The Spoilers / Juggernaut

by Desmond Bagley

  Metcalfe steadied the wheel with one hand and held a sandwich with the other. ‘What a hooker this is. She might do nine knots if she could go down hill.’ He looked up. ‘What’s that gadget up there on the derrick?’

  Abbot said, ‘It’s one of Dan’s tricks.’ He explained about the light ashore and the man in the crow’s nest.

  ‘Ingenious,’ commented Metcalfe. ‘Climb up there and see what you can see.’

  Abbot went up the derrick and steadied himself at the top by holding on to the sighting telescope which was rigidly fixed. At that height, fifty feet above the water, he felt the breeze which stirred his fair hair, and the slow roll of the Orestes was magnified. ‘There are two more buttons up here,’ he shouted. ‘Eastman wanted two sets.’

  ‘Leave them alone. What do you see?’

  Abbot looked over the bows. ‘There’s a ship ahead of us. I can see the smoke.’ He turned slowly, scanning the horizon. ‘There’s one behind us, too.’

  Metcalfe clicked into alertness. ‘Overtaking us?’

  ‘It’s hard to say,’ shouted Abbot. He was silent for a while. ‘I think she is—I can see a bow wave.’

  Metcalfe left the wheel, saying to Hellier, ‘Take it.’ Without breaking his stride he scooped up a pair of binoculars and went up the derrick like a monkey up a palm tree. At the top he steadied himself against the roll of the ship and focused the binoculars astern. ‘It’s Fuad’s yacht. She’s coming like a bat out of hell.’

  ‘How far?’

  Metcalfe did a mental calculation. ‘Maybe six miles. And she has radar—she’ll have spotted us.’ He handed the binoculars to Abbot. ‘Stay here and keep an eye on her.’

  He went down the derrick and back to the bridge where he picked up the bridge telephone and rang the engineroom. ‘Johnny, prod your chaps a bit—we want more speed…I know that, but Jeanette is on our tail.’

  As he slammed down the telephone Hellier gave him a sideways glance. ‘How long have we got?’

  ‘This rust bucket might do a little over eight knots if she’s pushed. That yacht might do thirteen or fourteen. Say an hour.’ Metcalfe walked on to the wing of the bridge and looked astern. ‘Can’t see her from here; she’s still below the horizon.’ He turned and there was a grim smile on his face. ‘I was in a lark like this once before—over in the Western Mediterranean. Me and a guy called Krupke in a Fairmile. But we were doing the chasing that time.’

  ‘Who won?’ asked Hellier.

  Metcalfe’s smile grew grimmer. ‘I did!’

  ‘What can she do if she catches up? She can’t board us.’

  ‘She can shoot hell out of us.’ Metcalfe looked at his watch. ‘This tub isn’t going to be too healthy an hour from now.’

  Hellier said, ‘We have plenty of steel plate to hide behind.’

  There was something of contempt in Metcalfe’s voice as he said in disgust, ‘Steel plate!’ He kicked against the side of the bridge and rust fell in large flakes. ‘Nickel-jacketed bullets will rip through this stuff like cardboard. You were in the artillery, so you ought to know. Tell me what a 40-millimetre cannon will do to this bridge?’

  He left Hellier with that disconcerting thought and went up to the foredeck where Parker and Warren were working on the winch. ‘Put a jerk in it—we’re being followed. How long, for God’s sake?’

  Parker did not pause in his steady movements as he screwed in a pipe. ‘I said an hour.’

  ‘An hour is all you’ve got,’ said Metcalfe. ‘After that keep your head down.’

  Warren looked up. ‘Dan’s been telling me about what you think Delorme will do. Will she really shoot us up?’

  That was enough to make Parker stop. ‘The first time I laid eyes on that cow I knew she was bad,’ he said. ‘I dunno how Mike could stand her. She’ll kill the lot of us an’ then go back an’ dance all night without a second thought.’ He hauled on the pipe wrench again, and said, ‘That does it up here. The rest we do below decks.’

  ‘If there’s anything I can do to speed up the job just shout,’ said Metcalfe. ‘I’m going below to tell Andy the score.’ He checked with Tozier and with Follet in the engine-room, and when he arrived back in the open air he saw that the Stella del Mare was visible from the deck, low on the horizon. He went right to the stern and explored, then went up on to the bridge and said to Hellier, ‘This is going to be the prime target—anybody standing where you are is going to get the chop.’

  ‘Someone has to steer,’ said Hellier quietly.

  ‘Yes, but not from here. There’s an emergency steering position aft.’ Metcalfe looked up at the derrick. ‘Mike, come down from there and take the wheel.’

  He and Hellier went aft where they dragged the emergency steering-wheel from the locker and fixed it in place directly above the rudder. Metcalfe surveyed it. ‘A bit exposed,’ he commented. ‘It needs some canvas round it. It won’t stop bullets but they might not shoot at the stern if they don’t see anyone here.’

  They draped a canvas awning around the wheel. ‘Stay here a while,’ said Metcalfe. ‘I’ll take Abbot off the wheel on the bridge—I need him. You can con the ship from now on until I relieve you.’

  He dashed forward again, thinking as he went that he was covering a fair mileage on his own flat feet. He took Abbot off the wheel and regarded the course of the Orestes. After a preliminary swerve she continued on her way, and the bridge wheel turned slowly and even back and forth as though controlled by an invisible man.

  ‘Nip into the officers’ quarters,’ he said to Abbot. ‘Bring some pillows, blankets, jackets, hats—I want to rig up some dummies.’

  They draped coats over pillows and fastened the uniform caps on top with meat skewers from the galley. They made three dummies and suspended them from the top of the wheelhouse by ropes so that they looked unpleasantly like hanging men. But from a distance they would look real enough, and they swayed lightly to and fro most realistically giving an impression of natural movement.

  Metcalfe went out on the wing of the bridge and looked aft. ‘She’s catching up fast. About a mile to go—say ten minutes. You’d better get the hell out of here, Mike. I’m going to see what Parker’s doing.’

  ‘There’s a ship over there,’ said Abbot, pointing to starboard. She was going the other way and was about two miles on the starboard beam. ‘Do you think there’s any chance of getting help?’

  ‘Not unless you want to make this a real massacre,’ said Metcalfe in a strained voice. ‘If we went over to that ship we’d just be adding to the list of the dead.’

  ‘You mean she’d kill the crew of that ship, too?’

  ‘A hundred million dollars has a lot of killing power. The ports around here are stuffed with men who’ll kill anyone you specify for five thousand dollars, and I’ll bet she has that yacht full of them.’ He shrugged irritably. ‘Let’s move.’

  Parker and Warren were tired and grimy. ‘Five minutes,’ said Parker in answer to Metcalfe’s urgent question. ‘This is the last bit o’ pipe.’

  ‘Where do you turn on the steam?’

  ‘There’s a valve on deck near the winch,’ said Parker. ‘You can’t miss it.’

  ‘I’ll be up there,’ said Metcalfe. ‘Give me a shout when you want it turned on. And someone had better go and tell Andy what’s going on. He might need some backing up, too, but I doubt it.’

  He climbed back on deck to find the Stella del Mare coming up on the port beam. She slackened speed to keep pace with the Orestes and took station about two hundred yards away. He crouched behind the winch and looked across at her. Abbot said, from behind him, ‘Look at the stern. What’s that?’

  ‘Keep out of sight,’ said Metcalfe sharply. He looked at the unmistakable angles barely disguised beneath the canvas covering, and felt a little sick. ‘It’s a cannon. That thing can squirt shells like a hosepipe squirts water.’ He paused. ‘I think there’s a machine-gun mounted forrard up in the bows, and another amidships on top of the boatdeck. A floating packet
of trouble.’

  ‘What are they waiting for?’ demanded Abbot almost petulantly.

  ‘For that other ship to get clear. Jeanette doesn’t want any witnesses. She’ll wait until it’s hull down before she tries anything.’ He judged the distance to the valve which was in the open. ‘I hope she does, anyway.’

  He drummed his fingers against the metal of the winch and waited to be given the word and at last he heard Warren call, ‘All right, Tom; Dan says give it a three-minute squirt—that should be enough.’

  Metcalfe came from behind the winch, stood over the valve, and gave it a twist. He was very conscious that he was in full view of the Stella del Mare and felt an uncomfortable prickling between his shoulder-blades. Steam hissed with violence out of a badly connected joint.

  Far below him Tozier waited, the sub-machine-gun ready in his hands. Behind him Parker leaned stolidly against the wall waiting for something to happen. That something would happen he was certain. No man would stay for long in a steel box into which live steam at boiler pressure was being fed. He merely nodded as Tozier whispered, ‘The clamp is moving.’

  Tozier might have given Eastman a chance out of pity, but Eastman slammed back the door amid a cloud of steam and came out shooting. Tozier squeezed the trigger and the sub-machine-gun roared noisily in the confined space but could not drown the ear-splitting high-pitched whistle of escaping steam. Eastman was cut down before he had gone two steps and was thrown back to lie across the open threshold of the torpedo room.

  The shriek of steam stopped. Parker said, ‘He stood it for two minutes, longer than I expected. Let’s see if he did any damage.’

  Tozier lowered the gun. ‘Yes, let’s get rid of the damned stuff.’

  Parker halted abruptly. ‘That be damned for a tale,’ he said violently. ‘Those are weapons we’ve got in there. We can use ‘em.’

  Tozier’s jaw dropped. ‘By God, you’re right. I must be crazy not to have thought of it myself. Check the torpedoes, Dan; I must get this organized.’ He ran off down the corridor and climbed the vertical ladders to the forecastle. He was just about to step on deck when someone held his arm.

  Take it easy,’ said Metcalfe. ‘Or you’ll run into a bullet. Look out there.’

  Tozier cautiously looked past the door frame and saw the Stella del Mare very close. He ducked back, and said, ‘Hell’s teeth! She’s right alongside.’

  ‘There’s a ship not far away, but it’s getting further away every minute. Jeanette’s waiting for a clear horizon.’

  ‘Parker’s had a thought,’ said Tozier. ‘He wants to torpedo her.’ He grinned at Metcalfe’s expression. ‘Of course, he was a sailor—the idea came naturally to him.’

  ‘It should have come to me, too,’ said Metcalfe. There was a wicked glint in his eye. ‘I’d better relieve Hellier—this is going to take better ship handling than he’s capable of. Does Parker want help?’

  ‘He will. You’d better tell Hellier to go and help him. I’ll give Johnny the word.’

  Tozier went below to the engine-room and found Follet sitting by the telegraph, a gun in his hand and his eye on an engineer officer who was inspecting a dial. He had to raise his voice to be heard as he brought Follet up-to-date.

  ‘Son of a bitch!’ said Follet admiringly. ‘You mean we’re going to torpedo her?’

  ‘We’re going to try.’

  Follet looked at the sweating plates close by. Beyond that thin steel shell lay the sea. ‘If anything happens—any trouble—let me know,’ he said. ‘I’m a good swimmer, but I’d like a chance to prove it.’

  A grim smile came to Tozier’s lips. ‘What odds are you offering now, Johnny?’

  ‘All bets are off,’ said Follet. ‘But we did the right thing, I know that. It’s just that even if you have the edge you can’t win them all.’

  Tozier punched him lightly on the arm. ‘Keep this junk pile working. Tom will be wanting to manoeuvre.’

  He went forward to the torpedo compartment, and before he entered he dragged the body of Eastman aside. ‘Everything seems all right,’ said Parker. ‘Eastman didn’t mess around in here.’ He slapped the side of a torpedo. ‘I’ll need help wi’ these. Two are already in the tubes, but I can’t slide these in on me own.’

  ‘Hellier’s coming down,’ said Tozier. ‘He’s the beefiest.’ He turned. ‘Here he is now. Dan, let me get this straight. We just punch the buttons—is that it?’

  Parker nodded. ‘There’s one set on the bridge an’ another in the crow’s nest; you can use either. But you’d do better in the crow’s nest—there’s a sightin’ telescope up there.’

  ‘I’ll get back up top,’ said Tozier. ‘The fun will be starting.’

  He nodded to Hellier and went away. Hellier said, ‘What do I do?’

  ‘Nothin’ yet,’ said Parker stolidly. ‘We just wait.’ He looked up. ‘If you’re a religious man you could try a prayer.’

  Tozier found Abbot and Warren at the stern. Abbot was lying flat on the deck and peering cautiously around the corner of the deckhouse at the Stella del Mare. He drew back as Tozier touched him on the shoulder. ‘They’re doing something with that thing at the stern.’

  Tozier took his place. Three or four men were busy on the after deck of the yacht, stripping away the canvas to reveal the elongated barrel of the cannon. One of them sat on a seat and turned a handle and the barrel rose and fell; another seated himself and traversed the gun, then applied his eye to the sight. Tozier would have given his soul for a good rifle; he could have knocked off all of them before they could get away.

  Further forward others were preparing the machineguns for action and he distinctly saw a drum of ammunition being put in place. He withdrew and looked astern. The ship they had passed was a mere blob on the horizon surmounted by a smear of smoke. He stood up and called penetratingly, ‘Tom—action stations!’

  The reply from behind the canvas awning was muffled. ‘Aye, aye, sir!’

  Tozier drew Warren and Abbot away. ‘The port side won’t be too healthy from now on. It’ll be best to lie flat on the deck on the starboard side somewhere behind the bridge. We’re going to try to torpedo her and Tom’s in command; he has to be because he must point the ship at whatever he’s shooting at.’

  ‘But the firing buttons are on the bridge,’ said Warren.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tozier. ‘That’s where the fun comes in. Mike, you stay back here and keep in touch with Tom—you pass the word forward when he’s ready to attack. Nick, you’ll be with me. When the word comes you make for the bridge and try to get at the buttons.’

  Warren nodded and wondered momentarily what part Tozier had picked for himself. He soon found out because Tozier nodded to the derrick. ‘There’s another set of buttons at the top of that. That’s my job in case you can’t make it to the bridge.’

  Warren looked up at the horribly exposed crow’s nest and moistened his lips. ‘Suppose you can’t make it up there?’

  ‘I’ll be past caring by then,’ said Tozier easily. ‘Someone else will have to have a go. Let’s get set.’

  He and Warren crouched in cover on the starboard side and waited. When it happened it came suddenly and shockingly.

  From where he sheltered Warren could see the rear of the bridge and, to the accompaniment of a din of rapid explosions, it began to disintegrate. Bright points of light danced all over it as the cannon shells exploded with ferocious violence, and the wheelhouse was, in a moment, reduced to a shattered wreck.

  There was a thump above his head and he looked up to see, incredibly, a piece of glass driven into the teak coaming. Flung from the wheelhouse it had spun murderously towards him and struck with its razor sharp edge to sink an inch deep into the hard wood. Had his head been lifted another few inches he would have been decapitated.

  He dropped back into safety just in time as the cannon fire swept aft. Shells exploded on the deck and splinters of planking drove all about him, one cutting through the hem of his jacket and tearing a j
agged hole. Above the deeper roar of the cannon came the light chatter of the machineguns and bullets ripped through the deck-house as though the walls were of paper, and he grovelled on the deck as though to dig himself into it.

  The firing was heard four miles to the west by the young skipper of the Lebanese patrol boat which carried Jamil Hassan. He turned to Hassan and said, ‘Gunfire!’

  Hassan made an abrupt gesture. ‘Faster—go faster.’

  Warren cautiously raised his head as the monstrous noise stopped and everything was as quiet as before, with just the steady beat of the engines and the lapping of the bow wave. He looked up at the bridge and was horrified at the mass of wreckage. He had a sudden vision of the puppets which Metcalfe had constructed, dancing like marionettes on their strings as the bullets and shells drove through and among them until the roof caved in.

  The Orestes slowly began to swing to port as though a restraining hand had been removed from the helm. Metcalfe called, ‘I’m swinging over to get her athwart my bows as though by chance. We might just get away with it. Tell Andy to get ready.’

  Abbot ran forward at a crouch and passed on the message. Tozier looked up at the pulverized bridge and shook his head. ‘Up you go, Nick; but take it easy. Wait until she’s on target before pressing the tit. If you can’t fire at all give me a shout.’

  Warren found he was trembling. This was not the sort of work he was cut out for and he knew it. He ran for the bridge ladder and climbed it quickly, ducking his head as he came on to the bridge and sprawling flat. He raised his head and looked at the wheelhouse. The front of it had been blasted off and there was very little left behind it. There was no wheel, no binnacle, no engine telegraph—and no small box with two buttons mounted on it. The bridge had been swept clear.

  He shouted, ‘No good here, Andy,’ and twisted around to go back, afraid of being caught by the next blast of gunfire. He did not bother to climb down the ladder but launched himself into space and fell heavily to the deck in the precious shelter of what remained of the bridge.