The Jack Finney Reader

by Jack Finney

  "Suits me," I said, nodding; I knew what he meant.

  Vic appeared now, relieved at the radio by Linc, Moreno at the rudder wheel below, and he climbed out onto the deck and stood looking around the horizon, There was always someone up here now, and none of us spent much time on deck without turning to study the southwest horizon. I wandered to the stern and stood looking off toward the almost-invisible shore, and after a moment Vic joined me. I glanced up at him, and his eyes were happy. Quietly he said, "I promised you adventure, Hugh, and now we're going to have it; no one in the world has ever done what we're going to."

  I nodded and said, "Yeah." I wasn't really agreeing; it wasn't worth it to me if I died or went to prison for what we were about to do, but I didn't argue it.

  Maybe five minutes later Moreno relieved Lauffnauer in the tower, then called to me, and I turned. He was holding Linc's white British chief's cap in his hands, thumb rubbing the ornate gold-embroidered cap ornament. I came over, and he held it out to me. "Linc sent this up," he said. "Better start wearing it now." I put it on; I was to wear it because it wouldn't fit Vic or Frank. It was the only scrap of actual uniform we had, but in our sweaters and navy-blue pants, Vic, Frank and I looked like submarine personnel at sea anywhere.

  Some twenty minutes later I was back at the engines, Vic was at the rudder wheel in the control room and Linc at his radio. Moreno was in the conning tower, Lauffnauer and Rosa on deck. Suddenly Line's voice — raw with excitement — called through the ship. "I'm getting her!" he yelled. "Straight voice transmissions, loud and clear!"

  Vic yelled — a wild and triumphant "Yahoo!" Then he shouted to Moreno. "Permission to leave the wheel, Ed! We can drift now!"

  "Yeah, come on up!" Moreno shouted back, and I shut down the engines, then ran through the ship and clambered up the ladder.

  They were clustered around the conning tower, staring to the southwest. Then Moreno, binoculars raised, shouted loud enough for Linc to hear below, "Smoke on the starboard bow!" We stood motionless, staring, for a minute or more. And then there it was, just the tiniest unevenness, a faint alteration in the ruler-straight line of the southwest horizon, and I became aware of the steady pound of my heart in my chest. Through several long seconds we stood staring, and once again Linc called up excitedly; my eyes were narrowed, straining to see, then I blinked, and as my eyes opened again the speck was perceptibly larger, and Moreno lowered his glasses. "That's it," he said quietly, and now we all moved our heads turning to search one another's faces, and I don't think there was one of us who didn't wish that somehow we were anywhere but here.

  "Transmitting steadily," Linc called up again, his voice quiet now. "Routine stuff only," he continued. "No code and no scrambling." A moment later he said, "Receiving, too; also straight voice. I'm preparing to send, Ed," he called, then repeated it, "Preparing to send." Standing staring at that tiny, far-off ship, I knew Linc was twisting his dials slowly and carefully; he'd installed his radio so that it could transmit a weak signal only, detectable at no more than horizon distance. Now the distant smudge was the size of a thumbnail, and as we stood watching, it suddenly turned into a tiny ship, hull well up and moving fast; and I could feel that my face was flushed.

  Within minutes as we watched, no more than three or four, the tiny ship had swelled in size; and then suddenly it was no longer tiny, no longer distant, and I stood watching it acquire definition and color. We were in good position, I could see now; the ship, steady on her course, was moving toward us at an angle that would bring her within perhaps six hundred yards of us in passing. The incredibly long, tall, black hull, the white superstructure, yellow cargo booms, and three enormous red stacks were vivid against the blue sky, and as I stood staring, the sun winked for an instant on the blur of gold at her prow that was, I knew, the string of great gilded letters which spelled QUEEN MARY. We were almost in sighting distance for her. Moreno, his binoculars raised again, stood motionless, staring at her; then he dropped them, and yelled, "Send!" his voice exultant.

  "H.M.S. Submarine Trident," Linc began in the quiet monotone radio operators always seem to use, "calling Queen Mary. H.M.S. Submarine Trident calling Queen Mary." Speaking slowly and with careful clarity, Linc's English accent was now very pronounced. "Please reply with an extremely low-strength signal," he continued. "We are on a secret mission in these waters. Repeat: Please reply with extremely low-strength signal. We are a British submarine on secret mission here. We do not wish our presence revealed; this is important. We urge that you call your captain before replying. Repeat: Urge calling your captain before replying. H.M.S. Submarine Trident calling Queen Mary," he droned on, never pausing, never giving them a chance to reply until the entire contents and meaning of our message had been drilled into the mind of the operator receiving it. For if he were to flash a reply using the full strength of the liner's powerful transmitters, there'd be nothing we could do but dive immediately. Then we'd try to sneak home, the whole scheme abandoned.

  Suddenly another voice, metallically reproduced by the loud-speaker just below, interrupted Linc's monotone, and the fear flashed through me. Deep and level, every syllable hard and awesome with authority, the voice echoed loud and strange in our submarine. "This is the captain of the Mary. This is the captain of the Queen Mary. Who are you? What is your name and rank, please?"

  "This is Commander Everett O. Cunningham, sir, R.N.," Linc replied immediately and very courteously, "commanding British submarine Trident. We request help, sir. We are an experimental submarine, a new small type, on a test run in these waters under Admiralty orders. Our main engine is broken down, sir. We need a part which we believe your engineers can supply. I urgently request permission to board, sir."

  "Board!" The metallic, static-laced voice was astounded. "You're asking me to stop my ship, commander?"

  "Yes, sir; I must, sir. I cannot overemphasize the importance of my mission, captain." And now Linc's voice had a note of irascible Royal Navy command and authority. "We must have help, and we must have it secretly from a British ship; we have been waiting on your course for three days, submerging at sight of all other ships. We are on Admiralty orders." Line's voice was crisp, very rapid now, and very British. "We will delay you no more than twenty minutes at most, I assure you. Request permission to board, sir! Or we will be obliged to abandon our mission, disclose our presence in American waters and beg help from whoever will give it."

  There was a pause, then the captain's voice, quiet but ominous, replied, "Very well, commander, but you'd better know what you're doing. We will stop and render assistance if we can; but this will be reported to the Admiralty Office in Southampton as soon as we dock."

  "Yes, sir," Linc was replying. "Of course, sir. And I'm very grateful. I request, if you will, sir, radio silence concerning our presence here. We do not wish to interfere with your normal transmissions, captain. But if you will request your operators to refrain from mentioning our presence and temporarily forbid scrambled ship-to-shore communications by passengers, who might—"

  "I have already done so, commander," the voice in the speaker replied. "Do you have a small boat? Can you board?"

  "Yes, sir; we have a raft. Our engineering officer, his chief and a crewman will set out immediately."

  "See that they do," said the captain of the Queen Mary, taking no nonsense from the Royal Navy.

  It takes time to stop a ship of more than eighty thousand tons propelling itself through the water at perhaps thirty-five knots. Her course was angling her ever closer to us, though, and we didn't wait for her to stop. Lauffnauer was knifing through the lines that bound one of the rafts to the gratings just forward of the tower, and I turned and clattered down the ladder for the paddles. When I came up again, the raft was inflated and floating just off the deck, Vic already in it and Lauffnauer on deck holding it. I handed them each a paddle, climbed in, then Lauffnauer jumped in, shoving us off, and we began paddling, Lauffnauer steering with his paddle.

  Now the Mary was vi
sibly slowing, losing way on a straight course, and we paddled to the northwest, toward a point at which we judged she would stop.

  She had her boarding ladder down and waiting — a flight of stairs, actually, angling up her side — and we tied up to it finally. I glanced at Vic and Lauffnauer and knew they were afraid, as I was. Then Vic in the lead, Lauffnauer and I following, we began climbing up the side of that enormous ship.

  It took several minutes, angling past the rows and rows of portholes, some open and some closed, but most of them filled with silent faces staring out at us as we rose, climbing and climbing, up those stairs. I've never felt so powerless and helpless, and I made myself grin — tough and viciously, jutting my bearded chin out — and forced the feeling out of my mind. Then I glanced at my watch — Vic stepped onto a deck, Lauffnauer and I following, and the fear was gone. Vic was right — this was adventure.

  A half-dozen ship's officers, some in blues, some in whites, stood waiting, but they and the crowd of staring passengers and crew members just beyond them were only a vague background for the man, the captain — six feet tall, wide-shouldered, dressed in whites, his cap visor crusted with gold — who stood in their center. His face, lean and weathered, was grim; it would have been angry if he had permitted it; and he glanced impatiently, inquiringly, from Vic to Lauffnauer, after only a flick of his eyes at my white British chief's cap. "Well?" he said gruffly. Then Vic spoke first.

  He saluted, palm outward, British style, the captain impatiently returned it, begrudging every second's delay, and Vic said briskly, "Lieutenant Follett, sir," in what seemed to me precisely the voice and intonation Linc had rehearsed him in. "And we're extremely grateful." He extended his hand, and the captain shook it once, impatiently.

  "Are you an American?" he said, eyes narrowing, and my muscles tensed, ready to fight our way to the landing ladder if we had to.

  But — I was astounded, and almost smiled — Vic grinned happily. "Yes, sir!" he said instantly, his voice and face apparently delighted. "I'm surprised you could still tell, sir; I've been in the Royal Navy just under four years now." I saw his eyes, and they were elated, and I knew it was no pretense; Vic was enjoying this. The captain grunted in reply, and Vic leaned toward him. Lowering his voice, he said, "If we could speak to you privately, sir?" From the corner of his eyes he glanced at the passengers crowding around us. "Our mission —" He paused, waiting respectfully, and after a moment the captain swung to one of the officers, nodding at the ship's rail.

  "Clear a space for us," he said, then walked ahead to the rail. Speaking over his shoulder as we followed, he said, "Now, be quick about it, lieutenant. I warn you; we move in twenty minutes, with you on board or off."

  "Yes, sir," Vic said again and stepped to the rail to lean on it beside the captain. Lauffnauer stepped up to the other side of the captain, and I stood beside Vic. Vic spoke quietly. We were leaning on the rail staring at our sub, some four hundred yards out, her tiny length perpendicular to ours. "Captain, sir," Vic said, "it will save a good deal of time if we simply show you something rather than try to explain it. But I should warn you; it will astound you, I promise; astound everyone aboard this ship. And I wish very much that you would again instruct your radio room, emphasizing that under no conditions are they to mention our presence or what they are about to see."

  With a quick, irritated little shake of his head, the captain swung to one of the officers just behind him. "Instruct the radio room to continue absolute silence about this submarine's presence," he said, "until ordered otherwise." Then I made the irrevocable move that would turn every being aboard this vast ship into an enemy. Taking off my white cap, I moved it through the air several times in a slow arc, until I was certain that Moreno, watching through his glasses, must have seen me.

  We were watching for it, and so we saw it first. But within seconds — I heard the gasps from the men around us — the captain and his officers saw it, too; a sudden white line of foam flashing straight out from the nose of the sub, growing, lengthening in a ruler-straight line toward the huge black side of the Queen Mary.

  A torpedo moves astonishingly fast, far faster than most landsmen understand. There was no time for the captain of the Mary to react, beyond clutching the rail suddenly with both hands, before — his mouth open, his head moving as he helplessly followed that spurting white trail — it struck, far to the left, toward the prow, and we heard a great shuddering moan in the throats of the hundreds of people around us.

  We saw the bright flash, the basketball-size puff of black smoke, and then heard the sound, no louder than and very much like the backfire of an automobile. Then I spoke instantly, leaning across Vic to bring my lips very close to the ear of the staring man beside him. "It's a dummy, captain," I said slowly and carefully as though speaking to a deaf man, but my voice was harsh and menacing, the politeness and pretense ended now. "It is a dummy torpedo with a small flash charge only. A dummy," I repeated once more, "and beyond a little scorched paint, no harm done to your ship at all."

  His face was absolutely white with fury as he turned slowly toward me, and the men around us were crowding us, ready to grab us at a word or glance from the captain. "I'll have you broken," he said very quietly, but with utter rage, and he glanced at Vic and at Lauffnauer on his other side, to include them. "I'll have you broken and in a naval prison from the day you land." Suddenly he shouted. "Are you insane?" he roared. "What in hell's name do you think you're doing?" He swung to one of the men behind us, mouth opening to roar out an order, and now Lauffnauer reached out and grabbed his hand at the wrist.

  For the first time aboard the Mary, then, precisely as planned, Frank Lauffnauer spoke, and it was his German accent as much as the words he spoke that told the captain instantly what we wanted him to know. "We are not a British submarine," he said, thrusting his face to within inches of the captain's. "We are not English; we are in no navy at all. And that was the only dummy torpedo we carried." I felt my skin chilling as the blood withdrew from it, for this was the moment, the single terrible test of everything we planned. If this tall, white-uniformed man staring at Frank Lauffnauer's face rejected the lie Lauffnauer was offering him — if this enormous bluff failed — we'd be grabbed by a dozen hands within seconds and spend years to come in an English prison or be hanged.

  "We carry twelve more torpedoes, captain," Frank Lauffnauer was saying with a terrible intensity, "all of them live — full war heads! Four of them are in the tubes at this moment, aimed at your ship, and they cannot conceivably miss at this distance!" We had only two tubes, not four; five more torpedoes, not twelve; and every one of them, I knew, a dummy like the first, and I wasn't breathing, staring at Lauffnauer's strained face and blazing eyes. "The second and third salvos," he was saying, the words tumbling out, "can be loaded and fired before you could possibly get under way. Captain!" The word was a cry, almost as though he were frantically begging the captain to heed. "One dozen torpedoes fired into the side of your ship! Spaced along the entire hull! And they are set for ten feet below your water line!"

  He paused for a second, staring into the captain's face, and I was astounded. I couldn't have done this, I knew, but Lauffnauer was acting with a terrible perfection. I almost believed him myself — actually felt a stab of horror in my stomach at the picture he was creating.

  Lowering his voice, the words husky and deep in his throat, Lauffnauer said quietly, "Will your ship sink then?" He shook his head slowly. "I do not know. Neither do you. Neither would the ship's own architects. It might. Twelve torpedoes into the side of your ship, below the water line — and, captain, the Mary might sink. Those torpedoes will be fired, captain. They will be fired," he repeated, and if I hadn't known it was impossible, I would have believed this man, believed both his words and the agony in his face as he added, "unless you do precisely and implicitly what we tell you to do."

  And now we waited, everyone on the deck beside us motionless and still, and I knew what was going through this man's mind.
I knew, at least, what Lauffnauer and Moreno had insisted, and now I hungered to believe it. There is only one possible way he can react, Moreno had said, and Lauffnauer had nodded. Only one action he can possibly permit himself. More important than his life, more important than any other consideration in the world, is the safety of that ship.

  I became aware that the captain had spoken, and it took me an instant to get clear in my head what the words meant. "I don't believe you," he said quietly, and Frank, staring at him, did not reply. "I don't believe you," the captain repeated sharply. "Sink this ship, you filthy vermin, and you sink with her!"

  And then Frank nodded, and once more I was astounded; it was the resigned, hopeless nod — to perfection! — of a condemned man. "Yes," he said quietly. "For if you refuse us, captain, why, then as far as they are concerned"— he nodded toward the tiny sub floating on the swell a quarter mile away —"we might as well be dead. We are of no further use and for them it is better that we die. Alive we are a menace to them, if we fail. But sunk with this ship, they can hope to escape. We drew lots for this job, captain." He nodded at Vic and me. "We are the three who lost."

  For a moment the two men stared at each other. Then Frank, shoulders slumped, his voice dispirited and almost weary, said, "They will fire, captain; nothing will stop them. It is part of the plan, and they will fire. Look at me, captain! Look at my face and you will know that I am speaking the truth."

  "You are a German?" the captain asked tonelessly.

  "A former U-boat commander."

  "What do you want?" he said without expression, and from the men around us I heard the sigh of held breaths exhaled.

  Frank held up a hand, and I saw that it was trembling just a little; then it stopped. With his other hand he bent the little finger of the upheld hand down against the palm. "Radio transmission is to continue normally and as though you were still under way."