HMS Boxer

In his day cabin, Captain Graham Bennie read the signal and at once dashed to the bridge.

"Officer of the Watch. Recover the sonar gear." Bennie started sorting through the charts on the chart table. "And when it is safe to do so", he pointed. "Head for this position. Let me know when we are on our way."

An experienced man of the old school, Bennie was uneasy. The weather was changing, not that it would damage his ship. He knew that at this time of year, the Atlantic gales arrived without much warning. Countless times, they had passed through a gale force eight with little or no effect. Grimly, he remembered the tragic Fastnet Yacht Race several years before, when scores of yachts had met with disaster. He pictured the Fastnet Lighthouse, a symbol of hope jutting out of the Atlantic like a finger pointing to the stars. For many sailors, it had been the end.

HMS Blackbird

At 1410 hrs, they entered the busy westbound separation lane of the English Channel. Adrian, his navigator and special sea duty men, were on the bridge. He read the weather forecast for the next twenty-four hours, pinned to the chart table. His eyes studied the barometer and observed it was falling. It did not bode well, and he knew the wind speed of the approaching storm from the Atlantic was increasing.

He called Jim to the bridge. "Have you seen the weather forecast?"

"Yes, I have, and it doesn't look good," said Jim. "It's reported as an occluded front which should be interesting. I guess it's 'batten down the hatches', Captain."

"Your impersonation of Long John Silver is crap, Jim. Anyway, let's hope we get to our man before the storm does."

Allende

Miguel did not need modern meteorological instruments or navigation aids to warn of a storm. He could tell by looking at the sky and the colour of the sea. It did not worry him, for he had placed a silver coin under the masthead to ensure a profitable voyage. Most of his life had fished for a living. He would be under arrest in an English harbour in two days, and his family would receive enough money to survive the following year.

Miguel noted that Isabel Alfonin had remained in his cabin since leaving. When he checked on her, she said, "This boat will be the death of me."

He had taken her food, but the smell made her wretch. In downtown Spanish, she muttered, "Fuck off and let me die."

Throughout the day, the weather deteriorated. Dark storm clouds covered the sky. The sea grew wild, and every wave washed the decks from stem to stern.

José's efforts were paying dividends. The engine ran with a constant, reassuring beat. Day turned into night, and the storm increased. With no going back, they pressed on. Sleep became impossible. The boat twisted and slammed into every trough.

Davy listened as Miguel explained about his crew. "Senor, forgive them. Their English is poor; however, they are good men. For me, they have poured wine on the deck. That is a good sign and will bring good luck."

Day Two

Allende

The following day saw no respite; if anything, the waves were higher and the clouds darker. Miguel was uneasy as waves broke over the bow and ran the entire length of the deck before disappearing astern. Repeatedly he said, "Senor Davy, thanks to you, in less than a day, I will be a rich man."

HMS Boxer

Boxer and Blackbird made contact 200 miles due east of Land's End. Captain Graham Bennie ordered a comfortable course, which kept them close to the pick-up point and five miles inside UK territorial waters. The pilot of the RAF, Nimrod shadowing Allende, advised on her progress. Blackbird followed at a distance of two thousand yards.

Day Three

Allende

Seawater poured non-stop through leaking hatches. No one slept on the new mattresses. Davy shrugged as Miguel prayed to the small Madonna attached to the bulkhead at the back of the wheelhouse.

Worried, Davy spent the night in the engine room tending the bilge pump. Wet and tired, he peered through a useless hatch at the stormy sky. He hoped the Royal Navy would soon remove him from this nightmare. Famished, a hot drink and something to eat made his mouth water. While climbing the ladder out of the engine room, he noticed there appeared to be more water in the bilges than before. He soon found out why. The main seawater outlet from the engine, an old pipe, had a significant split. José's words rang in his ear. It took him over an hour to stem the leak so that the pump coped. Satisfied, he went to find Miguel and explained the problem.

"What do you want me to do?" asked Miguel. "We are miles from land. We should go forward than look for a harbour. Anyway, you tell me you fix. I thank you."

Davy shrugged; what was the alternative? He nodded to the crew, who huddled together by the aft bulkhead. He went below, made a coffee with lukewarm water, and grabbed a hunk of dry bread for his breakfast.

The day progressed, and the storm doubled in its ferocity. As far as Davy could see, there was not a dry place anywhere. Davy checked on Isabel; and found it hard to believe that this powerful woman who ruled her empire by fear and intimidation was a disaster. The sea and its power had reduced her to a trembling wreck. She was frightened, disorientated and wedged tightly into a corner of the cabin. Out of her comfort zone and without her minions, she could not function. He recognised that nature had defeated her where no man ever could. Her grey face confirmed his thoughts.

She opened her eyes and asked, "When will this end?"

"Soon Isabel – in less than twenty-four hours, we'll be in a harbour."

"I'll be dead before then."

Under the circumstances, he attempted to make her comfortable before returning to the engine room.  In seconds, he discovered another fractured pipe. With his emergency repair kit used, the best he could do was to slow the flow by a rope lashing around the damage. Setting the bilge pump to maximum, he watched the level of water stabilise.

Concerned, Davy made his way to the wheelhouse and convinced Miguel to visit the engine room.

Above the noise of the engine, Davy screamed, "We're fucking sinking. When it reaches the engine, we stop. We need help. Get on the radio and start broadcasting a Mayday."

Davy followed Miguel back to the wheelhouse. Once there, he watched as he selected channel 16 on the radio. "Mayday, Mayday, this is MFV Allende. My engine room is flooding. I urgently need assistance." As shown by the ageing Decca Navigator, he ended the message with their position and urged on by Davy, repeated the message three times.

HMS Boxer

On the bridge of Boxer, the message from Allende remained unanswered. The officer of the watch called the captain and then plotted Allende's position. She was one hundred miles due south.

Bennie studied the chart before grabbing the radio microphone. "Blackbird, this is Charlie Oscar Boxer

Adrian replied. "Boxer, Charlie Oscar, this is Blackbird, Charlie Oscar."

There was a crackle of static. "Allende is in trouble, and we must make the rendezvous earlier than planned. In these seas, a transfer will be difficult, but not impossible. I will brief my helicopter pilot. Follow me as best you can."

"Officer of the Watch," ordered Bennie. "Steer south at full power. Navigator, plot me the shortest course to that vessel."

Boxer turned into the raging sea and charged headlong into the mountainous waves. The flare of the ship's bow carved a path while her two Olympus engines drank gallons of fuel and pushed her towards Allende.

HMS Blackbird

The severe weather changed everything. Adrian knew he was now a spectator and prepared to follow Boxer. With Blackbird being smaller, Adrian's ship handling had to be more precise. He watched the bow rise on a crest and drop into a trough as the wave broke. Again, he waited until that split second before the windblown crest broke. The turn, timed to perfection, barely made a ripple on his cup of coffee. From this moment, they would experience the storm's full force. He gazed forward as the bow ploughed into a giant wave. Solid banks of water cascaded over the hull, causing Blackbird to shudder from stem to stern. Adrian sat in his chair, knowing this was going to be one hell of a roller-coaster ride. He picked up the ship's broadcast mike. "This is the captain speaking. The fishing vessel we were to rendezvous with is in trouble. We are ordered to follow our leader at the best possible speed. Those not required for duty make yourselves comfortable, and the rest of you hang on tight. The next few hours are going to be bumpy." Replacing the mike, he faced Lieutenant Warren, his Yeoman. "Enjoying the trip?"

She laughed a sexy laugh that came with fear. "Wouldn't have missed it for the world. Like you, sir, I will be able to tell sea stories and swing the lamp in the wardroom bar."

"Game set and match, yeoman."

Adrian regularly checked Boxer's position, which was now a tiny blip on the radar screen. The radio crackled: Adrian eavesdropped on Boxer's report to Falmouth coastguard. It sounded so matter of fact. Unfortunately, it would take them a few hours to reach Allende's last reported position.

The coastguard continued with their warning to shipping, "This is Falmouth coastguard – Emergency – Emergency – Keep Channel 16 clear – Rescue in progress."

The radio burst into life as Adrian listened unemotionally to the staccato traffic. "MFV Allende, this is Boxer. I am heading towards you. I intend to lift off the crew by helicopter. Do you understand? Over."

Adrian held on to his chair while he stared directly ahead, knowing his crew would be lying on the carpeted steel deck. His team were experienced in the way their ship moved.

Allende

Miguel heard the message. He was busy reasoning with himself how much longer they could stay afloat. He knew that the water level in the engine room was critical. If they could get closer to land, maybe they might survive. He would ask for another pump. If they abandoned, he would lose everything.

Miguel grabbed Davy's arm. "How much longer can the pump last?"

"I don't know. It was on its last legs when we sailed."

Miguel nodded, thought about his crew and their families. No amount of money would compensate for their lives. "British warship, this is MFV Allende. Please be quick. I am ready for your helicopter."

HMS Boxer

The weather changed from an eight to a gale force nine, gusting ten. Captain Bennie flexed his knees every time his ship ploughed deep into each attacking wave. Each time Boxer's bow broke free, tons of water tumbled like countless waterfalls from the decks. He knew his ship was taking a hammering, but lives were at stake. In this sea, twenty knots was the best he could safely achieve.

The two Olympus gas turbines had more power available, but he dare not use them. It was going to be a challenging, spine-shattering run. The nearer he got to Allende, the less distance the Lynx helicopter would have to fly. He noted a wind speed of sixty knots, gusting eighty. If it got any faster, the helicopter would not be able to lift off.

Allende

Everyone except Isabel wore a life jacket and huddled in the wheelhouse. If the worst came to the worst, they would have to abandon ship. Regardless of the risk, Davy dragged himself along the foam-covered deck and examined the aft life raft. The thought scared the hell out of him.

When checking on Isabel, he found her unconscious and lying in a mixture of vomit and faeces. As best as he could, he tied her into a life jacket. He dumped the mattress from her bunk onto the deck. Before laying her on it, he checked her airways to see that she was breathing regularly and her pulse regular. Thankfully, she was alive.

Flight Deck - HMS Boxer

Lieutenant Colin Williamson checked his flight calculations. He had risen from the ranks and climbed the ladder to pilot the hard way. On joining the navy as a junior stoker, the navy found out he could read and write, making him an artificer. When the system discovered he could do joined-up writing and recommended him for an officer. Too old to become a fixed-wing pilot, he had opted for helicopters. The rain lashed, and the wind buffeted the Lynx, which clung to the deck by its locking system. He noted from the wind speed indicator that it was becoming even more violent and unpredictable. He realised that the wind now gusting at ninety knots would make the lift-off hairy. Moving the collective back and forth, he knew this would be a tough one. Again, his eyes wandered over the digital navigational system. This time he would need the power that the two Rolls Royce Gem engines could produce. His team had cleared the cabin of unnecessary baggage so that he could accommodate six people. The windscreen wipers moving left and right were barely effective against the rain and spray. With luck, he could be above Allende in less than an hour. He looked at his crew and said, "I'm off for a pee; we won't have much chance for the next few hours." On leaving the dry confines of the cabin, the wind struck his face.

On top of the hangar, the door to an empty ammunition locker swung freely. Its hinges weakened by the continuous buffeting, cracked and fractured. For a second, the aluminium door dropped on the deck. The wind found it and lifted it high like a kite. Unrestricted, it soared, twisting and turning and finally dived as a hawk attacking its prey. With the power of a sledgehammer, it struck Colin. He stumbled and collapsed to the deck.

HMS Boxer

When informed of the pilot's condition, Captain Bennie swore. Once assured that his pilot was okay and in the sickbay, his anger ebbed. The rescue would have to wait until they were on station but lowering a boat in these seas might be difficult to impossible. There remained one more chance, the Royal Naval Air Station at Culdrose. If their aircraft were operational, maybe they could help.

He turned to Petty Officer Mills. "Yeoman, contact Air Sea Rescue and find out their condition."

After four and a half hours of striking angry walls of water, a slight intermittent contact showed on the radar screen. Bennie gazed out of the bridge window, wanting to see Allende. Visibility was poor: wind-swept spray obscured everything. He lifted the radio microphone: "Allende, this is Boxer. I have you on the radar. Can you send up a flare to confirm your position?"

There was silence, "I will send flare now."

With Boxer's bows more under the water than above, she maintained her position head to wind. With the two Olympus engines ticking over, Bennie knew that the chief engineer would not be happy. However, he wanted them running to give him full power the instant he needed it. With feet wide apart, he stood staring through his night vision glasses.

High in the cloud-darkened sky, the flare erupted, its intense glow dampened by the storm. "Allende, this is Boxer. I have you. Stand by." She disappeared even at this close range, falling into a trough and rising on the crest. Bennie studied the sea and then Allende. With her decks awash, she was more under than on top. Thank God, he thought, her engine's still running.

The Atlantic rollers were enormous, steep monsters from the deep, running at least forty feet from trough to crest. The wind speed gusted at close to one hundred knots. In the middle of a full-blown hurricane was not the place for a sinking fishing vessel.

"Allende, attempt to make course zero-five-zero, and I will escort you. If there is a problem, we will take you off using a life raft. How many are you, and how is your engine?" Bennie waited.

"Boxer, our engine is running, but the bilge pump is barely holding together. We have water pouring in from two fractured pipes. There are six men and one woman. I don't know how much longer we can stay afloat, but we will continue the course as requested."

Bennie listened. This man sounded calm and understood the situation. For a moment, he thought, a woman. No one mentioned a woman.

With Boxer guarding her charge, both vessels progressed through the mountainous seas. Bennie knew if they could make it a bit closer to Land's End, the helicopter on standby from the Naval Air Station would be able to reach them.

HMS Blackbird

Adrian sat in his chair, watching the twist of the foam-covered waves; the helmsman judged it to perfection, maintaining their course. They powered from a deep trough with each juddering thrust, climbed a mountain, and dropped off the crest. At eighteen knots, this became monotonous. He mulled over their situation; when those on Allende were safe. Boxer would take responsibility for Jones.

After five hours of battering, he saw Boxer on his port bow as she rose. He lifted the radio's microphone: "Charlie Oscar, Boxer, this is Blackbird. I await your further orders."

Captain Bennie answered, "Charlie Oscar, Blackbird, take station one thousand yards astern of me."

Adrian replied, "Understood. Out."

HMS Boxer

Captain Bennie had a man always watching Allende. "Sir," the lookout shouted. "There's something wrong. Their lights have gone out, and she's altering course across the sea."

With his binoculars held tight in his right hand, Bennie went out onto the bridge wing. The clamour of the storm and the strength of the wind stunned him. He focused on Allende: as she wallowed like a constipated pig and slid from one deep trough to the next. With the wind and rain slamming him against the superstructure, he dragged himself back inside.

The radio crackled into life: "Boxer, our engine has stopped, and the water level in the engine room is rising. I have one life raft ready for the transfer."

Captain Bennie gave clear and precise orders; his team were ready with the gun line. "Yeoman, confirm they understand what I want them to do."

The Yeoman sent the message and received an affirmative reply.

Bennie controlled Boxer faultlessly, taking the waves head-on, rising and falling into the troughs and reducing the distance between the two vessels. Above the scream of the wind, a voice rang out from below the bridge wing, "Ready, sir!"

Bennie shouted, "Carry on."

A whistle blew its warning for those on deck to take cover. A sharp crack and a yellow, red-nosed projectile trailing a thin cord snaked across the gap.

Bennie watched, praying silently, as two men dragged themselves across the foam-covered deck of Allende and grabbed the line with one hand and holding on. Slowly, they heaved it in. The deck team on Boxer waited and, when appropriate, attached a more substantial rope. Hand over hand, he watched as the two men hauled it and themselves into a position of relative safety.

Bennie's eyes never left those men as the howling wind pushed his ship closer and closer. From what he could see, someone knew what they were doing.

The two men understood they had to get the raft onto the sheltered side, the lee, away from the wind before it went into the water. Once the weight of people stabilised the craft, they could cut it free. After which their dangerous journey across the sea would commence.

The raft in its white container was cumbersome and, on a savagely pitching deck, it took four of them to drag it into position. Together the men secured the rope to the raft and looped some slack to an eyebolt.

Holding on with one hand, with their other, they lifted the white container and tossed it into the boiling sea. It vanished and, in seconds, bobbed on the surface. The canister burst open, disgorging its orange contents. Like a child's balloon, the wind grabbed it. Held fast by the thick rope, it twisted and contorted in a frantic attempt to break free. With their survival at risk, every man grabbed the line and hauled. The raft tugged on the steel cleat, and then it was gone.

Horrified, Bennie watched it disappear, dancing into the distance like a mad man over the wave tops.

"Shit," Bennie shouted. "Fuck, shit." It was the second time anyone had heard him swear.

HMS Blackbird

Adrian watched, cursing the wind. Time was running out, and Allende was lower in the water. The gap between Boxer and the fishing boat was enough for what he had in mind. Boxer's size gave shelter, although not a lot. He was thinking on his feet and assessed the situation: it would be enough. Grabbing the microphone, he explained his thoughts to Bennie.

"In other words, Adrian, what have we got to lose? I estimate there's a ten to a fifteen-minute window. Whatever, we'll soon find out. I can always go round again, but the time factor makes it a problem."

HMS Boxer

Boxer stood a thousand yards off Allende's port quarter.

Bennie noticed the concern on his executive officer's face. "You have a problem, number one?"

"It's about the rescue, sir. Aren't we putting a vast responsibility on the shoulders of a reservist?"

"I'm sure we're mindful of the fact that you consider these guys weekend sailors. However, unlike you, I'm au fait with Commander Viper. If I have to trust any man to rescue those poor souls, I'll choose him every time."

Bennie glanced across the sea. "I have the ship – Starboard thirty – Let's give them a fighting chance. Officer of the Watch, don't for a moment take your eyes off those vessels – understood?"

HMS Blackbird

Adrian watched Boxer veer away to starboard. "Yeoman, I will say everything once. Make sure you relay it correctly."

Lieutenant Warren strapped herself into her chair. "Yes, sir."

"Yeoman, tell Allende that I'm coming alongside my starboard to their port. Ready, Coxswain?"

With both hands on the helm, the coxswain nodded.

Adrian cleared his mind, and time was his enemy. They had at best an hour, maybe less, before she would roll over and vanish into the depths. Anyone remaining on board would have to take their chances in the sea. There would be no practice runs.

His team were ready. He turned to Jim Scott. "Ready?"

"Sir, the starboard side has more fenders than you can shake a stick at. Petty Officer Carroll and Leading Seamen Goldstein and Richards are secured by safety harnesses to the superstructure amidships. Collins and Mainwaring are in charge of the fifteen-inch searchlights on top of the bridge."

Well, we'd better get on with it."

He watched as Jim made his way to the rear of the bridge, buttoning his jacket and putting on his safety harness. Adrian timed Jim's move until they were at the base of the next wave. At that moment, Jim opened the starboard bridge wing door and stepped into the storm. The bows rose and twisted, and the door slammed shut.

The noise outside was deafening; the strength of the wind tore Jim's breath away. Hooking himself onto an eyebolt, he peered down at three men. They stood together and would wait until Blackbird was alongside Allende. Once in position, they would grab and drag whoever they could onboard.

Adrian watched as Boxer positioned herself. He peered up at the heavens, whether for encouragement or support he did not know. The sun was making an effort to break through the cloud-blackened sky. When it did, it cast an eerie, macabre glow across a boiling sea, giving it the look of Hades' inferno. He sensed the fear of a mortal challenging the gods.

He turned. "Officer of the Watch, switch every deck, mast, every bloody light we have on; I want them to see us coming."

HMS Boxer matched his action.

Allende vanished from sight, tumbling into a trough, and like a cork, she came back. The timing was all-important. Adrian had to get it right the first time. He began to give his orders, the Yeoman repeating them word for word to Boxer. The whole thing was close to madness, but he knew what he hoped to achieve.

From the external microphone, Adrian could hear Jim relaying information." One thousand yards, eight hundred, move port, six hundred yards."

Boxer and Blackbird moved ahead together. Boxer gave Blackbird shelter from the wind. Whereas Boxer had power, Blackbird had manoeuvrability.

Adrian listened to Jim as he lined her up. "Ahead. Power on. Power off. Reverse engines. Stop and hold steady!" The sea raged under Blackbird's hull. Rattan fenders disintegrated as the two hulls met; metal tore against metal. They were alongside.

Adrian watched as terrified men scrambled to the port side. Two remained by the wheelhouse, waiting. Unimaginable torrents of water charged across the deck at breakneck speed, attempting to dislodge them, but they clung on.

Petty Officer Carroll and his team stood amongst the white walls of foam racing from the bow to the stern. Soaked and shivering, they watched as the two vessels closed. Carroll signalled to the men on the deck of Allende to wait for the rise. She rose on a crest, and the sound of steel dragging across steel and the roaring wind combined to create the devil's banshee.

The big man leaned forward, his huge paws ready; he had one man, followed by a second. Powerful muscles tensed; he dragged them on board, dropping them like soggy ragdolls onto the deck.

They got up and hurried aft to safety. Although soaked, Goldstein and Richards had one man apiece and were hauling them inboard. A large dose of adrenalin hit Carroll's muscles, and he heaved the man inboard. The vessels moved apart as once again he reached forward, his hands clamped on one more. The man hung like a puppet, his legs dancing in thin air; fearful eyes glanced down into the expanding abyss.

The radio crackled, "Blackbird, cannot hold my position; getting too close, will go round again. Tally-ho."

The Atlantic, robbed of its kill, sought revenge. Tons of water cascaded along Blackbird's length, pouring from every scupper. Carroll and his team vanished.

As the water level dropped, Carroll raised his hand, wiped his eyes, looked up at Jim and waved.

Ready, sir."

They climbed the wave, completed a sweeping turn and ploughed into the trough.

Boxer manoeuvred back into position; she was much closer this time. Adrian went for the gap.

A giant spiralling wave, born somewhere in mid-Atlantic and unlike any other, hit Boxer first, skewing her out of position, leaving Blackbird to its wickedness.

The radio burst into life: "Adrian, get the hell out of there!"

"Full ahead," shouted Adrian. The young engineer slammed both levers to their stops. The engines responded: twin propellers cut deep into the malicious sea. Too late, the stern lifted, twisted, and struck the fishing vessel, ripping huge gashes in her side. Once clear, Adrian turned the bow into the sea. This cruel monster spewed from its guts tons of dark water, sweeping along the decks in an uncontrolled fury, bending and tearing everything in its path.

Adrian spoke quietly to his Yeoman. "Tell Boxer. Once more."

Allende

Davy supported an unconscious Isabel, waited for the right moment. If he got it wrong, a watery grave awaited. He watched Blackbird make her approach and dragged Isabel by her life jacket out into the open. The deck was awash, and wave after wave rolled over them. They made the port side and waited. He knew what to expect as the walls of water crashed over him. He clung on as the backflow attempted to drag him away. Drained by tiredness and the cold, he clung to Isabel.

Shouting, "Stay alive, you bitch, nobody dies tonight." There was not even the flicker of an eyelid. He knew that they had little time left and wondered if the navy would try once more. Why would any captain risk their ship and crew to save two?

HMS Blackbird

Leading Seaman Goldstein shouted, "I'm scared. Shit-scared."

Carroll held grabbed him. "Join the fucking club."

"It's all right for you two," bellowed Richards. "Here we are up to our arses in freezing seawater, and I can't swim."

"Look," screamed Carroll. "We can't go anywhere cos we're bolted to the deck. Therefore, I don't think swimming's on my things to-do list. Right, my merry men. Stand-by. The old man's taking us around one more time."

Allende

Tireless, in its efforts to claim its prey, the sea hit them again and again. Davy's determination prevailed. With one hand, he held Isobel Alfonin, and with the other, he gripped an eyebolt welded to the deck.

He watched as the small grey ship returned. Davy grabbed a deck post with a vice-like grip and pulled himself upright while still holding Isobel by her life jacket. The vessels rose, their decks became level and crashed together. A giant leaned over and grabbed him as the deck fell away, and the gap between the hulls widened. Davy held Isobel's life jacket, but the effort took its toll. The canvas straps cut into his arm. Someone shouted, and she was gone. She appeared to float in the air alongside him. A wave drove the boats together with a loud crash that reverberated above the storm. The sea raged, separating the two craft. A mad, confused explosion of dark green water gushed between them and for a moment, Dave stared into the gates of hell.

HMS Blackbird

Adrian commenced their approach, sweat ran from his brow, stinging his eyes, but he concentrated on the manoeuvre. The two vessels thumped together, moved apart, and closed.

He watched as his team dragged another man over the ship's side. As the man lay on the deck gasping for breath, he looked up at Carroll and managed a thumbs-up.

Goldstein was screaming.

Carroll went to his side and stared at the woman's body, floating like a discarded child's toy. Then the two hulls slammed together. Goldstein screamed as he collapsed onto the deck. "I couldn't hold her; I couldn't fucking hold her."

Carroll pulled him to his feet. "You tried, Goldy, you tried."

With the recovery over, three men unclipped their harnesses and connected them to a wire. Holding onto the man, they staggered through waist-high water, aft and to safety.

Adrian nodded as Jim stepped into the shelter and warmth of the bridge. "You look like a drowned rat. Better get below and get some dry clothes on before you catch your death."

It's over, sir. Allende's drifting astern.."

Allende, tired of fighting, drifted astern. Adrian watched as she capsized on a tumbling wave. Her bow pointed at the crazy sky before sliding under the surface.

Adrian knew they had at least hours of rough seas ahead of them. However, compared to what they had been through, it would be from astern and more comfortable.

He turned to the Yeoman. "Signal Falmouth, Boxer, Fosni and CinC Fleet. Rescue of Allende crew completed. On passage Pembroke Dock."

Jim changed into dry clothes, and with Taff Evans, the Chief Engineer toured the ship checking for damage. The hull plating in the steering gear compartment had a ragged split along its length. With each roll, water poured in. Like ants devouring a dead insect, the chief's men hammered, wedged and sealed the tear.

Jim dreaded to think what the staff officer at their base would say when he saw the damaged and scarred starboard side along with every fender in shreds. He clambered to the bridge and spoke to Adrian. "The survivors are being cared for by the junior ratings. The man, Jones, is in your cabin having a hot shower. We have damage aft, and apart from the starboard side needing a new coat of paint, we got away with it."

"But we lost one," said Adrian.

Jim said nothing.

"Thanks for everything, Jim." Turning, Adrian said, "Officer of the Watch. You have the ship. I'll be in my cabin if you need me. Yeoman, well done and thank you." Without a further word, he left the bridge.

Adrian found Davy wrapped in a towel, resting on the settee. And, from what he could see, cuts and bruise covered Jones body.

Davy stood, holding out his hand. "Thanks, once again. I seem to be making a habit of this." Exhausted, he fell back onto the settee.

Adrian perched on the edge of his desk. "Would you like a mug of hot soup? It'll do you good." He smiled and pressed the button for his steward. "It seems I'm to land you at Pembroke Dock, and you're on your own from there. I'm intrigued. Are you allowed to tell me what happened?"

The steward arrived with two mugs of soup, one for Adrian and the other for Davy. When ready, Davy gave a condensed version of his exploits.

"Wow, that's a story you should write someday. Make yourself at home. We must get you some dry clothes, and you can rest before we land you. It will be a bumpy ride, but we'll make it."

Adrian returned to the bridge.

Jim vacated the command chair when he arrived.

"Jim, can you get some dry clothes for my guest and put them in my cabin? How are the rest of the crew coping?"

"The lads are looking after them in their normal fashion. We've received a few messages from Boxer. A Bravo Zulu (Well done) and a request for the names of the survivors."

Will you deal with it, Jim? How's Carroll and his team?"

"They're fine, sir," said Jim. "What's happening about the man in your cabin?"

"What, man?"

Jim managed a weak smile. "Understood."

"Sir? Perhaps, if you had a rest in the wardroom."

"I'm fine, Jim, but thanks for the offer."

Adrian watched as Jim wandered off to the back of the bridge to write the necessary signal. He wedged himself into his chair, looked intently at the rolling waves until his eyes closed.