“If we were facing into the wind and sea like this, we wouldn’t be having any trouble,” Gueletti elaborated. “However, when we anchored Floater 1 here, we oriented her to face to the southwest, into the normal predominant weather patterns. This storm’s a freak, though. It’s coming in straight from the south, and we’re taking it on our port quarter rather than head-on.”
The Seabee commander issued another order to the systems operator: “Alter storm bearing.”
The computer-generated tempest on the monitor pivoted to match the real-world storm. Now the interconnected barges no longer rode smoothly; they twisted and jostled within the formation, as they were doing now. Red flashes pulsed on the screen, denoting collision points.
“Initiate cumulative damage program.”
Small blue squares began to appear within the barges, radiating outward from the collision points. “This is cumulative sequential flooding from the storm damage. As you can see, as we take on water, the barges begin to lose stability within the platform structure. As stability is lost, the rate of damage accumulation accelerates. We can counter to a degree by shifting ballast within the barges, like I was doing when you came up, but not enough to stop the process.”
The number of blue squares grew explosively and the riding of the barges grew wilder. “Eventually,” Gueletti continued, “the cumulative damage becomes so severe that the structural integrity of the platform will be compromised.”
On the monitor screen, the graphics model of Floater 1 broke up into its component segments, some of the barges capsizing and sinking, others being driven away before the storm.
“How long do we have until breakup?” Amanda asked, her voice only just audible above the wind.
“By this projection, about four hours, ma’am,” the systems operator said almost apologetically.
“And how much longer until this storm blows over us?”
“Six.” Gueletti let the single word hang in the air.
Amanda turned away from the simulations console. Gripping the handrail of the chart table, she stared out into the storm murk for almost a full minute, assessing potentials.
“We’ve got to turn her into the wind,” she said abruptly. “That’s all there is to it.”
“Agreed, but how?” Gueletti said, coming to share a hand grip beside her. “Even in a dead calm, nothing short of an oceangoing tug could maneuver this thing. And we don’t have a tug or a calm.”
“We don’t need either one,” Amanda replied. She waved a hand at the storm beyond the windows. “We’ve got all the motive power we need right out there. She’ll weathervane and turn into the wind by herself if we can give her half a chance. What kind of ground tackle are we holding with?”
“When Floater 1 was built, the idea was to keep all four rails of the platform clear for mooring and ship handling. Accordingly, each barge has a single central anchor well and capstan room, each capstan handling twelve hundred feet of chain. We’ve mostly got a mud-and-sand holding ground under us at this site, so we’re using five-ton mushroom anchors, nine of ’em. We’ve got forty-five tons of iron on the bottom, and according to the GPUs, we haven’t shifted an inch since the start of the blow.”
Amanda nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the data and applying it to the problem. “What if we lift eight of the hooks and leave number two’s down as a bottom drag. We could turn her around that?”
Gueletti shook his head. “I wouldn’t like to try it except as an absolute last resort. Like I said, we primarily have a mud and sand holding ground under us. But our sonar survey indicates we’ve got some rock ledges down there too. If we hooked the drag anchor on one of those, we could rip the whole damn capstan room right out through the bottom of the barge.”
“Then how about an array of sea anchors? We lift all the hooks and let her drift until the sea anchors bring her head around”
Again came that decisive shake of the head. “That’s out too, Captain. We’re situated on a comparatively narrow bank of shallows out here with a deepwater trench to landward. If we get blown off this holding ground, the next stop is the beach at Monrovia.”
Amanda lightly bit her lower lip, tasting the salt of the sea brine drying on it. Don’t get panicky, just work the problem. All the pieces you need are still here. You can feel it. You only have to put them together correctly. She leaned over the chart table, staring at its surface without seeing.
“Steve,” she said after a full minute. “What about the platform’s towing tackle? Do you keep that aboard?”
“Sure. Every barge stores its own towing harness in a cable tier.”
“It must be pretty heavy-gauge gear. And there must be a lot of it.”
Gueletti shrugged. “The heaviest you can get. Quarter mile lengths of four-inch steel hawser. All new stuff.”
“All right,” Amanda replied slowly. “All right, that’s how we’re going to do it. You’re right about the anchor chains. We can’t safely turn her on one of those. We don’t have enough play. But we can turn her on one of your towing lines.”
The Seabee cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t see how. Our towing hawsers could hold one or maybe even two of our barges in this kind of sea state, but not the whole platform. We’d snap that wire like it was a thread.”
“That’s just it, Steve,” Amanda replied, the excitement and surety growing in her voice. “We don’t have to hold the platform with it. We just have to provide a point of resistance the platform can turn itself around. We’ll shackle two of your towing cables together. Then we lift our anchors and let the platform drift a short distance, paying out one of the lengths of hawser as we go, to create our anchor harness. Then, as we start feeding out the second cable section, we apply the wild cat brake on the cable feed. We create drag on the line while still deploying cable fast enough to keep the cable below breaking tension. That point of resistance will turn us into the wind. It will be like using a drag anchor on the bottom. Except that we’ll be producing the drag at the topside end.”
“And we’d still have enough control on our drift to keep us from going off of the bank,” Gueletti agreed, catching hold of the idea. “But what kind of hook can we put down that we can be sure won’t shift?”
“A big one, Steve,” Amanda replied. “A real big one.”
“What do you have in mind? The biggest we have is five tons.”
“No. We can do a lot better than that.” Amanda pushed away from the chart table and crossed to the lee-side windows. “There’s our anchor right there.”
She pointed down to the blackened and battered hulk of the HMS Skye, moored to the sheltered downwind side of the platform.
“We run our cable aboard the Skye and secure it around the main engine mounts. Then we cut her loose and scuttle her with a demolition charge. She displaces almost five hundred tons. There’s no way we’re going to drag that around behind us.”
“Captain,” Gueletti said, aghast, “that’s a Royal Navy man-of-war down there! We don’t have the authority to order it sunk.”
“Commander, that minehunter’s going to be just another piece of junk washed up on a Union beach if this platform breaks up. The Skye’s lost, no matter what. But if we sacrifice her in this way, we may be able to save Floater 1.”
The platform commander considered for a moment. “Hell, I guess you’re right, ma’am. The taxpayers can buy the Brits another minesweep later.”
“Exactly, Steve. Now, do you have a demolitions man who could rig a set of charges aboard the Skye that could put her on the bottom fast without compromising her structural integrity,?”