"Wake all the lads. We need to dump the cargo." Since they were close, Seaman heard Becker give the order to the boatswain, who had just come up on deck.
The boatswain had been startled by the sudden fog. Hearing the captain's words, he thought he was still dreaming. "We're not short on supplies. There's no need to—"
"Get everyone up. Dump the cargo, and wake the first mate while you're at it. I know he just went to bed. Tell him to get up if he doesn't want to sleep at the bottom of the sea." The hand gripping the wheel trembled slightly from the cold. Becker repeated the order, and an inexplicable sense of urgency spread from him to everyone on deck.
"Seaman, go keep an eye on the stern. Don't let them crowd together."
Even old sailors could sense the wind picking up; the captain was bound to be more sensitive to it. The experience he'd gained from years at sea told him better than anyone that their current speed wasn't nearly enough—not compared to the speed of that thing closing in.
Dumping the cargo was a decision he'd already made. They needed to go faster, even if it meant losing months of effort and a vast amount of supplies. If necessary, they could sacrifice more.
They didn't need to know what it was. When something whose visible portion stood higher than the masts was closing in, what it was no longer mattered.
The boatswain's good habit of obeying the captain without question got him moving. The groggy sailors were roused, then given an order they couldn't understand. They were herded en masse down to the hold to haul out the cargo they'd finished stowing only two days earlier.
The first mate climbed onto the deck, clutching