by Ted Bell
“And Jip?” Nick asked. “Where’s my old dog Jipper?”
“Why, Billy’s got him, Nick,” Hawke said gently. “Remember? That’s why we’re here!”
“Where is Billy now?” Nick inquired in a low whisper. “Is he upon us?”
“Ah, I only wish we knew, lad,” Lord Hawke said. “He tried to follow your route through the reefs just as we thought he would and got his ship hung up on a mighty mess of rock, we hope. By the time he gets her pulled off and repairs the hole in his bow, we’ll have opened up a good stretch of sea between us and be ready to fight. If he didn’t, well—”
“He’s skittish as the four winds, that Blood,” Stiles murmured, and they all fell into deep thought. Each trying to imagine what course of action the pirate might take. “When old Bill is after you, all you need is a trick or a miracle,” Stiles added sleepily. Closing his eyes, he fell into a deep sleep, letting go of Nick’s hand.
A moment later, Nick, too, was sleeping peacefully.
CHAPTER XXXI
The Fully Hatched Scheme
· 8 June 1939 ·
U-BOAT 33, OFF HAWKE POINT
All engines dead stop!”
“All engines stop, aye!”
“Up periscope!”
“Up periscope, aye!”
“Kapitän? A question?”
“What is it now? I’m busy, Lieutenant!” von Krieg said, turning with the periscope so that his back was to Little Willy in the reddish gloom of the bridge deck.
“It’s Colonel! Must I continually remind everyone on this boat of my rank? Please! We must work together now, whether we like it or not. Now, listen. I’ve been thinking—McIver does seem a bit too knowledgeable about the workings of a U-boat. Perhaps you are right about him. I, myself, have been suspicious all along.”
“Of course I am right, you idiot!” von Krieg said, and turned to face the little man. “And, whether you are an idiot lieutenant or an idiot colonel is no matter to me! I am still der Kapitän, lest you forget!” Hoping for a reaction, von Krieg got nothing but a mild smile.
“I’m curious. What are you planning to do with them—later?” Little Willy asked.
“After we have gained entrance to the castle, they will both meet with an unfortunate accident. The Tweedles will arrange something. Tragic. And, simple.”
“Not the child, surely!” Willy said, for, despite himself, he had been completely charmed by the little red-haired girl. She had the entire crew wrapped around her finger. He couldn’t imagine himself able to harm her, but, he reminded himself, this was war. Or would be soon enough, at any rate, when England finally awoke from its slumber.
“I am surprised at this weakness in you, frankly, Lieutenant. You know as well as I do what has to be done. She is a sweet little thing, but in war there are always civilian casualties; it is out of my hands. Both of them must be taken care of as soon as possible. Dr. Moeller will handle it. As you know, he actually has a fondness for such things.”
Hobbes had left Katie, still sleeping peacefully in their little cabin, and was now making his way forward along the narrow companionway. Having returned to their cabin after convincing the captain of the truth of his tale, he’d finally grabbed a few hours’ sleep. Now, he’d been summoned once more to the control room. Apparently, they’d made excellent time, and were now lying at periscope depth somewhere just off Greybeard Island.
He felt a trickle of perspiration run down his cheek and disappear inside the collar of his shirt. Tight quarters, he thought. It was hot inside a U-boat, and before this day was over, Hobbes knew, it was going to get even hotter.
Hobbes was about to embark on the single most significant gamble of his naval career, of his life. His own life, and Kate’s, depended on how he handled himself for the next half hour. He stepped silently into the gloom of the control room and saw Willy and von Krieg at the periscope, so preoccupied that no one had seen or heard him enter.
“Looking for me, boys?” Hobbes said, brightly, stepping up behind the two German officers at the periscope. He felt an air of breezy confidence was called for this morning. It would take all his ingenuity, but he would do it. He had to do it.
“Ah, Herr Lighthouse Keeper!” the captain said, turning around and giving Hobbes the eye. “I didn’t hear you enter.” He looked at the man carefully for a moment and then returned to his periscope.
“Right here, mein Kapitän, ” Hobbes said, stepping forward into the halo of hazy red light. He detested the way the captain kept looking at him like a bug under a microscope and yet there was little here and now that he could do about it. He needed perhaps an hour, and then it wouldn’t matter anymore. He smiled at Willy. “And much refreshed after a few hour’s sleep in such sumptuous accommodations, gentlemen!” Willy, unsmiling, eyed him carefully.
“Excellent! I gave you our best suite, which luckily had just become available. So, what do you think of our little underwater miracle, Herr McIver, now that you’ve spent some time aboard her?” The captain did not bother to hide the pride in his voice as he swiveled the eyepiece through ninety degrees. “We now lie about a thousand yards directly to the south of Hawke Point. And yet I still see no entrance to this secret lagoon you described, McIver. And I’ve been looking for it for weeks.”
“May I take a look at your approach to the point, Captain?” Hobbes asked.
“By all means, by all means!” said the captain, and he stepped aside to give Hobbes access to the periscope. Hobbes could feel the captain waiting for his next move, watching to see how the lighthouse keeper handled a sophisticated periscope.
“Sorry, Captain, I’ve never handled one of these gizmos before. Only seen them in movies, I’m afraid. Mind showing me how to do it?” Von Krieg looked at him, hard, for a moment, and then laughed. He was clever, this Englander, but not half so clever as he imagined.
“Not at all, Herr McIver. Hands go here. Turn this to focus. And your eyes go here,” the captain said with an unreadable smile. “Of course.”
“Thank you,” Hobbes said, not trusting his eyes to look at the captain. He put his hands on the grips and swiveled the scope until the target came into view. At first he thought the periscope lenses were out of focus, the world looked so crazily distorted. Then he realized it was only his own sweat, stinging his eyes. He took a deep breath and kept his eyes glued to the scope where the Nazis couldn’t see the nervousness that filled them.
“You see, Captain, the entrance is designed to be hidden, visible only from a very precise angle. We are now lying perpendicular to the entrance, at almost a ninety-degree angle,” Hobbes said. “To enter the inlet, the submarine must lie parallel to the cliff face. And of course we must submerge to a minimum depth of twenty meters. May I have your chart for a moment? And perhaps a pen or pencil?”
“Why submerge at all?” asked von Krieg, handing him a pencil and the ship’s chart. “Why not just sail into the lagoon on the surface?”
Hobbes, taken aback, tried not to show it.
“Well, first of all, the element of surprise, I should think,” said Hobbes, a bit surprised that any sub captain would be brazen enough to just sail in on the surface into an enemy lagoon. “But it’s also the only way a sub of this size can enter. Let me show you the correct method of entry on the chart, Captain. You’ll see that I’ve drawn the configuration of the submerged entrance on the chart for you. It’s a bit complicated, so I’ll sketch out the whole thing.”
Hobbes had designed the underwater entrance so that it was impossible to detect by the casual observer. But it was quite simple for him to sketch it now for the captain.
“This is the cliff face here,” Hobbes said, drawing the outline of Hawke Point with his heavy black number-two pencil. “The fissure in the face begins here at the top and widens gradually down to the sea, as you can see. At a depth of twenty meters, you should have a good five meters of clearance on either side of the sub. If your navigator manages to put us in dead center.” The captain nodded his h
ead.
“So, we take her down to twenty and go in dead slow. Wunderbar! Did Hawke have this entrance designed for British submarines, I ask you?” von Krieg asked suspiciously. “I wonder.”
“Not at all, Captain,” Hobbes lied smoothly. “It’s a natural rock formation. But you’re correct, it does provide an almost ideal undetected entry for submarines. It is one of Lord Hawke’s most closely guarded secrets. The first of many to be revealed, I assure you.”
“Wunderbar! ” The captain laughed. “A secret English sub base! Ah, Willy, wait until Berlin hears about this! Der Führer will have a parade just for us, no?” A huge grin appeared on the U-boat captain’s face. “Bosun!” he shouted, and the big crewman with the short blond hair appeared instantly.
“Aye, sir!” the crewman said, snapping to attention.
“We are taking das boot through this hidden undersea passage in the rock,” the captain said, excited now. “There is an opening here, see, just twenty meters below the surface of the water. We’ll take her down, pass through this narrow opening, and surface just inside the hidden lagoon. As soon as we’re up, I want a man on the five-inch deck gun and I want the two large rubber rafts deployed. One for Lieutenant Steiner, myself, and our two guests, and one for the good doctor and his assistant, armed with submachine guns. Also, I want both forward and aft torpedo tubes loaded and primed to fire! We are finally about to pay a surprise visit to the famous Lord Richard Hawke!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” said the bosun, snapping out a stiff-armed salute. “Heil, Hitler!”
“Heil, Hitler!” said the captain, with a half-hearted salute.
“Heil, Hitler!” shouted Little Willy, patriotic fervor filling his voice.
They both looked at Hobbes, waiting.
“Heil, Hitler!” the English commander said, clicking his heels and raising his right arm in the stiff-armed salute. Smiling approvingly, the Germans didn’t notice Hobbes’s left hand slipping into his jacket pocket. There, he felt for the two small buttons on his remote radio-controller and firmly pushed the one on the right.
And lowered the Seagate.
For better or for worse, they were going in.
CHAPTER XXXII
The Spanish Masquerade
· 4 October 1805 ·
H. M. S. MERLIN, AT SEA
All eyes were fixed on the eastern horizon as the distant burning star of fire inched up above the earth’s dark rim. Rising, it sent its first brilliant, white-hot rays streaking across the heaving black wave tops, splashing color over the water’s surface, radiant streaks of deepest blue. The sea air on their faces was cool, and carried a sharp bite of salt.
It was going to be a beautiful day.
No one had spoken for some time, not even an hour earlier when Nick had wordlessly joined Gunner and Lord Hawke at the port rail just aft of the bowsprit. Like them, Nick stared silently down at the dark, rolling sea, now shot with brilliant sunlight.
Both men knew why Nick was not in his sick bay berth, even though in the waning moonlight they had seen a dark stain of blood on the white bandage wound around his head. He’d come to the port rail for the same reason they all had. They’d all come to wait for Billy. And Nick again found himself thinking about courage, and the brave little match-boy.
Was he, too, going to prove himself courageous this day, a truly brave boy? As brave as the boys in stories who always stood and fought, and never ran? Never gave in. Never surrendered.
Near enough to Nick’s own age, the match-boy was serving under Admiral Lord Nelson during the Battle of the Nile, aboard Goliath. Each gun crew had its “match-boys” and “powder monkeys.” Powder monkeys ferried gunpowder from below and match-boys lit the powder in the “touch-hole” to fire the cannons. In times of close-range exchanges, when the huge warships were yardarm-to-yardarm and trading broadsides, keeping your limbs, much less your wits, about you was essential. It fell to these young match-boys to do both.
One day, the story went, during a pitched battle at close quarters, an incident occurred which had caused Nick to ponder the question of courage in earnest. A hailstorm of cannister shot and cannonball was tearing into Goliath’s canvas, rigging, and topsides with ferocious velocity and accuracy. The English ship’s great guns were red-hot, bucking and roaring in response. There was more hot lead in the air than air itself. If you were a match-boy, you were right in the thick of it!
At the breech end of his cannon with a burning match in his right hand, the boy was waiting for the gunners to clean and reload, when a French cannonball from the opposing vessel severed his right arm. The ball took his dear limb most cleanly, leaving his entire arm hanging from the shoulder by only the slenderest thread of skin.
The boy looked from his grievously wounded arm to the match that lay, still burning, on the deck. Smoke, fire, lead, and the screams of the wounded filled the air. The boy bent down, picked up the match in his good left hand, and put it to the touch-hole. The cannon belched fire and lead. His perfect ball tore away the royal topgallant mast of the French frigate. And this mere boy, no more than twelve years of age and in shock from the loss of his own blood, had laughed at the murderous effect of his cannon, and then gone off to the surgeon to have his arm attended to.
One arm hanging by a string, he’d fired his cannon and then he’d laughed.
Nick had never forgotten that laugh. Surely that was bravery itself, the laugh of a real hero!
“Sail, ho!” now came a faint cry from the masthead high above. Although they of course could see no such sail; at their level the horizon was still a pale empty orange line in the distance. Nick saw the masthead signalman come flying down a shroud to the deck, with nothing but his hands and his calves wrapped lightly around the line to control his fall. The man then scrambled aft to find the captain, the whole maneuver taking only a matter of seconds! “Sail, ho!” echoed the runner at the foot of the mast, cupping his hands and shouting this news to the officers on the quarterdeck.
“Where away?” said the quarterdeck.
“Hull down, and dead to leeward!”
“Hull down, dead to leeward, aye!”
And a moment later, they saw a small shadowy black shape on the pale pink line where the sea met the sky. As they watched, the shape grew steadily larger as she bore down on them. Mystère advancing into battle was the vision of menace. Compared to their own warship, she was a monster. Enough to give even the bravest man, even Hawke himself, pause. But Hawke knew that this day the sure, swift sword of England was in their hands. And that Merlin was finally ready for a fair fight, a fight she had to win.
The captured Spaniard spy Velasquez, a noose around his neck and spilling his guts in order to save them, had revealed that Spain, in a treacherous secret alliance with France, planned to entrap an unwitting Nelson and his fleet, now lying at Portsmouth, by luring them down off Cape Trafalgar with a single small Spanish galleon known to be loaded to the gunwales with Incan gold.
If McIver failed to deliver Velasquez and his documents of treachery to Nelson, the unwitting sea lord and his fleet would sail on the next tide into the waiting arms of a combined French and Spanish Navy. It would be an unthinkable disaster for the English.
Finally, as the Mystère loomed ever larger on the horizon, it fell to Gunner to break the silence. “Yer feelin’ a bit better, are ye, lad?” he asked Nick. “Seein’ as yer up and about?”
“Aye,” said Nick.
“No use in askin’ if sick bay ain’t the perfect place for the wounded young shipmate today?”
“None.”
“Aye, I thought as much. Still, we won’t be pepperin’ each other from a distance today, Nick. We’ll be boardin’ her or she’ll be boardin’ us, grapnels’ll fly, and then yardarm to yardarm we’ll lie. Frenchies with sabers screamin’ like banshees, mind you. Broadside to broadside, too, lad.”
“I’ve read that’s the way it’s done,” Nick replied softly, staring out at Blood’s looming black silhouette, every inch of canv
as spread. “The way Lord Nelson does it anyway. Attack. Always attack.”
“Lord Nelson ain’t got a little sister waitin’ for him in the next century,” Gunner replied, spitting over the rail. “Nor a mum and dad, neither.”
“Ain’t got his best dog chained up and starving in this one, either, has he? On that bloody pirate’s boat over there, I’ll wager,” Nick shot back. Lord Hawke coughed and put a hand on Nick’s shoulder.
“Nicholas, listen to me. If you must remain on deck, I will understand. But I want you to stick close by Captain McIver,” Lord Hawke said, a worried look clouding his brow. “He’ll be by the helm, well protected by Marines. I must insist that you remain by his side throughout the engagement. No matter what happens to Gunner or me. Is that clear?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Nick said with a smile, feeling as if he’d just won the Irish Sweepstakes. He’d been sure Lord Hawke was going to make him stay below and miss the entire engagement. “I won’t leave the captain’s side, your lordship, I swear it!”
“See that you don’t, lad,” Hawke said seriously, and handed Nick a thick envelope sealed with wax. “Please sew this immediately into your pocket. Keep it safe with the time machine, Nick. If something happens to me, I want you and Hobbes to personally deliver both the envelope and Leonardo’s machine to this person in London. We must not allow this machine of yours to fall into William Blood’s hands. Do you understand, lad?”
“Aye, sir, I do,” Nick said, and turned the envelope over in his hands. On it was a name in Lord Hawke’s fine hand. It said simply, George R. George Rex, Nick realized in an instant. The packet was addressed to the King of England.
“I think it’s time, your lordship,” Gunner said, casting an eye at the sea and the steadily advancing red-hulled seventy-four. “By the looks of that spray off his cutwater, he’s making a good ten knots! She fairly flies, don’t she!”
