Pirate - Duncan Falconer [73]
She glanced at him between strokes. Suffering. Exhausted.
He dumped his paddle on the deck and hurried to the engines. She struggled to give him those precious extra seconds he might need, the thought of landing back on that beach more than enough to inspire her. She fought against the awesome power of the waves, putting all she could muster behind each stroke. Her life would be better spent dying of exhaustion trying to escape than getting captured again.
Stratton tilted both engines so that the propellers dropped into the water and squeezed the bubble valves on the fuel tubes attached to fill the carburettor chambers. When the bubble valves had hardened, indicating the fuel was all the way through the lines, he grabbed one of the starter cords and pushed the gear lever into neutral.
When he had planned it, he would be far out to sea before he started the engines. That advantage had evaporated. He had to get at least one of them going now or they were screwed. Stratton knew a bit about outboards, as he should have done being in the SBS. Both engines looked like they had recently been used, which helped his confidence, but not by a great deal. They were old and there was probably no great abundance of spare parts for when they went wrong. Somali fishermen often engineered the most extraordinary techniques for maintaining their engines, many of which would defy the understanding of those who had designed and built them. He prayed that no such method or technique was required to get either of this pair going.
He took a firm grip of the toggle and, as a large swell struck the boat, yanked it. The engine clattered as its working parts ground against each other but it didn’t fire. No indication at all that an internal combustion of any kind had taken place.
The girl looked between him and the engine as she continued to row as hard as she could, snatching a glance at the sandy beach behind her.
The starter return spring was obviously broken and Stratton quickly ripped the cowling away to expose the guts of the motor. He spun the starter cable housing around until the toggle was all the way home and yanked hard on it again. The motor sputtered a little before dying. It was a spark of life, like a tiny glowing ember, though not enough. It showed a potential for life. But that was not enough.
‘Stratton,’ she called out, a warning in her voice.
He could clearly hear the waves breaking on the beach. If they got caught in the surf without the engines, it would be over. ‘I know,’ he said. A wave broke over the front of the boat, barging it brutally closer to the shore. One more like that would see them in the surf and overturned.
Stratton rewound the starter head and yanked it hard again. The engine burst into life. He grabbed the throttle and twisted it fully, aware that such a violent increase in power when it was so cold might stall it. But he had no choice. Without a burst of power right then, it would all be over for them. The engine responded and revved loudly without the cowling to smother some of the sound. Smoke spewed from it. He slammed it into gear and the revs dropped as the prop shaft clunked heavily. The propeller engaged and spun in the water.
The boat lunged forward. Stratton turned it sharply to face the next oncoming wave, which was almost upon them. They rose up over it as it slammed into the bottom of the hull. The nose dropped down into the trough and the propeller came out of the water for a moment, screaming shrilly as its revs increased.
The boat levelled off and accelerated away from the beach. Stratton’s thoughts immediately went to the cargo ships and the beach. The Somalis had to have heard the noise. They would guess who it was. It was unlikely any fishermen were out at sea, certainly not at night in this weather. He could imagine fighters leaping up and sprinting down the beach.
‘Take it!’ Stratton shouted.
The girl dropped the paddle and hurried to obey. She grabbed hold of Stratton’s hand that was gripping the throttle and