Jon Merz - Raider X

Which meant an extra few hours to do the deed, Thatcher decided. Good. He could get everything into place in the meantime and not have to rush through this. Rushing, as he’d learned many times in his past, was the best way to make mistakes. Slower was better when it came to capers like this and he intended not to make any errors. His own life was on the line.

With Raider X standing just offshore, he could get the explosion accomplished and then slip overboard. If the ship sank, it would do so in relatively shallow water — perhaps no more than one hundred feet — but it wouldn’t matter at that point: Thatcher had accomplished what Hewitt had demanded. If not in the way that Hewitt had initially visualized, then at least to the letter of the law. Thatcher couldn’t be faulted for not sinking the damned ship in thousands of feet of water where it couldn’t be salvaged. Even though he doubted the Germans would bother launching a salvage operation in Tenerife.

He crawled into bed and turned off the light, laying there for several more minutes, replaying the scenarios in his head. He went through each of the steps in turn, from stealing the high explosive round to lobbing it into the engine room down near the keel. That was the best he was going to be able to do. He suspected that once he removed the safety device on the shell, it would explode on impact provided he threw it high and far enough within the compartment.

Hopefully, the blast didn’t kill him in the process.

Schwarzwalder’s schnapps once again failed to do anything to guarantee Thatcher a good night’s sleep, however, and he found himself once more tossing and turning despite his best efforts to get rest. This time, instead of fighting it, Thatcher got up, but kept the light off, and dressed. He stalked toward the cabin door and put his ear against the door to listen. He could hear nothing and wondered if there actually was a guard outside of his room or not. He risked turning the knob and found that it was locked. But interestingly enough, no one from outside his cabin came in after he rattled it once or twice. Where was his guard?

Thatcher bent down and examined the lock as best he could in the darkness. It was a simple latch system that he could pick in seconds. He glanced around the cabin and found a pen with a clip that he removed and then worked into a useable shape. Then he slid it into the keyhole, carefully raked it against the lock, and heard the distinct pop a few seconds later.

Thatcher removed his improvised lock pick and slid it into his pocket. Then he squeezed and turned the door knob, cracking the door as he did so. A bit of fresh air swept into the room and Thatcher peered through the crack out into the hallway. It was the first time since he’d been aboard Raider X that he’d actually felt like he had freedom.

He stepped out into the hallway, glancing in both directions, but saw no indication of his guard anywhere nearby. Thatcher pulled the door shut behind him and then stalked to one end of the corridor. The ship was quiet even though a skeleton crew would still be manning all the duty stations. Outside on the deck, Thatcher saw one of the gun emplacements and looked around. No one was nearby. This was his chance.

Thatcher stole up to the emplacement and peered to the side, finding one of the shells. He picked it up, then turned and headed back to this room. This was the thing he needed to hopefully send Raider X to the bottom. Now he just had to conceal it somewhere.

He heard voices to his left, hushed but not too distant. He felt his heart rate kick up another notch and hurried back into the corridor where his cabin was. If anyone spotted him now, the gig would be up. He was holding a large shell and would have to answer questions as to why he was. Thatcher put it out of his mind, and stumbled a bit down the hallway toward his cabin door.

Behind him, he heard the voices louder now. Was it his guard? He had to hurry.

He reached the door, opened it, and slid inside.

But just as he did so, he heard the voices outside. It was his guard, which meant the Thatcher couldn’t re-lock his door at the moment without alerting the man. So instead, Thatcher crept across his cabin, hoping he didn’t trip on anything in the dark. He knew that he could hide the shell under his berth and it would be reasonably safe there provided he could keep the cylindrical round from rolling about. He would need to wedge other stuff against it to keep it from moving around. If something knocked against it and managed to release the safety, it could blow up right underneath Thatcher.

He frowned. Hewitt would get a two-for if that happened. Raider X might not sink and but Thatcher would be dead. Thatcher shook his head and continued stowing other gear against the shell. When he was finished, he felt a measure of relief at having managed to gain access to an explosive round he could use. He just had to keep it concealed for the next twenty hours. Only time would tell if he was capable of doing that or not. He hadn’t seen any indication that someone entered his room when he wasn’t there, but that could always change.

He was about to remove his clothes and try to sleep again when he heard a shout outside of his room. Quickly he got up and moved to his door. The voices on the other side were muffled but insistent. Thatcher couldn’t make them out aside from someone imploring the other to come with them.

Without thinking, Thatcher opened the door.

Steinkopf stood there with another man. They both looked at Thatcher in surprise.

Steinkopf nodded. “You’re awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” said Thatcher. “I was about to ask you if I could take a walk when I heard the commotion.”

Steinkopf frowned and seemed to be weighing something. Finally, he just motioned for Thatcher to come with them. “Another one of the crew is missing.”

Thatcher frowned but followed them both as they hurried down to the next deck. Thatcher recognized they were heading toward Cyra’s cabin. By the time they reached there, Schwarzwalder and several other sailors were already there. Schwarzwalder crouched on the floor and seemed to be examining something. He glanced up, saw Thatcher and looked about ready to yell at Steinkopf but instead motioned Thatcher over.

“The guard outside of her door is gone.”

Thatcher frowned. “When?”

“We don’t know. The man who was supposed to relieve him came down on time and found no one here.”

Thatcher eyed the cabin. “Has anyone been inside?”

Schwarzwalder stood and shook his head. “We only just got here.”

“What’s on the ground there?”

Schwarzwalder pointed. “It would appear to be a smear of blood, judging by the smell of it. But just a drop.”

Thatcher squatted and saw what Schwarzwalder had been looking at. Given the state of the engine room on the previous night, the fate of the missing man seemed fairly predictable. He stood again and looked at the cabin door.

“Knock?”

Schwarzwlader shook his head. “I’m done knocking.” He looked at one of the guards and asked for his pistol. The guard handed it over and Schwarzwalder chambered a round before taking the key and inserting it into the cabin lock. He turned the key and then stepped back.

As Thatcher watched, Schwarzwalder chambered a kick and then exploded forward into the cabin with the pistol at the ready.

Thatcher was inside immediately after the Captain, anxious to get a glimpse at whatever sight might be awaiting him within.

The cabin was empty.

Schwarzwalder lowered the pistol and shook his head. “She’s gone as well.”

Thatcher sniffed the air. He knew the smell of blood and it cloyed to the air of the cabin. Schwarzwalder must have smelled it as well because he frowned and then turned to the men that were assembled there.