Десмонд Бэгли - The Spoilers

Tozier might have given Eastman a chance out of pity, but Eastman slammed back the door amid a cloud of steam and came out shooting. Tozier squeezed the trigger and the sub-machine-gun roared noisily in the confined space but could not drown the ear-splitting high-pitched whistle of escaping steam. Eastman was cut down before he had gone two steps and was thrown back to lie across the open threshold of the torpedo room.

The shriek of steam stopped. Parker said, ‘He stood it for two minutes, longer than I expected. Let’s see if he did any damage.’

Tozier lowered the gun. ‘Yes, let’s get rid of the damned stuff.’

Parker halted abruptly. ‘That be damned for a tale,’ he said violently. ‘Those are weapons we’ve got in there. We can use ‘em.’

Tozier’s jaw dropped. ‘By God, you’re right. I must be crazy not to have thought of it myself. Check the torpedoes, Dan; I must get this organized.’ He ran off down the corridor and climbed the vertical ladders to the forecastle. He was just about to step on deck when someone held his arm.

Take it easy,’ said Metcalfe. ‘Or you’ll run into a bullet. Look out there.’

Tozier cautiously looked past the door frame and saw the Stella del Mare very close. He ducked back, and said, ‘Hell’s teeth! She’s right alongside.’

‘There’s a ship not far away, but it’s getting further away every minute. Jeanette’s waiting for a clear horizon.’

‘Parker’s had a thought,’ said Tozier. ‘He wants to torpedo her.’ He grinned at Metcalfe’s expression. ‘Of course, he was a sailor — the idea came naturally to him.’

‘It should have come to me, too,’ said Metcalfe. There was a wicked glint in his eye. ‘I’d better relieve Hellier — this is going to take better ship handling than he’s capable of. Does Parker want help?’

‘He will. You’d better tell Hellier to go and help him. I’ll give Johnny the word.’

Tozier went below to the engine-room and found Follet sitting by the telegraph, a gun in his hand and his eye on an engineer officer who was inspecting a dial. He had to raise his voice to be heard as he brought Follet up-to-date.

‘Son of a bitch!’ said Follet admiringly. ‘You mean we’re going to torpedo her?’

‘We’re going to try.’

Follet looked at the sweating plates close by. Beyond that thin steel shell lay the sea. ‘If anything happens — any trouble — let me know,’ he said. ‘I’m a good swimmer, but I’d like a chance to prove it.’

A grim smile came to Tozier’s lips. ‘What odds are you offering now, Johnny?’

‘All bets are off,’ said Follet. ‘But we did the right thing, I know that. It’s just that even if you have the edge you can’t win them all.’

Tozier punched him lightly on the arm. ‘Keep this junk pile working. Tom will be wanting to manoeuvre.’

He went forward to the torpedo compartment, and before he entered he dragged the body of Eastman aside. ‘Everything seems all right,’ said Parker. ‘Eastman didn’t mess around in here.’ He slapped the side of a torpedo. ‘I’ll need help wi’ these. Two are already in the tubes, but I can’t slide these in on me own.’

‘Hellier’s coming down,’ said Tozier. ‘He’s the beefiest.’ He turned. ‘Here he is now. Dan, let me get this straight. We just punch the buttons — is that it?’

Parker nodded. ‘There’s one set on the bridge an’ another in the crow’s nest; you can use either. But you’d do better in the crow’s nest — there’s a sightin’ telescope up there.’

‘I’ll get back up top,’ said Tozier. ‘The fun will be starting.’

He nodded to Hellier and went away. Hellier said, ‘What do I do?’

‘Nothin’ yet,’ said Parker stolidly. ‘We just wait.’ He looked up. ‘If you’re a religious man you could try a prayer.’

Tozier found Abbot and Warren at the stern. Abbot was lying flat on the deck and peering cautiously around the corner of the deckhouse at the Stella del Mare. He drew back as Tozier touched him on the shoulder. ‘They’re doing something with that thing at the stern.’

Tozier took his place. Three or four men were busy on the after deck of the yacht, stripping away the canvas to reveal the elongated barrel of the cannon. One of them sat on a seat and turned a handle and the barrel rose and fell; another seated himself and traversed the gun, then applied his eye to the sight. Tozier would have given his soul for a good rifle; he could have knocked off all of them before they could get away.

Further forward others were preparing the machine guns for action and he distinctly saw a drum of ammunition being put in place. He withdrew and looked astern. The ship they had passed was a mere blob on the horizon surmounted by a smear of smoke. He stood up and called penetratingly, ‘Tom — action stations!’

The reply from behind the canvas awning was muffled. ‘Aye, aye, sir!’

Tozier drew Warren and Abbot away. ‘The port side won’t be too healthy from now on. It’ll be best to lie flat on the deck on the starboard side somewhere behind the bridge. We’re going to try to torpedo her and Tom’s in command; he has to be because he must point the ship at whatever he’s shooting at.’

‘But the firing buttons are on the bridge,’ said Warren.

‘Yes,’ said Tozier. ‘That’s where the fun comes in. Mike, you stay back here and keep in touch with Tom — you pass the word forward when he’s ready to attack. Nick, you’ll be with me. When the word comes you make for the bridge and try to get at the buttons.’

Warren nodded and wondered momentarily what part Tozier had picked for himself. He soon found out because Tozier nodded to the derrick. ‘There’s another set of buttons at the top of that. That’s my job in case you can’t make it to the bridge.’

Warren looked up at the horribly exposed crow’s nest and moistened his lips. ‘Suppose you can’t make it up there?’

‘I’ll be past caring by then,’ said Tozier easily. ‘Someone else will have to have a go. Let’s get set.’

He and Warren crouched in cover on the starboard side and waited. When it happened it came suddenly and shockingly.

From where he sheltered Warren could see the rear of the bridge and, to the accompaniment of a din of rapid explosions, it began to disintegrate. Bright points of light danced all over it as the cannon shells exploded with ferocious violence, and the wheelhouse was, in a moment, reduced to a shattered wreck.

There was a thump above his head and he looked up to see, incredibly, a piece of glass driven into the teak coaming. Flung from the wheelhouse it had spun murderously towards him and struck with its razor sharp edge to sink an inch deep into the hard wood. Had his head been lifted another few inches he would have been decapitated.

He dropped back into safety just in time as the cannon fire swept aft. Shells exploded on the deck and splinters of planking drove all about him, one cutting through the hem of his jacket and tearing a jagged hole. Above the deeper roar of the cannon came the light chatter of the machine guns and bullets ripped through the deck-house as though the walls were of paper, and he grovelled on the deck as though to dig himself into it.

The firing was heard four miles to the west by the young skipper of the Lebanese patrol boat which carried Jamil Hassan. He turned to Hassan and said, ‘Gunfire!’

Hassan made an abrupt gesture. ‘Faster — go faster.’

Warren cautiously raised his head as the monstrous noise stopped and everything was as quiet as before, with just the steady beat of the engines and the lapping of the bow wave. He looked up at the bridge and was horrified at the mass of wreckage. He had a sudden vision of the puppets which Metcalfe had constructed, dancing like marionettes on their strings as the bullets and shells drove through and among them until the roof caved in.