It was a little after 11:30pm. The sea was quiet. Cpt. Smith politely having drinks with some of the first class passengers so the rest of the crew was piloting the mighty vessel. I noticed some of the crew moving rather quickly around the deck. Apparently they were relaying a message from the lookout. A young seaman entered the bridge.
“There is an iceberg directly ahead. Plenty of time to turn but we need to do it now.” He said to the first officer Mr. Murdoch. Mr. Murdoch nodded and quietly began relaying orders. I didn’t know the ramifications of not doing this quietly but I had learned my lessons about Smith at this point. He gave the order to the man behind the wheel. He nervously turned to Murdoch.
“He will feel it. You know he will.”
“We have no choice. Just do it slowly.” He began to slowly turn the wheel. Even on this cold night I could see the nervous sweat forming on his brow. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife.
“Alright lads.” Said the F/O. “We have to make this turn. At all cost! You know what to do”.
The men began grabbing items like ores and actually ripping up pieces of the deck to use as weapons. The F/O pulled out a pistol and I saw him nervously check to see if it was loaded maybe three times. Surely even with the captain fury this couldn’t be necessary.
“You best arm yourself, mate.” Said one of the seamen. “He doesn’t like going off course. Even in the slightest… and he hates icebergs with the fury of thousand bearded dragons.” He stared off as if remembering a trauma from times past. I was trying to wrap my thoughts around the absurdity of this situations when I heard a man scream. Not cry out. Not yell. Scream. A terrified scream of a living being facing Mestophales himself. Decks below I could faintly hear one of the officers shouting orders to his men through their cries and the cracking of bone.
“Hold fast lads…reinforce that door…retreat and hold there, he mustn’t reach the bridge…AHHHHHHHH!!!!!
The entire ship seem to shake. I looked out and thought we had hit the iceberg. Then I relied it was from the ruckus beneath. The shouting died out. There were a few more thumps and what sounded like the groaning and cracking of splintering wood. Then, the footsteps. Slow. Ponderous. Each one getting slightly closer. Everyone on the bridge crouched at the ready. Then I saw him. Right foot first of a perfectly polished shoe. Dressed smartly in his white uniform and not a mark on it. He beard looked extra full as he stood looking around the bridge. Hand behind him. It was only then on his right sleeve I noticed the smallest blood stain. If it wasn’t fresh I would have mistaken it for a bit of wine. He began walking in slowly and addressed the first officer who had his right hand in his pocket on his revolver.
“Mr. Murdoch. I couldn’t help but notice that the ship seems to be turning. Is there a reason for this?”
“Well sir, I thought we had begun to slowly drift off course so I decided to steer to port as part of a correction. A quick jaunt to the left for the next few min then back straight we go.”
“Hmm. I didn’t think we were off course at all judging my taint tingle. Do you doubt my taint tingle Mr. Murdoch?”
“No sir, of course not sir.” Said the first officer.
“I don’t want to have to show it to you again Mr. Murdoch but I will.” Replied the Captain.
“NO! No sir. Completely unnecessary.”
“Good, because I…” Something caught the Captains eye on the horizon. I followed his gaze. There I saw it to our right. The iceberg. Perhaps a mile or so ahead. Luckily we had steered out of its path. The captain kept staring. Mesmerized. His beard seemed to be breathing, or growing. Perhaps it was just my fatigue. The F/O approached him slowly.
“Just a piece of ice, Captain. Smaller than it looks really. Not even…” The Captain threw a lightning fast backhand right to the jaw of the first officer. He collapsed unconscious. Before the first officer had hit the ground Cpt. Smith delivered a kick right to the chest of the man behind the wheel sending him across the bridge.
“RAMMING SPEED!!” He shouted as his words bellowed across the sea. He threw the throttle as far forward as it would go, grabbed the wheel and began turning towards the iceberg. Two big sailors were on him in a flash. I was stunned. Cpt. Smith was fighting like a mad man and was beginning to escape their grasp. I jumped in him as well followed by two more sailors. His strength was incredible. His brandy soaked beard was rubbing across my face feeling like the wool of an iron lamb. He was able to get a foot free and kick one of the sailor hard in the groin. He dropped like a sack of potatoes carried by the stinking Irish.
“The wheel! Someone turn the Wheel!” One of the sailors shouted. The Captain was slipping from their grasp. I realized when I stood up that he had coated himself in lard from the kitchen. I also couldn’t help but notice his manhood seemed to be fully aroused and was straining against his uniform pants. I looked away quickly and grabbed the wheel only to be kicked in the knee sending me to the deck . The pain was terrible. I looked back to see the Captain bite the nose off one of the sailors like and rabid beast and in a flash he was on his feet. He delivered a punishing right to one of the few men left. I heard his jaw collapse under the force. Instead of coming for me he ran towards the cabinets in the back. I turned and began spinning the wheel back to port. All of a sudden my left hand was hit by a shattering whiskey bottle the Captain had thrown. I looked up to see him charging. The front of his uniform soaked with whiskey. A shot rang out. The captain dropped right in front of me. I looked back. The first officer was groggily getting to his feet, pistol in hand. He opened his mouth to speak when I head a whooshing sound go by my head. A shard of broken glass flew into the first officers mouth and knocked him back. He dropped his gun chocking on the glass and blood. I looked to see the Captain standing up throwing down a flask he hand in his breast pocket which had stopped the bullet. I leaped for the gun. The captain spun the wheel. I turned to fire but he was on me. We struggled for the gun his greasy hands having a hard time getting a grip. I was able to get him off me and I jumped to my feet. I almost fell asunder due to the pain in my knee but was able to get my balance. I aimed the gun at the Captain.
“Sir. I regret to inform you that I am forced to relieve you from duty.” I said gasping for breath. One of the sailors had gotten to his feet and was turning the wheel. I turned back to the Captain.
“Why sir? Why all of this? How could…” he cut me off.
“A life at sea is a hard one. It…can change a man. After a while you realize that it’s just too late.” Said the Captain through sad eyes. I felt for the man as I knew the stress of a life on the worlds ocean. However, as the ship groaned I realized he was talking about the iceberg. The sailor couldn’t turn in time as his cut into the side of the ship. The Captain stood wearily. Or drunkenly. I kept the gun trained on him as he went over to a coat closet and pulled out a fresh shirt and jacket. He slowly began to change into them without a word. The ship had come to stop. A few silent minutes had passed. We were trained to take orders from the Captain and perhaps we were still waiting for them like an abused dog. We received word that the lower decks were begging to flood. The Captain stared out at sea stroking his beard.
“Begin rousing the passengers.” He said “Prepare for general evacuation. This ship is sinking.” Automatically we began to move. I stopped myself, gun still in hand. He just stared at me. What would I do? In this hour of crisis we needed our Captain. Arresting him would only add to the confusion. I lowered my weapon.
“You did good tonight Lad. You could be a Captain someday” said Cpt. Smith with a knowing smile. I felt a wave of pride wash over me. I knew it was wrong but couldn’t shake it.
The next few hours were chaos. Many of the crew had been dispatched by the Captain earlier in the night. We had trouble controlling the passengers and getting them to the boats. The ship eventually began sinking at a rapid rate. I returned to the bridge. Cpt. Smith was still at the helm looking across his dying ship.
“Sir. We need to get you to a life boat.” I said. The question entered my head of what would happen to this man once we got to shore. He looked back at me and said nothing. I realized he wasn’t going anywhere. He would go down with the ship like an honourable sailor. I nodded and saluted him one last time. Then he puked. So much. His entire meal that night and huge quantities of alcohol. It was unreal. He then tried to salute me but fell in it face first. He began to claw for one of the bottles of alcohol near him. Unable to get to his feet.
That is how I left him. Covered in his own vomit, beard soaked in alcohol and the contents of his stomach. I was able to get on one of the last lifeboats as crowded as it was. To my disbelief people were talking about the heroic captain staying at his post and his calm leadership in the Titanic’s dying hour.
“You sir.” Said one of the passengers. “What was it like serving under such a man?” I didn’t have to think.
“Truly an honour sir. Truly an honour. “ I replied. I reached into my pocket and felt something. I pulled out a greasy prophylactic still in its package. The Captain must have slipped it in my pocket during our struggle. On the back he had written “From Russia with love. Signed – Dr. No”. I nodded and returned it to my pocket. I would abandon the sea when I returned home and write spy novels.
-Ian Fleming
June 1927