A STORM WITHIN

By Christopher Bleach

James Wescotts life was turned into hell in just a few short seconds. Attacked at sea in the middle of night, shot and left for dead, would he ever see his wife again? To answer that question he would have to use all of his strength to surmount the obstacles put in his way. Can he throw of his law-abiding nature and learn to control and use the

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Colin Bleach
• Release date: Jun 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9780987137210

Christopher Bleach

Born in Guildford UK, Chris has been involved with the sea from an early age learning to sail with his brother. After emigrating to Australia with his family, he was involved in fishing and trawling on the Western Australian coast. He then started a 40 year career in Air Traffic Services. Even whilst working in Aviation he continued to be connected to the ocean, diving, fishing and running his own Mussel farm. Now retired, he continues to sail and pursue his love of writing.

Book preview

1

He was drowning.

James' head was exploding with pain, his shoulder burned with agony. Something in his mind told him he was going to drown in this darkness. He would drown unless he did something soon, but what was it?

He was underwater, his lungs were aching to take a breath with an intensity to match his other hurts. God what was it he had to do? He knew he had to save himself from drowning but what the hell did he need to do?

His right hand tried to explore why his shoulder was on fire, but something was in the way, a strap, like a harness. A harness, that was it!

As his lungs convulsed and he began to breath in seawater, his fingers found the inflation toggle and he pulled it with the last of his strength. Too late he thought as the blackness overcame him. Too damn late!

Screams penetrated his consciousness. He was vomiting seawater back into the warm ocean. They were distant screams he thought, and shouting, a man this time, no several men he realised as a gunshot crack interspersed the shouting. Then the woman's screams started again, and as the darkness closed in around his mind he put a name to the woman. Claire he thought, why are you screaming?

Greyness this time, everything was grey. Consciousness returned slowly, as if his body was unwilling to confront the reality of his being alive. It was nearly dawn and he was alone, A part of his mind automatically noted that the wind was south easterly at about ten knots, the seas were about half a metre and there was what looked to be a three metre swell rolling through from the south. A storm somewhere?

No he was not alone, what he had taken to be a star low on the northern horizon was a masthead light. Damn it was HIS masthead light, he was sure of it. The Athena was disappearing without him

Memory returned in a sporadic, disjointed kind of way. As each new thought came to him he endeavoured to arrange them in a sequence that made sense. Kissing his teenage daughter Megan goodbye as he and Claire caught the flight from Perth to Johannesburg. The four days in a wildlife park indulging Claire's lifelong passion of photography.

Taking ownership of Athena straight from her Cape Town builders, Sea trials and sightseeing. Diving naked into clear blue water from the Athena with Claire while anchored in a small bay on the South African east coast. The hurried exit when they had seen an ominous grey fin which had turned out to be a harmless basking shark. The bustle of Durban and clearing customs for the start of their first long leg of the journey home. They had begun the long haul to Mauritius where Megan would be meeting them once her school year was over.

Making love with Claire on the trampoline deck under a blazing sun and serene ocean. The laughter over Claire's discomfort about lying naked even when they were alone from horizon to horizon.

He could not stop the tears, each new memory battled with the screams in his mind, Claire's screams. He had not been there to protect her. He had failed. His last words to her parents came back to mock him, nothing will happen to Claire as long as I live, I promise Well that was yet another thing Margaret could resent him for.

As the sun rose and his memories started to return, waves of pain went through him. The golden sunrise faded into blackness once more.

With the return of consciousness came the return of pain. As his memory of the night’s events returned, the pain inside him was far greater than the pain from his head and shoulder. He gradually became aware it was afternoon already, the sun having long passed its zenith and was on is way down again towards its western grave in the ocean.

Slowly logical thought came back to him. Between the waves of nausea, he gingerly explored the bits of his body that hurt the most. There was a deep furrow across his temple, now crusted with dried blood, and his head was pounding relentlessly. The hole in his shoulder was odd though, it was almost as if he had been shot.

The thought triggered another wave of memories, the sudden glare of a searchlight, the roar of a big diesel motor going to high power and the barking, spitting venom of an assault rifle on full automatic from only thirty metres away. The punch in the shoulder which threw him backwards across the Athena's cockpit and the slam into his head as he toppled over the rail into the water below.

Claire had saved him he realised. What he had started to think of as her incessant nagging about the safety harness had saved his life. He could hear her voice saying to him many times since the trip began. Please darling, lets not fight about this, we both agreed the rules are that if we are on deck alone, or the weather is above state four we wear the harnesses. She had always been a lot more self-disciplined than him, but in the end, he knew the truth of what she was saying. Last night he had hesitated as he reached the steps from their berth, turned, and retraced his steps to the peg on the bulkhead before she had had a chance to say anything. Gathering the harness with one hand he had bent and kissed her gently on the lips, gone out on deck with her murmured goodnight, call me if you need me following him up the steps. Truth was he hated anything which led to harsh words between them, he still loved her just as much now as the first time he had kissed her nearly twenty years ago.

The storm which had forced them so far north off course over the last few days was abating now. The wind was steady in the southeast and about eighteen knots he guessed, still with a heavy sea stirred up by the storm but slowly dying down. He guessed it would be quite calm by the morning and he would be able to let the reefs out of the sails in a few hours.

He did a quick circuit of Athena, taking care to clip his harness to the lifelines as he moved about. All the rigging had stood up well and he was proud of their Athena, even though he knew that they had avoided the worst of the storm by far. He had experienced far worse weather than the last few days, but he was happy, nonetheless. The South Africans built good boats he thought to himself as he checked the operation of the automatic sheet releases. The fear of every catamaran sailor was a knock-down. Unlike a monohull, if a catamaran like Athena went over it stayed over forever. The automatic releases let the sheets run if the hull reached thirty-five degrees of lean, to spill the wind from the sails and allow her to stabilise. He regained the cockpit satisfied that all was well, although he made a mental note to himself to check the tensioning of all the standing rigging once they had some calm weather.

Back in the cockpit he noticed the Passive Radar Receiver blinking every few seconds. Athena was well kitted out with a full range of electronic navigation and safety equipment, and the PRR was letting him know that another vessel's radar was sweeping over them. He checked to make sure the transponder was operating, sending back an amplified signal so the other vessel would be sure to notice them on their screens.

A transponder was a good investment since a Glass Reinforced Plastic or fibreglass boat like Athena did not have much of a radar signature, even with radar reflectors in the rigging. He switched the active radar on to standby mode, then, as the kettle was on the boil to make himself a black coffee he scanned all around both with naked eye and then with binoculars.

Satisfied that there was no ship within eyesight, James turned his attention to the radar, switching it to active. The PRR showed only that another radar beam was sweeping over them, and the transponder made sure any other ship with radar would see them at a great distance. Now the Athena’s own radar was sweeping the seas to locate and identify the other vessel. This of course used considerably more power and James ducked his head into the saloon to check the battery state The batteries had plenty of power in them even if he had to use the radar all night, he thought to himself. Even though there had been no sun hitting the solar panels for two days, the little wind generator had been doing its job. Good he thought, he did not want to have to start the diesel generating set and wake Claire.

Back in the cockpit with the hot coffee beside him he focussed on the radar. With the weather moderating he would probably have at least a thirty-mile range he thought to himself, considering the radar unit was a third of the way up Athena’s towering mast.

Great, he thought, watching the return from the unknown ship out there in the night. It was not very large judging from the return. At first he thought it might have been another yacht, because it had a transponder operating. After studying it for a minute or so he was satisfied it was going to cross his course about thirty plus miles in front and crossing Athena’s course from left to right. Since Athena was making good a course of zero four zero degrees, or roughly northeast, at around nine knots, he figured the unknown target was making good a course of about east at fifteen knots. He did not even need to consciously think of working it out, twenty-five years as an air traffic controller made it an automatic process in his mind to arrive at the end picture. That speed probably meant the unknown vessel was a fishing vessel. A transponder was a good investment for any small vessel working offshore in the deep ocean. He doubted if he would have seen it in all the storm 'clutter' on the radar screen without it.

With a last look at maximum range to make sure there was nothing else to be seen he switched the active radar back to standby, With his watch alarm set he would check again to be safe in an hour. The radar did not draw too much in the standby state, better to have it ready to use than have to wait for it to warm up later.

He was glad Claire had let him sleep this afternoon, he had stayed awake for almost thirty hours through the storm, even though, he admitted wryly to himself Claire was nearly as good a helmsman as himself in any but the worst of weather. It was now sufficiently calm for the auto pilot to handle it,

Claire was very capable at most things, better than him at some. What she did not have though was the instinctive feel for the boat, the almost prescient knowledge that allowed him to meet the swing before it began, and when to let her fall off the wind a little. Much as she loved the sea, Claire was not a natural sailor, more of a power boat person. Claire sailed like she did most things in life, with determination. Persistence and high intelligence making up for any challenges brought about by lack of innate ability. James thought of when they had first met, after the breakup of his first disaster of a marriage.

Claire had been the most unlikely match, primarily since he had determined never to re-marry, never to bare himself to the possibility of such pain again. Strikingly attractive and more than ten years younger than himself, he had for a long time only thought that they were destined to be friends. That there would be more was not a possibility in his mind, he had often wondered what Claire could possibly see in himself. He had believed in their friendship for a long time before he had dared to think of love. Time, and the growth of trust and strength in their relationship had finally convinced him to take the next step, although he was still surprised when she said yes.

The one blight on the otherwise happy life he had shared with Claire was the loss of what was to have been their second child when Megan was four. James had not even been there when the miscarriage had happened. Claire had had to deal with it by herself. He had only got to her side when it was all over and she was recovering in hospital. The pain in her eyes had brought him to his lowest point ever.

Until now.

He was going to die here, he realised. If the sharks did not pick up his scent and come in for a feed, then it would be a slow and painful death from exposure or thirst. Nobody was going to find him out here, a hundred miles or more south of the southernmost point of Madagascar. He was alone in an empty ocean as darkness was falling. Nobody would even be looking for him. Nobody would be on their way to help Claire. He had failed. Failed Claire, and everybody else who loved him, and they would never know. He did not want to think of Claire, of what her screams in the night had meant.

His mind continued to wander, to muse on the previous night’s events. They must have waited for him of course, got onto his track and shut down their radar, turned off their transponder. Waited for him to sail to them unsuspectingly. He had seen what he had expected to see when he had turned on the radar again, an hour after first seeing them. He had seen nothing. He fumed helplessly. How many times had he drummed into young controllers he was training that they should NEVER see only what they expect. There had been that one possible return twenty miles out, there for one sweep of the radar. He should have kept looking at it and then maybe he would not have sailed so blindly into the trap. At very least he would have had some warning that another vessel was closing with him. But instead, he had shut down the radar, confident there was no danger since the PRR had stopped blinking.

His anger, at himself and at the faceless persons who had taken Claire, grew even more intense than the still throbbing head and burning shoulder. It was pointless, he realised, his anger was pointless unless he survived. How could he find his wife and his boat if he died out here in this God forsaken ocean?

He forced himself to take stock. Ok, he had his shorts and shirt on; one deck shoe had fallen off. His mind wandered to buying the yachting deck shoes in Cape Town. Claire's giggles as they realised that neither of them had spent that much on a pair of shoes ever in their life. Oh God, this was too hard. Every thought now was bringing back the pain of what Claire might be going through at this moment. If she was alive. He felt sick to realise that he was actually starting to hope she was dead, and not going through any of the other possible horrors which were filling his mind with despair.

GET A FUCKING GRIP ON YOURSELF! he screamed pointlessly out to the dark and empty ocean. The silence mocked him.

He explored his wounds once more. The pounding headache remained but perhaps was a little better. The wound in his shoulder was worse. There was no exit wound in his back, so the bullet was probably still in there. Well, at least I won’t be alive long enough to die from lead poisoning, he thought wryly. There seemed to be some harder bits around the entry wound. He tugged one of these free, producing a renewed burst of pain which left him gasping for a full minute. He held it up to the light of the crescent moon which was now low on the western horizon. Glass? Plastic?

He looked at it in confusion for a few moments. Slowly he realised what he was looking at was a shard of the light which had been attached to the shoulder strap of his harness. It had a battery which activated upon immersion in water, to provide a light for attracting attention. The bullet had shattered it. That probably explained why it had not gone straight through his shoulder he thought, though he was not sure if that was a good or bad thing.

The harness! You fucking useless idiot! he screamed at the empty ocean as he realised how stupid he was. You deserve to die because you are a complete fucking moron! He was wearing the very best in yachting safety harnesses. In addition to having the inflatable life vest that had saved him from drowning, it also came complete with its own knife on a lanyard, signalling mirror, water bottle and personal Emergency Locator Transmitter! And now he had wasted nearly a whole day because he had been too busy wallowing in self-pity to think.

James reached around to the small of his back and released the ELT from its pouch. He flicked its switch and was rewarded with the steady blinking of its LED, showing that it was operating. He released it to float as it was designed to do, at the end of a three metre cord, allowing it to use the water's surface as a ground plane for better signal strength.

It was one of the new 406 megahertz ELTs, encoded with an identifier which would let the authorities know who it belonged to. He thought for a while. He was pretty sure this part of the world would get an ELT detection satellite pass at least every two or three hours, if not more frequently. The authorities would contact the Australian Maritime Safety Authority, with whom he had lodged his details when he had registered the EPIRB (Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon) and ELTs for the Athena. But how quickly could he expect the powers that be in Madagascar to respond? He assumed they had an air force of some description, but whether they had helicopters or navy vessels, he had no idea.

He had a few sips of water. Strange, now he had at least some chance of being rescued, he was feeling frightened of what was to come. The sound of Claire's screams tormented him. The moon had set, and the blackness came upon him with a vengeance. His mood alternated between self-pity for what he had lost and hatred for the perpetrators of his misery. The only constant was his fear for Claire. That never left him.

It suddenly occurred to him that if they got his ELT signal, then somebody would ring home, and Megan, wonderful, sweet Megan, would be told that something had happened to her parents. Megan was the best of both himself and Claire, but how would she cope with such terrible news? He started to pull in the ELT to switch it off, but then stopped. If he was not found, if he did not live to tell somebody, nobody would ever know what had happened to them. Would that be any easier for Megan to bear? At least if they found his body they would be able to surmise some of what occurred, give Megan and the families some degree of closure.

All through the night he battled with his demons. At some point during the night, he reached a determination. If he lived, then he would find his wife. He would find Claire and make things right again. He swore a solemn vow to himself, and to whatever gods were listening; he would find Claire or die trying.

2

Dawn had come and gone, and his hopes had gone down just as steadily as the sun rising high into the sky.

As he fumbled to take another sip of his dwindling water, he was suddenly aware that he could not move his left arm anymore. Even with the small wavelets produced by the dying breeze lapping at his shoulder, it felt hot, and a growing area around it was agonising to touch.

He was losing, he realised. He was losing his fight to live. The waves of physical pain were amplified by the despair in his heart, as all the ‘if only’ questions kept coming back to mock him, eating into his soul, and sapping his will.

If only he had left the radar on active, surely he would have been suspicious of the changing motions of the, what were they? Pirates? If only, when he had finally turned the radar back on, he had not been frozen in disbelief as his mind registered the target right at the very centre of the screen. If only he had not wasted valuable time flicking down through the range settings, even as his eyes assured him there were no lights to be seen under the blanket of cloud that made the darkness impenetrable. If only he had not stood rooted to the spot as he had heard that motor for the first time.

If only he had even thought to go into the saloon and gather the shotgun and semi-automatic 9mm handgun he had acquired in Durban. He pictured the guns and ammunition, which were hidden in the secret compartment behind the bulkhead panelling, along with all the ships papers and their passports.

In his saner moments, he knew he was kidding himself. He knew how to shoot of course, but he was no soldier. Even if the weapons had been in his hands, he knew that the outcome would still have been the same. It would not have been in him to fire first, for fear of it all somehow being an innocent mistake. Maybe firing first was the only thing that could possibly have saved them? But could he have done it? Shooting at a human being was a lot different to killing a fox.

It would be different now. Claire's screams had changed that. If only he had the time again, he knew he would kill whoever he had to, if it would keep her safe.

Time passed slowly in partial delirium, as his damaged soul tried desperately to cling to happy memories of his life with Claire and Megan.

More often than not, as if to mock him, it was the failures that his tortured mind showed to him. The small, seemingly insignificant things that had slowly eroded the vitality of his marriage.

This voyage was to have been the renaissance of their love, the time to repair all the small cracks that creep into all relationships that are not nurtured carefully.

He had never stopped loving her, had never even contemplated infidelity. But he had finally realised that he was not taking enough time to tell and show Claire how much he loved her.

It was with shame that he remembered that evening nearly a year ago now. She had shocked him to the core with a quiet statement as they had sat enjoying a glass of wine together on the patio of their property. Her You don't respect me anymore, do you James? had come like a lightning bolt from a clear blue sky, shocking him with both its intensity and its unexpectedness.

It had certainly shaken him, he reflected. Until that point, if anybody had asked him, he would have said their marriage was rock steady. God, all their friends thought they were a perfect couple. If it came to that, HE thought they were a perfect couple. She was the only woman he could imagine growing old with.

He responded with a flash of resentment of course and had initially put it down to hormones or a bad day for her. As the days passed though, he had realised that she was right. Over time, he had stopped listening to her quite so intently. The events of her day had gradually become of less interest, and her opinions were not sought with the same degree of candour.

It had not been a conscious thing, he knew that, just as he knew Claire understood that also. It was simply that, over the years, he had allowed other things to become more important. He had become tired and complacent. He had become used to her faithfulness, her innate calm and ability to cope. To the point where he had begun to appreciate it a little less, just because it was so normal.

It had been a very tender moment some weeks later, when he had at last accepted the truth of her simple statement. They had talked through the night, made their peace and began to plan their lives together anew. James had felt the subtle change between them, as the oneness which bonded them from the start returned. That oneness, which he had not even noticed disappearing, filled them both with fresh hope and love. They had talked all through the night as