nets. The shock waves from the bombing raid might have swept the fishing nets down the river.
Mondulkiri catches a glimpse of the nylon nets. He tries to swerve away, but he turns too late. The boat goes through the fishing lines.
The engine roars. The boat jerks violently and throws Mondulkiri off his seat. He glances over his shoulder and sees nylon nets tangling around the propeller. He shakes the steering handle frantically, yelling at the top of his lungs to his brother, “We ran into the nets. I need help!”
Ratanakiri stops bailing the water. He grabs a bamboo pole and tries to push the nets away from the boat.
More bombs blast into the river. The boat pitches and plunges, dragging the nylon nets along with it.
A huge chunk of driftwood slams against the bow. With a mighty crash, the top deck falls away. Cargo flies around in all directions. A teak wood chest tips over. Its contents spill out.
Savanna spots a one-meter long scythe with curved metal blade and wooden handle next to the teak wood chest. She cries out to Isan who is busy emptying the water out, “Isan, get the slasher to Mondulkiri and help him free the propeller. I’ll take over!” She tosses it to her husband.
As Isan seizes the scythe by its handle, something with a tremendous force slams into the boat on the right side. The boat rocks dangerously and tilts on its left side. Isan stumbles back and forth, but he manages to stay upright.
After a moment, he figures out how to balance himself and makes his way around to the outboard engine, where Mondulkiri and Ratanakiri are struggling to free the blades.
A powerful explosion erupts right behind them, sending the boat up high as if into the sky. And then down it crashes with a slide, flying, leaping across the river at incredible speed.
The boat rides over the swells, skimming, bobbing on the surface of the water like a piece of flotsam from a shipwreck. Without a break another trio of B-52 bombers roars overhead.
About five hundred meters dead ahead, three bombs explode and throw the boat off its course. Within seconds, towering waves pitch their boat toward the churning maelstrom of a great whirlpool.
Losing their wits and looking as pale as two ghosts, Molly and Money are transfixed with horror, unable to function. In terrified shrill voices, they scream hysterically at the same time, “We’re sinking! We’re sinking!"
The fraternal twins cling to each other weeping. “Oh God of our first ancestors,” they pray in unison, “please come and save us.”
“We’ll outrun this!” Savanna shouts out from the bow. “Get up and take your positions!” She slides the oars from the front section of the boat to her friends who are sitting at the middle deck and orders, “Row! Come on, help us bring the boat to shore!"
Ordinarily she is not the kind of person who would raise her voice at her friends, but seeing them paralyzed with fear, she feels it is necessary to give them direction. Her ability to lead in time of danger surprises her as well. In some manner that she cannot understand, her survival instincts seem to manifest in full force. She keeps screaming at her friends in terror, telling them to pick up the oars.
Panic-stricken, Molly and Money seize the oars and start to row, but their clumsy efforts have little effect. Their hands are trembling and their knees are shaking. It seems like they have forgotten how to row the boat. Normally, these two women are excellent rowers. In the local contest, they have ranked as the best rowers among women in the village. They have held that title for the last three years in a row.
Savanna turns to her friends. Seeing them struggle to stand on the slippery rolling deck, she leaps for the oar and gives them instructions, “Keep your feet apart, look straight ahead at the pointed bow and row! We need to get the boat away from the pool before it pulls us down! Come on, collect your senses and stay focused!"
The oars slip out from their hands and land on the slippery rolling deck. Money's and Molly’s faces are blank. They look as if they have gone into a trance. Fear seems to have paralyzed them. They don’t even know how to hold the oars.
“Money! Molly!” Savanna cries out at the top of her lungs, trying to get their attention, surprised by the force of her own voice. “Pick them up, now!” she shouts louder. “Come on, grab those oars!”
The screaming works this time. Somehow Savanna’s voice hit the keynote in her friends’ minds. The two sisters gain control of themselves. They grasp the oars and put them into the rowlocks.
Together with Savanna as their leader they row for their lives. With fifty deft sweeps of the oars, the three women pull the boat away from the whirlpool.
But the next moment, several bombs drop into the river about seven hundred meters before them. The boat rocks violently and drifts sideways toward the swirl.
At the stern, Mondulkiri and Ratanakiri are still wrestling with the engine. Mondulkiri cranks it up. It rattles for a short moment, then dies out. Mondulkiri beats the engine with his fist trying to dislodge the fishing lines, while Ratanakiri keeps pushing the nylon nets away from the boat with the bamboo pole.
The boat careens round and round, spinning in the sickening motion. It drifts closer and closer to the edge of the maelstrom. Now it begins to tilt on its side and the water starts to pour into the boat.
Savanna, Molly, and Money scramble for buckets and start to bail as fast as they can.
Leaning overboard, Isan seizes the nylon nets and slashes them apart with all his might.
Finally, the propeller breaks free from the fishing lines. The boat bobs back, lurches, and wallows in the raging river.
Despite the rough turbulence of huge waves and strong currents, the boat remains afloat. It is well built and properly trimmed, and so far it has ridden the swells without difficulty.
Just as they begin to recover from the shock waves, another bomb explodes on the starboard side about six hundred meters away from them. Instantly, a great wave of water splashes into the boat and throws them off their feet, tearing the buckets away from their hands, sending barrels and bushels into the foaming river.
They struggle to get up, but fall helplessly to the bottom of the boat, rolling back and forth as bombs continue to explode all around them.
Mondulkiri screams to Ratanakiri, scrambling for something to hold on to. “Throw me a line.”
Ratanakiri manages to grab a white waxed cotton sash rope from the teak wood storage chest and tosses it to his brother.
Mondulkiri attaches the rope to the rowing post. He clings to the rope as the boat pitches and plunges through the treacherous water.
Tobacco crates fly overboard. Water lilies, lotus, sugarcane sticks, corn, anything that’s unsecured is gone. The once crowded deck now is empty, except for the people.
There are several leaks on both sides of the boat. Water quickly rises to their knees. They keep on bailing frantically.
Mondulkiri, the captain of the boat, squeezes himself through to restart the engine. He pulls the string, the engine roars back to life on the first attempt. He makes a sharp turn and shoots off toward the shore at top speed, riding the swells expertly.
As they are about to reach the shoreline,
