West from Singapore (Ss) (1987) (16 page)

Jim stared at the depth gauge as the needle flickered past 200. 250-300-350"Maybe we've missed the outlet," Arnold said. "You would think of that," Jim growled.

The pressure was building up at a terrific rate. He tried to see something, but the water around was black and still.

Four hundred!

"If it's anywhere, it'll be pretty quick now, William," Jim said. "If it isn't, we're dead pigeons."

Four hundred and fifty!

"Do you suppose your crew got to that bunch upstairs?" Major Arnold asked.

"I'd bet my life on that. That bunch of fighting fools never misses."

Five hundred!

Nothing but blackness and the close, heavy heat of the sub. Then he saw it suddenly-the outline of an opening illuminated by the powerful light of the sub. Slowly, carefully, he eased the sub into the blackness.

"Like floating down a sewer," Jim said aloud.

"I wouldn't know," Arnold said. "I never floated down any sewers.'

Suddenly they were out, and then they were rising.

"This bay isn't deep," Arnold said, "so we haven't far to come up. When we went down we were up in the mountains. So stand by that torpedo."

"Thar she blows!" Ponga Jim said suddenly. "About two points on the bow. Stand by while I run this crate in a little bit. I'm going to give her both barrels. I thought these babies only carried one torpedo, but they have two!"

And with that he released both torpedoes. All was quiet, then The shuddering impact of the explosion made them gasp for breath. Then, a split second later, the second!

"Two strikes, William!" shouted Ponga Jim. "Come on, we're heading for the Ibu River and the Semiramis at top speed. We hit the Copenhagen one forward and one aft. She won't float ten minutes!"

Ponga Jim ran shaky fingers through his hair. Suddenly he realized that he was sitting in trousers soggy with blood. "William," he said, "those Nazis clipped me. I'm shot."

"Where?" Arnold yelled.

Jim looked down. "Nuts! I was just sitting in a paint bucket!" There was silence for a moment, and then Arnold spoke up:

"Honest, Jim. Have you been out with Kitty? What's she like?"

"She's wonderful!" Ponga Jim said, grinning. "Why, Kitty is Red fluid cascaded over him. "Hey!" he roared, blinking. "What did you throw at me?"

"The rest of the paint bucket," Arnold said grimly.

*

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Most of the stories in this collection were written before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. The Netherlands East Indies, as they were then called, were a valuable prize. Japan's move into that area had not begun when the first stories were written, but it began soon after, and only a few small warships were available to protect the islands. Aside from a wide variety of other useful products, the Indonesian islands offered an easy supply of oil, as well as tin, most of which came from Malaysia, just to the north. My first trip into the region was as a seaman on a freighter carrying pipe and drilling equipment to Balikpapan, in Borneo.

These were the islands Columbus was trying to reach when he sailed west from Spain.

Contrary to popular tradition, he did not have to convince anybody that the world was round. All those to whom he talked already knew that. The reason he was refused help was that his estimates of the distance he had to sail were based on the mistaken figures of Ptolemy, which made the world much smaller. In Portugal, for example, the people he approached were perfectly aware he could not reach the Indies in the time projected.

A crisp voice at Ponga Jim's elbow said: "Captain Mayo?" Ponga Jim turned. His white-topped cap with its captain's insignia was pushed back on his dark, curly hair, and his broad, powerful shoulders stretched the faded khaki coat.

Colonel Roland Warren could see the bulge of the .45 automatic in its shoulder holster, and there was disapproval in his eyes. From the woven-leather sandals to the carelessly worn cap, Ponga Jim Mayo was anything but what he believed a ship's captain should be.

"I'm Mayo," Jim held out his hand, "and you'll be Colonel Warren? Nice to have you aboard."

Warren nodded. "My men will be along directly. May I see their quarters now? Will their cabins be amidships?"

"Sorry, Colonel, but they'll have to bunk in the 'tween decks. We don't carry passengers as a rule and only have three cabins available. Two of them are occupied. I'd planned to put you and Captain Aldridge in the other."

"The 'tween decks?" Warren was incredulous. "My men are officers, I'll have you know, and-"

"Sorry," Jim repeated. "Officers, men, or gods, they ride the tween decks or swim.

You'll have to remember, Colonel," he added drily, "that this is wartime. People don't get what they want. They take what they get."

"Very well." Warren's blue eyes were frosty. "However, you had no business taking passengers aboard for such a trip. The Admiralty won't approve.

I suppose you know that?"

"Colonel Warren," Jim said quietly, "for all I care the Admiralty can go to blazes.

My first duty is to these passengers." The flyers were coming aboard, a pink-cheeked, healthy lot, all except two in their late teens or early twenties. These two turned toward the bridge. Ponga Jim's eyes sharpened.

The men were both as tall as Ponga Jim himself, and one of them was as heavy. He was a powerfully built man with rustyred hair, freckles, and a scar along his jawbone.

His nose was broken and slightly askew. His manner was cocky, aggressive.

He stepped up to Mayo with his hand out. "Hi, Jim!" he said, grinning. "Long time no see."

Mayo's eyes brightened.

"Ring Wallace!! I haven't seen you since China!"

The second man watched them with interest. He was wiry, handsome in a dark, saturnine way, and there was something crisp and efficient in his manner.

"Captain Henry Aldridge," Warren said, "my second in command. "

Aldridge bowed from the hips, smiling.

"How are you, Captain? I've been hearing some interesting things about you. That Qasavara affair, for instance."

"Yeah," Ponga Jim looked at him with interest. "It was an ugly business. But I never look for trouble, I just take care of what comes over my way."

"I hope," Warren said drily, "that you won't find it necessary to indulge in any of your freebooting expeditions on this trip. I can't say that we Britishers approve of pirates!"

"No?" Jim said quizzically. "Ever hear of Sir Francis Drake?"

Warren started as if struck, and his eyes blazed. Then his face flushed, and he spun on his heel and went below. Ring Wallace grinned and winked at Jim.

"He's all right. Just needs a little seasoning. He's a good man, Jim."

Aldridge studied them both carefully. "I think Wallace is right," he said then. "Colonel Warren is a good man. But I think we Englishmen and Australians have a little to say about freebooting, eh, Mayo?"

Jim looked at him curiously. "Which are you? You don't have the lingo, somehow."

"Australian," Aldridge said. "From back in the bush, but educated on the Continent."

Slug Brophy and Gunner Millan came up to the deck. Jim turned to them.

"All set, Skipper. Number five battened down, all standing by fore and aft," reported Slug.

"Then send Selim up to the wheel and let's get out of here." He watched his mates go, one forward, one aft. Selim, his dark, pockmarked, knife-scarred face cool and expressionless, came to the wheel.

"You've an odd crew," Aldridge said. "Quite a mixture." Jim nodded. "Selim and Sakim are brothers. A strange contradiction themselves. Afridis from the Afghan hills who went to sea. Used to be smugglers on the Red Sea and down the coast of Africa. Big London is from the Congo. Lyssy is a Toradjas from the Celebes. Tupa and Longboy are Bugis. Boma is a Dyak. They are a mixture. And all fighting men.

"The Gunner there," he nodded aft, "did ten years in His Majesty's Navy. Brophy was in the American Marines, went to sea, and then was with me in the Chaco and in China."

"What about your passengers, Captain?" Aldridge asked politely. "I haven't seen them around."

"You won't," Ponga Jim replied shortly. He stood by with a megaphone, directing the movements of the ship. When the tug was cast off, he took her out himself, watching the endless panorama of Singapore harbor, the hundreds of ships of all sizes and kinds, the white houses, red islands, and dark green foliage.

Sakim came up the ladder with a yellow envelope. "A message, Nakhoda," he said, bowing.

Jim ripped it open. It was terse, to the point.

PROCEED WITH CAUTION. BELIEVE RAIDER INFORMED OF EVERY ACTION. ARMED MERCHANTMAN

OF TEN THOUSAND TONS OPERATING IN INDIAN OCEAN. YOU MAY HAVE ENEMY AGENT ABOARD.

ORDERS HAVE GONE OUT YOU ARE NOT TO REACH THE RED SEA. LUCK.

ARNOLD.

Jim passed the message to Brophy and Millan. "William's on the job," he said. "Looks like our work's cut out for us."

Millan looked aft thoughtfully. "I don't like that Warren," he said. "Could it be him?"

"Might be anybody," Jim replied. "Not necessarily a German. A lot of people who don't see beyond the surface think dictatorships are best. They forget their supposed efficiency is because they censor news of mistakes, or shoot them. Warren is Australian, but he might be that kind of person. On the other hand, there's Wallace."

"You and him have always been on opposite sides," Slug suggested, "maybe-"

"We've got to keep a weather eye on them all," Jim said. "But the main job will be getting to the Red Sea. At least one raider has us marked for sinking, and we've got thirty planes aboard and twenty-three flyers, to say nothing of two passengers and some munitions." Jim's jaw set hard and his eyes narrowed. "And we're going through if we have to sink a couple of pocket battleships!"

Day in and day out the Semiramis steamed south by east, through Banko Strait, around Sumatra, and through the Straits of Sunda and into the wide waters of the Indian Ocean. On deck and on the bridge there was an endless watch.

On the after deck, the two 5.9s painted to resemble booms and further disguised with blocks hooked to their muzzles, were never without a crew. The gun crews slept on deck in the shadow of their guns, ready and waiting.

Still the Semiramis headed south and a little west. The shipping lanes for India and the Red Sea fell behind. The lanes for the Cape were further south. When they reached the tenth parallel, Ponga Jim changed the course to due west.

Twice, Ring Wallace came to the bridge. His face was grave and his eyes hard. He said nothing. Each time he looked pointedly at the sun, indicating to Mayo that he knew they were off the course for Aden, but Jim ignored him.

It was the day he changed course to due west that Colonel Warren came to the bridge.

His eyes were cold and suspicious. "I want to know what you're doing this far south," he demanded.

Mayo started to speak sharply and then shrugged. "Come here," he said patiently.

He stepped into the chart room. "Look," he pointed to the chart. "We're off our course, but we're on a better one. How much shipping have you seen in the last couple of days?"

"Why, none," Warren said, puzzled. "What has that to do with it?"

"Simply that if there's a raider active, he'll stay close to the shipping lanes.

Looking for us down here would be like looking for one particular fly in Dakar. But when we turn north-"

"But we're south of any possible help," Warren protested. "And what about the radio?

Sparks tells me you've ordered no messages to leave the ship, no reports, nothing."

"Right. Radio makes a trail. My orders are to get this ship to my destination on the Red Sea. I'm going without convoy. This is my ship, and I'm going through."

Warren hesitated and then went below, but he was not satisfied. Ponga Jim rubbed his chin and looked after him thoughtfully.

The tension mounted daily. Everyone watched the horizon now, when they weren't watching the blank, unspeaking doors of the two cabins. But the passengers remained unseen.

The steward went to them with one guard, and neither man would talk.

Ring Wallace, pointedly wearing a gun, had taken to idling about the deck amidships.

The R. A. F. men were uneasy. Only the crew of the Semiramis seemed undisturbed.

One night Ponga Jim got up, slipped on his coat, and casually checked the load in his automatic. It was habitual action, born of struggle and the need for a gun that was ready. Then he picked up his cap and stepped toward the door.

"Hold it."

Mayo froze. That would be Wallace. He turned slowly to face him. Ring was just inside the opposite door, his face grim. The gun in his hand was steady.

"Why the artillery?" Jim asked mildly.

"Mayo," Ring said slowly, "I've known you for about ten years. We ain't seen things eye to eye, but a good part of the time you have been nearer right than me. This time, I ain't so sure."