Part 41 (1/2)

The hand gave a thumbs-down.

Malcolm nudged the lifeboat closer and closer to the damaged yacht. But the waves frustrated him. Eventually he got close enough for Don to leap across a tiny gap before the sea surged them apart again. Don pulled on the lifeboat's line and got it secured to a cleat on the yacht's bow. Now the boats pulled against each other. As one went up, the other came down.

Jesse watched as Don steadied himself and walked with uneven steps to the stern to check on the casualty. He jumped down into the c.o.c.kpit and knelt so that Jesse could only just see the top of his head. After a few moments, Don stood up and shouted against the wind, miming injuries as he spoke.

Jesse turned to Kate. 'Did you get that?'

'I think he's saying it's a broken arm, shoulder and ankle. Do you want me to go over?'

'Let's get that line attached to the stern first. Brian!' he shouted. 'You and Si, get a line secure on the a.r.s.e end.'

Mickey appeared on deck. 'Jesse, Falmouth are asking if you need the helicopter?'

'I'll know as soon as we find the second man. Tell them to give me a couple of minutes.'

Brian and Don had at last got the two boats tied together securely. 'Brian,' shouted Jesse, 'do you need Kate to come over?'

'No, let's get him on the lifeboat. Then she can have a look at him.'

'OK. What's happened to the other bloke?'

'His dad thinks the mast hit him.'

Jesse was exasperated. 'Well, have a f.u.c.king look then.'

Brian stood up out of the c.o.c.kpit and stepped onto the deck, steadying himself on the low railing and edging slowly forward. The boat was pitching and yawing and a huge wave crashed over him. He spat out the worst of it and finally got to the torn and flapping sail. The cords attached to it were snapping and flicking with lethal unpredictability. He took an armful of the tough sailcloth and slowly bundled as much as he could into his arms, the wind tugging it all the while. Every armful, he looked underneath for the second man. As he stooped, the boat tipped sharply and he lost his footing. He slid across the deck on his hip, his eyes tight shut, waiting to hit something hard.

'Arrggh.' A cleat caught the hem of his trousers. His leg stopped but the rest of his body spun one hundred and eighty degrees before his head banged something hard. Another wave breached the deck and sea water flooded up his nose and into his mouth.

'Brian!' Jesse was shouting over the loud-hailer. 'Don! Brian's. .h.i.t his head. Help him.'

Brian was dazed but able enough to board the lifeboat and be sent below to the survivors' s.p.a.ce to be seen to by Kate. Getting the injured sailor out of the yacht's c.o.c.kpit and below deck to join him was harder, but they did it.

'Trevay, this is Falmouth. Will you require the helicopter?'

Jesse, who'd gone to check on Brian, answered: 'Yes. I'm a crew member down. Possible concussion. One casualty taken off yacht with suspected multiple fractures. One person still missing, presumed under the mast and mainsail. Over.'

'Understood. It's on its way. Out.'

Jesse climbed back on deck. The wind had dropped and a small moon gave the scene a silvery s.h.i.+ne. 'Don!'

Don was crouching on the deck of the yacht, one arm stuck under the opposite armpit. He looked grey.

'Don,' Jesse said again. 'What is it?'

'I've cut my hand.'

Jesse swore under his breath. 'Badly?' he asked.

Don nodded and brought the wounded hand out from under his arm. Even from where he was standing, Jesse could see the tendons s.h.i.+ne white through the neatly sliced flesh.

'How the f.u.c.k did you do that?'

Don bent his head towards the flapping cords on the mainsail. 'I tried to catch one.'

'Right, let's get you back over here.'

'Falmouth. This is Trevay. I'm another crew member down. What's the ETA for the chopper?'

Jesse listened as the coastguard spoke to the helicopter. 'Trevay. This is Falmouth. Helicopter is about eighteen minutes away. Over.'

'We're going to find the other casualty. Out.'

Mickey volunteered. 'I'll find him.'

Jesse hesitated. He had three crew members to choose from. Malcolm, who was at the helm; Jeff, who was eager but hadn't been on the boat very long, and Mickey, who was more than capable but could Jesse spare him?

Jesse looked from one man to the other. He made his decision. 'OK, Mickey, it's you, but be careful.'

Jesse watched as Mickey stepped nimbly from one boat to the other.

'It's a bit calmer. Not so bad,' shouted Mickey. He arrived at the flapping ma.s.s of sail and burrowed underneath it. Jesse held his breath, then Mickey popped out.

'Got him. He's unconscious but alive. As far as I can see, the mast is lying at an angle from one hip, across his stomach and up to his shoulder. I'll see if I can get to him.'

As Jesse watched, Mickey took a knife and started to cut the mainsail loose from its rigging. The wind was picking up a little and Jesse felt some rain in his face. The sea beneath his feet started to dance, and from the blackness rolled a wave twice as big as anything they'd seen that night.

'Mickey. Get down!' shouted Jesse, as the wave crashed on top of the yacht and spilled its weight on Mickey's head. It swept Jesse off his feet, but he held a grab rail and jammed his feet against the boat's side. As the water drained away, Jesse yelled, 'Mickey? Mickey?'

'It's OK. I'm OK,' came Mickey's voice.

Jesse saw him hanging over the edge of the yacht. Gripping tight to the railing, his legs in the sea. There was, at most, a metre and a half between both boats. If they were pushed closer together, Mickey would be crushed.

'Oh Jesus,' said Jesse. 'Malc!' he screamed.

Malcolm, at the helm, had seen what had happened and he was doing all he could to keep the boats at a safe distance.

Jesse knew what he had to do. 'I'm coming over, Mickey. I'm coming.'

Mickey, the muscles in his shoulders tearing with the effort of hanging on, shook his head. 'Get Jeff. You're the bleddy c.o.xswain. You can't leave the boat.'

'Watch me.'