“Help,” shouts Ahmed, a Syrian doctor. He stands up in his inflatable dinghy, surrounded by 39 other refugees, and calls out to an approaching rescue boat. “We are sinking.”
A few metres away, bursting from the dark cockpit of the orange rescue launch, captain John Hamilton at first hopes that Ahmed is exaggerating.
Ahmed’s rubber dinghy is clearly deflating, but it bobs only a few hundred metres from the crags of the Greek coastline, and at first glance it still looks stable. In this situation Hamilton, a former officer in the Maltese navy, would usually aim to escort the leaking boat to land. Attempting an immediate rescue would risk a capsize in open water, making the situation worse.
“Can you follow us?” Hamilton shouts, emerging into crisp sunshine on the Aegean Sea. “You can go slowly.”
“I can’t, I can’t,” replies Ahmed, who barely needs to raise his voice, so close are the two vessels by now. “The air is going. There is water on board.”
This much is now apparent to Hamilton, who finally has a clear view of Ahmed’s boat. The dinghy is deflating far more quickly than he thought. Its tiller does not respond to the struggles of its pilot, a young medical student with no prior nautical experience. With waves swelling as high as a metre and a half, water laps over the tubes of the boat’s sagging sides. The rescuers have only a few minutes to get the refugees into their own cramped vessel.
So Hamilton changes his plan and turns to one of his three crewmates. “Throw them a rope,” he says, with new urgency in his voice. All 40 Syrians, including a dozen children, could soon be in the turbulent water.
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