Free Death of a Supertanker by Antony Trew

subject. Something more pleasant. A drink for example, Kurt?’
    ‘Of course, Chairman.’ The managing-director walked over to the Louis XV rosewood corner cupboard, unlocked and opened its curved door. ‘What would you like?’
    ‘Scotch-on-the-rocks, Kurt.’
    ‘Me, too,’ said the deputy-chairman.
    The managing-director sighed audibly. ‘At least that problem is capable of solution.’

Chapter 8
    Monday, 25 October, promised to be an important day for Ocean Mammoth. The engineroom repairs had been completed and the day was devoted to testing the new turbine rotor and shaft coupling while the ship was still alongside. All being well she would sail from Durban at five-thirty that afternoon. To what destination was as yet unknown.
    The atmosphere of expectation and excitement which these events inspired was at its height when Captain Crutchley spoke over the ship’s broadcast at 0930.
    ‘Attention all hands. This is the Captain speaking. As you know the ship is due to sail at five-thirty this afternoon. Until half an hour ago I did not know our destination. At nine o’clock I received a message from the agents ashore repeating one received from London. Here it is: On leaving Durban Ocean Mammoth is to proceed at three-quarters speed to the Clyde to be laid up until such time as the charter market for crude oil carriers has recovered. The crew will be paid off on arrival at the Clyde. The management regrets there is no prospect of their re-employment in the foreseeable future. Those who are on contract will be dealt with on a redundancy basis.
    ‘That,’ said Captain Crutchley, ‘is the end of the message. I can only say how deeply I regret having to convey such news to you.’
    The broadcast shed gloom throughout the ship and confirmed for Crutchley his original foreboding that nothing good would come of the Durban visit.
     
    The day of sailing is always a busy one for a ship’s master, and there was a steady stream of people to see Captain Crutchley, most of them with documents to be signed: port and health officials, representatives of the contractors, Lloyds agents, the marine surveyors, ship’s chandlers, the media and many others. Somehow he managed to cope with them, to sign where he was required to sign, to offer a drink where custom demanded he should, to be as businesslike yet courteous as befitted the Master.At times, between the arrival and departure of one official visitor and another, he would go to the bathroom and attend to his eyes. Yet despite this, they became more inflamed and the accompanying headaches more persistent as the day proceeded.
    Somehow, too, he found time in the course of this busy day to write to his wife for he felt it was important she should learn from him and not from rumour what lay in store for Ocean Mammoth and those who served in her.
    He did not, however, tell her the result of his visit to the ophthalmic surgeon two days earlier. The news he had sent her was, he felt, bad enough without that.
     
    During the afternoon the chief engineer and the contractor’s representative informed the Captain that tests of the new turbine rotor and shaft coupling had shown that certain adjustments were necessary. It was expected these would be completed by midnight. Captain Crutchley telephoned Lars Hammarsen and the port authorities and the time of sailing was put back to 0530 the following morning. The Captain decided to adhere to his decision that there should be no further shore leave before sailing.
     
    Later that day Ocean Mammoth ’s refilled swimming pool, discreetly sited against the engineroom housing on the port side aft, was once again in use. It was a hot day and the sun shone down from a cloudless sky. There were only two bathers at the pool. Both were women, and they lay on lilos at opposite ends as if they had gone to some pains to get as far as possible from each other, which was indeed the case. Around them lay bathing towels, caps, sun-tan oils, periodicals,