Gale Force

56

The tide ripped through the pass like a raging river, pulling the Gale Force and the Pacific Lion along with it.

McKenna stood in the wheelhouse, knees and body braced against the swell, her eyes moving constantly as she guided the tug forward.

She watched the Gale Force’s progress through the wheelhouse windows and on the GPS screens, keeping the tug in the middle of the pass, away from the dark islands on either shore. She watched the instrument panel, her eye on the engine temperature gauges, the RPMs, the tug’s speed through the water. She looked back through the aft windows at the towlines stretched tight across the tug’s stern, at the big wallowing freighter listing behind the tug, watching to make sure the tide wasn’t running the freighter too close to the Gale Force. She kept her eyes everywhere, forward and back, her whole body a coiled spring. Knew she wouldn’t relax until she’d brought the Lion through to the other side.

Ridley was in the engine room, watching the big diesel engines for any sign of trouble. Al and Jason Parent monitored the towlines. Matt and Stacey Jonas stood by, a couple of extra pairs of eyes on the instrument gauges, the charts, the tow. Even Spike was on duty, perched on the bench beside the skipper’s chair, the master of the ship, his yellow eyes alert as they darted around the wheelhouse.

McKenna had called the crew to the house just before slack tide, laid out their assignments, and set them to work. Then she’d guided the Gale Force into position, pointed her northeast, up the middle of the pass, toward a nameless point of land on the eastern side of Chuginadak Island. The tug had responded beautifully. The Lion followed like an obedient dog. The seas were calmer at slack, not nearly as chaotic as when wind and tide ran opposed to each other. Heck, the ride had almost started to seem pleasant.

Then the tide changed, barely noticeable at first, and then faster and faster. It was ripping north and pulling the Gale Force along with it as McKenna turned the tug and tow north-northeast, dodging Samalga Island at the apex of the crescent pass. She pushed the throttles higher, kept the towlines stretched taut, the mighty tug pulling, her twin propellers gripping and churning the water, her rudders responding to McKenna’s every touch of the wheel.

The Munro on the radio: “Looking good from the stern, Gale Force. Your tow looks stable and the sea anchor is holding. How are you feeling up front?”

“Yeah, Munro, we’re doing fine,” McKenna told the cutter. “This tide is something else, though.”

She put down the handset. Looked back at Matt and Stacey Jonas. “So?” she said, exhaling a long breath. “Are we having fun yet, or what?”

Matt grinned at her. Started to answer. And then an alarm sounded, drowning out his reply.