Chapter Five
"The Lady's GOT To Go!"
The fuel depot was a mess. The remains of two tanks sat crumpled in the water. The rest of the tanks were cracked and leaking. Heavy oil sat in the overflow dams. Coming to the office the Captain shouted "Henry Day, where are you, you cantankerous old Irishman?"
"Mr. Day's dead, sir," came a young man's voice. "The building above his house collapsed on it. They haven't found him or his wife yet."
"Oh," the Captain sighed. "Maybe you can help. I need two-hundred gallons of diesel and I need it right now down at the pier to be pumped into The Lady. I've got to make a run...two runs, really, out to the Point."
The young man shook his head. "I've got seventy-five gallons of diesel in a truck over there that's all. The rest of the diesl is either in the harbor or in the overflow ponds, too dirty to use. The only thing else I've got is fifty gallons of gasoline and seventy-five gallons of industrial heating oil."
"Can you pump it into the truck?" the Captain asked.
The young man thought a minute. "I suppose so," he finally answered, "but that could be a lethal mixture! If the gasoline isn't enough to thin the heating oil it'll clog your carburetors. If it's too much it'll raise your compression point and blow your engines apart."
"If it's all you have," the Captain argued, "we'll have to risk it. The Lady's the only hope those people have got. How long before you can be pumping it aboard?"
The young man scratched his chin, heavy with several days of unshaved beard. "Well, if I can get the generator going," he finally answered, "half an hour; if we have to use the hand pump, two hours."
"Get the generator going!" the Captain snapped. "We don't HAVE two hours!"
The young man nodded. "That still isn't enough," his helmsman complained.
"There was some still in the tanks,"" the Captain answered, "so maybe sixty gallons, perhaps a little more. Those gauges have read low for years. We should have enough to make it."
"If the fuel WORKS!" the helmsman muttered, "IF we can run over that boat, IF we can make it up the channel, IF we can get to the dock, IF we can get back."
"Lot of ifs!" the Captain acknowledged. "I can handle the helm myself if you don't want to go."
"HELL you will!" the young man snapped. "You can't read the instruments and run the helm too!"
"What about Shawn?" the helmsman asked. "We haven't seen him for days. We've GOT to have an engineer, and, a helper."
The Captain nodded. But as they rounded the dock they saw the engineer hobbling along it, his leg in splints, screaming orders to several men with heavy lines. "What are you doing?" the Captain asked.
"We're going to need all the speed we can get!" the engineer snapped. "I'm having four lines tied to her bow then to these pylons. We'll put her in full reverse and give her everything she's got. Then these gentlemen will hit the lines with their axes. That will give us every ounce of speed we can get. We've got to get at least half way over her. Any less than that we'll hang up. But don't be expecting me to answer signals too fast. I'm hurt and young Frank didn't make it."
"Damn!" the Captain cursed, "and where will we find somebody that knows anything about diesel engines?"
"I know ALL about them!" came a voice from behind them. They all turned to see the young Warlock and several of his men. "What are they? I'd say a ship this size has two Detroit twelve pistons."
The engineer shook his head. "Three, son," he answered, "ten pistons, with a universal gear box so if any two go out one can still supply power to the propellors."
"Haven't seen any of them in a LONG time!" the young man remarked, "But I think I could still manage them."
"Then we've got a crew!" the Captain praised, "But you've gotta know, young fella, this is a risky trip."
The young Warlock smiled. "I think we'll make it!" he answered. "Damon!" he snapped, turning to one of his men, "I don't like the idea of axes on these lines. It will not give us a quick, sure release. Could you rig something a little bit more certain, then you will be in charge while I'm gone."
The older man saluted. "Yes sir!" he snapped, and signaling another man, hurried off.
"Now!" the Captain muttered as he paced nervously, "Where's that fuel?"
It seemed like forever before the truck came rolling down the dock. It had barely got into position when a police car rolled up. A man jumped out screaming "Stop! Stop! Don't load that fuel! That ship's not going anywhere."
"What do you mean, Charlie?" Captain Henderson snapped. "The Lady's GOT to go!"
The harbormaster, many years younger than the Captain, climbed out of the car, and limped towards them.
"You can't get through, Captain!" he answered, "There's no sense wasting that fuel. You can't get through. Both channels are blocked."
A look of despair came over everyone's faces. "Blocked?" the Captain muttered, "Blocked?"