Alan Evans - Thunder at Dawn

Garrick, telescope to his eye, said quickly, “U.S.S. Kansas , sir. She was reported in these waters. Brand new, her first cruise. Rear-Admiral Donoghue.”

America was still neutral.

Smith grunted. “He rates a salute. See to it.”

Aitkyne said softly, “By God, what a ship. Twenty-one knots and thirty-odd thousand tons.” ( Thunder was twelve thousand.) “Twelve fourteen-inch guns and twenty-two fiveinch.”

“And one of those fourteen-inch shells weighs half-a-ton.” Smith grinned at him. “So if they look our way, smile.”

The salutes rolled flatly across the basin, Thunder rode to her anchor, the port medical officer came and went and Cherry came aboard. He was short and dapper, dabbing at his round face with a handkerchief.

He held out his hand. “Cherry. Delighted to meet you, Commander. Only wish in the circumstances — your Captain —” He shook his head then fished an envelope from his pocket. “Telegram for you, coded.” And as Smith passed it to Knight: “Can we talk?”

Smith led the way to his cabin on the upper deck but not before he growled an aside to the plump and pink-checked Midshipman Wakely. “Ask Miss Benson if she’ll be good enough to join us in my cabin.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Wakely shot away.

Cherry asked, “Did you say Benson? Would that be Sarah Benson?”

“It would.” Smith’s tone was neutral. Once in his cabin he told Cherry how he had brought the girl aboard. “You understand, I must make a report. I should have reported to the authorities ashore immediately after the incident but in view of Miss Benson’s position — I thought it best to see you first.”

Cherry nodded. “I’ve been worried about that girl. Had no word from her for a week. I recruited her when the war started and she’s the best agent I have but I feel a special responsibility for her. I’ve known her a long time. Her father came out to South America from Wapping ten years ago. He works on building harbours, a foreman. He started in Argentina and later moved over to this coast. So Sarah speaks Spanish and Portuguese like a native and she learnt German from a ganger who boarded with the family for two years. On top of that she’s clever and brave, sometimes too brave for her own good and my peace of mind.” He thought for a moment then shook his head. “Say nothing. Report to the Admiralty, of course. I will do the same in confirmation. But say nothing to the Chileans and I’ll lay the Germans will keep their mouths shut. They can’t make things awkward for us without exposing their own involvement and they don’t want the Chileans lifting any rocks.” He grinned. “Any more than we do.” The grin slipped away and he pulled at his chin. “So they won’t say anything about that business. But one thing they have done already is to lodge a complaint with the Chileans about Sarah and now the Chileans want to ask her about her activities and possible involvement in espionage. We can’t have that so she can’t go ashore.”

Smith protested, “But this is a warship not a liner! If she can’t go ashore then she must be put aboard a British merchantman.”

Cherry said apologetically, “That would be a good idea. Unfortunately, for once there isn’t a British ship in this port.”

Smith glared at him. This coast swarmed with British shipping but it was his bad luck to find a port without a British vessel. Cherry scribbled in a notebook with a pencil and tore out the page. “If this could be given to my boatman, Francis, to give to my wife urgently.”

There was a rap at the door and Sarah Benson entered. Smith scowled past her: “Here, Mr. Wakely.” He passed him Cherry’s note. “For Mrs. Cherry and it’s urgent.”

Sarah Benson said emphatically, “Damn!” as Cherry explained why she could not go ashore.

Smith said stiffly, “A warship is no place for a lady but we’ll try to make your stay as pleasant as circumstances permit.” He swore at himself for being pompous but this girl forced him to it.

She thought he could not understand the life she’d led these past three years. Besides, she was not a society hostess, not a Lady. She laid the cockney on thick. “Well, it’s not my fault I’m a woman. What do you want me to do? Swim ashore in me shift and give meself up to keep your ship a virgin?”

“Sarah! Please!” Cherry was embarrassed and annoyed. He had sensed the atmosphere of hostility and was baffled. What had got into the girl? “The Captain is right. He should not have to accept responsibility for you in this ship. And I’m certain you were glad enough to come aboard her.”

Sarah was silent a moment, then: “That I was.” It came quietly. She looked up at Smith. “I’m sorry. I’ll try not to be a nuisance.” It was an apology, no more, justice being done.

Smith inclined his head. He saw she wore a medallion, a large gold piece that hung on her breast from a fine chain around her neck. Her hand went to it. “It’s very old. My father found it and gave it to me. For luck.”

Smith thought it was barbaric.

She said bitterly, “I’m not sure if it works.”

But Smith looked at Cherry. They had wasted enough time. “You sent for me.”

Cherry glanced from one to the other then got down to business. “I believe we have a contraband runner in this port. When Miss Benson passed through on her way north she remarked on a ship that had just arrived. She was Argentinian, a seemingly ordinary tramp of three thousand tons but fitted with modern wireless .” He paused for effect and Smith’s eyebrows rose. Fitting wireless was expensive, and unusual in that class of ship to say the least. Cherry went on, “I asked our people in Argentina about her, the Gerda she’s called. She was one of a pair bought by an Argentinian firm only three months ago and fitted with wireless. This is their first cruise. Their skippers and crews, every manjack are of German birth or extraction and the money for the ships came from German funds in the Argentine. That last can’t be proved but it’s known.”

He paused for breath and Sarah Benson beat Smith to the question. “You said a pair?”

Cherry nodded. “The other is the Maria . I made enquiries and found she was at Malaguay.” A port a hundred and fifty miles to the south of Guaya. “The Gerda has laid here for nine days. She hasn’t discharged her cargo and she claims to have engine trouble which her own engineers are working on. I asked Thackeray and he confirmed that the Maria is telling the same story there.”

Smith asked, “Thackeray?”

“Consul in Malaguay.”

Sarah Benson said caustically, “You’d have to ask him to confirm. He’d do nothing on his own. He doesn’t want anybody stirring up the water in his little pool.”

Cherry said, “It’s my belief they’re just waiting while a cargo of nitrates is arranged for each of them. Then they’ll discharge and mend their engines quickly enough.”

Smith asked, “What are they carrying now?”

“Welsh steam coal, both of them. But it’s nitrates they’re after, I’m sure of it.”

It could well be. Munitions needed nitrates and Germany needed munitions.

Cherry said, “I’ve protested to the Chileans, of course, but there is a large German element in the population and they have a deal of influence. The Chileans say that I’m only voicing suspicions and have no evidence that the ships are really German. They said there were unusual aspects, particularly that there were a pair of ships but that these probably had a simple explanation. Like coincidence. Coincidence !”

Smith said, “It would seem to have a long arm in these parts. So they won’t intern them nor send them on their way.”