It seemed hours later when he came to. He kept his eyes shut and lay very still, conscious that he was bound hand and foot now, and conscious that there were two men in the chart room, one at the wheel.
Opening his eyes to a slit, Jim saw the man at the wheel was a lascar, but not the one who had been there when he was fighting Borg. The two men came out of the chart room, and he saw one was Dago Frank, the other Lucieno.
"In about an hour he say, " Lucieno said. "The submarine he come in about an hour."
"This one," Frank said, motioning toward Mayo, "I like to kill."
The two went out on the bridge, and Jim lay very still, resting, his desperate thoughts striving through the stabbing pain to find a way out. He stretched a little, but the ropes were tight. Borg was a seaman, and Borg had tied those ropes to stay.
Jim lay still, staring through his half-opened eyes at the helmsman's feet. Suddenly, his eyes lifted-green flapping trousers, a wide leather belt, an ugly kris, and then broad, muscular brown shoulders and a dark red turban. It was the lascar who had been prowling that night on deck! And the one, he felt sure, who had opened a box of rifles in number five hold. There was something phony about this somewhere.
He lay still, feigning unconsciousness. Another lascar came in, relieving the man at the wheel. Ponga Jim heard the course as they repeated it, and he started.
In the excitement, the lascars had continued to steer his course, ten degrees north and east of the proper one! He stirred a little, to get a better view of the room.
Then in a far corner, among some signal flags, he glimpsed his gun! Evidently flying from his hand when he was struck from behind, it had fallen among those flags, unnoticed.
In an hour, Lucieno had said. At least fifteen minutes had passed, possibly more.
He lifted his eyes. They stopped, riveted on a bit of red outside the starboard door of the wheelhouse. The lascar was standing on the ladder, concealed unless the man at the wheel noticed him, or unless Dago Frank walked along the bridge. The red turban came into sight and then the scar-puckered face.
The man at the wheel was daydreaming, staring off at the coastline to port. The lascar at the door lifted a knife into view, laid it carefully on the deck, and shot it slithering straight at Jim. Instinctively, he arched his body. The man at the wheel jerked around, staring.
The knife was safely under Jim's body, and the lascar in the doorway was gone. Outside the door an awning string rattled against the stanchion. The lascar peered, started to call to Frank, and then shrugged and was silent. Working carefully, Jim got the knife turned edgewise. It was razor sharp. Holding himself carefully, so as not to slice off a finger, he managed to use his hands enough to cut through a rope and then another. Swiftly, he freed himself and stood up.
The lascar turned, and found himself with a knife pressed against his stomach. His face gray, he stood very still, his mouth looking sick.
One sound and I'll cut your heart out!" Jim snapped. "Get back to that wheel, and don't let a yelp out of you!"
Turning, he caught up the automatic and stepped to the door. Dago Frank was standing in the wing of the bridge, staring at the shoreline. It was suddenly very near, too near. He wheeled and started for the wheelhouse, and brought up suddenly.
"All right, Dago," Jim said coolly, "this is it. You wanted to kill me, now go for your gun!"
Frank's hand shot down, and Ponga Jim stood very still, canting to the roll of the ship. When Dago Frank's gun came up belching flame, he fired. He heard a bullet smack viciously into the wall of the wheelhouse, but that was all. Frank turned half around and fell headlong.
A white man rushed out on deck with a rifle, and Ponga Jim fired. The man ran three steps and then pitched headlong over the rail, the rifle clattering on the deck.
Blue Coley started out of the passageway below, and Jim's gun coughed. The bullet smacked against a steam-pipe housing at his feet, and Blue stumbled back into the passage in a desperate hurry. Another shot chased him down the passage.
Leaping through the door, Jim was just in time to snap a shot at the lascar at the wheel as the man tried to throw a knife. The native dropped, coughing blood. Jim leaped past him to the engine-room telegraph and jerked it over to SLOWthen to STOP.
A bullet whistled by his head and smashed the chronometer, and he saw an oiler standing in the forecastle door. Jim fired, and the man jumped back inside. Another rifle shot crashed, and then Ponga Jim chanced a shot into the open doorway, and there was nothing further. He turned suddenly, snapping a shot at a gun in a forecastle port.
Borg had come up the other ladder and was standing in the doorway, staring at him.
The man was unshaven, and his face was almost black.
Ponga Jim glanced down at the empty automatic, tossed it aside.
"I got something for you, big boy," he said. His left jabbed quickly, but Borg ducked and laughed, crashing right into a whipping right uppercut.
"Go ahead, Jim!" a voice shouted from the door behind him. "I'll hold this bunch!"
Mayo whirled, stepping back to watch the door and Borg at the same time. The lascar with the red turban stood in the doorway with an automatic rifle. He was grinning.
"William!" Ponga Jim shouted. "William, by all that's holy!" "Righto, old chap!"
The cheery voice sounded in his ears as Borg rushed. Jim lashed out with another left, and this time stabbed Borg over the eye, splitting it to the bone. A ponderous fist crashed against the side of Jim's head, and a million stars sprang into the sky. Jim laughed suddenly, full of the lust to fight, and fired both hands into the big man's body furiously.
Borg hooked a hard left to his head and then grabbed him, but Ponga Jim jerked away, crossing a short right to the face, and hooking a left to the body. Borg rushed, clubbing with his right, but missing. Then suddenly Borg launched himself in a vicious flying tackle!
Ponga Jim's knee jerked up into the man's face, knocking him sprawling to the deck.
But Borg was up, a wild right catching Jim in the body. He gasped, and a left slammed against his head, dropping him to his knees. Borg lunged, kicking, and Ponga Jim hurled himself at the one leg Borg had on the floor.
The big man came down with a crash, and then both men were on their feet. Jim walked in wide open, his eyes blazing with the joy of battle. Left-right, left-right, punch after punch he ripped into the big man's head and body, hooks, uppercuts, and swings, a battering volley.
Borg was powerful, but too slow. He started to back up, lifting his arms to get that blinding fury of punches out of his eyes and face only to catch a terrific right in the solar plexus. He gasped and Jim let him have another in the same place and then another. The man fell forward on his face, and turning, Jim heard the hoarse rattle of the automatic rifle.
Suddenly, Arnold's puckered scar twisted and his eyes widened.
"Jim!" he yelled. "The sub!"
Mayo sprang to the door. The sub had come up on the port bow, and the officer in the conning tower was staring at the ship in amazement. And it was no wonder. The Natuna was swinging idly on a flat sea, her deck a rattle of gunfire.
Arnold was yelling something about a sack, and Ponga Jim ran out on the bridge. Behind the corner of the wheelhouse was a canvas sack, and, jerking it open, he saw it was full of hand grenades. The sub was closing in for a better view, and a gun crew had swung the gun around to cover the ship. They were launching a boat, and a dozen men were climbing into it.
Ponga Jim jerked the pin and hurled the grenade. It hit the side of the submarine near the gun crew, and there was a terrific blast. But he had already thrown another.
It fell short, but even as the gun crashed, he hurled another.
Their shot put a hole through the stack, but it was the only one they got a chance to fire. Arnold had rushed into the wing of the bridge and poured a stream of hot lead down at the conning tower and then clipped a couple of shots at the boat. Ponga Jim Mayo's next grenade lifted the boat out of the water, a blasted
bunch of wreckage and struggling men.
The sub started to back off, obviously injured, but Jim hurled another grenade. The officer on the conning tower, apparently uninjured by Arnold's burst of rifle fire, had started down the ladder. In one horror-stricken moment his face showed white.
Then there was a terrific concussion! The last grenade had fallen down the conning tower hatch.
William lowered his gun. His face was bleeding from a cut on his head.
"The marines have landed and have the situation well in hand!" he said.
"It wasn't a limey said that!" Mayo grunted. "That was an American."
"Righto!" William Arnold agreed.
Borg was getting to his feet. Mayo walked in and slugged him with the barrel of his automatic, which he'd retrieved and loaded.
"I'll tie this bird. He's wanted somewhere. Or we can kick him ashore in Sydney."
"Sydney?" Arnold said. "Why Sydney? This ship-" "Listen, pal," Ponga Jim said patiently.
"You're the British Intelligence or something, aren't you? Well, you want this activity stopped down here. You've prevented the landing of a lot of guns, and you've sunk an enemy submarine. Now I am informed that a certain gent high in official military circles at Sydney can buy arms and ammunition. For me, this represents profit, no loss. Now, unless you want to stage the War of 1812 all over again, we go to Sydney!"
Major William Arnold grinned. "This is no time to sever diplomatic relations with Ponga Jim Mayo," he said cheerfully. "Let me get some pants while you muster the rest of this crew, and we're off!"
He started down the ladder.
"Hey!" Jim said. "You know any dames in Sydney?" "Just two," Arnold said. "Why?"
"Just two," Mayo said regretfully. "That's going to be tough. I'd hoped there would be enough for you, too!"
"Nuts!" Arnold said grimly, and walked down the ladder with his green pants flapping.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
AMURANG
On the bank of the river called Rano Rapo, is Amurang, a neat little town of some two thousand people, with white frame houses and a covered bridge crossing the river to Rumoon. Steamers of the K. P. M. line (the Koninklijki Paketvaart Maatschappij) call every four weeks en route from Surabaya. Another steamer from Makassar arrives every month. The hills around are thickly wooded except where cultivated. Coffee was the principal crop. There was a good road to the town of Menado, and one also to the town of Tondano. The mouth of the gulf on which Amurang is situated is roughly eight miles wide and penetrates about that distance inland. It is subject to violent squalls which can gather very suddenly over the mountains. These are called barats.
Seamen often have other, less respectful names for them.
Such a sudden storm could be a very harrowing experience for a young man temporarily in command while the master and the chief mate were ashore on business. Fortunately there are no better seamen than the Bugis, and there were four of them on board on the Semiramis with Ponga Jim in this story.
*
ON THE ROAD TO AMURANG
When he reached the road, Ponga Jim Mayo hesitated. Behind him, the wide, cool veranda of the Dutch Club echoed with soft laughter, the click of billiards, and the tinkle of glasses. There was a glow in the sky over Glandestan Way. But Ponga Jim's eyes turned toward the Punchar Wharves, where the Semiramis was tied.
His frown deepened. Balikpapan was no place for an empty ship. But it was better than having it at the bottom of the Molucca Passage, like the Silver Lady.
He hitched his shoulder to shift the heavy Colt automatic. Abruptly he faded into the shadows of the shrubbery, gun in hand.
"Jim," a voice called softly. "Hold it."
A drunken seaman was staggering down the road in stained dungarees and a grizzle of gray beard. He lurched closer, peering into Jim's face. Ponga Jim slipped the gun back into its holster.
"Damn you, William! If this is the way the British Intelligence works, the enemy will have to fumigate to get rid of you!"
Major Albert chuckled. Then he grew serious. "Jim, don't you own the Semiramis now?"
"If you call a down payment owning it. But the way things look, I'll never get a cargo for her. She's lying over at Punchar Wharves, as empty as my pockets will be tomorrow."
"What's the matter? Are the shippers afraid?"
Jim spat disgustedly. "Do you blame them? The Arafura, gone without a trace somewhere in the Sea of Celebes. The Viti Queen, last sighted off Flores. And now it's the Silver Lady, with a thousand tons of tin. In case you don't know, tin is valuable stuff. And a half dozen sailing craft gone."
"I know, Jim. Japan has threatened for years to take all the Far Eastern Dutch and British colonies if England went to war in Europe. There won't be a British or Dutch ship in the Indies within thirty days!"
Ponga Jim whistled. "Submarines?" "We don't know. Subs demand a base."
Jim stared thoughtfully down the dark road. Thousands of islands, with lagoons, streams, and bays"You know all these damn islands, Jim. Now, if you were going to hide a submarine base, where would you do it?" "There's a lot of places on Halmahera, on Buru, or Ceram.
But there are places along the coast of Celebes, too. Nobody really knows these islands yet, William. But if I were going to base subs, I'd pick a spot on the Gulf of Tolo."
"That's Celebes, isn't it?" Major Albert asked.
"Yeah, an' not a track or clearing for miles and miles. A lonely country with cliffs and canyons six hundred feet straight up and down. Waterfalls and rapids that plunge over a wilderness of rocks. William, there's jungle back there that would turn a monkey's stomach sick with fear!"
"Listen, Jim," Major Albert said slowly. "I'm going to do you a favor. In return you can do me one. Li Wan Chuang has a consignment to deliver that means a contract for him. The Silver Lady was to handle it. The cargo goes to Amurang, Menado, and Wahai."
"What a pal you are! Between Menado and Wahai is the Molucca Passage. And at the bottom of the passage is the Silver Lady!
You wouldn't put a guy on the spot, would you?"
ON THE ROAD TO AMMURANG
The major grinned cheerfully. "You wanted a cargo, didn't you? All I ask is that you keep an eye open for a sub base." "An' go prowling around the Gulf of Tolo and get my rudder shot off? Listen, you scenery bum. I'll keep my eyes open, but I'm not getting the Semiramis sunk running errands for you." "Ssh!" Major Albert whispered suddenly. His voice became querulous, whining. "I sye, Guv'nor. Let a chap 'ave the price of a beer?"
"A beer?" Jim snapped harshly. "Here's a guilder. That ought to get you off the streets."
Jim spun on his heel and strode down the road. A car swung around a bend behind him.
For an instant, its headlights sharply revealed three men. Ponga Jim's breath came sharply, and his hands slid from his pockets. He walked toward them.
Everyone in the islands knew Pete Lucieno. Short, fat, and oily, he participated in everything crooked in the Indies. With him were Sag Dormie and a huge man with a great moonlike face. Sag Dormie was known all too well in the islands. He had done time in the States and Australia. Some said he'd escaped from Devil's Island penal colony. He was kill-crazy. The big man was new. Looking up into his face, Ponga Jim felt his hackles rising. The man's eyes were dead.
Years before, in the States, Ponga Jim had been climbing a mountain. Pulling his head over the edge of a great, flat rock, he had found himself staring into the ugly eyes of a rattlesnake. That snake's eyes had been blank like these.
Ponga Jim looked at Pete and grinned insolently.
"What are you doing in Borneo? I thought they were putting a bounty on rats."
Pete Lucieno's eyes narrowed. "At least my ships have cargoes," he said softly. "They don't lie rusting at the dock."
"Yeah? Some people will carry anything for money. But you can have that stuff. I've got my own cargo. Sailing tomorrow for Amurang, Menado, and Wahai."
"Where?"
Sag Dormie leaned forward intently. Jim noticed
that Pete's eyes were eager. "Taking the Molucca Passage?" "You bet! Want to come along? There's always room for rats in the bilges." Even as Jim watched Sag, he sensed the real danger was in the placid, fleshy man beside him.
Sag's hatchet face twisted into a sardonic smile.
"Through the Molucca Passage? I want to live a few years yet!"
"You are too sure of yourself, Captain," Lucieno said, his beady eyes gleaming from under his brows. "What of the Silver Lady?"
"Cap Marlin was my friend," Ponga Jim said coldly. "He was sunk. I only hope the guys who got him come after me."
He brushed by them and strode along the road. There was work to do and a cargo to load before daybreak. Yet he was uneasy. It had been only a matter of weeks since he had thrown Pete Lucieno for a loss by preventing the landing of munitions on the coast of New Guinea. Lucieno would never forgive that. What was more natural than that he should know of this threat that hung over the masts of British and Dutch shipping? Who else would dare locate a submarine base in the islands?
Jim walked up the gangway. A slim, dapper young Chinese stepped from the shadows behind the companionway. "Captain Mayo? I am Li Wan Chuang. I have been informed you would transport some cargo for me. I took the responsibility of ordering it on the docks in readiness."
"Yeah-okay," Jim said, startled. "You surprised me. Chinese in these waters don't often speak good English. On second thought, neither do the white men."
"I went to the University of California for two years and took it very seriously.
Then I went to the University of Southern California for two years. Now I take nothing seriously."
"We're going to get along," Ponga Jim grinned. "Do you know the chance we're taking?"
Li nodded. "But I must make delivery at once. And you have a reputation for getting results, Captain Mayo."
"It'll take more than that," Jim said crisply. He spun on his heel. "Mr. Millan!
West from Singapore (Ss) (1987) Page 3