White Death

2

RYAN WATCHED THE cruiser break out of its lazy circle and head toward the SOS ship. "Looks like Hamlet finally made a decision," he said to Chuck Mercer, his first mate, who was at the wheel of the Sea Sentinel.

The Sea Sentinel had been trying to drive the whales out to sea. The pod held about fifty pilot whales, and some of the female whales were holding back to stay with their calves, slowing the rescue at- tempt. The SOS ship zigzagged like a lone cowpoke trying to corral stray cattle, but the nervous whales made the job almost impossible.

"Like herding cats," Ryan muttered. He went out on the star- board bridge wing to see how close the advancing whaleboats were to the pod. He had never seen so many islanders involved in a grind. It seemed as if every harbor in the Faroes had emptied out. Dozens of boats, ranging in size from commercial trawlers to open dories powered by outboard motors, were speeding from several different directions to join the hunt. The dark water was streaked with their wakes.

Therri Weld was already out on the wing, watching the armada gather. "You've got to admire their stubbornness," she said.

Ryan was equally awestruck. He nodded in agreement. "Now I know how Custer felt. The Faroese are going all out to defend their bloody traditions."

"This is no spontaneous outpouring," Therri said. "From the or- derly way they're moving, they've got a plan."

The words had barely left her lips when, as if on signal, the ad- vancing fleet began to split up in a pincer movement. In a classic mil- itary flanking maneuver, the boats swept around Ryan's ship so they were on the seaward side of the slow-moving whales. They spread out in a line, facing inshore, with the pilot whales between them and the Sea Sentinel. The ends of the line began to curve slowly inward. The whales bunched closer together and moved toward shore.

Ryan was afraid of hurting the panicked whales or breaking up family units if the ship stood in place. Reluctantly, he ordered the helmsman to move the ship out of the path of the hunt.

As the Sea Sentinel moved aside, a loud chorus of triumphant cheers went up from the fishermen. The line of boats began to wrap itself around the hapless whales in a deadly embrace. The whale- boats moved forward, tightening up the line to drive their prey to the killing field, where the sharp knives and spears of the executioners awaited.

Ryan ordered Mercer to steer the Sea Sentinel out to open water.

"Giving up awfully easy," Mercer said. "Wait and see," Ryan said, with an enigmatic smile. The cruiser came up alongside the Sea Sentinel like a cop escort- ing an unruly spectator from a soccer game, but when the ships were about a half mile from the whale hunt, the navy escort began to fall back. Ryan took over the wheel, frequently checking the cruisers lo- cation. When the ships were in what he judged to be the right posi- tion, he picked up the phone to the engine room. "Full speed ahead," he ordered.

The Sea Sentinel was a clunky wide-beamed vessel, high at both ends, with a silhouette like an old-fashioned bathtub. The slow- moving research ship was designed mainly as a stable platform from which to launch undersea instrumentation and nets. The first thing Ryan had done after SOS had acquired the ship at auction was to out- fit the engine room with powerful diesels that could push her along at a more respectable clip.

Ryan cut the wheel hard left. The ship shivered from the strain as it circled about in a great arcing swash of foam and raced back to- ward the whale hunt. Caught off-guard, the cruiser attempted to follow, but the warship couldn't match the Sea Sentinel's tight turn and went wide, losing valuable seconds.

The whale hunt had advanced to within a mile of shore when the Sea Sentinel caught up with the pod and the line of herdsmen. The SOS ship made a sharp turn that brought it across the wakes of the whaleboats. Ryan stayed at the wheel. He wanted sole responsibility in case something went wrong. His plan to disrupt the hunt required a deft touch on the helm. Too fast or too close, and the whalers would be overturned and thrown into the frigid water. He kept the ship at an even speed, using its broad beam to create a following sea. The wave hit the boats stern-on. Some boats managed to ride the wave that lifted them out of the water. Others lost headway and spun around in a wild attempt to prevent pitchpoling.

The line broke up into a disorganized jumble, leaving large open spaces between the boats, like gaps in a row of teeth. Ryan spun the wheel again and brought the Sea Sentinel around in another sharp turn that placed the ship broadside to the advancing whales. The whales fleeing the advancing whalers sensed the presence of the ves- sel, turned back in the opposite direction and began to break through the openings in the hunt line.

Now it was the turn of the Sea Sentinel's crew to cheer-but their jubilation was short-lived. The faster-moving cruiser had caught up with the SOS ship and was alongside no more than a hundred yards away, matching the Sea Sentinel's speed knot for knot. A voice speak- ing in English crackled over the radio.

"This is Captain Petersen of the LeifErilsson calling the SOS ves- sel Sea Sentinel.)

Ryan snatched up the microphone. "This is Captain Ryan. What can I do for you, Captain Petersen?"

"You are requested to move your ship to open water." "We are acting in accordance with international law." He gave Therri a crooked grin. "My legal advisor is standing here by my side."

"I don't intend to debate the finer points of the law with you or your advisors, Captain Ryan. You are endangering Danish fishermen. I have the authority to use force. If you don't move immediately, I will blow your ship out of the water."

The gun turret on the frigate's fore deck turned so that the barrel was pointed directly at the Sea Sentinel.

"That's a dangerous game you're playing," Ryan said with delib- erate calmness. "A bad shot could miss us and sink some of those fish- ermen you're trying to protect."

Petersen said, "I don't think we would miss at this range, but I want to avoid bloodshed. You've given the TV cameras plenty of footage. Many pilot whales have escaped, and the hunt has been dis- rupted. You've made your point and are no longer welcome."

Ryan chuckled. "Nice to deal with a reasonable man. Unlike your gun-happy predecessor. Okay, I will pull out of the way, but we're not leaving Faroe waters. We've got other business."

"You are free to do as you please, as long as it doesn't break our laws or endanger our people."

Ryan breathed a sigh of relief, his outward serenity only an act- he was aware of the danger to his crew and the press people. He turned the helm back to his first mate and gave the order to move off slowly. Once beyond the hunt area, the Sea Sentinel headed out to sea. Ryan's plan was to anchor the ship a few miles offshore while he pre- pared for the protest against the fish farm.

Chastened by the Sea Sentinel's earlier move, Petersen made sure the cruiser stayed slightly behind, ready to dart in and cut off the ship if it tried to break away.

Therri broke the tension in the pilothouse. "Captain Petersen doesn't know what a narrow escape he just had," she said, with a grin.

"One shot and I would have dragged him into court and slapped a property lien on his ship."

"I think he was more afraid of our garbage gun," Ryan said. Their mirth was cut short by the sound of Mercer swearing. Ryan said, "What's wrong, Chuck?"

"Damnit, Mark." Mercer was standing with both hands on the wheel. "You must have messed up the steering pushing this ship around like a Jet Ski." He frowned, then stepped back. "Here, you try it."

Ryan tried to turn the wheel. It gave for an inch on either side, but it seemed locked into place. He exerted a slight pressure, then gave up. "The damned thing is locked into place," Ryan said, with a com- bination of anger and puzzlement.

Ryan picked up the telephone, ordered the engine room to stop and turned his attention back to the wheel. Instead of slowing down, the ship inexplicably picked up speed. Ryan swore and called down to the engine room again.

"What's wrong, Cal?" he barked. "Those engines finally made you deaf? I said cut speed, not increase it."

Ryan's engineer, Cal Rumson, was a topflight seaman. "Hell, I know what you said," Cal replied. The frustration in his voice was obvious. "I did reduce speed. The engines are acting crazy. The con- trols don't seem to be working."

"Then kill the power," Ryan said.

"I'm trying, but the diesels are work ing harder

"Keep trying, Cal."

Ryan slammed the phone in its cradle. This was insanity! The ship seemed to have a mind of her own. Ryan's eyes swept the sea ahead of the ship. Good news. No vessels or land masses in the way. The worst that could happen would be to run out of fuel in the At- lantic. Ryan picked up the radio microphone to inform the cruiser of their predicament. But he was interrupted by a yell from Mercer.

"The wheel's turning!"

Mercer was trying to hold on to the wheel, which was gradually spinning slowly to the right, bringing the ship around toward the cruiser. Ryan grabbed the rim, then he and Mercer tried to bring the ship back on course. They used every ounce of strength they could muster, but the wheel slipped out of their sweaty hands and the Sea Sentinel moved closer to the warship.

The Danish ship had taken notice of the course change. A famil- iar voice crackled over the radio.

"Come in, Sea Sentinel. This is Captain Petersen. What is the in- tention of your course change?"

"We're having problems with our steering. The wheel is locked and we can't shut down our engines."

"That's impossible," Petersen said.

"Tell that to the ship!"

A pause. Then Petersen said, "We'll bear off to give you plenty of sea room. We'll issue a warning as to any ships in your way."

"Thanks. Looks like you'll get your wish about us leaving the Faroes."

The cruiser began to peel away.

But before the Danish ship could veer off, the Sea Sentinel made a sharp turn and drove toward the cruiser's exposed side like a water- borne guided missile.

Sailors lined the cruiser's decks and frantically tried to wave off the advancing ship. The cruiser blew short, rapid warning bursts of its horn. Voices squawked over the radio in Danish and English.

Seeing that the ships were within seconds of disaster, the sailors ran for their lives.

In a last desperate attempt to avert a certain collision, Ryan put all his weight into the wheel. He was still hanging on when the ship smashed into the side of the cruiser. The Sea Sentinel's sharp bow pen- etrated the steel hull plates like a bayonet, then slid off the moving ship in a horrendous shriek of tearing metal.

The Sea Sentinel wallowed in the ocean like a dazed boxer who had just taken a hard right to the nose. The cruiser was struggling to keep afloat, as thousands of gallons of water poured in through the gaping hole in the hull. Crewmen scrambled into the lifeboats and prepared to lower them into the cold sea.

Therri had been thrown to her knees by the impact. Ryan helped her to her feet, and he and the others in the pilothouse dashed down to the deck. The panicked TV people, seeing that they were now part of the story rather than covering it, were trying to get someone to tell them what to do. People were bruised and limping.

Someone was screaming for help, and crew and press people were extracting a bloody body from the metal mush that was all that was left of the bow section.

Ryan shouted orders to abandon ship.

With all the yelling and confusion, no one looked up to see the hel- icopter wheeling high above the ships. The chopper circled a few times like a hungry buzzard, then headed off along the coast.