The Trojan Horse

by Hammond Innes

  I decided to finish my search of the hold as quickly as possible and then try my luck on deck. I had half risen to my feet, when a grating sound checked me. The bulkhead door was being slid back. I looked wildly about me. There was no cover on those cases. I scrambled quickly to a position against the for’ard bulkhead. I slid along it to the corner, and waited, breathing hard.

  But though the glow of the torch showed above the top of the cases, the rope was not pulled taut and no one appeared to be climbing to my hiding-place. The soft murmur of a voice reached me. I crawled across the munition cases. Suddenly I recognised the voice and stiffened. It was Sedel’s. I went on until I could actually peer over the top of the cases. Sedel and one of the volunteers were standing at the bottom of the well formed by the cases and the recess of the bulkhead. The volunteer held a hurricane lantern and its light cast fantastic shadows of their heads on the steel plates of the bulkhead.

  But though my eyes took in the details of the scene in that one quick glance, what they centred on was the side of one of the cases opposite the bulkhead door. This had been let down like a flap. Sedel was speaking. His voice was soft and I only caught a phrase here and there. I heard the word ‘bait’ followed by that effeminate titter of his. ‘… the boy friend,’ he said. ‘Your father’ was mentioned, then I heard my own name. He laughed again and said rather louder, ‘I just thought you’d like to know that everything has gone off according to plan, Miss Schmidt. Close her up now, Hans. Pleasant dreams. We shall be in the Reich tomorrow.’

  There was the bang of the case being closed and then the light disappeared and the bulkhead door grated as it was closed.

  I waited for more than ten minutes before venturing down. The first thing I did was to go over to the bulkhead door. Inch by inch, so that it made hardly a sound, I pressed it back. As soon as there was room I squeezed through. The trapdoor was closed. All was dark in the main hold. The only sound was the slapping of the water against the sides of the ship and the incessant throbbing of the engines. I stood there a while, listening and wondering whether this was perhaps a trap. Supposing they knew I had not left the ship? Supposing they had not gone out by the trapdoor, but were hiding up there among the tanks?

  Well, I had to risk that. I slid the bulkhead door back again and switched on my torch. It did not take me long to locate the dummy case. I had marked it carefully and, searching across the surface, I found tiny holes at the corners. The thing was bolted on the inside and the bolts were operated, I discovered, by a large screw in the centre. Fortunately I had a sixpence on me and the groove of the screw was big enough for me to turn it with this.

  I lowered the flap. Freya’s eyes were open, but she could not move her head. A canvas gag was stretched tightly across her mouth and fixed on each side of her head to the bottom of the case. Her arms and legs were bound to wooden supports in much the same way as mine had been strapped to the clamps in the deed-box. I told her who I was as I set to work on the gag. I don’t think she believed me, for her first words to me when I had removed the gag were, ‘Will you shine the torch on your face?’ I did so. ‘Then you really are Andrew Kilmartin,’ she said, and smiled. It was only then that I realised that she must have seen the evening papers the day before and had thought me dead. I said no more then, for her eyes were closed.

  It took me some time to untie the knots. But at length she was free and I picked her up in my arms and lifted her out of her cramped quarters. Quickly I worked at her hands and legs to restore the circulation. Every moment I was afraid someone would come through from the main hold and discover me in the act of releasing her.

  It must have been a quarter of an hour before she was able to move her limbs freely enough to be able to attempt the ladder. I closed up the case and slid back the bulkhead door. We passed through, and closing the door behind us, began the ascent of the ladder. How she managed it, I don’t know. She had been in that dummy munition case for well over twelve hours and her limbs were stiff and very painful. Yet I dared not delay longer than was absolutely necessary. I sent her up first, myself following very close so that she could rest her weight on my shoulder. Even so it was a struggle and once or twice I was certain we must both fall.

  At length we were safe among the tanks. I think she fainted with the reaction then. She lay very still for a while, whilst I chafed her limbs. After some time she stirred and sat up. I felt her hand on mine. ‘It really is you, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t dream that?’

  ‘You thought I was dead?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was all over the papers on … What’s today?’

  I glanced at my watch. ‘We’re ten minutes into Monday,’ I said.

  ‘And on the Thirlmere headed for Germany?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We should reach Norwegian territorial waters about ten in the morning.’

  ‘Have they got the boat on board?’

  ‘Yes. And your father is on board, too.’

  ‘I know. That man Sedel told me before you let me out. Franzie thought he was being so clever, and they knew all the time. Sedel said they also had David.’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ I said. And then added, ‘He came on board quite openly for the dedication ceremony as a cameraman. Your father had told him they had brought you on board in a tank and he came to rescue you.’

  ‘I know.’ She spoke dispiritedly. ‘I was the bait. Sedel told me that. How well their scheme has worked – Franzie, David, and you, too! Why did you come on board?’

  ‘I was determined to stop the engine from getting out of the country somehow,’ I said.

  ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘I’m glad it was not on account of me.’

  ‘I did not know you were on board until I met David,’ I explained. Then I told her how I had escaped from the vaults of Marburgs and of my flight through the sewers. ‘You see,’ I finished, ‘I just had to square up accounts somehow.’

  She pressed my hand and in the darkness I sensed that she was smiling. ‘The obstinate Scot in you, Andrew.’ And she gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘Franzie insists that your obstinacy is the key to your whole character.’

  I was glad of the darkness. The blood had rushed to my cheeks at her use of my Christian name, and I should have hated her to notice it. ‘How did you fall into their clutches?’ I asked.

  Apparently she had picked up an ‘18’ bus and got out at Guildford Street. They had been waiting for her outside the digs. There had been a black saloon car at the kerb and a uniformed chauffeur had come up to her just as she was getting out her key. He was in Bart’s livery. Would she come at once to the hospital? Mr Kilmartin had been brought there and was asking for her. He had been badly cut up in a car smash. She had hesitated. It was the old dodge and she was suspicious. Then he played his trump card. He showed her the evening paper. He had relied on her not reading the story through and discovering where the accident was supposed to have taken place. When she pointed out that I was supposed to be dead, he told her that the journalists were a little premature, that was all. Then she had got into the car. And of course they had to stop and pick up a famous surgeon from his home in Gray’s Inn. Chloroform had done the rest. She did not know anything about being brought on board in a tank. The first thing she had remembered was the cramped feeling of that case.

  After telling me this, she asked whether anyone had been able to communicate with the authorities. I told her how far I had got. When I had finished, she said, ‘But you are not hopeful?’

  ‘Frankly, no,’ I said. ‘But we can’t be sure.’

  ‘Then if we are going to try anything on our own, we had best wait until we reach Norwegian territorial waters?’

  ‘If we can,’ I agreed. ‘But don’t forget, even supposing they are prepared to let you have a quiet night, they will be down in the morning.’

  ‘How silly of me – of course.’ She was on the point of putting another question when she stopped. There was a sudden empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I did not nee
d the rush of cold air to tell me what the sound was that had stopped Freya. The trapdoor had been thrown back.

  Then there was a soft thud as it closed again and an instant later a torch was switched on. Freya and I had slid behind the nearest tank. Peering round its gun turret, I saw that two men were descending the ladder. I did not know what to do. Naturally my first thought was that it was Sedel and his companion returning to question Freya about something. And once they discovered that she was no longer there, the hunt would be up. We had no weapons. The position was hopeless.

  But the men, instead of climbing to the bottom of the ladder, dropped off it on to the cases. My heart was in my mouth as I thrust Freya farther into the shadow of the tank. For they were coming straight towards us.

  Then the beam of the torch swung upward and I saw the face of the second man. It was in profile as the first one, who was much shorter, indicated the tank behind which we were hiding. ‘You see, they have two-pounders like the ones on deck,’ said the little man. ‘We can test down here.’

  In the instant that I had recognised the big man to whom the words were addressed, Freya had let go of my hand and rushed forward. ‘Franzie!’ she cried, and flung herself into the arms of the smaller of the two men.

  ‘Quite a gathering of the clans,’ I said, as I stepped forward. The torch was shone on my face. Then Schmidt put Freya to one side and took my hand. ‘It’s you, Kilmartin, is it?’ he said, and I had a feeling he was going to embrace me. But he restrained himself and said quietly, ‘I was so afraid they had got you.’

  ‘Andrew has been chased through the sewers,’ Freya explained in a rush of words. ‘Then he got on board as a pressman and has just rescued me from an empty munition case in which they’d imprisoned me. All wonderfully melodramatic. But how did you get down here? Only a little while ago Sedel told me that he knew you were on board.’

  Schmidt took off his glasses and polished them vigorously. His big eyes were brilliant in the torchlight. ‘There are certain advantages in being employed in the galley. The volunteers mess together. They are all sound asleep now. So, I fancy, are Sedel and his chief of staff. I took them coffee after they had returned from visiting Freya.’

  ‘He’s an absolute wizard,’ David said. ‘Drugged the lot of them. Then he came and let me out of the chain locker in which they’d imprisoned me. Now we take control of the ship.’

  ‘You go too fast, Mr Shiel,’ put in Schmidt. ‘We can only make our preparations to take over the ship. We can go to our action stations, but we cannot go into action until we have dropped our escort.’

  ‘But with those pseudo-volunteers all unconscious it would be so easy,’ David insisted. ‘Just tie them up, take their guns and have the ship turned back.’

  ‘You seem to have forgotten our escort,’ Schmidt said quietly. ‘My dear Mr Shiel, we cannot show our hands until they have shown theirs. That is, of course, unless Mr Kilmartin can assure me that the British Government is by now convinced that this ship is bound for Germany.’ He turned to me. ‘You have made attempts to convince the authorities, yes?’

  I nodded. ‘Frankly, I am not very hopeful,’ I said.

  He put his glasses on again. ‘Then my plan is best,’ he said. ‘We must give them the rope necessary to hang themselves. They will wake up in the morning to find everything just as it was the night before, except that myself and the two prisoners will have disappeared. I doubt whether they will have time to make a thorough search of the ship, for it will be getting late by then. They will say good-bye to their escort and, when she has passed out of sight, they will go through with their plan to take control of the ship. The course will be set for Germany.’

  ‘And where are we?’ asked Freya.

  ‘Inside one of the tanks on the deck. Here’ – he waved his hand round the hold – ‘we have ammunition of several kinds. Ammunition for the machine-guns. Ammunition for these two-pounders. We take a stock of ammunition up to our tank and then we have command of the ship.’ He looked at me. ‘You agree?’ he asked.

  I nodded. It really seemed most ingenious. ‘It’s essential that they show their hand first,’ I said. ‘It will be clear proof and that’s the only way to convince the British Government.’

  ‘Good! Then let us get to work.’

  Schmidt had done his reconnaissance work well. He could distinguish the markings on the cases, and with the aid of tools from one of the tanks we soon had a case of machine-gun and a case of two-pounder ammunition opened. The cases were bound with light metal bands and these David broke by inserting a large screwdriver and twisting. At one moment, whilst we were standing by watching him break open a case, Schmidt took my arm. ‘I am overjoyed to find you here,’ he said. ‘I cannot thank you enough.’

  I laughed. ‘I should thank you,’ I said. ‘You have given me back my youth.’ My eyes were fixed on Freya. She looked tired, but that did not mar the beauty of her features. She was watching David with his broad powerful shoulders bent to the task of breaking the metal bands.

  When both cases were open, Schmidt took us over to the nearest tank and we climbed in. Briefly he explained to the three of us the workings of the machine-gun and the two-pounder. As soon as he was satisfied that we knew how to work both guns in an emergency, we climbed out again and set about the task of removing the necessary quantity of ammunition on deck. David had brought two sacks with him and into each of these we dropped as much as one man could carry. Schmidt and I were to do the donkey work. David was to act as escort and effectively silence any opposition, if we were unlucky enough to meet any. It must be remembered that, though the volunteers were presumably all drugged, the crew were still awake. ‘There’s a watch on the bridge,’ Schmidt told us, as we began to climb the ladder. ‘But he should be looking in front of him.’

  David led the way, with myself, then Schmidt, and Freya bringing up the rear. The trapdoor was pushed quietly back, making a square of white light. I followed David on to the fo’c’sle to find the whole ship bathed in brilliant moonlight. Involuntarily I paused. It was a wonderful sight after the darkness of the hold. The moon was almost full and hung low over the sea, so that a path of dancing light showed to the horizon. And in the midst of that silver path was the black outline of our escort. The Thirlmere herself was brilliantly lit, every object clear-cut and accentuated by the darkness of the shadow it cast. Beside the open trapdoor one of the volunteers lay dozing. It was bitterly cold after the warmth of the hold.

  No one was in sight and David led the way quickly to the well deck, where we were at once swallowed up in the shadow of the high bulwarks. Schmidt had chosen one of the central tanks next to the torpedo boat. His choice, I discovered later, had been governed by its field of fire, which was excellent. It was so placed that from it we could rake the whole of the fo’c’sle and cover one entrance to the hold.

  The most dangerous job, so far as discovery was concerned, was getting into the tank. This could only be done through its two small hatches. Freya went first and we spent several uncomfortable seconds as, lying flat on the moonlit surface of the tank, she pulled open one of the hatches and slipped inside. Apparently no one had seen her. She closed the hatch and opened up the driver’s protecting flap. Fortunately this was in shadow and we passed the ammunition through without fear of discovery. Then the three of us went back to the hold. This time we closed up the cases after filling the sacks with ammunition, and when we emerged on to the fo’c’sle again, we put back the trapdoor. We made the well deck without incident. But then David noticed the figure of the man on watch standing on the edge of the bridge. He was gazing in the direction of the destroyer. At length he turned and very deliberately stared the length of the ship. I felt he must see us. But he moved towards the other end of the bridge and disappeared from view behind the chart room. We hesitated a moment and then crossed the patch of moonlight into the shelter of the tanks. After passing the second load of ammunition to Freya, we climbed in through the driver’s flap, closing it behind
us.

  Schmidt had had the foresight to provide sandwiches. I appreciated this, for I was by now extremely hungry. The quarters were cramped and uncomfortable, though the tank had been designed to hold a crew of four. Freya was marvellous. She was suffering both physically and mentally from her long imprisonment in the munition case. Fresh from my experience of Sedel’s deed-box, I understood how she felt. She was in great need of strenuous exercise to free her cramped muscles, and she was suffering from a sense of claustrophobia.

  The moonlight filtered in through the gun vents, casting thin white beams across the dark interior of the tank. Schmidt had taken up his post in the gun turret, whilst David was in the driver’s seat. Placed opposite Freya, as I was, it was not long before I noticed that she was suffering from violent shivers every now and then. It was the sense of being closed up, and at length I leaned forward and gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. She turned and I saw that her face was very pale and that she was biting her lips. She took my hand then and held it tight. It seemed to help her, for after a time her grip relaxed and she fell asleep with her head against the butt of a machine-gun.

  We had divided the night up into three watches of two hours each. David took the first watch. I relieved him at four in the morning, having slept fitfully. When he woke me, I found that Freya’s hand was still in mine. Her head was bowed over the gun and her muscles were relaxed. My arm was cramped, but I dared not let go her hand for fear of waking her. Schmidt took over at six.

  I woke him by tapping against his legs, which extended below the turret. The moon had set and it was very dark inside the tank, so that I had to feel for them. I was by then becoming very tired of my position. Nevertheless, I slept soundly, and the next thing I knew was that someone was shaking me. It was Freya, and as I opened my mouth to speak, she put her hand over it. It felt warm and soft against my lips. Shafts of sunlight threaded into the interior of the tank, which was now quite light. The ship was alive about us. Orders were being shouted and there was the clatter of boots on the steel deck plates.