Assault on Zanzibar

by E. C. Williams

  “We were worried about you!” he shouted. “When you missed your scheduled check-in, we were afraid you had ditched.”

  As the boat ferried them to Navy Landing, Dallas did not wait for an account of their flight, but began speaking privately to Sam, in a near-whisper and practically in his ear; clearly, Dallas did not want the boatmen to hear.

  “Commodore, we’ve put together a legend – a cover story – for this visit, to keep the Pirates from finding out you’ll be sailing onward from here to Kerguelen. Of course, everyone who was awake saw and heard your airplane, but we don’t want anyone to know you were on it. We have a dress uniform for Dave, and an open car, to transport him in great state through the center of town to Government House. The story will be that you sent Dave as your personal representative to brief the Governor and the Colonel and confer with them.

  “Meanwhile, we have civvies for you, and a nondescript closed car to take you as unobtrusively as possible to Madame Bowditch’s. We asked her to wait for you there, rather than meeting the plane, for obvious reasons.”

  Sam, distracted, had been scanning the faces of people on the pier for a sign of Maddie.

  “Wait, so she’s not meeting me here?”

  “No, Commodore. As I said, we don’t want anyone to know you’re here, and Madame Bowditch is very well known in Hell-ville. She is known to be your wife, and with her striking looks she is recognizable everywhere she goes.

  “Anyway, we have a backup story, in case someone recognizes you despite our precautions. Shortly after we deliver you there, an ambulance will arrive at the premises of Campbell et Fils, and take away, in a great rush, a young woman on a stretcher who will be very like your wife. With her will be a man of about your height, weight, and coloring, who will appear greatly distressed. He’ll join her in the ambulance. All this will take place at great speed, but as inconspicuously as possible. If some inquisitive bystander wants to know who or what, he’ll be told that the lady on the stretcher is Madame Bowditch, suddenly taken ill, and the man is you, flown here, in great secrecy, to be with her.

  “We won’t announce this bit of disinformation course, but leak it. Further, we’ll make it known that your wife recovered rapidly from her unspecified maladie and that you will, or have already, sailed back to Mafia on the next scheduled supply vessel.

  “Do you have any questions about this, Commodore?”

  “Just one: has our onward transport to Kerguelen been arranged?”

  “Yes. We got lucky: a suitable vessel, a three-master named Amour Insouciant, will sail for the Rock in a few days, and has suitable accommodation for both of you.” Dallas was quiet for a moment, and Sam thought he had finished his informal brief. But, after a pause, he continued in a halting, apologetic voice.

  “Commodore, in my zeal, I may have rather exceeded my remit. I also radioed the Wasp and the Scorpion, and suggested – NOT ordered, but merely recommended – that one or both rendezvous with the Amour at, say, the height of Reunion, and escort her well past the danger point of Cape Sainte Marie, where Pirate dhows make the turn from the Channel to cruise the southwestern coast.”

  Sam did not try to hide his anger. “Hank, are you telling me that you diverted two gun-schooners – one third of our entire little Navy, to escort one merchant vessel? And after I ordered them both north to join Taffy One?”

  “If I’ve done wrong, I apologize, Commodore. But in my own defense, I only suggested this course of action; I did not – could not, of course – order it. And it’s more than ‘just one merchant vessel’. It is the senior officer of the Navy, a supreme prize for the Pirates, who will scramble to be the one to take the Amour if my disinformation gets blown, as it very well could be. With Scorpion and Wasp in company, however, it could turn to our favor, an opportunity for sinking or taking one or more Pirates.”

  Sam pondered this, his anger dissipating as he took in all Dallas had said. He especially like the notion of himself as bait for one or more Pirates, who would find, to their unhappy surprise, three vessels, two of them war craft, instead of one helpless merchantman. He thought of ordering LT Dallas to leak the truth, but regretfully concluded that this would certainly be tempting fate. “OK, Hank,” he finally said, to the intel officer’s visible relief. “We’ll do it your way, at least in part. Did Wasp and Scorpion respond in the affirmative?

  “Oh, yes, Commodore. Quite enthusiastically, if I may say so.”

  “Well, then, radio the one closest to Mafia – which one would that be, do you know?”

  “Yessir. Scorpion is further north than Wasp.”

  “Radio Scorpion to resume her course to Mafia Island, where she will come under the temporary command of Commodore Ennis. Copy Wasp on this, and advise her that she is to continue to her rendezvous with Amour Insouciant”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Sam’s stay on Nosy Be was hectic, brief; and furtive. He cloistered himself in Maddie’s flat, while she made business and personal arrangements for her absence, citing a requirement to return urgently to the Rock – alone, of course – because her mother was ill, and to take the opportunity to confer with her father and brother on urgent business matters.

  Sam, later, could remember nothing much beyond the joy of his reunion with Maddie. But things got done, nevertheless, not least the rapid removal of Sam, Maddie, and her near-one-measurement ton of baggage (Sam had only what he stood up in, and he, or rather Maddie, had had to shop for a minimal amount of clothing for him) to the Amour Insouciant. They shared a private laugh at the charming aptness – for them -- of the vessel’s name, given their intent to make of the voyage a second honeymoon.

  “It’s good luck, too,” Sam said. “It means a fast and uneventful voyage home!” But as soon as he said it, sailor’s superstition made him fear he had jinxed the trip, and he surreptitiously touched the wooden rail.

  The master of the Amour was a rebuke to the frivolity of her name. Captain Guy Woodham was a seasoned mariner of the best Kerguelenian type, a taciturn, swarthy, weather-beaten man of about forty, a centimeter or two shorter than Sam, who welcomed them aboard with solemn courtesy.

  “Commodore, Madame Bowditch,” he said. “It’s an honor to welcome you aboard my vessel. Let me show you to your cabin.” He told off a seaman to manage their luggage (mostly Maddie’s) and led them below. The layout of the aft accommodation block was typical of a largish schooner in the tropical trade: a central compartment served as both passageway and officer’s mess, or “saloon”, with a long table under a skylight. The aftermost port cabin was the master’s, and the one to starboard was styled the “Owner’s Cabin”, although more typically used for a paying passenger or a supercargo, and given to Sam and Maddie for this voyage.

  There were two other, smaller, cabins forward of the skipper’s and owner’s, port and starboard; they were the chief mate’s and the second mate’s, respectively. A cadet berthed forward with the crew but messed with the officers.

  “The mates and the gadget are all busy on deck, now, getting us ready for sea, but you’ll meet them later, at dinner.”

  “You’re well-officered, Captain – all berths filled.”

  “Aye. My owners pay well, and the old Amour has a reputation for being a good feeder – but I’ll let you judge for yourselves at dinner. We’re fully manned forward, too – four ABs, two ordinary seamen, and both a bosun and a sailmaker, who don’t stand a watch.”

  “You’re fortunate in that regard, Skipper, given the shortage of seamen,” Sam said, thinking ruefully of his last merchant command, the Kiasu, so woefully under-manned that he practically had to win the anchor himself.

  At that point, the young ordinary in charge of their baggage struggled in, heavily laden.

  “I see you brought your own firearm, Commodore,” said the Captain, noting the long narrow canvas bag that could only be a gun case.

  “Yes. I had my local staff rustle up a shotgun for me, and a supply of shells for it. I have my sidearm, too – a 9mm revo
lver. How’re you fixed for weaponry, sir?”

  “Well, the Lyle gun, of course. We’ve drilled with it until we’re pretty good – can’t miss at anything under a cable’s length. A couple of shotguns and a rifle. And I have a pistol, like yours, too.

  “Finally, as a last resort, we have machetes for everyone.”

  Not much better armed than the old Kiasu, then, thought Sam, but didn’t say aloud. God help us if it gets to that point. Although the machetes do serve a psychological purpose – with them, the seamen at least don’t feel defenseless.

  “My owners allow me a generous ammo budget, too, so I routinely drill the crew with all the firearms – every man knows how to load, aim, and fire all three weapons. One of the ABs turned out to be a natural marksman, so I made him our rifleman for emergency stations.”

  That sounded a bit more reassuring to Sam. “That’s foresighted of you, Captain.”

  “Yes, well, the underwriters require firearms and regular drills now. But we were already in compliance before we got the letter.”

  After a few more remarks, Captain Woodham excused himself and returned topside, leaving Sam to watch Maddie as she quickly and efficiently unpacked what they would need for the voyage and re-packed the rest for stowage in the hold, as not needed until arrival at Kerguelen. Sam made a few ineffectual tries at helping; she shooed out of the cabin as being more in the way than helpful. He then went topside.

  The Amour was in the final stages of loading her homebound cargo, a valuable one of coffee, sugar, and baled cotton. The water scow, tied up to the offshore side, pumped fresh water into the schooner’s two cement-lined steel tanks, one forward, for the crew, and one aft, for the galley, officers, and passengers. This made Sam reflect on the problem of fresh water, at sea. The innovation of steel tanks had given merchant vessels the ability to stow more water than previously, because tanks were adaptable to odd-shaped spaces useful for neither cargo nor water barrels. Still, no vessel could carry enough water to allow unlimited use, not and carry cargo too. The usual limitation was a bucketful per day per crewmember or passenger for washing clothes and bathing. (Except during a water emergency, a wise captain allowed – even encouraged – his people to drink as much as they wished from the two scuttlebutts, one each fore and aft; dehydration was a danger, especially in tropical waters.) Captains usually did not hold women aboard, whether passengers or crew, strictly to that ration, women being more particular in general about personal hygiene and clean undergarments.

  Not to mention being very prone to complain vociferously about any infringement on this prerogative.

  From the subject of water, Sam’s mind turned to the possibility of an attack on the Amour by Pirates during her voyage south. It was fortunate that the Pirates were always highly motivated to capture Kerg vessels intact, and take their crews alive. If they had merely concentrated on sinking merchant ships, they would very likely have already won the war, given that a dhow with a single three-inch cannon could always simply stand off and pound a schooner, with only the Lyle gun and small arms for self-defense, into a sinking wreck.

  As it was, Caliphate raiders were in effect independent contractors of the Sultan, who paid a bounty for each vessel captured reasonably intact, and allowed their skippers and crews to share the proceeds from the sale of cargoes captured and crew members taken as slaves. Their financial incentive was to capture vessels intact and crews alive, in so far as possible, so the raiders’ invariable tactic was to try to cripple their victim’s rig, then board and capture her.

  Turning toward the dock, Sam saw Hank Dallas approaching the gangway. “What now?” he growled to himself in irritation, then wondered about his annoyance. The conscientious Dallas could only be here on official Navy matters, and not merely to disturb his Commodore. It occurred to him that he was beginning to regard the forthcoming voyage as a holiday, a leave from the war and all its worries, and to feel, irrationally, that therefore the war should stop until he could return to it. He laughed, noiselessly, at himself for such foolishness, and composed his features to greet Dallas cheerfully.

  “What ho, Hank? More news?”

  “Just wanted to give you this, Commodore,” he replied, offering Sam a sealed envelope. “I’ve been in touch with Captain Low of Wasp, who is slightly senior to Bobby Munro, commanding Scorpion. He has set a more precise rendezvous point, and the lat-long is in this envelope. Munro acknowledges your order to go on to Mafia. I would strongly urge you to keep this information from Captain Woodham until the Amour is at sea. I’m sure he’s sound, but merchant officers are prone to gossip when ashore.”

  Privately, Sam thought Guy Woodham the least likely to gossip of any merchant officer he knew, but it was a reasonable precaution.

  “Of course, Hank. I won’t have to keep it to myself for long; the skipper just told me the Amour will complete loading stores and cargo this afternoon, and he plans to sail on the morning ebb, just before first light.”

  “Terrific – there’ll be few people around at that hour to note the presence of you and Madame Bowditch. Still, I strongly recommend that you and your lady wife stay

  closeted in your cabin until the pilot’s away.”

  This “strong recommendation” – and from Dallas, in a tone almost bordering on an order – annoyed Sam; he always liked to be on deck when his vessel sailed, to see how the officers and crew dealt with this complex evolution. Still, Sam placed Hank in charge of security himself, so he had to tolerate a certain degree of paranoia, useful in a conscientious intelligence officer.

  “OK, Hank. Whatever you recommend.”

  “Thank you, Commodore,” replied Dallas with heartfelt relief; he had clearly noticed, now and in the past, his boss’s momentary bristle every time he made one of his “strong requests”.

  Guess I’d better get used to being a mere bloody passenger! Sam grumbled to himself. Aloud, he replied “You’re our expert on security, Hank, and I appreciate your zeal.” This caused Dallas to blush and mutter his thanks; the Commodore didn’t hand out compliments freely, and their rarity made them even more valuable.

  “I saved the good news for last, Commodore. We just got a signal from Taffy One about those dhows hiding in the Dar es Salaam Creek – eight of them did indeed sortie just after Poet’s overflight and discovery. Roland caught all of them in daylight north of Mafia, and sank ‘em – no surrenders, as usual. Only one managed to get through to the island, and discharge some of her people and cargo, before Roland caught up with her and shot her to bits. The Pirate master managed to run her aground before she could sink, and some more of her people got away into the bush.”

  “Wonderlik! Sam exclaimed. “Good news indeed! Did that turn out to be the whole bunch?”

  “Helas, we don’t think so. Poet was adamant that his count of ten to fifteen was right, and, if anything, too conservative. That’s how many widely separated AAA flashes he counted.”

  “Well, Mister Ballinger is a reliable young officer, as well as being, from all reports, what our zoomies call a ‘hot pilot’. I think we can trust his count. What’s the Intel view of what happened to the other, what? … Seven or eight, max?”

  “My opinion, Commodore, although I was not on the scene, is that the rest of them just stayed put, waiting to see how the others fared. We’ve learned how independent dhow masters can be. As you know, we think they’re all in effect independent contractors, not part of what we would think of as a Navy.”

  “That means we’ll have to either go in and pry ‘em out, and wait and catch ‘em when they put out to sea…”

  “Well, prying ‘em out won’t be as easy next time – they’ve just had a demonstration of the need for better camouflage, and they always seem to learn something from every setback.”

  “And we can hardly mount a permanent blockade of Dar es Salaam, not with the forces at our disposal.

  “Well, it’s gotta be an issue for Bill – Acting-Commodore Ennis – to handle. Sounds like he’ll have his hands
full while I’m gone; valuable experience for him, though.”

  The two men chatted for a while longer, then Dallas, sensing the Commodore’s impatience to have him gone, shook his hand, wished him a safe voyage, then saluted and took his leave.

  Sam was awakened in the pre-dawn darkness of the next day by the sounds of a vessel getting underway: The Captain’s voice as he greeted the pilot as he boarded; the retrieval and rigging for sea of the gangway; the shouts of the line-handlers; the sound (and bump) of the tug coming alongside. Resisting the immediate urge to dress and go topside, he lay in frustration next to his sleeping bride, Maddie being less sensitive than he to the noises of undocking in what was, to her, still the night-time. Then she mumbled something, then said, clearly now awake, “What's going on?”

  “We’re getting underway, dearest, that’s all. In a little while we’ll be well out to sea, and we can go on deck if we like. In the meantime, …”. His voice trailed off as he kissed her neck and nibbled gently on a dainty ear, one hand discreetly and hesitatingly caressing her further down.

  “Oh, Sam, won’t they hear us?”

  “All the officers are busy on deck, not in their staterooms. Besides, we’ll be quiet.”

  “Darling, I can never be perfectly quiet, as you well know.”

  They still won’t hear us – too much going on up there. So, sweetheart, are you agreeable?”

  “Ooh, yes, Darling. Very agreeable!”

  An hour later they lay in one another’s arms, blissfully and happily post-coital, recruiting themselves for another round of love-making, when a knock was followed by the cadet’s voice saying through the door, “Sir, Ma’am, Cap’n sez his respects and you may come on deck if you wish, being safely out to sea.”

  “My thanks, Gadget, and tell the Captain I’ll be on deck presently.”

  Jack’s “presently” turned out to be just enough time for another engagement, followed by a period of happy cuddling.