Pulling himself onto the top of the bale, he grabbed the netting that held it together and collapsed for a moment. The bale swung back and forth almost peacefully. Kurt felt his mind drifting, hypothermia and true exhaustion setting in.
The radio crackled in his ear. “You up there, amigo?” Joe’s voice called out. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone down for a nap.”
“Just taking a little break,” Kurt said. “Union rules.”
“Then I must be getting overtime,” Joe said.
Kurt looked over the edge. Joe was riding the swells, illuminatedby the light from the crewmen up above. He seemed to have a haze around him.
Unbuckling the lifting straps, Kurt tossed them down. “You get these straps to the other side, you’ll get triple time and any kind of bonus I can think of.”
Joe grabbed the straps, hooked them on, and saluted before vanishing under the waves once again.
Knowing he had to get off the bale before they inflated it, Kurt got to his feet. He grasped the lines that went up to the deck, using them for support and balance. He no longer felt the cold, just a strange numbness and an overwhelming desire to sleep. He wouldn’t survive another dip in the frigid water, not with his core temperature so low and the suit ripped to shreds. Even if Joe towed him to the egress platform on the far side of the ship, his overexerted body would be likely to shut down.
The only way out, he decided, was up.
“Throw down another line,” he called out over the radio. “I need a lift.”
The lights converged on him. An extra line was dropped down, an orange life ring attached to the end. It made Kurt smile. It seemed as if someone were being funny, but the reality was the line needed a weight, or it would flail all over the place.
Kurt grabbed the line, wrapped his battered arm in the rope as he’d done before, and put a foot into the circular ring.
“Haul me up,” he said. “And pour me a drink if you’ve got one.”
The line stiffened and then began to rise. Kurt held on tight as it swung with the rocking motion of the ship. Back and forth he went, banging against the side of the hull several times. He no longer thought much of it, it was just another thing to endure.
Reaching the top, he would have liked to have stepped aboard theship triumphantly, but he was hauled over the rail more like a prize bluefin.
Landing on the deck, he suddenly felt a great fondness for the heated track. He lay on it for a minute, pulling off the helmet, but retaining the headset so he could talk to Joe. “How’s the hookup going?”
Joe responded in his normal jovial tone. “If you mean my last date, terrible. If you’re talking about the lifting straps…they’re in place now.”
“Fantastic,” Kurt said. “Get to the deployment platform and get out of the water.”
“Roger that.”
Kurt unzipped the ruined drysuit, pulled himself out of it, and managed to stand up. He grabbed instantly for the rail as the fifteen-degree pitch in the deck threatened to send him over the side and back in the water. The sea looked much closer than it should have. If his plan didn’t work, there would be very little time for boarding the lifeboats.
Adjusting the headset, Kurt informed the captain and crew that they were ready. “Lifting bags in place,” he announced. “Deck teams, begin lowering the bags on my mark. Crane operators, start pulling the straps tight as gently as you can.”
At eight stations along the deck, theLyra’s crewmen went into action. They’d been standing by, waiting and watching. Now they had a chance to act. They released the tension on the lines and allowed the ropes to slide between their gloved hands a few inches at a time. As they let out the slack, the crane operators nudged their controls in tiny increments, reeling in the hooks and pulling the straps out of the water.
Uninflated, the bales were heavy enough to sink through theswells, but they slid back and forth just as Kurt had predicted, and the men fought to control them.
“Keep your grip,” Kurt directed, “but let out more line. We have to get them beneath the swells.”
The crewmen followed orders, expediting the drop as the bales threatened to break loose or pull someone into the sea. One by one the rectangular yellow bales disappeared from view.
Kurt watched the lines; they were still sliding back and forth. “Five more feet.”
More rope was let out and the sideways motion was quickly reduced.
“Hold it there. Tie them off.”
The deck crew secured the nylon ropes, pulling them tight like guitar strings. The crane operators reeled in more line with a deft touch, carefully watching the tension gauge on their panels. The bales were now twelve feet down on the side of the hull, but held tight to the ship by the combination of the lines and the tightening straps.
The broad straps were tough and strong and would eventually bear all the weight, but the nylon cords were needed to keep them from slipping free.
