by Philip Roy
I went over my checks again and again, with no success. It was discouraging. How I wished I could have called Ziegfried. He would know right away what was wrong. I was tired. It was getting late. It was bothering me that I had left Seaweed alone for so long. In a fit of frustration, I yanked on the fuel line. Was it possible there was a hole inside of it and it was sucking air and preventing the diesel from passing through? It was just a wild guess. I unclamped the hose, let it drain, held it up to the light and looked through it. No, it was solid. I sat back down. I wasn’t able to fix this engine. They had taken me into the desert for nothing.
I had to put the engine back the way it was and go outside and explain. It was not a very nice feeling. As I was re-clamping the fuel line I was also remembering the many times that Ziegfried had taught me something by intentionally creating a problem in the sub, so that it wouldn’t work until I had found the problem and fixed it. It had been a very frustrating way to learn, for sure, but had taught me some invaluable lessons, in particular, to keep searching persistently. I decided to take one more look at the fuel injection system before going out to the men and admitting my failure.
Between the injector pump and the engine was the fuel injection line, but it was made of metal, not rubber. There were no holes in it and it was not leaking anywhere. The whole system was very simple, which was surely why it had lasted so long in the first place. At the very end of the injection line was a nozzle. I was surprised to discover this time that I could remove it. As I raised it up to the light, I couldn’t believe what I saw. The hole in the nozzle, through which the fuel was supposed to pass, was almost sealed! In the way that a clam builds its shell — spinning coarse sand into smooth enamel — the fine powder of the desert, over many, many years, had closed in around the opening of the nozzle until it was virtually sealed shut. The fuel couldn’t pass through!
I reached for my files, picked up the smallest one and scraped across the top of the opening, just until there was a hole big enough to pass the file through. Then I filed the hole carefully until it was brought back to its original size. I blew the powder away, wiped the nozzle with my shirt and reattached it to the line. I pumped the line with fuel, spun the flywheel and flicked the engine switch. “Rrrrrrrrrrrrr … rrrrrrrrrrrr … Rrrrrooooooaaaarrrrrrrr!” The diesel kicked into life. It was running! I was so happy! My grandfather’s boat probably sounded better, but the engine was running. The men came rushing into the shed, yelling and saying blessings and hugging me. I heaved a heavy sigh of relief. In my heart, I thanked Ziegfried.
We prepared to leave in the morning. It took exactly the same amount of time to return. Camels are so slow and steady you can predict a journey with precision, which is important in crossing a desert. When the camels finally lumbered onto the beach, I jumped off, ran to the water and threw myself in. I swam straight to the old ship, where I found my first mate guarding the sub like the loyal sailor he was. It was a lonely sight, a lone seagull nestled down on the rusted-out shell of an ancient freighter. When he saw me he squawked loudly. I could tell he was glad to see me, although I wasn’t sure if his squawk was a greeting or a complaint. He got fed right away in any case, and he deserved it — no one had stolen or vandalized the sub in our absence.
I was happy to be back at the sea shore. The desert was fascinating for sure, but no place for a sailor. Omar’s father wanted to give me a camel, as a way of saying thank you. It was a tremendous honour, though not exactly my first choice as a crew member. I suggested a present of oranges and dates instead, since they refused to let me leave empty-handed. It turned out to be a wonderful present; the oranges and dates filled the sub with freshness and sweetness.
After we said our goodbyes, the furry camels and their wrinkled masters returned to the burning heat of the desert. I watched them saunter off the beach and disappear into the vastness without so much as dipping a toe in the water. That seemed strange to me, that they wouldn’t want to throw themselves into the sea after so much heat and dryness. Apparently not. I did manage to convince Omar to sail back to Jerba with me, where we spent the rest of the week diving for sponges, shooting pellet rifles and cooking over an open fire. It was so much fun. And yet my search for Atlantis was calling me. And so, with a promise to return on our way back home, I hugged my new friend, and we said goodbye for now. He left to sell his sponges and visit with his family; I gathered the crew and left the shores of Africa for Greece.
Chapter Twenty-four
THEY WERE FLYING a white flag. As soon as I saw it I remembered Reggie’s warning about pirates. But surely not everyone flying a white flag was a pirate? And yet I had to admit, I had a bad feeling about this one.
It was a wooden sailboat about thirty feet long, and had a rubber dinghy in tow with an outboard motor. I followed Reggie’s advice and took a careful look at the boat through the binoculars, checking for any visible signs of damage. There were none. There hadn’t been a storm. For all the time I had been in the Mediterranean it had been like sailing on a lake.
I had picked them up on radar first and was now peering at them from a mile away. It was doubtful they had seen us. I submerged to periscope level and motored closer. About a tenth of a mile away I had a pretty good look at them through the periscope. A man came out of the cabin and looked at something in a box. He was not distressed. He was kind of rough looking. But Reggie was rough looking, and he certainly wasn’t a pirate. Then another man came out. He looked pretty much the same. Neither man appeared to be in trouble in any way. I had to wonder why they were in distress. Nobody was bailing. There was enough wind to sail. Surely if someone were sick or injured these two could sail for help. They also had the dinghy with the outboard motor, unless it was out of gas. Hmmm. It just didn’t look right. And then I saw something that disturbed me. One of the men hit the other. And the other man didn’t respond. He was afraid. Now I knew there was something wrong. The angry man started yelling at the timid man, and then a third man came out of the cabin, and he was even angrier than the second man. Now there were three men on deck, none of whom looked much like a sailor. I decided not to come to their assistance, which wasn’t easy. When you were on the sea, you wanted to believe that anyone would stop and help you when you were in trouble. But my gut feeling was strong, and I was going to listen to it.
So, I sailed away and resurfaced. Reggie had also advised that I contact the authorities if I suspected there were pirates in the area. But I wasn’t sure who to call. We were in the Sea of Crete now, in Greek waters, but weren’t within the twelve-mile zone of any island. I decided to contact Ziegfried and ask his advice.
Ziegfried wasn’t answering. Then I realized, he was probably already on his way over. I made myself a cup of tea and thought about it. Probably I should try to contact the authorities in Crete. I could identify myself as a Canadian sailor, without mentioning the sub, and describe everything else just as I had seen it.
I was about to make the call when I heard the radar beep. Another vessel was approaching the distressed sailboat from the other direction. We were now four miles away. The approaching vessel was five miles on the other side. Perhaps the stranded sailboat had called the authorities after all. Perhaps I had gotten it all wrong. On the other hand, what if the approaching vessel was an innocent sailboat coming to help and was going to be attacked by the pirates and its crew savagely killed? Yikes!
The approaching vessel wasn’t very fast. That meant it probably wasn’t the authorities. It must have been a sailboat. I had to go back.
The sailboat came in a straight line towards the distressed boat. They must have been using radar. I came in submerged, so that no one would know we were there, then rose to periscope level. The sailboat appeared. She was flying the Swedish flag — blue with a yellow cross. She was about the same size as the other boat and there were two people on deck, an older man and woman. They sailed closer, closer, closer … with the man on the bow trying to get a good look at the distressed boat. Suddenly, he yelled back
to the woman who was at the helm, and she turned the wheel and brought their boat around. He had seen something he didn’t like. The three men came running out of the cabin and two of them jumped into the dinghy, with machine guns! They were going to chase the other sailboat, which was now trying to get away!
The motorized dinghy wasn’t very fast but it was only a matter of time before it would catch up to the fleeing sailboat. I surfaced so that the portal was just a foot above water, cranked up the engine and went after the dinghy. I didn’t know what to do but had to do something. Then, I got an idea. I climbed inside and grabbed one of the pellet rifles and the last pack of pellets. The men in the dinghy were so focused on catching the sailboat I hoped they wouldn’t turn around and see me chasing them. All they would have seen anyway would be my head sticking out of the portal and the waves caused by the movement of the sub. What I hoped to do was fire the whole packet of pellets into the rubber dinghy, and maybe it would sink.
As soon as I was within range I started shooting. They couldn’t hear the pellet rifle and never turned around. But I couldn’t tell if I was hitting the dinghy or not. I just aimed as well as I could and kept pumping and shooting the gun. If they had ever turned around I would have slammed the hatch shut and dived. But they never did.
When all the pellets were gone, I submerged to periscope level again and continued the chase. The dinghy had almost caught the sailboat. I could see the men with machine guns laughing as the terrified couple tried to sail away, and then … the dinghy started to slow down. It was deflating! It was going to sink! In a minute we were almost alongside the dinghy, just fifty feet away. But the pirates were scrambling around too much, trying to find out why they were sinking, to notice the periscope. I saw the couple in the sailboat reach for two lifebuoys. They were thinking of something I had failed to consider — maybe the pirates couldn’t swim.
Well, one could, and one couldn’t. One of the two men started to swim back towards their own sailboat, which was slowly motoring to catch up. But he left his partner behind to fend for himself. The Swedish couple managed to throw a lifebuoy to him, and as soon as he grabbed it they let go of the rope. They wisely decided not to pull him to their own sailboat.
The pirate swimming back tried pathetically to keep his machine gun. He swam with one arm and held the gun above water with the other. But he soon grew tired and the gun slipped into the water. Then he wrapped it around his neck and tried to swim with two arms. Finally, he just let it sink. The other pirate clung to the lifebuoy with a look of panic. I hoped he would hold on. I didn’t want him to drown, but I didn’t want to rescue him either. I decided to stay and wait until the other pirates had rescued him. The other sailboat didn’t. As they sailed away, they waved at the periscope! They had seen me!
When the two pirates picked up their mate, he immediately pointed to the periscope. He had spotted us too! The other two grabbed more machine guns and started firing at us! I flicked the dive switch and we went down, but not before I heard bullets bouncing off the hull. I wasn’t afraid. I knew the bullets would lose their power as soon as they hit the water. From inside the sub, the bullets sounded like the tapping of a toy drum. Still, there was something very disturbing about being shot at. It made me angry. I was angry that they would turn the sea into such a dangerous place. I wasn’t going to let them get away with it.
Chapter twenty-five
WE CHASED THEM for a whole day. They seemed to be heading for North Africa, possibly Libya. They were terrible sailors. They couldn’t seem to catch the wind properly, and when they did, by chance, they almost swamped their boat. After a while, they just gave up, dropped the sail and motored the rest of the way. But you can’t motor endlessly in an old sailboat without running out of fuel. And they did.
I would much rather have been looking for Atlantis, and yet I couldn’t let them get away. The Swedish couple must have called the authorities. Anyone who would answer a distress call and come to someone’s rescue would surely call the authorities. However, the pirates had sailed away from that position. I decided to call in their present coordinates.
I contacted the Greek coastguard in Crete. They put me on to someone who spoke English.
“Identify your vessel and nationality …”
“I’m a Canadian sailor.”
“Identify your vessel please.”
“Umm … it’s a sailboat.”
“Please give your vessel registration number.”
“That’s not important. What’s important is that there is a group of pirates out here waiting to catch somebody else.”
“Please give your vessel registration number.”
Shoot!
“I don’t have one. Can I just give you the pirates’ position, please?”
There was a long pause.
“Give the coordinates please.”
I gave the coordinates, then I wanted to hang up. But they wouldn’t let me go so easily.
“It is illegal to sail in Greece without an international vessel registration number. Please report your …”
I hung up. I wondered what they would have said if I told them my vessel was a submarine.
So I waited. I had been two days without sleep. The crew, of course, slept whenever they wanted to. But I was terribly sleepy, especially as we were just sitting still. Then, the wind picked up and the pirates were encouraged to try sailing again. I watched them through the periscope less than a quarter of a mile away. I wished the Greek coastguard would hurry up. I was falling asleep.
The wind was coming from the south and gaining strength quickly. I saw a dark orange cloud on the horizon, and I knew what that meant. I wondered if the pirates knew what it meant. I wondered if they knew enough to drop their sail.
Nope.
They seemed pleased to have the wind raise their sail so easily. For a little while they even managed to tack into the wind successfully. But the orange cloud hadn’t hit with full strength yet. When it did, it struck the sailboat like a giant stepping on a blade of grass. The sailboat swamped and the pirates fell overboard. I surfaced, turned on the engine and motored closer, but kept the hatch closed. I was afraid Seaweed would take a chance and go out. I knew that at least one of the pirates couldn’t swim and didn’t know if the others would help him. Problem was, I couldn’t see through the cloud, and I was worried that by the time I was close enough to see what was going on, one or more might have drowned.
When we finally approached, I saw three men clinging to the swamped boat. They saw the sub and waved frantically. What a bizarre situation! Normally, I would have hurried to their rescue. But I knew who they were and why they were here in the first place — they were thieves and probably murderers. If I rescued them, they would almost certainly steal my submarine and maybe even kill me, and Hollie and Seaweed. There was no way I would take that risk.
The wind continued to howl. I didn’t know how long they could hold on, or, if their boat would even stay afloat. What would I do if it sank? Would I watch three men drown? I tried to prepare myself for that possibility but couldn’t do it. There had to be a way; I just had to find it.
Eventually I came up with a plan. It might not have been the best plan, but it was better than nothing. First, I coaxed Seaweed to the portal, opened the hatch carefully and let him see the sandstorm. He immediately hopped back to the observation window and made himself cozy. I felt confident he would stay there. Then, I brought out the dinghy and lots of rope. I inflated the dinghy and tied several ten-foot lengths to its handles, so the pirates could tie themselves in. Then, I tied a hundred foot length of rope between the dinghy and the portal. I maneuvered in front of the capsized boat, facing into the wind, and let the dinghy go. One of the pirates grabbed hold of it and jumped in, then helped the others. I leaned against the portal and waited for them to tie themselves down. I was pretty sure that one of the pirates only pretended to tie himself to the dinghy, and I could guess why. He was planning to crawl along the rope to the sub when I wa
sn’t looking.
I cranked up the engine and sailed into the wind. It surprised me that the pirates, so untrustworthy themselves, would be so quick to trust me. I supposed they didn’t have much choice.
We were sailing towards Africa. But I had no intention of docking, only of sailing within sight of land and setting the pirates adrift. I would throw them the paddles before I let them go. But we would enter the twelve-mile zone. Would that be in Libya or Egypt? I wasn’t really sure.
I went back inside and pulled the hatch down without sealing it. Just as I had suspected, one of the pirates climbed onto the rope immediately. He didn’t seem to realize that I could see him through the periscope. We were travelling at about fifteen knots and the wind was probably blowing at a hundred miles per hour. That was a lot of wind to fight when you were dragging yourself along a rope — in the sea! I watched him for a little while because it was so impossible and yet he was so determined. It was very funny. After ten minutes or so he had crawled almost halfway. But I could tell he was exhausted. I opened the hatch, strapped on the harness, stepped onto the stern and grabbed the rope. I lifted it up and gave it a quick snap. A wave went through the rope and hit him like a whip. But he held on. After three more whips he turned around and made a gesture for his companions to follow him, but neither of them would. I whipped the rope quickly three more times, he lost his grip and drifted back to the dinghy. As he climbed in, he tried to strike one of the other men but missed and slipped. I couldn’t help laughing. I knew these men were very dangerous on land. At sea they were absolutely clueless.
