A Ravel of Waters

In the bows there was enough water and spray over Jetwind's deck to match an anti-nuclear washdown system. The ship was steady, but lying over far – almost to her full count of nine degrees. If she were ambushed by a sudden gust she would go over on her beam-ends and never come up again.

Kay was standing with Tideman at the control consoles. He had taken the royals off her; she was down to top gallants. Kay looked worried. As I joined them, Jetwind put her bows far down; hundreds of tons of sea came sweeping along the deserted decks.

Kay gave me a brief smile of welcome and said, 'Peter, the slamming is slowing her down. The resistance component of the sea-way is getting bigger all the time. In spite of the wind she's not travelling faster.' Tideman added grimly, gesturing for'ard, 'Look at that!'

The next blow against the ship's bow was like hitting a solid wall.

Sweat poured down the helmsman's face. He wore only a shirt and jeans; they had big wet patches. He compensated heavily on the wheel as the bows tried to break away.

'She's very hard to hold any more,' he panted. 'I can't keep her steady, sir. If any of the rudder controls go, the ship's had it.' Tideman gave me an inquiring look. 'Kay,' I asked, 'what sort of thrust is there on the sails?'

'I made the calculation about five minutes ago – roughly, about forty thousand horse-power.' 'But she's not getting the full benefit of that?'

'No, she's not. She's actually losing speed instead of picking it up. If we could stop the slamming it would raise the speed. I know theoretically what's happening, but I don't know what the practical answer is.'

'What – in theory – is happening?' I questioned her with my eyes fixed on Jetwind's sails. 'A converter of solar energy into thrust,' Thomsen had termed them. Here then was that process – the sea white with fury, the tearing overcast black with rage, stooping so low at times that Jetwind's royal masts were lost to sight, the ocean itself raging uncontrollably. I formulated orders – radical, unheard-of orders.

'Jetwind is plunging violently in a pitching plane,' she was explaining. 'That's the problem. The movement is playing havoc with the aerodynamics. As the bow falls into the trough of a wave, there is an upward component of span-wise flow on all her foresails. Then as the bow hits the solid water of the next wave, that flow, is ended abruptly and replaced by a sudden downward component as her bow rises to that wave. And so on. Jetwind could experience a stall like an aircraft – brought about by the span-wise flow if this continues.'

I interrupted her, noting how the lower part of the fore-course was blanketed and went slack as Jetwind dived deep into the troughs. 'Where is the main driving force centred?'

Kay answered unhesitatingly. 'About fifteen to twenty metres above the deck.'

Jetwind crashed into a bigger roller. It felt as unyielding as the Berlin Wall.

'She can't take this sort of punishment very long,' Tideman cautioned. 'Something must go.'

'Stand by,' I ordered. 'Stand by to slack off the fore-course.' Kay looked startled.

'No way,' answered Tideman. 'You can't slack off Jetwind's type of sails. They're fitted to form a single aerodynamic unit from truck to deck.'

'The thrust of the wind so high above the deck is ramming her bows down’ I said; 'Plus the fact that there's no lift for'ard.' 'Plus no stay-sails,' added Tideman. 'What's the size of the fore-course?' I asked Kay. 'About two hundred square metres.'

'That's a lot of sail,' I said. 'It's the sail for the job of lifting her bows if we can get the wind under it and balloon it out.' 'You can't do anything with it…' began Tideman.

'Raise the lower yard ten degrees port and starboard as for cargo loading,' I ordered. 'There's only one way then the sail can go – out like a balloon.'

'My oath!' exclaimed Tideman. 'Whoever would have thought of that!'

Kay grabbed my arm in protest. 'You can't do it, Peter! It'll wreck the effect of aerodynamic efficiency!'

I looked into her eyes. 'There are times at sea when you have to do what the sea calls for, not the wind-tunnel,' I said gently.

I turned away from her puzzled, resentful gaze. 'Carry on,' I told Tideman.

His fingers manipulated the controls. The great yard folded upwards, halted. The heavy dacron billowed. The wind started to get underneath it. 'Give it another five degrees,' I said.

Up went the yard again. Out ballooned the great sail. The next wave rushed at Jetwind with the solidity of a concrete tank-trap. Her bows rose, shouldered aside the water. There was no sickening slam.

Tideman exclaimed, 'You've lifted her bows two feet out of the water!'

The quartermaster was grinning. 'That's done it, sir! She steers like an angel now!'

Kay came close and took me impulsively by the upper arms. Her laugh had some tears in it. 'You're… you're a magician, Peter! You're the best afloat since Woodget skippered the Cutty Sark!' I wanted to kiss her, but a ship's bridge isn't the place.