[h2]And The Sea Shall Yield Up….[/h2] [h3]Part 2[/h3] [img]https://i.imgur.com/bclLWmE.jpg[/img] The sun rose, a pale disk on the horizon, soon to be enveloped by the advancing clouds. Yuri hustled along the main deck, hands shoved into his pockets to brace against the cold wind. The Mick sailed upon a sea grown restless in the red morning glow; all about them the chop rose to white peaks which soon blew clear as a bitter cold spray. He could feel the great ship, shuddering and hesitating beneath his feet as she pushed on toward the Southwest. As he made his way forward, the mechanic passed the cargo bay hatches, giant slabs of steel which were supposed to be anchored in place by some fifty locking clamps each. He was lucky if he counted more than ten on any one hatch. The practice was an old one; The sheer tonnage of each hatch was considered more than ample to hold it in place atop its’ opening. Captains were hard pressed to explain the many hours of overtime pay required to have a crew dog each clamp into place, only to reverse the painstaking operation upon arrival. Of this practice, all the experienced seamen were rather blase’. “How it’s been done for decades!” more than one old mate had ridiculed him for his concern. Yuri wondered if any of them had witnessed the ship’s more pronounced torquing motion. [i]“Maybe I am being alarmist,”[/i] he considered as he bounded up the forward steps. [i]“And that,”[/i] Yuri chided himself, [i]“is likely why I’m about to receive a personal pi gu chewing from the Captain.”[/i] The first thing he noticed when he stepped onto the bridge was the ship’s motion. At this height he could feel her deck plates, undulating beneath the soles of his boots. Yuri glanced about, taking in the burnished gleam of wood paneling and trim, a lovely sight made all the more interesting by the crisp arrays of technology that composed the ship’s nerve center. Gina was at the wheel. Further starboard, the Captain stood, huddled over the chart display with Anderson, the navigator, and the First Mate, Gallegos. The grim looks all around set the hairs on the back of Yuri’s neck tingling as he approached the helmsman. “Hey, Gina,” he whispered. “What’s up?” She cast a sidelong glance. “Weather. Got a massive low pressure system rolling up from the South. Gonna get nasty...fast.” “How nasty?” he whispered. Her ebon hands made a series of corrective moves on the wheel, holding course against the rhythmic buffeting of the waves. “Gale force winds. Freezing pre-cip,” she said quietly. “Seas running fifteen to twenty feet.” [i]”La shi,”[/i] Yuri swore under his breath. “Coming right over the port beam. We’ve gotta batten…” “Antonov.” The captain now stood alone, his eye piercing as he fixed upon the Engineer’s Mate. “Over here.” Yuri made all haste to stand before him. “Sir,” he replied. The captain lifted an accusatory finger, directing the young man’s eye toward the displays arrayed about his chair. “What does that say?” His finger touched upon a readout titled [b]Speed.[/b] Yuri saw the train coming. “Eighteen knots, sir.” “Eighteen knots. Can you tell me what our speed was when you came on watch this morning?” “Twenty-five knots, sir.” “Twenty-five knots,” the captain repeated. “Now do you care to explain to me why the dog watch reactor mate can give me power for twenty-five knots in these seas, but you can’t?” Yuri straightened his back. “When I came on watch, the reactor was operating in an unsafe fashion. I restored…” “Against my orders,” the Captain growled. “No, sir. Per our corporate NavSafe regulations..." “Alright, you legalistic little shit,” the Captain glowered. “You mentioned an unsafe reactor. I’m obligated to hear you out. Report.” Yuri took a deep breath. There was the line...the one he was about to cross. “The reactor was spiking,” he answered. “The mate on watch had removed one rod altogether and had withdrawn the final to half insertion. When I arrived, I observed that he’d defeated the alarms and manually overridden the reactor control functions.” The Captain grunted. “Manual,” he muttered as he folded his arms. “So how was he maintaining?” “Each rod has an emergency hand crank,” the mate responded. “He was riding that crank, adjusting it by watching the output reading, sir.” “Innovative,” the Old Man nodded. “Sir,” Yuri spoke up, “you don't fuck around with one of these old RBMK's. I wouldn’t surf like that even if our rods weren’t almost completely spent…” "So you're a coward." "Not my call, sir." “I’m well aware of the condition of our rods,” the Captain glared. “Thanks to your running off at the mouth when corporate’s engineering VP was aboard, we’re due into Biloxi for full replacement after this run.” “I answered his questions, Captain. Didn’t lie to him.” Yuri held his ground, “just like I don’t lie to you.” “Tell that to the rest of the crew. While you’re on the clock with the yard apes for the refueling, your shipmates’ll all be sitting at home without a paycheck.” “Eatin’ ramen for a couple weeks is better than dying,” the Engineer’s mate countered. “Are we replacing the mod blocks, too? The pyrolitic carbon is coming apart. Some real graphite…” The Captain’s finger pointed toward the dual radar displays. “See that ping? Twelve miles astern?” Yuri studied the dual screen images, watching them refresh with each clockwise sweep of the radar emitters whirling atop the bridge. “Yes, sir.” “That,” the Captain shoved a pair of binocs into his hands, “is the SN Darryl Moncrief.” He trained the glasses upon the horizon, scanning until a fat blob of the following ship swept into view. He backtracked, focusing the oculars as he zoomed in. Sure enough, the long hull of an ore carrier with superstructures fore and aft could be clearly observed. “I see her, sir.” Judging by the tumbling white ribbon of her bow wave, she was putting on all speed. The Captain snatched the binocs from him. “If you’d kept your reactor at power, you WOULDN’T!” The man’s eyes burned as his voice dropped. “The Moncrief,” he said, “is headed for the same destination as us. Do you know what happens if he gets there first?” “He unloads first.” “First thing you’ve gotten right today! He unloads...while we spend twenty-four hours at anchor...sitting on our hands and burning money.” The Captain’s eyes narrowed. “Now...Antonov...get your ass back to your reactor and get me twenty-five knots.” “Sir, I…” The Captain lifted a hand. “Son, I’ve already requested your replacement as soon as Corporate can find one. What you need to decide now is if you’re off with your full share and a chance to land another seagoing post, or if I stop your clock right here and you ride out this trip in your bunk. Answer me now.” As the question stilled the air on the bridge, Yuri weighed his options. He could try to make the man understand just how close the McSorley’s reactor had come to being a bomb. The rods were nearly spent. Worse still, the cost cutting move of replacing graphite with cheaper pyrolytic carbon moderators was the very cause of their declining yield. He could point all this out..the truth was plain and fair...but no. A great many men had gone to their graves as impoverished outcasts, clinging to the scant comfort of being “in the right.” Things were already bad enough. Besides, he reasoned, if what Gina had said about the approaching weather were true, the Mick would eventually have to reduce speed. “Yes, sir,” Yuri met the master’s scowl. “Twenty-five knots, aye, sir.” “Be quick,” the Captain’s order was curt. The mechanic turned for the bridge exit, his mind now set to redline the reactor for an hours’ long knife edge dance. He was nearly to the stairwell when Gallegos’ voice echoed across the bridge. “Captain, looks like that weather’s moving faster than predicted.” Yuri paused, eyes moving toward the broad swath of forward facing glass. The storm’s leading edge was announced by an immense wall cloud. The sight was magnificent, but every person on the McSorley’s bridge understood exactly the approaching threat. “Gorram it,” the Captain cursed under his breath. “Helm, hold your course.. Mate,” the ship’s master regarded his First, “rig for Gale One..” “Rig for Gale One, aye, sir,” Gallegos answered as he set to the ship’s intercom. “Attention all hands, attention all hands. This is the First Mate. Rig for Gale One, I repeat, rig for Gale One.” “Antonov,” the Captain said to his departing engineer, “Until my direct order to reduce speed comes down, you give me that twenty-five knots. Am I clear?” “Aye, sir.” No need to voice further concern; he’d done that, and been overruled. His orders were clear. Captain wanted to redline it, that was his call. Yuri would deal...and hope that he could land a gig on the next ship. Peeling his eyes away from the approaching weather, the mate had just gripped the handrails to slide downward when the Captain called his name once more. “Antonov.” “Sir.” He turned, expecting the same critical grimace that announced his declining tenure aboard the Eileen McSorley. Instead, the Captain’s expression had shifted to one of deepening concern. “Have the pumps manned and ready.” “Right away, sir.” For just a moment, the veils were lowered. Both men shared the understanding...and acknowledged the risk. With a silent nod for his captain, the young man hurried aft. He’d be performing a dangerous balancing act in Reactor Control. But here on the bridge of a leaking old ship, the Captain would be walking a tightrope of his own. [img]https://i.imgur.com/dtgQXqc.jpg[/img] ……………….to be continued………………..