by Robb White
The fact that the murder would have six or seven witnesses wouldn't stop Sweiner. On the wharf back in Key West Sweiner had spoken in German to the two men with him. Perhaps his whole crew was German. With a schooner that size Sweiner could sail on across the Atlantic and disappear behind the Iron Curtain of East Germany where another murder wouldn't matter.
What about Sticks Neal?
Bill was very sure that Sticks would never see the
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money he'd been promised. Sticks might even turn out to be very inconvenient to Sweiner—Sticks W2is pure USA American. He wouldn't fit very w^ell behind the Iron Curtain.
Murder for three.
NeaFs voice was cheerful as he said, 'Well, in about half an hour Tm going to get another crack at you/'
Bill looked at him and started to say something when a voice from the hatch startled him. ''Turn around and go back," John said. "You missed one."
Bill stared at him as he dragged his lame leg up and sat down across from Neal.
/'Missed one?" Bill asked. "One what?"
"Wave," John said, grinning a little. "So far youVe smacked every one of them. But that one you missed."
Then John looked across at Neal and smiled. "How's it going, Sticks?" he asked.
"Fine, just fine," Neal said, laughing.
John looked at his brother. "What's up?" he asked, alarm in his voice. "What's the trouble?"
Bill didn't even bother to look back as he pointed. "That's Sweiner. He's following us with radar."
John looked for a long time and then reached over
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for the glasses. After a while, he said, *1 don't see anything. Bill/'
Bill turned slowly and looked aft. He expected to see the schooner not more than a mile away.
Instead, the sea was empty.
Bill stared, his mouth dropping open. He got the glasses back and looked again. ''He was back there a minute ago.''
*'Must've sunk," John said, ''because he sure isn't there now."
Bill said slowly, "Why did he do that? Why didn't he keep on coming? Does he think that I'll lead him to the wreck now—after I've seen him?"
But John exclaimed, "Jumpin' mackerel—look!"
Bill turned forward and looked.
Sliding across the wide band of moonlight was what looked like the entire United States Navy and a few smaller ones. There were cruisers, big carriers, jeep carriers, destroyers, DE's. Everything, even a battleship lumbering along low in the water and, lower, the subs, their conning towers appearing and disappearing as the waves swept past them.
Lights twinkled in code from ships' yardarms and, as
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they bore down on the Venture, figures of men were visible moving on deck.
'It's a good thing we didn't run into that outfit in the pitch darkness/' John said.
For a long time Bill didn't say anything. Then, as though talking to himself, he said, 'That's the fleet. Sweiner saw them on his screen and dropped back out of sight. That's what happened. The fleet scared him." He turned to John. 'Tips," he said. "Lots and lots of pips. But they'll be gone soon and then there'll only be one pip again—us."
The ships went by one by one as the Venture crawled slowly through the water.
"Where's the train?" Bill asked. "It ought to be coming along soon."
"The Navy got trains too?" John asked.
"Cargo ships, transports, tankers," Bill said. "They ought to show up soon. They'll be going a lot slower."
Soon more ships loomed up against the sky. Silently the big attack transports slid by, then long, low tankers. Finally the small fry came along—LST's, LCI's, LCT's, and LSM's.
"All we need is a jay gee who hasn't got his finger on
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his number/* Bill said, as he tacked the Venture almost into the path of the approaching ships and set her on a course parallel to them.
*What are you up to?'*
"Break out the flag and fly it upside down/* Bill told him.
John was amazed. *'What will you use for distress, Bill?**
"You.**
Soon John was hoisting the U.S. flag, stars down, to die masthead. When it was flying. Bill trained the big electric torch on it.
Almost at once an LST turned out of the line and came over, a searchlight playing on the Venture,
Bill cupped his hands around his mouth and called, "Have you got a doctor on board?**
A talk-between-ships opened up, the voice amplified until Bill was afraid even Sweiner could hear it. "Yes, we have.**
"Permission to send an injured man aboard?**
"We will send a boat for him.**
"Thanks a lot. I don*t want to delay you. Can you tow me?**
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*'Be glad to. Towline coming over/'
Soon a boat was being rowed across to them. As it got nearer, Bill suddenly remembered Neal.
'If you open your yap or let them see that you're tied up ril turn you over to the Navy/' Bill warned him.
'What good'll that do?"
'It'll tangle you up for a while, and it will stop you from ever getting any money from Sweiner—or me either."
A report cracked across the water and Bill saw the towline arching up and falling across the foredeck. He ran to grab it and soon had the hawser aboard and made fast.
By the time he got aft again, some sailors were lowering John into the lifeboat.
As they started to row away. Bill said, 'If the skipper is a jaygee tell him that I am, too. Ask him if he'll tow us for an hour or so?"
"What do I do if the doc starts cutting my leg off?"
"He'll leave you the other one. They always do."
In a little while Bill felt the Venture moving forward again. He furled her sails and sat back, steering her through the turbulent wake.
lOJ
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He figured the LST was making about 12 knots. That was a good six knots more than the schooner could make under full sail and power.
Every hour would put six more miles between him and Sweiner. And add six long miles to the limited range of the radar.
Suddenly the talk-between-ships poured a deep, drawling, Southern accent down on Bill. ''Bill Grant,'' it said, ''how you, boy?''
Bill had heard the voice somewhere before, but couldn't place it now.
*'This is Hank Leon," the voice bellowed.
Hank Leon, a long drink of water from Georgia. Hank had been Bill's roommate in indoctrination school and they had suffered much together before catching onto the Navy's ways.
*'Hi, Hank. Suck in your gut! Pull in your chin! Get those shoulders back! You're in the Navy now."
A huge laugh boomed out of the loud-speaker. "What you doin* way out heah in a little bitty ol' sailboat, boy?"
"Having trouble. What are you doing jockeying an LST?"
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"Suh, Ah m commandin' officer of this heah boat. Ah m Admiral—that is, jaygee—Hank Leon/'
'Where you headed?'' Bill called over.
*'Cuba. Wheah you goin'?"
"Cuba. How's for a tow as far as Havana?"
"Well, now, look heah, boy, Ah'm an admiral and all like that but if another admiral was to see me towin' a sailboat he might not like it real good. Y'understand?"
"Same old Navy," Bill called.
"Ah cain't tow you after it gets light. But I'll tow you till then. How about that?"
"Fine. Thanks."
"Here's a hot report from the sawbones. He says ain't nothin' the matter with yo' brother an enlistment in the Navy couldn't cure. He's gonna wrap up the ankle and patch up the hole in his head and send him back to you."
"Tell him thanks."
"We'll bring him over when I cast you off in the mornin'. Okay? It'll save me a stop and Ah'm way behind now."
"Okay."
"G'night, boy!"
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^'Night, Hank/'
He heard the TBS
dick ofF and saw a man walking away from the blunt stern of the LST.
Bill looked at his watch. Ten on the nose. If Hank would tow him until five in the morning that would mean seven hours. Seven hours—42 miles. Well beyond Sweiner's radar range.
Bill was so happy he began to whistle as he steered the rolling, jerking boat.
He thought of Sweiner's radar screen now. It would be dotted with pips, all fading fast. Soon it would be blank. That would confuse him at least for a little while. He might spend as much as an hour circling in an effort to pick up that one, slow pip he was looking for. Another hour, another six miles.
And John was all right.
Now, Bill thought, IVe only got Neal.
''How's that hundred bucks look now, Neal?'' he asked.
Surprisingly, Neal grinned. ''Not so good. You're a big time operator, aren't you?"
"While you were in reform school I was serving in submarines."
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"Yeah? Subs? You're not kidding?*'
Neal's interest surprised Bill and he looked hard at the boy's face to see if he was being sarcastic. Apparently he was not. "Three years in em/' Bill said, a little pride sounding in his voice.
Neal looked at him for a long time. "I had you put down for a pantywaist, but if you went under the water in a sub—well, I don't know."
Bill said quietly, "I made you an offer awhile ago. It still stands."
"Skip it," Neal said, surly again. Then his voice changed. "Say, what's it like in a submarine?"
Bill told him and, in a little while. Bill found that he was telling Neal all about the war. The boy sat there listening and asking questions and Bill went on— memories of that time coming back clear and vivid.
It was a long night, but the stories helped pass the time.
Half an hour before dawn the LST stopped. Bill cast off the towline and soon a boat brought John back with shiny white bandages and a big grin. Hank Leon bawled a good-by over the TBS and soon the sea was empty again.
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"Oh, dear me/' John said, sighing, as he sat in the cockpit, ''back to the working classes. Say, did I ever say I was going to join the Army? Man, that Navy's the place for me. All they do is ride and eat.''
Bill laughed as he got sail on and set his course.
John looked over at Neal. *Tou still tied up. Sticks?"
*'They should have left that hole in your head open so the birds could fly through," Neal said.
John laughed good-naturedly. ''Don't you know you're on the losing team. Sticks? Come on, kick in with us and get some laughs."
*'Shadap," Neal said and looked away.
Now it was six-meter weather. The wind was steady and hard and the Venture foamed along, heeled over, her scuppers often running with green water. This was what she liked and no schooner in the world could touch her now.
John was now able to handle sheets from the cockpit and to help Bill at noon with his sun line for their position.
Neal sat, glum, scowling. Occasionally he would raise his head and look all around the horizon.
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But no schooner appeared.
Bill cooked them a good lunch, while John steered. Bringing the food up into the cockpit, he put the plates down and then went over to Neal.
Without saying a word, he untied the knots, took the line off, coiled it, and stowed it in the lazaret. When he had done that he nodded toward one of the plates, and took one himself, handing the third to John on the wheelbox.
Neal worked his hands and arms and legs. In silence, he stood up and walked slowly around. Then, still scowling and silent, he sat down and began to eat.
They were all silent, all waiting. At last Neal put his fork down and glared at Bill. 'Tou think youVe got me whipped, don't you, smart boy?''
Bill finished chewing but looked directly at Neal all the time. Then he said quietly, ''No. We're still fighting, Sticks. Any way you want it."
Neal looked down at one of his big hands.
''But, remember," Bill said softly, "you're a long way from land now and Sweiner isn't going to come find you. Not any more."
Neal kept looking at his hand. Finally, without rais-
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ing his eyes, he said, *'Look, one minute Tm working for Sweiner and the next minute Fm working for you. Makes me look kind of hke a stinker, see?'*
^^Maybe," Bill said.
Then John laughed, rocking back on the wheelbox. "Don't be so touchy. Sticks. Everybody makes mistakes once in a while. That is, everybody except me.''
Neal's face suddenly got red with anger and he stood up. When he spoke his voice was trembling and his hands were fists. ''Listen, you punks, I never was a Boy Scout or a Sea Spout or anything like that, see? I never had a chance to be. But—get this—Fm just as good as you are. When I make you a promise it's just as good a promise as any you can make me. Understand?"
Bill looked steadily at him but didn't say anything.
Neal, still raging, said, "You think because you've gotten away from Sweiner that I'm scared now; that I'm saying I'll work along with you because I'm scared. Well, I'm not scared. Understand?"
Bill kept on looking at him.
Neal whirled on John. "Nobody told me who Sweiner was. He was just a guy offering me a hundred bucks, that's all. How do you figure that's a mistake?"
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"It wasn't/' John said, grinning at him.
"What are you yakking about then?''
John kept on grinning pleasantly.
"How would I know he was a dirty spy and a Nazi too? How would I know that? How could I tell that he'd beat a guy to death for nothing but some money? How could I tell that?"
"You couldn't," Bill said quietly. "But now that you do know it what are you going to do about it?"
Neal whirled around and yelled at him, "I told you, didn't I! I said my promise is just as good as yours, didn't I!"
Bill just nodded and said, "Good." Then he got up. "You want some more chow. Sticks?"
Neal seemed embarrassed suddenly. "You don't want to hear any more. You just believe me like that?"
"Sure," Bill said. "Give me your plate. How about it, Johnny, chow?"
John shook his head. "The Navy fed me all night long. I'm full."
When Bill had gone below, Neal sat down and said, "Your brother's a goofy kind of bird, isn't he?"
"He's not bad," John said.
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Neal suddenly grinned. *1 know a lot of guys Fd rather fight than him. Baby, he's smart,"
'Teah. He's kind of serious and right now he's worried. But he's easy to get along with."
*'He really fought him a war, didn't he? He was telling me about it. In those submarines." Neal paused and looked across at John. *'You know what he said? He said he was scared most of the time. I don't believe that, do you? I don't believe anything scares that guy. He's got ice water for blood."
John laughed.
Now it was two o'clock in the morning. With John on the wheel and Sticks handling the lines, Bill had been asleep all night, snoring on the floor of the cockpit.
Now John woke him up.
The sky was a dark blue crystal, the stars like jewels in it. Bill got his sextant and the chronometer and braced himself in the hatch.
One by one he brought the stars down to the horizon and called *'Mark" as John read and jotted down the time.
He took a lot of sights and for the next hour worked
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on them until at last he was satisfied with the fix he'd gotten.
*We're about ten miles east of it/' he said. "Let's move over there and try to get another fix before dawn.''
At three-thirty they anchored again and again Bill took sights. By dawn he had finished working them out.
**She ought to be around here within a mile of us," he declared. ''Let's see what sort of water we've got."
Up in the bow Bill heaved the lead line as John
sailed the Venture slowly along.
The long line ran smoothly out of Bill's fingers, the heavy weight carrying it straight down to the bottom, the leather and cloth marker strips going down one by one.
''By the deep fourteen," Bill called back, the smooth rope still running.
Then it stopped and went slack. The leather strip lay on the surface of the water. "By the mark fifteen on the nose."
He coiled the lead line and looked at the clean white sand on the tallow.
Back in the cockpit he sat for a moment watching the
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sun pull the last bit of its rim out of the sea. ''Down there, very near us now, there should be two ships— my sub and Sweiner's raider/'
Sticks leaned over the rail. ''Looks deep,'' he declared.
"Ninety feet. I wonder what kind of light there is on the bottom?" Bill asked.
"You going down—to the bottom?" Sticks asked.
"Going to try." Bill got the diving gear out of the locker. He got into the suit, put the weights on, and strapped the tank harness on his back. Then John helped him with the tanks and face mask.
Now going under the water was a lot different from the way it had been when he and John had experimented with the outfit back in the cove in shallow, familiar water.
Bill went down the short ladder slowly and, at the water's surface, looked around. The sea looked enormous, empty, lonely and, somehow, unfriendly. He could not yet see beneath the shining, rolling surface and he wondered what was lurking down there, waiting for him.
He could feel the lead weights on his belt like things
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alive trying to pull him down from the world of air and sky and birds and men into the unknown of the ocean.
Once more he glanced up at John and Sticks leaning over the rail, then he let go the ladder.
For an instant it felt as though he had been yanked down under the water, but as he sank deeper and deeper his speed slowed.
Panic swept Bill as he found it hard to breathe and heard himself gasping. And felt the steadily growing pressure of the water against his body—all over it—a growing, monstrous squeezing. But when he opened the air valve a little breathing became easy, almost natural, and he found that he soon got used to the pressure.