As the Barak heeled over, the sudden shift drew the CAPTOR’s nose cone off the Aurasina’s bow by a matter of feet. Instead of striking dead on, the CAPTOR’s warhead struck a glancing blow. The shock wave was diverted up the ferry’s stem and down along her hull. In a gout of flame and roiling smoke, the upper half of her bow ramp disintegrated, while the lower half was cleaved down to forefoot.
Raked by a wave of fire, superheated steam, and shrapnel, the forecastle was virtually peeled back, revealing the forepeak hold and part of the vehicle well. The wall of flame swept over the superstructure and bridge, shattering windows, melting aluminum bulkheads, and charring the white paint black.
The Barak faired better, but not by much. Though largely spent on the Aurasina’s bow and into the air alongside her, a portion of the shock wave bulldozed ahead of her, a roiling ball of compressed water that slammed like a freight train into the Barak’s stern, lifting and spinning her across the surface like a top.
On the flying bridge, Tanner’s hands were torn from the wheel. He felt himself hurled first left, then right, where he lost his balance and tipped over the railing. He reached out, grabbed a ladder rung, and slammed into the superstructure. Stunned, he lost his grip and tumbled to the deck below.
He pushed himself to his knees. Fifty yards off the beam the Aurasina was shuddering to a stop. Her alarm claxon began whooping. Tanner could see water pouring through the gash in her bow ramp. With a wrenching of steel, a ten-foot section of her forecastle tore away and plunged into the water. She began listing to port.
Through her shattered bridge windows, he could see figures running about. A pair of spotlights on each wing glowed to life, bathing the demolished forecastle in bright light. A voice began calling over the loudspeaker, “L’attenzione, l’attenzione … passeggero scialuppa di salvatoaggio …” Attention … passengers to lifeboats …
Tanner staggered into the cabin. Susanna had been thrown from the sofa and lay on her side on the deck. He felt for a pulse. It was there, but very weak. She needed a doctor, and quickly. He repacked towels against her wound, then wrapped her torso in a sheet and cinched it tight.
He sprinted onto the deck, up the port side, and climbed to the flying bridge. In the supply box he found a flare gun. He loaded a round into the chamber and fired it into the sky. Hissing it arced over the Aurasina and burst into a waterfall of red sparks.
He turned the ignition key, heard a dull click. He tried it again. Click. He squeezed his eyes shut. Dammit, please. He turned the key again. There was a brief whine. The starboard engine coughed to life. He throttled up and spun the wheel toward the Aurasina.
He circled her bow and down along her port side. Above, passengers milled around the railing, babbling and calling out to one another. Tanner scanned faces, hoping against hope he would spot Cahil. He was nowhere to be seen. Briggs loaded another flare into the pistol and fired it off. It had the effect he was looking for. Passengers began pointing and shouting. A few moments later a crewman in a white tunic appeared at the railing and shouted in Italian over the din, “Can you help? We’ve—”
“No, no!” Tanner called back. “Il dottore! Lower you ladder!”
“Eh?”
Tanner hesitated, trying to think, his brain muddled. What was the word …? “La scala!” he shouted. “La scala!”
The crewman nodded and hurried off.
Tanner maneuvered the Barak alongside. The crewman returned with another member of the crew and together they rolled a rope ladder over the railing. Tanner hurried into the cabin, scooped up Susanna, went back out. As gently as he could, he draped her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and then, timing his movements with the rising and falling of the deck, mounted the ladder. Helped by nearby passengers, the crewmen began hauling them up. At the railing, hands reached for Susanna. They lifted her aboard and laid her on the deck. Tanner followed. He knelt beside her. “Il dottore!” he called.
One of the crewmen stepped forward; his nametag read “Marco.” “Si, si. Medico.”
“Do you speak English?”
“Yes.”
“She’s been shot.” Tanner opened her coat to reveal the blood-soaked bandage. “She’s lost a lot of blood.”
“I understand.” The crewman examined the wound. “I will take her to the infirmary.”
“Where’s that?”
“Deck three, forward of the dining room.”
“I’ll find you.” Briggs glanced around, spotted the other crewman. “What’s your name?”
“Belio.”
“Take me to the bridge. I need to see your captain.”
They rushed up two flights of ladders to the bridge as Tanner waited in the doorway, Belio ran to an elderly man in a white uniform, whispered to him, then gestured to Tanner. The man strode over. “What is going on?” the man demanded. “Who are—”
“Are you the captain?”
“Yes, dammit! Ettore Bartoli. Who are you? What—”
“You’ve struck a mine—”
“A mine! What are you talking—”
“Shut up and listen. Half your bow ramp is gone and the other half is split down to the keel. You’re sinking. Do you understand me?”
Bartoli blinked, then nodded. “Yes, I—”
“How many cars do you have aboard?”
“Two hundred ninety. Why?”
“We’ve got ten minutes, maybe less, to make you stem heavy or she’s going under. Stack cars on top of one another if you have to, but we have to get your bow out of the water.”
Bartoli began nodding. “Si, si...” He turned and started barking orders. Crewmen began scrambling, calling to one another, relaying messages over the intercom system.
Tanner asked, “Are your pumps running?”
“Of course.”
“Can you transfer the output into the aft bilges?”
“Yes.”
“Do it. Have your crew herd the passengers aft. Every bit of weight counts.”
Bartoli shouted more orders, then turned back to Tanner. “Where did you come from?”
“It’s a long story. What’s the nearest land?”
Bartoli led him to the chart table and tapped a spot. “Susak Island. Four miles to the east.”
“I recommend you head there,” Tanner said. “Ground her if you have to, but get her into shallow water.”
“You think—”
“We won’t be able to stay ahead of the flooding,” Tanner said. “The closer we are to land when she founders, the more of your passengers will survive. What’s the best speed you can manage?”
“If the damage you described is accurate, I don’t dare exceed six or eight knots. Anything more and I’ll swamp her.”
Thirty to forty minutes to Susak, Tanner thought. Not much time to search eight hundred faces. Once the Aurasina grounded, Trpkova would disappear in the commotion, taking Kestrel with him.
“I need a favor,” Tanner said.
“What?”
“I brought a friend aboard; she’s hurt. I left her with one of your crewmen — Marco.”
Bartoli nodded. “Our medical officer, yes.”
“Please see that she’s taken care of. Her name is Susanna.”
“Of course; you have my word. Are you going somewhere?”
“I have another friend to find.”