”

“I’m not going to do that,” the man said.

Banks drew his pistol. He didn’t aim, kept it at his side, but he made sure the man saw it.

“Are you sure about that? Give the order, man. You know it’s the right thing to do.”

“I’m not allowed to evac except in the case of a catastrophic emergency,” Smith said.

“What do you think this is? Fucking Christmas?”

“It would cost me my job if I do.”

“It could cost you your life if you don’t.”

Banks hadn’t meant it as a threat, but he saw that the man had taken it that way. Either way, it had worked, for Smith quickly saw sense and an evac order went out over the tannoy.

“I’ll go with the first chopper,” Smith said, not looking Banks in the eye.

“Aye,” Banks replied quietly. “I thought you might.”

The man’s cheeks reddened but he kept his mouth shut, wisely, for Banks’ mood was darkening by the minute and it was starting to show. If he’d stayed there much longer, he couldn’t guarantee keeping his temper. He holstered his weapon and turned to Seton.

“Make sure he doesn’t do anything that’ll get anybody else killed, Sandy. I’ll go check on the sarge again.”

The doctor was working frantically packing a medical bag when Banks entered the small infirmary.

“The first chopper’s on its way,” he said. “Can we get him on it?”

“Your man’s still out cold, and it’s for the best if he stays that way if he’s to be moved. But I’m not going to have him ready to go in twenty minutes,” he said. “I need more time.”

“There’s two more choppers inbound behind that,” Banks replied. “We’ll get as many of the crew as we can out on the first one then see how we go from there. I’d like to travel with the sarge too, so we’ll go later.”

“That works for me. How long have we got?”

“Forty minutes do you?”

“Plenty. I’ll be ready in thirty, and we’ll meet you up on the helipad.”

“Thanks, doc. Nice to meet somebody that kens what they’re doing on this lump of metal.”

The doctor smiled.

“Don’t let my bedside manner fool you. I’m bloody terrified.”

“That makes two of us then. See you up top in thirty.”

He left the doc to it and headed back towards the control room, getting a soaking again in the process. There was a constant stream of crew out on the stairs heading out towards the helideck that was almost on the same level as the control room gantry but some thirty yards away on the northern side of the rig. Banks noted with some dismay that it had no shelter whatsoever and was exposed to the full wrath of the storm. The men who were making their way across the causeway towards it were bent almost double into the wind and looked to be having trouble standing.

He found Seton in the control room doorway smoking his pipe.

“The chopper will be here any minute,” Banks said. “You should get over to the pad.”

The older man shook his head.

“If you’re staying, I’m staying. Besides, I’ll need to see if my theory works.”

“You can see it from five hundred feet higher up as easily as you can see it from here.”

“No, I need to be at the controls. I might need to alter the volume or the cadence and…”

“Admit it, auld man. You just want another close up view of the beastie.”

“You know me too well. There is that. But there’s also the fact that I want to see the thing through. I came here with you and Hynd. I’d like to go back with you both. I’m part of the team, aren’t I?”

“I suppose you are at that. I’ll get you a wee badge made up when we get home.”

They were interrupted by a shout from inside the control room.

“The first chopper’s two minutes out and closing.”

Banks and Seton watched from the gantry, peering into the rain to try to catch a glimpse of the approaching rescue. As soon as they saw a searchlight washing on the waves and coming closer rapidly, Seton turned away towards the control room door.

“I’ll be inside. If the beast returns, I’ll try to control it.”

“Best of luck, wee man. Given the size of yon beast, you’ll need it.”

Despite having seen the old man in action against the monster they’d tracked down in Loch Ness, Banks was still skeptical; the memory of the great head staring right at him out on the gantry was still all too fresh in his mind. Sure, Nessie had been bad, but this thing here was an order of magnitude larger than that beast had been. The thought of controlling it wasn’t something he could get his head to understand.

“Maybe we will get lucky,” he muttered to himself. “Maybe it’ll stay away.”

And at first, he thought his wish was going to be granted. The chopper struggled in the wind but the pilot was skilled and he brought it down to a landing dead center of the helipad. The crew’s rescue procedures had been honed through the training they required just to get onto the rig in the first place and loading the craft went quickly and smoothly until they had taken on a full complement. The rig manager was last to board. Banks saw the man take a final look across the rig then the door was shut behind him and the chopper began to lift away off the pad.

“Yes!” Banks shouted. “Go on, my son.”

The chopper had cleared the platform and was rising away out to sea when the beast made its appearance, coming up out of the water like a launched torpedo, jaws already opening in anticipation of another morsel. The tannoy burst into action, a chant ringing through the storm.

He sleeps and he dreams with the fish far below.

He dreams and he sings in the dark.

The beast paused, momentarily confused.

He sleeps and he sings and he dreams far below.

The huge head shook, like a dog shedding water, sending spray in a wash across the chopper and helipad. The wind rose up a notch, and the last line of the chant was torn away in the breeze.

And the Dreaming God is singing where he lies.

The wind’s effect on the chanting also appeared to wash aside any effect it had on the beast. It raised its head again, gaze fixed on the chopper. The craft rose, kept rising and accelerating; it would be out of reach, even for the beast, in a matter of seconds.

“Go on. Go on,” Banks muttered under his breath.

But the beast had other ideas. It surged, impossibly high out of the water, showing Banks its underbelly. He had his pistol out and put three quick shots into it, working on pure instinct, but they had as little effect as before. The thing’s jaws gaped and plucked the chopper out of the sky like a swallow taking a butterfly. The crunch and squeal of metal as the teeth clamped down echoed above the wind and as quickly as it had risen, the beast was falling. It landed hard on the water, the resultant splash soaking the gantry and Banks with it in a wave that almost knocked him off balance.

When he’d recovered enough to look over the side of the railing, he was once again looking down at only the dark water and a seething roil of foam and ripples that was already subsiding.

The chopper, and all the men aboard, had gone down into the deep from where there could be no return.