p&c.icelimit-第77部分

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y　loaded　with；　ah；　a　meteorite；　mined　on　the　Cape　Horn　islands。〃
　There　was　another　silence。
　〃Did　not　copy；　Rolvaag。　Did　you　say　meteorite？〃
　〃Affirmative。　Our　cargo　is　a　twenty…five…thousand…ton　meteorite。〃
　〃A　meteorite　of　twenty…five　thousand　tons；〃　the　voice　repeated　impassively。　〃Rolvaag；　please　advise　as　to　your　intended　destination。〃
　Britton　knew　this　was　a　subtle　way　of　asking；　What　the　hell　are　you　doing　down　here？　
　〃We're　headed　for　Port　Elizabeth；　New　Jersey。〃
　There　was　another　silence。　Britton　waited；　wincing　inwardly。　Any　knowledgeable　mariner　would　know　there　was　something　very　wrong　with　this　story。　Here　they　were；　two　hundred　miles　off　the　Bransfield　Straits；　well　into　a　major　storm。　And　yet　this　was　their　first　distress　call。
　〃Er；　Rolvaag；　may　I　ask　if　you　have　the　latest　weather　report？〃
　〃Yes；　we　do。〃　But　she　knew　he　would　give　it　to　her　anyway。
　〃Winds　increasing　to　a　hundred　knots　by　midnight；　seas　topping　forty　meters；　all　of　Drake　Passage　under　a　Force　15　storm　warning。〃
　〃It's　almost　Force　13　now；〃　she　replied。
　〃Understood。　Please　describe　the　nature　of　your　damage。〃　
　Make　it　good；　Glinn　murmured。
　〃South　Georgia；　we　were　attacked　without　warning　by　a　Chilean　warship　in　international　waters。　Shells　struck　our　engine　room；　forecastle；　and　maindeck。　We　have　lost　headway　and　steerage。　We　are　DIW；　repeat；　Delta　India　Whiskey。〃
　〃Good　Lord。　Are　you　still　under　attack？〃
　〃The　destroyer　struck　an　iceberg　and　sank　thirty　minutes　ago。〃
　〃This　is　extraordinary。　Why。。。？〃
　This　was　not　a　proper　question　to　ask　during　an　emergency　distress　call。　But　again；　this　was　a　most　unusual　emergency。　〃We　have　no　idea　why。　The　Chilean　captain　seems　to　have　been　acting　alone；　without　orders。〃
　〃Did　you　identify　the　warship？〃
　〃The　Almirante　Ramirez；　Emiliano　Vallenar；　CO。〃
　〃Are　you　taking　in　water？〃
　〃Nothing　our　bilge　pumps　can't　handle。〃
　〃Are　you　in　imminent　danger？〃
　〃Yes。　Our　cargo　could　shift　at　any　moment　and　the　ship　might　founder。〃　
　〃Rolvaag；　please　stand　by。〃
　There　was　a　sixty…second　silence。　
　〃Rolvaag；　we　fully　appreciate　your　situation。　We　have　SAR　assets　standing　by　here　and　at　the　Falklands。　But　we　cannot；　I　repeat；　we　cannot　undertake　a　search　and　rescue　until　the　storm　abates　to　Force　10　or　less。　Do　you　have　satellite　munications？〃
　〃No。　Most　of　our　electronics　are　down。〃
　〃We　will　advise　your　government　of　your　status。　Is　there　anything　else　we　can　do？〃
　〃Just　a　tow；　as　soon　as　possible。　Before　we　end　up　on　the　Bransfield　reefs。〃
　There　was　a　whisper　of　static。　Then　the　voice　returned。　〃Good　luck；　Rolvaag。　God　bless。〃
　〃Thank　you；　South　Georgia。〃
　Britton　replaced　the　transmitter；　leaned　on　the　console；　and　stared　out　into　the　night。
　
　Rolvaag；
　6：40　P。M。
　
　AS　THE　Rolvaag　drifted　out　of　the　lee　of　the　ice　island；　the　wind　caught　it　and　shoved　it　brutally　back　into　the　storm。　The　wind　gathered　force；　and　in　moments　they　were　soaked　again　with　freezing　spray。　Sally　Britton　could　feel　that　the　ship；　with　no　headway　left；　was　pletely　at　the　mercy　of　the　storm。　It　was　a　repulsive；　helpless　feeling。
　The　storm　began　to　strengthen　with　a　clockwork　regularity。　Britton　watched　it　build；　minute　by　minute；　until　it　reached　an　intensity　she　barely　believed　possible。　The　moon　had　fallen　behind　thick　clouds；　and　nothing　could　be　seen　beyond　the　bridge。　The　storm　was　there；　inside　the　bridge；　all　around　them：　in　the　lashings　of　spray；　in　the　bits　of　razorsharp　ice　whipping　through；　in　the　smell　of　death　at　sea　crowding　in。　But　it　was　the　sound　that　unnerved　her　most：　a　continuous　dull　roar　that　seemed　to　e　from　all　directions　at　once。　The　temperature　on　the　bridge　was　nineteen　degrees　Fahrenheit　and　she　could　feel　ice　building　in　her　hair。
　She　continued　to　receive　regular　reports　of　their　status；　but　found　herself　issuing　few　orders。　Without　power　or　steerage　there　was　little　she　could　do　but　wait。　The　feeling　of　helplessness　was　nigh　unbearable。　Based　on　the　motion　of　the　ship；　she　estimated　significant　wave　heights　at　well　over　one　hundred　feet；　and　they　were　moving　as　powerfully　as　a　freight　train。　These　were　the　waves　that　circled　the　globe；　pushed　by　the　winds；　never　hitting　shore；　building；　ever　building。　These　were　the　waves　of　the　Screaming　Sixties；　the　biggest　seas　on　earth。　Only　the　sheer　size　of　the　Rolvaag　was　saving　it　now。　As　the　ship　rose　on　each　wave；　the　winds　climbed　to　a　gibbering　wail。　At　the　peak　of　the　wave　the　whole　superstructure　would　vibrate　and　hum；　as　if　the　winds　were　attempting　to　decapitate　the　ship。　Then　there　would　be　a　shudder；　and　the　ship　would　heel；　slowly；　achingly。　The　wave…by…wave　battle　was　recorded　by　the　inclinometer：　ten；　twenty；　twenty…five　degrees。　As　the　angle　became　critical；　all　eyes　stared　at　this　normally　insignificant　instrument。　Then　the　crest　of　the　wave　would　pass　and　Britton　would　wait　for　the　ship　to　recover：　the　most　terrible　moment　of　all。　But　each　time　the　ship　did　recover；　first　imperceptibly；　then　more　quickly；　gradually　righting　into　an　equally　unnerving　overcorrection；　as　its　great　inertia　caused　it　to　lean　momentarily　against　the　wave。　It　would　slide　into　the　next　trough；　shielded　by　the　surrounding　mountains　of　water；　into　an　eerie　stillness　almost　more　frightening　than　the　storm　above。　The　process　would　repeat　again；　and　again；　in　an　endless；　cruel　cadence。　Throughout　all　this；　there　was　nothing　she　…　or　any　of　them　…　could　do。
　Britton　turned　on　the　forward　superstructure　spotlights　to　check　the　Rolvaag's　maindeck。　Most　of　the　containers　and　several　davits　had　been　torn　from　their　moorings　and　swept　overboard；　but　the　mechanical　door　and　the　tank　hatches　were　solid。　The　vessel　was　still　taking　in　water　from　the　shell　hole　near　the　king　posts；　but　the　bilge　pumps　were　pensating。　The　Rolvaag　was　a　well…built；　seaworthy　vessel；　it　would　be　weathering　the　storm　nicely　…　were　it　not　for　the　monstrous　weight　in　her　belly。
　By　seven；　the　storm　had　reached　Force　15；　with　gusts　up　to　one　hundred　knots。　When　the　ship　topped　a　wave；　the　force　of　the　wind　ing　through　the　bridge　threatened　to　suck　them　out　into　the　darkness。　No　storm　could　keep　up　this　kind　of　violence　for　long。　Soon；　Britton　hoped；　it　would　begin　to　break。　It　had　to。
　She　kept　checking　the　surface　scopes；　irrationally；　looking　for　a　contact　that　might　indicate　a　rescue。　But　they　were　streaked　with　grass；　giving　mostly　sea　return。　At　the　crest　of　each　wave；　they　cleared　long　enough　to　show　a　growler　field　…　small　bergs　…　about　eight　miles　ahead。　Between　the　ship　and　the　growler　field　lay　a　single　ice　island；　smaller　than　those　they　had　passed　but　several　miles　long　nevertheless。　As　the　ship　was　pushed　deeper　into　the　ice；　the　waves　would　mitigate；　but；　of　course；　then　there　would　be　more　ice　to　deal　with。
　The　GPS；　at　least；　was　steady　and　clear。　They　were　about　one　hundred　and　fifty　miles　northwest　of　the　South　Shetland　Islands；　an　uninhabited　row　of　fanglike　mountains　sticking　up　from　the　Antarctic　seas；　surrounded　by　reefs　and　ripping　currents。　Beyond　lay　the　Bransfield　Strait；　and；　beyond　that；　pack　ice　and　the　brutal　coast　of　Antarctica。　As　they　drew　closer　to　the　coast；　the　seas　would　drop　but　the　currents　would　get　worse。　One　hundred　and　fifty　miles。。。　if　South　Georgia　could　launch　a　rescue　at　6　A。M。。。。　It　all　depended　on　that　thing　down　in　the　hold。
　She　thought　of　asking　Glinn　for　a　progress　report。　But　then　she　realized　she　did　not　want　a　report。　Glinn　had　been　as　silent　as　she；　and　she　wondered　just　what　was　going　through　his　mind。　She；　at　least；　could　read　the　movement　of　the　ship。　For　the　others　it　must　be　simple；　sheer　terror。
　The　ship　rolled；　a　frightening　roll。　But　as　the　roll　approached　the　apex；　she　felt　an　odd　hitch；　a　catch；　to　it。　At　the　same　time；　Glinn　raised　his　radio　to　his　ear；　listening　intently。　He　saw　her　look。
　〃It's　Garza；〃　he　said。　〃I　can't　hear　him　over　the　storm。〃
　She　turned　to　Howell。　〃Patch　him　through。　Maximum　gain。〃
　Suddenly　Garza's　voice　boomed　through　the　bridge。　〃Eli！〃　he　was　calling。　The　amplification　gave　the　panic　in　his　voice　a　ragged；　desperate　edge。　In　the　background；　Britton　could　hear　the　groan　and　screech　of　tortured　metal。
　〃Here。〃
　〃We're　losing　the　primary　crosspieces！〃
　〃Stick　with　it。〃
　Britton　wondered　at　Glinn's　calm；　steady　voice。
　The　ship　began　to　heel　again。
　〃Eli；　the　whole　thing's　unraveling　faster　than　we　can　keep　up　with　…　〃　The　ship　heeled　farther；　and　another　scream　of　metal　drowned　out　Garza's　voice。
　〃Manuel；〃　said　Glinn。　〃Rochefort　knew　what　he　was　doing　when　he　designed　that　web。　It's　much　stronger　than　you　think。　Take　it　one　step　at　a　time。〃
　Still　the　ship　slanted。
　〃Eli；　the　rock　…　It's　moving！　I　can't　…　〃　The　radio　went　dead。
　The　ship　paused；　shuddered　throughout　its　frame；　then　slowly　began　to　right　itself。　Britton　felt　that　little　hitch　again；　like　a　pause；　almost　as　if　the　ship　had　caught　on　something　for　a　moment。
　Glinn　kept　his　eyes　to　the　speaker。　After　a　moment；　it　crackled　once　again。　Garza's　voice　came　back　on。　〃Eli？　Are　you　there？〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃I　think　the　thing　shifted　slightly；　but　it　came　back　into　place。〃
　Glinn　almost　smiled。　〃Manuel；　do　you　see　how　you're　overreacting？　Don't　panic。　Focus