After loading the bolt gun Stratton positioned the two holes at the top of the frame over the boulder, checking to ensure that the rock was solid and that the bottom corners, where his feet would go, rested on the adjacent slab. Satisfied that it was well positioned, he pressed the bolt that protruded from the end of the gun firmly into one of the top holes, pushing down on it to release the automatic safety lock. He pulled the trigger. A powerful jolt slammed the steel bolt through the eyehole and into the rock. When he removed the gun he gave the frame a tug. The bolt was firmly home.
He reloaded the gun and slammed the next bolt into the opposite corner. In a couple of minutes he had planted all five bolts and the frame appeared to be rigidly in place. But another firm tug revealed a loose bolt at one of the bottom corners. Unperturbed, he loaded a fresh bolt into the gun and tugged at the loose one in an effort to remove it. It twisted around inside the rock but would not come out. A fierce tug on the frame didn’t budge it.
Stratton felt reluctant to spend any more time on the faulty bolt. It would require far more force than he could exert to remove it. Typical of what he disliked about technology, and this was the simple kind, according to Binning. There was no tangible reason, that he could see at least, why any of the bolts should remain in position. It was clear how a screw worked, and even how a nail hammered into wood could hold strong. A bolt punched into rock, and not a very long bolt either, failed to inspire him with confidence.
A check of his watch revealed time quickly moving on and Stratton suddenly feared he might not have enough. He pushed aside any doubts about the frame, untied the gun from his belt and let it sink to the bottom. If the Inessa came at that moment he would fail. He sat on the frame, strapped both his legs to it as tightly as possible, and lay back to secure the waist and chest straps. Before fitting the head harness he found the recorder on the end of its line, opened the container, removed the device and activated it. He set the arming switch and checked the series of LED indicators. The system appeared to be functioning. He removed his face mask, letting it hang from the back of his hood, and placed the cumbersome device over his face, pulling the head straps tight. Exhaling through his nose into the optical compartment displaced the water inside it and he blinked quickly to clear his eyes. A brief adjustment of the lenses brought his immediate surroundings into focus. The device could penetrate low light as well as some of the murkiness, improving overall visibility. So far so good, he decided. He was still not quite ready.
The Inessa would make all haste to get out of the harbour once it had slipped its moorings. It had a speed limit of ten knots in the main channel but the captain was committed to turning on the disrupter and accelerating to a cruising speed of thirty-five knots as soon as he could. He would get out of the harbour as quickly as possible.
Stratton passed the strap that secured the device to his head over the top of the recorder housing, clipped it into place and tightened it. He could only move his arms now. He was firmly secured to the boulders.
As he stared into the hollow grey glow around him, he picked up a faint noise - the water was a more effective medium than air for relaying sound waves. The sound became a distant hum that grew louder by the second. It could have been another ship passing through the harbour entrance but Stratton felt somehow sure it was the Inessa.
The operational briefing had covered all possible contingencies including another vessel passing overhead, or close by, around the time when the Inessa was expected. Stratton’s orders were to remain in position and record everything, no matter what it was. But it would be a pointless risk for another vessel, even one close to the Inessa’s size, to pass that close to the mole. The Inessa’s captain knew the precise depth of the boulders where he intended to pass above them.
The deep hum intensified and divided into several tones, a collection of dronish whirring and high-pitched spinning. And something else joined the mix. It was more physical than audible. Stratton could feel it in his temples: a significant pressure wave produced by powerful turbines.
The boulders began to resonate as the pressure waves explored the gaps between them. The metal frame tingled against Stratton’s skin.
He tipped his head back in the hope of catching sight of the vessel as it broke through the gloom. He couldn’t see it despite the horrendous noise and intense shuddering that gave the impression the craft was already upon him.
A dark shape suddenly emerged from the greyness, heading directly at him. A dense broadening shadow followed it. Both were part of the same object.
The boulder Stratton lay on began to judder, its sand deposits agitating as if on the skin of a vibrating drum. The sound became almost deafening and the cutting edge of the vessel’s bows crossed directly above him with a high-pitched seething sound.
Stratton’s body vibrated along with everything else as he trained the recorder’s optics directly above him, doing his best to keep the device steady. He felt the pressure on his chest increase as the tons of water displaced by the vessel pushed him down.The greatest danger was still to come - the propellers. He hastily tightened the strap across his head even more and gripped the sides of the recorder, holding it firmly against his face. His brain felt as if it was being puréed inside his skull.
As the vibrations increased the keel flattened out at either side of Stratton like a vast dark pitted ceiling that he could reach if he stretched out a hand. He felt insignificant beneath it. A short drop and it would erase him as if he was an insect.
The straps of the harness grew tighter as the pressure forced him upwards towards the Inessa’s hull, the propellers like a massive vacuum cleaner hungrily sucking in anything ahead of them. Shale and debris whirled around, spinning in the vortex. Stratton groaned as the harness bit into him. A square recess, like a dark doorway into the hull, shot past his vision. Another larger opening followed. Stratton was beyond evaluating anything other than his own ability to survive.
The lower corner of the frame snapped free. The whole frame wriggled and creaked as if it was threatening to buckle. It jolted even more brutally and the bolt on the opposite corner broke away too and Stratton’s legs jerked up towards the hull. He could do nothing to control it.
The turbulence reached a screaming crescendo as the propellers closed on him. Shale and stones spun around as if inside a blender. The frame rattled as the blades sliced through the water, growing closer by the millisecond. This had suddenly become the craziest stunt he had ever agreed to. The propellers seemed to be lower than his head and would smash against the boulder. Then they were above him, the turbulence unbelievable as the huge blades carved through the water inches past his face.
A second later they were through. But something dealt a vicious blow to one of Stratton’s feet and he felt sure it had been severed. He felt no pain but he had seen men lose limbs in battle and not know it. The fin swirled past his head but he could not see if his foot was attached.
The Inessa was not done with him.The force of the water coming through the propellers was so intense that the frame’s centre bolt now gave way, quickly followed by one of the top corners. It flipped him over, the frame bending against the last remaining bolt. Stratton stared down into the gap between the boulders.