They left the freighter behind and flew on to the next one, gave it a look-see and moved on. Dane was coming to the conclusion that this excursion was a waste of time. A steady stream of ships was flowing both north and south and generally staying fairly close to the coastline. Despite her long-range capabilities, the PBY wouldn’t fly too far out into the ocean this trip. Other long-range planes were doing that and trying to prevent the sort of sneak attack that had devastated the fleet at Pearl Harbor. Long-range radar installations were being constructed on the hills around major cities and would also provide warnings. Still, everyone knew that nothing would or could be foolproof. The coastline was just too long and the ocean too vast.
Many military personnel wished the Japanese would make an attack. While the American fleet was virtually nonexistent, just about every airfield, airstrip, or even flat piece of land around the major West Coast cities was lined with American fighters and bombers, all piloted by young men eager to take on the bastard sons of Nippon. Dane had seen figures saying that almost fifteen hundred U.S. planes were ready to be launched at the enemy, with more on the way. Types of fighters included a few of the older P39 and P40s, which were outclassed by the Japanese Zero. Planes lined up in growing numbers included the army’s P47, the navy’s F4F fighter, which was a carrier plane without carriers, and the army’s twin-tailed P38.
Tuller coaxed the plane to a higher altitude. “I know there are Jap subs out there. I think I might have spotted one a couple of days ago, but the damn thing dived before I could turn and attack it. Hell, maybe it was a whale. I just don’t understand why they don’t hit our shipping. Jeez, the ships down there are so vulnerable. They aren’t even sailing in convoys, which is stupid if you ask me.” He laughed. “Nobody does, of course.”
Dane looked at the distant ships with his binoculars. “The Japs have a different mentality,” he answered. “The Germans think it’s a great idea to attack our civilian ships, especially oil tankers, and they’re right. On the other hand, the Japs see attacking anything other than a warship as an insult to their manhood. ‘Warriors attack warriors’ is their philosophy according to their interpretation of bushido. I think some Jap skippers would actually disobey orders to attack a freighter or a tanker and save their torpedoes for warships instead.”
Tuller rolled his eyes. “That ain’t too smart. Those ships are our lifeblood.”
That’s right, Dane thought. And maybe they’ll regret that someday. He also realized that he’d been calling the Japanese by the derogatory term Japs. So much for absorbing the culture of Japan when he was a kid.
The great wall of water came on them like a giant black train in the middle of the night. One moment, Amanda was lightly holding the wheel and simply steering in the direction of California by keeping the boat aligned with the correct stars, and the next, the swiftly moving wave had blotted out the stars and the night. Before she could do anything more than scream, the wave crashed over the catamaran, inundating it and her under several feet of roaring water.
She lost her grip on the wheel and thought she was going to be swept overboard as the wave knocked her about. She swallowed what felt like gallons of salty, nauseating water. The lifeline Mack insisted everyone use, especially at night, caught and held her while her fingers tried to grab and claw at anything that would keep her on the cat. She was wearing a Mae West life jacket that might keep her afloat if she was swept overboard, but that was not what she wanted. If that happened, she’d be alone in the ocean and condemned to die a terrible death. She thought about that and desperately hung on to the deck and prayed that the line would hold.
The cat lurched upward and she thought it would flip over on its back like a turtle and kill her as it climbed the wave. A part of her mind recalled Mack saying that killer waves, rogues, sometimes appeared out of nowhere, squashing everything in their path. She also remembered him saying that a catamaran could go bow-down into the water and sink like a rock. She prayed for the boat to make it through the torrent.
After an eternity, the cat reached the wave’s peak, teetered, and lurched forward, skimming down the other side. It was a deadly and terrifying roller coaster ride.
It was over as quickly as it began. The rogue disappeared and continued on its journey. Amanda lay on the deck, gagging and vomiting the sea water she’d swallowed. She grabbed the lifeline and clawed her way back to the wheel, steadied it, and looped a rope around a spoke to keep it steady on course.
“Somebody!” she yelled. “Talk to me!”
She heard moans. Sandy had been on deck with her, and she was a few feet away, trying to get up. She was on her hands and knees, retching and shaking, but otherwise seemed unhurt. Okay, Amanda thought, now where were Mack and Grace? In the cabin, she recalled.
At first the cabin seemed okay, but then she saw that a wall had caved in. From inside came the ominous sound of silence. Reluctantly, she unclipped her lifeline and moved into the cabin. Grace lay on the floor. She was moaning softly and beginning to move. Her pulse was strong, so Amanda moved on to Mack. To her horror, she saw that his skull was distorted and he was drooling blood.
“Sandy, get in here.”
“I’m sick.”
“You’re a nurse and these people are hurt. Get your butt in here.”
Sandy came in a few seconds later. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “My mind wasn’t working.”
Grace was coming around. Her eyes were clear and she seemed more stunned than injured. Neither she nor Mack had been wearing their lifelines, nor anything else, Amanda noted. They checked Mack over and looked at each other in dismay. Grace crawled to them and confirmed their diagnosis—Mack had a depressed skull fracture along with several broken ribs, maybe a punctured lung, and God only knew what other internal injuries. Maybe he’d be able to tell them if he regained consciousness.
“I don’t think he’s going to recover,” Amanda said sadly. “He might stand a chance if we were first-class surgeons instead of nurses and if this was a great hospital instead of a dinky sailboat.”
“You’re right,” said Sandy while Grace sobbed. “All we can do is make him comfortable and hope for the best.”
There was one bunk and it was damaged. They repaired it as best they could and carefully laid Mack on it. He groaned but didn’t wake up. They tied him to it, tried to give him some water, and then went out on deck. A beautiful multihued Pacific dawn was rising but they didn’t see it. They were only dimly aware that the seas were as calm as an inland pond, with nothing to remind them of the horror of the night and the killer wave.
Amanda was aware that the others were looking at her for directions. Grace was the oldest, but leadership was never her strong suit.
She took a deep breath. “Okay, first of all we take inventory. What’s left in the way of food and water, is the sail damaged, and, oh yeah, is the radio working?”
It didn’t take long to confirm that the news was mostly bad. The radio was smashed, and some of the food had been swept overboard along with a couple of containers of precious water. They’d all thought their provisions had been secured, but obviously not well enough. Their sail had been slightly damaged, but it could be repaired and, besides, they had a spare. Fortunately, the mast was solid.
“We should all pray for rain,” Grace said.
“And for Mack,” Sandy added.
Amanda shook her head sadly. “He might die without us knowing much about him except that he was our friend.”
Grace smiled shyly. “His name is Maxwell Garver and he was an embezzler from Kansas City.”