The Dock Crane – Part 1: Channel Nine

"Crane four, this is pilot boat Sophie."

"Sophie, crane four. Go ahead."

"Good morning, crane four."

"Good morning, pilot boat."

A pause. A crackle. "It's a very good morning," said the voice, warm and slightly amused.

Anouk smiled to herself in the cab. She was thirty-one, a crane operator at the Rotterdam container terminal, forty metres in the air, in a narrow glass cabin with a joystick, a thermos and a view of the entire port. Below her, the Maas flowed grey and wide, dotted with tugs and barges. Gulls wheeled around her window. The sun was just rising.

The voice on Channel Nine belonged to Jesse, a harbour pilot. She had never seen his face. But for three months, every morning at six, he had said good morning, and every morning she had looked forward to it.

"Crane four, what's the weather up there?"

"Clear. A little wind from the west."

"I'm bringing a big one in at seven. The Ocean Star. Can you take the first stack?"

"I can take the first four."

"Good." A beat. "I like working with you."

She kept her voice steady. "Same."

At seven, the Ocean Star slid up the channel, enormous and slow. Anouk lifted the first container, red, forty feet long, swung it clean through the air and set it on the dock without a bump. Radio static. Then a low, warm laugh.

"Perfect," said Jesse.

"I know."

At noon, she climbed down the long ladder, rubbing her aching shoulders. A man stood at the base, hard hat in hand, grinning. He was thirty-five, tall, broad, with kind brown eyes, a pilot's blue jacket and a sunburnt nose.

"Crane four?" he said.

"Pilot boat Sophie?"

"Jesse."

"Anouk."

They shook hands. His was warm and rough.

"Can I ask you something?" said Jesse.

"Yes."

"Do you want to have coffee? On the ground?"

"Green?" she said, a channel signal.

"Green," said Jesse, beaming. "Very green."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Night Shift.