Tom Smith - The Secret Speech

The coal engine began to splutter. Leo turned back to assess the damage. The engine had to be kept running. Addressing the remaining prisoners, he called out for help:

— We have to keep the coal dry and the fire fed.

The convict leader reentered the engine room, snarling:

— If they don’t free us we’ll smash the engine.

Leo shook his head:

— If we lose power the ship can’t navigate, it will sink. We need the engine to keep working. Our lives depend upon it.

— So do theirs. If we cut the power, they’ve got to talk to us— they’ve got to negotiate.

— They will never open those doors. We smash the engine: they’ll abandon ship. They’ve got life rafts, enough for them and none of us. They’d rather let us drown.

— How do you know?

— They’ve done it before! Aboard the Dzhurma ! Prisoners broke into the store, stole food, and set fire to the rest, the rice sacks, the wood shelves, expecting the guards to come rushing down. They didn’t. They let it burn. All the prisoners suffocated.

Leo picked up a shovel. The convict leader shook his head:

— Put it down!

Leo ignored him, shoveling the coal, feeding the engine. Neglected, it was already markedly cooler. None of the other men were helping, waiting to see how the conflict played out. Assessing his opponent, Leo wasn’t convinced he could overpower him. It had been a long time since he’d fought anyone. He tightened his grip on the shovel, preparing himself. To his surprise, the convict smiled:

— Go ahead. Shovel the coal like a slave. There’s another way out.

The convict grabbed a second shovel and climbed through the smashed partition wall into the prisoner hold. Leo stood, uncertain whether to continue shoveling or follow the man. Within moments the clamor of steel smashing against steel rang out. Leo rushed through the gap in the partition wall, returning to the gloom of the hold. Squinting, he saw that the vory was at the top of the stairs, using the shovel to land blows against the deck hatch. To an ordinary man such a task would be futile. But his strength was such that the hatch was beginning to buckle upward, arching under the pressure. Eventually the steel would tear. Leo called out:

— You break the hatch and water will flood in. There’s no way to close it again. If the hold fills up the ship will capsize!

Standing at the top of the steps, pounding the hatch with colossal force, the convict sang out to his fellow inmates:

— Before I die, I’m going to be free! I’m going to die a free man!

Seemingly tireless, he was denting the metal hatch, targeting each blow where the previous blow had landed.

There was no way of knowing how much longer until the hatch was broken. Once broken, it couldn’t be repaired. Leo had to act now. Fighting him alone would be an impossible task. He needed to enlist the help of the other prisoners. He turned to them, ready to rally them:

— Our lives depend on…

Leo’s voice failed to rise over the clanging steel blows and the storm. No one was going to help him.

Compensating for the rocking of the ship, Leo lunged for the bottom step, steadying himself. The convict had twisted his legs around the steel frame of the stairs, fixing himself in position as he continued to thunder blows against the hatch. Seeing Leo climbing toward him he pointed his mangled shovel at him. Leo’s opponent had the higher position. The only chance would be to take out his legs, bringing him down. The prisoner took up a defensive position, angling the shovel back.

Before Leo could reposition himself bullets punched through the hatch into the convict’s back. His mouth full of blood, the vory looked down at his chest, perplexed. The storm shook him free from the top step, throwing him down. Leo dodged out of the way, letting the man crash into the water. More bullets punctured the hatch, zipping past Leo’s face. He jumped, landing in the water, out of the line of fire.

Leo peered across. The vory was dead, lying facedown. A new danger had been created. The hatch was crisscrossed with bullet holes. Water was pouring in, a dense shower every time a wave broke over the deck. If they couldn’t fill those holes, the water level would rise and the ship would capsize. It was essential that Leo climb the steps in order to plug the holes. The ship continued to be tossed from side to side, water gushing in through the hatch. The water level in the hold was rising, splashing onto the cooling coal engine. Leo couldn’t wait any longer. The ship was already struggling to right itself. He had to act now.

Leo stripped the clothes from the dead convict, ripping them into rags. With thick streams of water soaking him from the damaged hatch he tentatively put his foot on the bottom step, ready to climb up. His life depended on the intelligence of the unseen guard.

EUPHORIC, GENRIKH CLUNG to the gun turret, waves breaking around him, as though he were riding the back of a monstrous whale. Because of his bravery the convicts’ attempted escape had failed. He’d saved the ship. From a coward to a hero in one night! Earlier, inside the tower, hearing the battle erupt between the guards and the prisoners, he’d taken refuge in the crew quarters, cowering. He’d seen his friend Iakov run past and he’d done nothing, remaining hidden. Only once he was certain that the convicts had lost, that they’d been beaten back and the ship was secure, did he emerge, belatedly understanding the different kind of danger he was in. The surviving crew would accuse him of being a deserter. They’d hate him as the previous crew had hated him. He’d be condemned to another seven years of isolation. Bleak with despair, redemption had landed in his lap — the clang of steel against steel. He’d been the only crew member to hear the convicts smashing the hatch. They were trying to seize the ship from the deck. The hatch had not been constructed to withstand sustained attacks. Normally no prisoner would dare touch it for fear of being shot. In the storm, however, the gun turret was unmanned. This was his opportunity to prove himself. Rejuvenated by the prospect, he’d run across the deck from the base of the tower to the gun turret. He’d taken aim and fired at the hatch. Giddy with excitement he’d cried out, firing a second and third volley of bullets through the hatch. He’d stay out here for as long as the storm lasted. Everyone in the tower would witness his extraordinary courage. If any convict tried to break through, if any convict even came near the hatch, he’d kill them.

STANDING IN THE BRIDGE, choked with rage at Genrikh’s stupidity, Timur couldn’t allow him to fire another volley into the hatch. The ship was low in the water, the captain barely able to pull up over the waves. If they took on any more water they’d sink. The storm showed no sign of abating. Timur knew, as the others did not, how much water had already flooded the vessel when he’d opened the outer doors. Having saved the ship from the convicts, he now had to save it from a guard.

Running down the flights of stairs, he braced himself before throwing open the door to the deck. Wind and rain whipped around him as if personally insulted by his presence. He closed the door behind him, hooking himself onto the safety wire. The distance between the base of the tower and the gun turret was perhaps fifteen meters, a clear stretch of deck — if he was caught by a wave crossing that space he’d either be slammed into the side of the deck or taken out to sea. His safety cord would count for little, dragging him along in the sea like fishing bait until the line snapped. He glanced at the bullet holes in the hatch. Something caught his eye: a rag pushed up — plugging the hole. Genrikh was lining up another shot.