"Just what I was thinking, sir," said the Buffer. The quick turn of Verril's bald head said: "You bloody liar!"
"How about the lower boom for a spar?" Matheson put in.
"Brilliant, Number One," Dutchy said, solemnly. "I was just thinking that myself." He turned to the other two. "This is a daylight job, and this weather won't last much longer. There'll be wind tomorrow or I'm a Dutchman. We'll have to sneak in somewhere first thing in the morning. But tonight you can get the canvas and slats ready. Make it slightly narrower than the real thing. But no doubt you noticed the difference in size of Japanese funnels, Buffer?"
"Well..." the Buffer admitted.
"All right, hop to it. Don't forget eyelets for stays. I'll come down when you're ready."
"Aye aye, sir."
When they had gone, Matheson said:
"Y'know, I think this might work."
"Fine, Number One. I'm glad."
"All right, all right. I don't imagine we'll need it to fool a merchantman-he won't be that well up on his recognition, even of his own Navy. But it might save us from another pot-shot like that sub. took at us. Next time they'll make sure before they let go, and by that time we could be on to `em."
"My reasoning exactly," Dutchy murmured.
Matheson ignored the tone. "You're going to hole-up tomorrow," he said. "Where?"
"Chart." They walked over. "Here," Dutchy said, pointing to the eastward bulge of the toe of Mindanao. "In behind Calian Point. There are mountains right on the coast and twelve fathoms close inshore. No town or villages marked. In any case they'd have to be cliff-dwellers to squat there."
"We hope."
"There is," said Dutchy, "a volume called the Philippines Pilot. It tells you all sorts of things about coasts and mountains and rivers-and villages."
"So there is," Matheson nodded.
"Then," said Dutchy, in an un-viscountish voice, "get the bloody thing up here!"
"Yessir."
CHAPTER SIX
There were no villages behind the point, neither according to the Pilot nor according to their anxious binoculars. Dutchy took her in close to the steep-to shore and came to anchor. The long rectangle of canvas was ready, its coat of grey almost dry in the night's humid air. Out past the point a Force 5 wind whipped white from the wavetops, but in here Jackal rolled gently to the deflected swell.
The lower-boom, used normally to secure boats when they were in the water, was long and fairly heavy, but under the Buffer's seamanship it was soon fished securely to the aerial mast with three lashings of 1"-inch manila rope, and strongly stayed. Then the triadic stay, a thin tough wire, was run between boom and foremast, with two blocks already seized to it. Dutchy had ordered the smallest tackles in the ship to lift the "funnel," for the canvas was not heavy and he did not want inquisitive glasses noting how it was supported.
Dutchy had remained on the bridge. He had, in fact, paid the work amidships little attention; his interest was to seaward. But nothing passed to jump his already taut nerves. Then from amidships Matheson called:
"All set, sir. One funnel coming up."
But first, careful of the time factor, Dutchy gave another order, "Lower the motor cutter." When it was in the water he gave Matheson the go-ahead. There were no hitches. The apparatus had the advantage of simplicity. It rose easily and hung there, looking from close up nothing like a funnel, bellying in the breeze before they hauled in on the guys.
Very carefully Dutchy studied the horizon. To southward his view was blocked by the rearing point, but mile by slow mile to the east and north he examined the saw-toothed edge. No steady flash of bow-wave, not even a mast. The sea was clear. There was the possibility of aircraft; there was also the possibility of choking while you ate. There are limits to man's precautions.
"Right," Dutchy said to Pilot. "Trouble... one blast on the siren."
"Aye aye, sir."
The cutter took him out a mile. They would be unlucky to have a submarine fire at them from closer in than that; so would be the submarine. Dutchy stood up in the sternsheets and looked back at the ship. Not even through his glasses were the tackles visible, and he could see no wind movement in Jackal's acquisition. He called back over his shoulder.
"What d'you think, cox'n?"
"I reckon she's apples, sir."
"All right, then," Dutchy grunted, "back to the ship."
He was not wholly relieved until he was back on deck with the cutter hoisted and the cable grinding in. Then he said to Matheson:
"Fine, except for one detail. Your funnel's too clean. Get it down and splash black paint round the mouth." An hour later she was out and round the point. The wind was from the north. She started to roll. Dutchy looked aft. His brainchild was bellying a little, but steady under the pressure.
"Come round to south," he ordered. This should be a good spot for ships making up into Davao Gulf, and too far north for our crowd to worry `em."
No one mentioned that such a busy funnel into a great gulf might attract escorts as well as merchantmen.
It might have been a good spot for their purpose, but not on this windy day. Dutchy took her a hundred miles to the south, almost level with but out of sight of the Sarangani Islands, and then back again to a little north of Calian Point, and no call came from the radar or crow's nest. All day it was the same.
Watches were relieved, and gun crews, while she bucked on one course and rolled on the other, and the fruitless day drew on towards dusk. On-watch, Matheson commented:
"It must have been like this in the old blockading days off Toulon or Brest. I remember they went sometimes for weeks without sighting a sail."
"They did teach you some history," Dutchy growled. He searched the horizon for the hundredth time and lowered his glasses with a grimace of exasperation. "There was one advantage those ships of the line had over us."
"Such as?"
"Wind," Dutchy said. "That's all they needed."
"You're not worrying about fuel, for Pete's sake?"
"Not yet, no. But we can't gander up and down here for bloody months."
"Never mind, something'll show in the morning."
"Fine... In the meantime this weather's going to get dirtier. Bring her round. We'll sit out the night behind Calian."
Matheson passed the orders. "Excellent idea," he smiled, "I could do with an all-night in."
"You'll be clever to manage that. Ship will remain in normal sea routine."
"You think something might jump us?"
"It's just possible," Dutchy sneered.
But nothing appeared to spoil their protected nocturnal wait behind the point. As though the sun had eaten it up the wind died at dawn and they sailed out into a clean-washed morning, all blue and white. The sky arched clear, the sun shone warm. They were rested, and their bellies full. And the masthead said:
"Bearing Red four-five, mast. Coming towards, nothing else in sight."
"Come round," Dutchy snapped, "full ahead together, close-up for action."
Before the ship quietened again a bridge and bow had grown beneath the mast. Dutchy was not immediately interested. His glasses were sweeping on either side, and it was a full five minutes before he satisfied himself that Truman had been right. So safe, so close to home territory, the merchantman was unescorted.
"Come down to fifteen knots," Dutchy said. "No point in frightening him."
Closing on an opposite course, the merchantman could see only the forepart of a destroyer which obviously was in no hurry. She came steadily on. So did the destroyer. "A big bastard," Matheson said. "Must be eight thousand tons."
The words came a fraction quicker than normal. He had faced different targets to this one, many times, but that large black unarmed shape was different in a separate way-she was the first pawn in this untried game.
Dutchy did not answer. High out of the water, he was thinking; unloaded probably up at Davao, now on her way back to Manila for more. A pity about the stores, but eight thousand tons of
emptiness were better than a slap in the face with a wet fish.
"One torpedo," he said curtly. "On the way in all guns will aim for the bridge. I want his wireless-office. Main armament engage soon as we alter in. Stand-by."
The range was one mile. If unaltered, their courses would take them past each other half-a-mile apart. What a bloody fool, Matheson thought, and amended that as he put himself on the other bridge. Why would the Jap be suspicious of a single destroyer, approaching so leisurely in such an area? He was not naval-trained, he could not distinguish between an Australian and a Japanese bridge, nor a Brazilian for that matter. The destroyer had not challenged, but then why should she? Obviously to her the merchantman was Japanese. And the warship's guns were still fore and aft, a friendly position.
Matheson's nervy reflections were shattered.
"Open fire!" Dutchy rasped. "Starb'd thirty, steer for the target, full-ahead both, revolutions for thirty knots. Stand-by tubes."
She leaned. The four big guns trained, fast under valves opened full. For minutes they had been loaded with semi-armour piercing shell. Before she was halfway round to her target the guns let go. They could hit at nine or ten miles. The range was less than one.
It was absurdly easy.
The Jap's bridge was a red-flashed mess before Dutchy swung her again and the tube spat. Before the torpedo finished its run the foremast with its aerials was hanging over the side. Stunned by the vicious suddenness of the disaster the Jap was still on-course, and the torpedo had no trouble in finding its home.
She was empty. Her holds were large. Against an unarmoured side a torpedo with a warhead holding close on half a ton of Torpex makes a huge entry. The door was thirty or forty feet long, well under, and through it the sea rushed forcefully. The Jap leaned towards them.
Towards their stern. Jackal was on the way out from her deadly impregnation. Dutchy kept her on the turn until once again his full broadside was bearing.
"Half-ahead together," he ordered. "Main armament point of aim the waterline near the bow."
Then he disregarded his listing target and concentrated on the horizon.
His vision went unrewarded. Not so Matheson's. The torpedo had hit almost dead amidships, and now the punching shells were enlarging the hole forrard. Matheson saw broadside after broadside hit in a splash of white and vivid red. He enjoyed this sight immensely. The shells were hitting not far below the waterline, but they left holes, and the further she listed the deeper sank the holes, helping to drown her. It would be like, Matheson was thinking with an enthusiasm almost boyish, having thirty or forty fire-hoses jetting at full belt into her holds. No, nothing like that. Much more. The hole ripped by a shell was much bigger than a hose...
A less fanciful, more practical thought occurred to him. Darwin was a long way off.
"I think she's had it, sir. We're wasting ammunition."
Dutchy continued his horizon study for a few seconds before turning. The guns fired again. A lifeboat filled with men which had just met the water rose again on the point of a vehement thrust and disintegrated. Black things dropped back.
"We got that boat!" Matheson shouted.
"Tough luck," Dutchy said calmly. "They knew our point of aim. Cease firing."
Jackal ceased her barking. Quiet and a sulphurous stink settled over the bridge. No one choked. It was the explosive odour of victory. They had all smelled it before.
"Take her round the other side," Dutchy ordered.
They didn't make it. She was moving at fifteen knots and water in quantities like that does its work busily. They were passing the down-tilted bow when suddenly, smooth and without hesitation, the Jap rolled. For a few last seconds, a huge whale, the ship wallowed, oscillating gently, and then she was gone; bubbles, big and quiet, black oil, black heads, two boats, rafts, smoke walking away on the wind, a ghost leaving its grave.
"Come round to south," Dutchy said. "Secure action-stations. Log that, Pilot-eight thousand tons will do, empty."
Matheson looked back at the boats, and the heads making towards them.
"Our funnel wasn't much good," he said. "They know it's not made in Japan."
"It'll be a long time before they tell anybody about it," Dutchy grunted. "More than a hundred miles up to Davao. I don't like their chances in that muck ashore. The funnel doesn't worry me-but that does," he said grimly, and pointed aft.
Matheson nodded slowly. "Lucky we were on a reciprocal course," he agreed. "They couldn't have sighted it till the last minute."
"Luck's not good enough."
Matheson looked at him. "You wouldn't!"
Dutchy turned. "Yeoman?"
"Sir."
"How long to knock up a Jap ensign?"
The yeoman's grin showed his teeth and his lack of scruples.
"Give us an hour, sir."
"Right. Rig a jury set of halliards. Keep our ensign bent on ready. We'll hoist it as soon as we open fire."
"Aye aye, sir."
The yeoman departed with alacrity. Matheson shook his head.
"I dunno if that's legal. In fact, I think it's very doubtful."
"Too bad," said the fox.
"There could be international complications."
"I'm worried sick. Like they worried over Pearl Harbour..."
"But you're bringing yourself down to their level."
"That's a matter of opinion."
"You don't give a damn for the niceties of conduct, do you?"
"No."
Matheson grinned.
They found their next merchantman an hour later down near the Saranganis and they found her full, northbound. She fell just as easily, but died more spectacularly.
Dutchy had only seven torpedoes left but with his false ensign he got in very close and he risked saving his tubes. As before it was the bridge structure, and in a few minutes it was wrecked. The wireless-office reported no transmissions.
"Engine-room," Dutchy ordered.
They missed the engines but they got the boilers. Inside those big steel pots there was steam at more than three hundred pounds per square inch. A brace of shells let it out. Violence escaped in a blast that broke her in two.
Above the hissing white the sea rushed into each broken end. The bow lifted until the forefoot was clear, and the stern showed its screws and rudder. For a moment she hung there, a giant V of disaster; then the hand of destroyed buoyancy dragged them under.
There were no boats this time and only a few rafts which had broken loose. But the sea was covered with floating boxes, probably of tinned stuff, or cans of petrol. "You wouldn't consider picking up survivors?" Matheson asked.
"No."
"U-boats," Matheson said. "They don't pick up survivors,"
"They're not expected to. No room."
"We've got room."
"And supplies and water for hundreds more? And who's going to guard `em when we're closed-up at action? Look," Dutchy growled, "I'm getting a bit jack of your blasted scruples. We're not playing at water polo, y'know. If it's any help to your tender emotions, my sealed orders forbid the rescue of survivors. For obvious reasons."
"I haven't any scruples-under the circumstances..."
"Then get off my bloody back."
"I just wanted to see how far you'll go."
"You haven't seen nothing yet. Like I said, this isn't a game. It's them or us. We're not the People's Palace. We came here to do a special job and we're doing it, in the only way possible."
"All right, I'm with you. I understand."
"Now I feel much better," Dutchy sneered.
Matheson took his gaze from the scummed area astern. It was nasty, he thought, but it was necessary.
And he wasn't really fooled by Dutchy's apparent callousness. He smiled placatingly.
"The ensign worked all right."
"The ensign worked."
"We'll stay round here?"
"No. The balloon will go up soon. We're shifting to another happy hunting ground."
; "Where?"
"Up into Illana Bay. Pilot?"
"Sir."
"Take her south of the Saraganis. Lay off a course up into Illana Bay parallel to the coast, forty miles clear."
"Aye aye, sir."
Matheson waited till the navigational work was completed, then he crossed to the chart. The idea seemed sound enough. Illana Bay was west of Davao Gulf, on the other side of Mindanao's heart-shaped southern portion. It was approached through Moro Gulf, towards which they were now heading. The gulf was more than a hundred miles wide before it narrowed into Illana Bay at its top, and bounded on the west by the Sulu Archipelago and the hooked finger of Zamboanga Peninsula.
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