It cost just over one American penny to ship a can of beer across the Pacific, but with that efficiency came the loss of soul. Lightning-quick unloading and loading made it impossible for Leong to give his men liberty in all but a very few ports. And even then, most of them would not be able to make it past the razor-wire fences that cordoned off the MARSEC area of the docks.
It seemed to Captain Leong that he’d sailed out of one port when sailing had provided him an exotic life of adventure, and then, over the course of that single voyage, while he was not paying attention, it had become a job. Storms like this at least made him feel like a sailor.
And still, the job did have its good points. He did have a few quiet moments to read. The Chinese government frowned on organized religion, but a decade earlier, a zealous dockworker in the Philippines had gifted him a small copy of the King James Bible—and he’d read it many times.
“Better to dwell in the corner of a roof than in a wide house with a brawling woman,” the Proverb said. And when Captain Leong thought about his sniping wife, his life at sea seemed less like the corner of a roof than it actually was.
? ? ?
Leong heard the squeak of the hatch behind him and turned to see Goos, the Balinese steward, enter with a platter of fresh doughnuts. At seventeen, Goos—short for Bagus, meaning “handsome” in Bali—was by far the youngest pair of hands on the ship. In Leong’s estimation, he was also the brightest.
“Captain,” the boy said in English, giving him a polite nod.
“Goos,” Leong said, toasting the air with his Dallas Cowboys mug.
The boy spoke passable Mandarin, but he was attempting to learn English—the international language of commerce—and it helped Leong and his first officer to try to teach him. It was good practice for the times they needed to communicate via the radio with VTS.
Goos held up the doughnuts. “Mr. Hao . . . cook . . . doughnut,” he said.
“Good English,” the captain said. “I like doughnuts.”
Goos smiled. “I like doughnuts.”
The captain closed his eyes to breathe in the heady smell of the fried dough. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a loud pop. At first he thought some piece of gear had fallen outside, but a violent shudder ran through the length of entire ship, as if they’d run aground.
Leong’s eyes shot open. He set the coffee mug in the slot beside his leaning post and scanned the instruments. The depth sounder showed 119 fathoms—more than seven hundred feet. Perhaps they’d hit something. Countless TEUs went overboard each year. Most sank shortly after hitting the water, but some lurked just below the surface like drifting reefs. Perhaps Orion had struck one of them, or even a flotilla of logs. Her hull was thick and made to withstand such an impact, but any strike was reason to worry.
Half a breath later, a massive explosion rocked the aft decks. The bank of windows along the rear of the bridge castle shattered from the oncoming shockwave. Bits of glass peppered the men like a shotgun blast. Leong grabbed young Goos by the collar and dragged him behind the captain’s chair, out of the path of flying debris. First Officer Su was already there.
Outside, heavy containers shot skyward like so many children’s toys, disappearing into the darkness to fall into the sea or crashing back down on the rail to burst and spill their clothing and electronics into the water. Leong couldn’t feel the blood from the wounds running down his cheek, but he saw tiny cubes of shatterproof glass embedded in Su’s face. Goos’s black hair was covered in the stuff.
Windows gone, the gale outside moaned in, whipping through the cabin, lifting papers and ripping away the warmth. The smell of burning plastic and the sharp, acidic odor of molten metal flowed in on the back of the wind.
The aft deck lights had gone dark, but Leong watched in horror as a pillar of white fire five meters wide shot like a geyser from among what was left of the TEUs, illuminating the ship as if it were midday.
The captain looked away from the stunning brightness and clapped his hands to clear First Officer Su from his stupor.
“Call Engineering and get a report,” he said. “There will surely be injuries. Goos, get on the intercom and tell Mr. Huang to stand by in the galley.” Huang had trained as a medic in the PLA Navy and was the closest thing to a doctor on board the ship.
Alarms sounded amid the moaning gale and the shouts of terrified men. Stack after stack of shipping containers listed heavily to starboard. Lashing rods snapped, cracking like gunfire, and the boxes toppled one by one into the angry sea. Wind whipped the heavy black smoke, at once making it easier for Leong to see the carnage and fanning the flames.
The white pillar continued to roar upward from the bowels of the ship.
Warning lights on the console changed from green to red, flashing urgently as system after system failed.
The ship’s intercom broke squelch and the breathless voice of Jimmy, a Filipino deck rating, filled the bridge.
“Captain,” the man stammered in English. “I . . . need help, sir . . .”
Goos reached up for the microphone and passed it off to the captain.
“Where are you?” Leong asked.
“Engineering . . .”
“I must speak with Mr. Duan.”
Leong’s English was good, but in times like these, he preferred to talk to a native of China. Duan was the engineer, the man with the training to understand the questions Leong needed to have answered.
“That . . . that is not possible,” the deck rating said. “Mr. Duan is . . . gone.”
“Gone?” Leong whispered. He put a hand on top of his head in dismay. Outside, containers continued to fall over the rails on both sides and a fearsome groan ran the length of the ship. Leong imagined some awful beast had escaped a TEU and was now running rampant down below.
Jimmy grew more breathless with every word, choking back sobs. “I . . . I was helping him change a filter . . . then it . . .” He coughed, probably from smoke. “There were many explosions from above and then . . . the most terrible noise. Captain, do you believe in Hell?”
“I do not,” Leong said, willing himself to remain calm. It did no good to scream at times like this. He prodded the terrified man. “What happened, Jimmy?”
“A ball of white fire . . . It just dropped.”
“Through the ceiling?” Leong said.
“Yes. From above the compartment just aft of the W?rt.” The rating used the nickname for the engine.
“And Mr. Duan?” Leong whispered.
“He . . . fell, sir.”
“Fell?” Leong gasped. “He is injured?”
“You do not understand,” the rating said. “The fire burned through the deck. Mr. Duan fell into the . . .” The man sniffed, obviously trying to compose himself. “Captain, the deck melted beneath his feet. He is gone.”
“Okay,” Leong said, trying to imagine the unimaginable scene. “Get out of there.”
“I cannot, Captain.” Another gasp turned into a frightened whimper. “The fire . . . it was very bright. I saw Mr. Duan fall, but I cannot see anything. The flames are close. I feel the heat. I will fall if I try to move.”
“Stay where you are,” the captain said. It was no wonder the man was terrified. “I will send someone to collect you.”
“Please . . . hur—”