JonDlundyn Parker adventure #1 cont.
November 7th 2006 19:21
Lundyn steered casually as a man used to long stints at the helm. His course was within a half a degree of the steering course to get to their destination. Not a hard task in this slight swell without much breeze and very little sea. His skill level would not fall however if the seas had got larger. Years of working at sea in the navy had got him well used to steering all manner of craft. Years also on skiffs and yachts had honed his skills. His last ten years in the navy had been as a clearance diver. While his body was not as bulky as Roscoe’s, he was nevertheless tall and athletic with a solid build that was all muscle. At school he and Roscoe had both played as props in the rugby teams. While Roscoe looked dangerous in a menacing physical sense, Lundyn just looked like someone to leave alone. His actions were in every way very economical, but the way he walked and moved was more like a sensuous cat than a man. He had not had a soft life in the navy but he had not been battered as much as Roscoe had been in football. Lundyn’s face was remarkably young looking. Not handsome, not debonair but rather plain. He had a shock of brown hair, which shone golden where the hours and hours in tropical sunshine had bleached it on the tips. His bright blue eyes would melt the toughest matron’s heart and his smile was almost always just starting or disappearing from his face. It showed good humour. The two were both the same height and age and had been good mates since their preschool days.
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The drone of an aeroplane’s engine broke through the sounds of the launch making its way through the water. Both men looked up simultaneously and recognised a RAAF Hercules, probably out of the Williamstown base. The pilot must have spotted them at the same time and he banked to fly over them. He flew a circle over them and flew on, making much the same course as they were.
“Looks like we are right on the money,” said Roscoe, alluding to their course.
“Uh ha!” replied Lundyn. “And only an hour to run.” Within half an hour the Hercules was back circling over them and wiggling in its wings in the international signal of ‘follow me’… “Looks like he has found her” Lundyn said to Roscoe. “We only have to adjust seven and a half degrees to the north. Not a bad guess.”
Coming up to the cruiser Roscoe had the woven rope fenders hanging over the port side. The mooring lines were in place, forward and aft. Lundyn eased back on the throttle and nosed toward the side of the Grand Banks cruiser. As Roscoe secured the forward line around a bollard on the cruiser, Lundyn gently eased the throttle forward and with a slight turn of the helm lay the launch neatly alongside. A woman in her early thirties, in designer jeans and silk blouse that strained at each button to hold in what appeared to be a magnificent chest, took the offered stern line and held it as the two men climbed on board.
“Karen Philips! Am I glad to see you.” she beamed holding out a delicate hand.
“Roscoe, I spoke to you on the air this morning.” Her hand completely disappeared in Roscoe’s huge paw as he introduced her to Lundyn.
Both men found it hard to avoid staring at her magnificent figure. Particularly hard was talking to her and not talking to her chest.
“The cavalry to the rescue.” said Karen lightly, but both men could see that she had a tough time making light of how she was feeling. It was obvious that Karen had made quite an effort at organising her rescue. Flares were laid out on the aft deck ready to let off and in fact an empty tube indicated that she had fired a red smoke flare to attract the Hercules. An orange ‘V’ sheet, the international signal for distress, was tied to the cabin top and the code flags Charlie and November were tied to the mast. This was also a signal for help. As well as that she had out the manuals for the radios, the radar and the engines. The engine covers were pulled up and she was covered in oil and grease stains where she had been doing engine checks.
“I just can’t get her to start,” said Karen. “I feel so foolish! I have watched the crew do it dozens of times. But it won’t work for me.”
Lundyn glanced around and said, “Just a second.” He dipped down the companionway stairs and found the battery isolation switches. The start battery had been turned off but the bank of house batteries were still on. At anchor the crew had rightly enough turned off the engine starting battery and were running with house batteries. “Try that now Karen” called out Lundyn. The starboard diesel roared to life, soon followed by the port engine.
“Problem one solved.” said Roscoe to Karen. “Now let’s see what mystery the crew quarter’s hold.” The cabin door to the crew quarters opened inward, one mighty kick from the ex footballer and the lock smashed but the door would not budge. Something was blocking it. Unlike many cabin doors the crew’s door was solid timber. It was not going to break easily. Lundyn passed Roscoe a fire axe and within seconds he was smashing the door to kindling. There was an unmistakable smell from the smashed door. Lundyn took Karen gently by the hand and lead her topside.
“I don’t think this is going to be very good. Stay here till we have had a good look.”
Roscoe was standing in the cabin with a look of amazement. “Massacre, bloody massacre. All of them dead.”
Lundyn noticed the blood smeared on Roscoe’s hands. He stepped into the cabin. It was actually a room with two sleeping compartments and heads running off it. Four bodies were sprawled over the floor. Three were obviously the ship’s crew as they were dressed in some sort of uniform. Blue serge shorts, long white socks and white shirts with epaulets. The fourth that was lying down and had been blocking the doorway was dressed in a diver’s wetsuit. His air tank, regulator and buoyancy vest were piled up on a bunk. The slaughter had been done with knives. Three against one probably by the look of it. The guy in the diver’s suit was cut from belly to sternum and had a short bladed knife protruding from his throat. All though his bowels were open and leaking he had died pumping his blood out of his carotid artery. The two Asian looking crew were both expertly stabbed in the heart and had simply laid back and leaked their lives out where they sat. The skipper, recognised by his epaulets, was badly cut about the face, hands and fore arms. He had been fighting off the diver by the look of it. Three belly wounds and a slash across the throat. He would have been the last to die, reckoned Lundyn.
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