Read Online The Chronicles of Pern: First Fall by Anne McCaffrey - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne McCaffrey
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rippling change of the wave patterns.
He turned to Theo, who was back in the cockpit with him. “Theo, I think—”
The storm struck with a ferocity and abruptness he had rarely encountered on any previous sea. He had the impression of black suit and bare legs going over the side into the suddenly heavy sea as he tightened his hold on the helm. He didn’t even have time to get the bow turned into the huge comber bearing down on them, but he did manage to avoid meeting the four- and five-meter waves broadside. His crew struggled to get the sails down and reefed, fighting the waves that tried to wash them off the deck—in some cases only the life rails prevented them from going overboard. Young Steve Duff, struggling to tie down the boom, was barely missed by the lightning that flashed across the ship, slicing through the mast two-thirds of the way up its length, snapping the mainstays into lethal lashes until they fell over the life rail. Jim barely managed to keep the bow turned into the towering seas as once again the Cross thudded into a trough left by the latest monumental wave. Worry about the more vulnerable small craft of his fleet drove terror into Jim’s heart—until the more immediate threat to the lives of himself and his crew banished all thought but that of survival.
Now and then, during the brief but thoroughly devastating squall, he caught sight of dolphins, hurtling in midair across a seething watery surface, purpose evident in every line of the sleek bodies. Sometimes their partners clung to the dorsal fins; other times the dolphins seemed to be acting independently, but always in accordance with their training.
Twice the Cross’s crew threw lines and hauled people rescued by the dolphins out of the water to the dubious safety of the plunging deck. Once they overran the upturned hull of a capsized ship, feeling the grind as their keel sliced across the plastic hull.
As abruptly as it began, the storm vanished in the distance, a roiling dark vortex pierced by bolts of lightning.
Exhausted and somewhat amazed to be alive, Jim was suddenly aware that his right arm was broken and he was bleeding from a variety of cuts on both arms, chest, and bare legs. None of his crew was totally unscathed. One rescued girl had a broken leg, and a boy was concussed, his face badly contused, and a long wound giving his hair a new parting. In the sea, which was still heavy from the agitation of the squall, survivors clung to spars, half-sunk hulks, or pallets in an expanse of destruction that nearly reduced Jim to tears.
Ignoring his own wounds and his crew’s urgings to attend to them, Jim scrabbled for the bullhorn in the cockpit and released it from its brackets. He gave the order to start up engines that, to conserve fuel, were rarely used. Ranging up and down wherever flotsam could be seen, he shouted encouragements and orders, directing dolphineer rescues even as he wondered if all under his command could still be alive. And what cargo could be salvaged.
“It came up out of nowhere,” Jim reported in an almost lifeless voice when Fort com, manned by Zi Ongola, answered his Mayday. By then they had managed to get a lot of the shipwrecked to the sandy beach. The dolphin teams were still searching the wreckage, but he needed assistance as soon as possible. He gazed with eyes that dared not focus too long on the human jetsam and the wreckage flung up on the long narrow strand that was the nearest landfall. His Southern Cross, five of the larger yawls and ketches, and two small sloops had ridden out the storm. “I was warned about the way squalls brew up in this area, so I was on guard. Not that it did me any good. It hit out of nowhere. A change of the wave color and pattern and then—bang! We’d no time to do anything except hope we’d survive. Some never had enough time to lower sail and steer into the wind. If it hadn’t been for the dolphins, we’d’ve lost people, too.”
“Casualties?”
“Yeah,
He turned to Theo, who was back in the cockpit with him. “Theo, I think—”
The storm struck with a ferocity and abruptness he had rarely encountered on any previous sea. He had the impression of black suit and bare legs going over the side into the suddenly heavy sea as he tightened his hold on the helm. He didn’t even have time to get the bow turned into the huge comber bearing down on them, but he did manage to avoid meeting the four- and five-meter waves broadside. His crew struggled to get the sails down and reefed, fighting the waves that tried to wash them off the deck—in some cases only the life rails prevented them from going overboard. Young Steve Duff, struggling to tie down the boom, was barely missed by the lightning that flashed across the ship, slicing through the mast two-thirds of the way up its length, snapping the mainstays into lethal lashes until they fell over the life rail. Jim barely managed to keep the bow turned into the towering seas as once again the Cross thudded into a trough left by the latest monumental wave. Worry about the more vulnerable small craft of his fleet drove terror into Jim’s heart—until the more immediate threat to the lives of himself and his crew banished all thought but that of survival.
Now and then, during the brief but thoroughly devastating squall, he caught sight of dolphins, hurtling in midair across a seething watery surface, purpose evident in every line of the sleek bodies. Sometimes their partners clung to the dorsal fins; other times the dolphins seemed to be acting independently, but always in accordance with their training.
Twice the Cross’s crew threw lines and hauled people rescued by the dolphins out of the water to the dubious safety of the plunging deck. Once they overran the upturned hull of a capsized ship, feeling the grind as their keel sliced across the plastic hull.
As abruptly as it began, the storm vanished in the distance, a roiling dark vortex pierced by bolts of lightning.
Exhausted and somewhat amazed to be alive, Jim was suddenly aware that his right arm was broken and he was bleeding from a variety of cuts on both arms, chest, and bare legs. None of his crew was totally unscathed. One rescued girl had a broken leg, and a boy was concussed, his face badly contused, and a long wound giving his hair a new parting. In the sea, which was still heavy from the agitation of the squall, survivors clung to spars, half-sunk hulks, or pallets in an expanse of destruction that nearly reduced Jim to tears.
Ignoring his own wounds and his crew’s urgings to attend to them, Jim scrabbled for the bullhorn in the cockpit and released it from its brackets. He gave the order to start up engines that, to conserve fuel, were rarely used. Ranging up and down wherever flotsam could be seen, he shouted encouragements and orders, directing dolphineer rescues even as he wondered if all under his command could still be alive. And what cargo could be salvaged.
“It came up out of nowhere,” Jim reported in an almost lifeless voice when Fort com, manned by Zi Ongola, answered his Mayday. By then they had managed to get a lot of the shipwrecked to the sandy beach. The dolphin teams were still searching the wreckage, but he needed assistance as soon as possible. He gazed with eyes that dared not focus too long on the human jetsam and the wreckage flung up on the long narrow strand that was the nearest landfall. His Southern Cross, five of the larger yawls and ketches, and two small sloops had ridden out the storm. “I was warned about the way squalls brew up in this area, so I was on guard. Not that it did me any good. It hit out of nowhere. A change of the wave color and pattern and then—bang! We’d no time to do anything except hope we’d survive. Some never had enough time to lower sail and steer into the wind. If it hadn’t been for the dolphins, we’d’ve lost people, too.”
“Casualties?”
“Yeah,