The Last Airship by Christopher Cartwright Read Free Book Online

had
learned to love the ocean as much he’d come to deeply respect its awesome
power.
    “No,
you don’t hate it. You’re just a little frightened of it, that’s all. That will
actually help where we’re going. Besides, we mainly look after diving
operations, deep sea retrievals and leave the ocean disasters to the other
guys. I can put you in charge of Special Projects. Besides, we need a
helicopter pilot. What do you say?”
    “It
sounds like a lot more fun than moping about here,” and just like that, Tom had
been hooked into a life at sea; a life in which he discovered a place and
happiness he’d never before known.
    Tom
laughed as he recalled the conversation, and remembered how both Reilly men had
the unique power to convince others to join them, regardless of their original
intentions.
    Tom’s
thoughts returned to the present.
    Despite
the heavy soundproofing in the operations room, the 40,000 hp twin diesel
engines could be heard humming away in the background as they propelled the
Maria Helena at full speed towards the troubled Hayward Bulk, somewhere off the
coast of North Queensland, Australia.
    Tropical
cyclones, he knew, were the southern hemisphere’s equivalent of his dreaded
hurricane.
    The
Hayward Bulk was a 500,000 ton supertanker.
    It
was on the Japan to South Africa run when its engine impeller broke and the
supertanker’s built-in safety system cut the power to the engines to protect
it.  The Mary Rose, which provided offshore support to the vessel, had refused
to come to its aid because cyclone Petersham was on its way.  
    The
Hayward Bulk was one of more than thirty supertankers owned by Global Shipping.
Deep Sea Expeditions was its smaller arm. It’s CEO and owner, shipping mogul
and old man, James Reilly, had contacted the skipper of the Maria Helena and
informed him that they were being diverted from their current duties in
Townsville in order to deliver a team of engineers and some heavy equipment to
the lame ship.
    If
they reached her in time, Tom would be required to fly them over to the
troubled vessel.
    For
twelve months his good luck had kept him away from any such disaster at sea. As
he stared at the meteorological reports on his laptop, Tom realized that
Cyclone Petersham was going to be one of the worst to ever reach this part of
the world.
    Fate,
he realized, was inexorable.
    *
    The
swell had risen above forty feet, and for the first time since leaving Sydney,
Sam started to wonder if he’d gone too far this time. Where the waves had
previously been spotted with whitecaps, they were now walls of water, forty
feet high and covered in white, angry, frothy sea. The wind had risen to 80
knots, gusting up to 120.
    To
make matters worse, the extreme low off the coast of South Australia was just
about to collide with the southern tip of Cyclone Petersham’s low. This would
form the most deadly of barometric systems, known as a squeeze. Seen on a
synoptic chart, the two lows could be identified by a number of gradient
pressure lines, with an area of relative normal pressure in the middle about to
be squeezed between them. There was no rational way to predict how the sea
would respond to such a collision of natural forces.
    Sam
relished this type of meteorological event at sea.
    Below
deck, barely audible above the sounds of the storm, he heard his satellite
phone ringing. Only three people in the world had this number – his father,
James Reilly, his meteorologist, Mark Stanton, and his best friend, Tom Bower.
Even his mother didn’t have it.
    Whatever
had happened, it would be important.
    He
stepped down the ladder and picked up the phone.
    “Sam
here.” Despite the cold air, he could feel the sweat on his hand with which he
held the phone against his ear.
    It
had to be his father.
    He’d
already spoken to Mark earlier today, and the man had made it abundantly clear
that there was no possible way to tell, with any reasonable certainty, what the
hell was going to happen when