Sea Raiders Into Hell

The starboard jetty struck before Eddy Denver could wake fully.

Wood shrieked along the hull. His bunk jumped beneath him, throwing his shoulder against the steel bulkhead. A tin mug fell from its hook and rang across the floor as the MV Sea Raider ground sideways against the jetty, scraping with a long, ugly scream.

Eddy caught the edge of the mattress.

“Christ!”

The tug lurched again. Somewhere above him, glass shattered. Water slapped hard against the hull, and loose metal clanged through the deck like someone running a hammer along the ribs of a dying animal.

For one blind second, Eddy thought the Sea Raider had broken free and rolled into open water. Then the bunk tilted back, and the stale yellow light above his head flickered into life.

He swung his feet down. The floor was wet.

Not damp. Wet enough for the water to run around his bare toes and gather beneath the bunk.

“Milton!” he shouted.

No answer came. Another impact shook the compartment. A pipe overhead burst its rusty grip and sprayed a thin stream across the passage outside.

Eddy pulled on his trousers, fighting the tilt of the floor. His shirt clung coldly to his back. He shoved his feet into boots without socks and grabbed the doorframe as the vessel groaned against the jetty.

He had been aboard less than an hour.

That thought came sharp and clear through the confusion. Less than an hour since he had accepted the job. Less than an hour since he had stepped onto the Sea Raider and seen the flaking paint, the patched plates, the ropes black with oil and age. The vessel had looked less like a salvage tug than a garbage scow dragged out of a ditch.

Now it was grinding itself against a starboard jetty.

The passage outside leaned toward the wall. A red emergency lamp swung on its wire, painting the pipes and sweating steel in brief, crooked flashes.

“Milton!” Eddy called again.

A figure appeared at the far end, one hand clamped around the rail. Milton Hahnel’s coat was half-buttoned, and blood ran from a cut above his eyebrow.

“Get topside,” Milton said.

“What happened?”

“The skipper brought us in too fast.”

“We’re alongside the jetty.”

“We’re through the jetty.”

A deep boom rolled under their boots. The Sea Raider shuddered, and a seam in the wall gave a soft metallic pop.

Eddy stared at him. “Through it?”

“Starboard bow’s riding up on the timbers. Move.”

Milton disappeared toward the ladder. Eddy followed, gripping every rail he could reach. The deck rose and fell beneath him in short, sickening motions. Water rushed somewhere below, trapped behind the bulkheads or pouring through them. He could not tell which.

At the ladder, Milton stopped and looked back.

“Did you bring a life jacket?”

Eddy’s mouth went dry. “It’s in my bunk.”

“Get it.”

“You just told me to get topside.”

“Then get it fast.”

The vessel slammed into the jetty again. The ladder buckled against its fittings. Eddy dropped to one knee, his palm striking the deck. A splinter of rusted metal cut through his skin.

Milton seized his collar and hauled him upright.

“Stay with me,” Milton said. “Don’t wander this boat alone.”

That was not an answer. It was worse than one.

Eddy turned back for the bunk. He found his life jacket hanging from a nail beside the mattress, its canvas stiff and stained. He pulled it over his head and cinched the straps while the ship complained around him.

His small canvas bag lay beneath the bunk. He reached for it, then stopped.

The deck tilted farther.

A tin plate slid through the doorway and struck the opposite wall. Water followed it in a dark sheet.

Eddy left the bag.

He climbed.

The hatch cover had jammed halfway open. Milton was forcing it with both hands while the deck beyond bucked beneath a gray morning sky. A hard rain had begun, striking the steel in a rapid hiss.

“Push!” Milton yelled.

Eddy wedged his shoulder beneath the cover. The metal bit into his neck. Together they heaved. The hatch opened with a wrenching shriek, and rainwater poured down the ladder.

Eddy crawled onto the deck.

The jetty loomed beside them, a row of black timbers slick with rain. The Sea Raider’s starboard bow had climbed against it at an angle, crushing old fenders and splitting two of the jetty’s support posts. One post had punched through the rail and lay across the deck, dragging a length of chain behind it.

The tug’s bow sat higher than the stern. Every wave lifted the vessel against the timbers, then dropped it with a concussion that traveled through Eddy’s bones.

Chirst stood near the wheelhouse door, bareheaded in the rain. He had one hand on the rail and the other wrapped around a radio.

“Engine won’t answer,” Chirst shouted. “She’s taking water forward!”

Milton crossed the deck in a crouch. “How much?”

“Enough.”

“That isn’t a measure.”

“It’s the one I’ve got.”

Another wave drove the Sea Raider into the jetty. The bow climbed several inches. The starboard rail dipped toward the black water.

...