by Roger Bax
I must have lost consciousness, for the next thing I was aware of was Marya bending over me, pouring water on my face from her shoe. I tried to get up, but a violent pain shot through my arm, and I felt horribly sick. For a moment all went black again. I heard Marya, distantly, murmuring soothing gentle words of love. I managed to sit up, and agony of mind came back with a rush. I remembered, and wished I could forget. Despairingly I said, “Marya, darling—forgive me.” I felt as though I’d destroyed her.
She kissed me and we clung helplessly together. Suddenly Marya whispered “There’s someone coming,” and she gripped my arm. There was a rattle of stones by the water’s edge and once again a figure loomed up out of the darkness. But this time it wasn’t a patrol. It was Joe.
Chapter Thirteen
For a moment he hung back as he saw my strange uniform. Then I whispered “Joe,” and he leaped forward and gripped our hands in heartfelt relief. Marya and I could hardly speak, so great was our emotion. I imagine a condemned man doesn’t chatter very much in the first few minutes after his unexpected reprieve. But after the first shock Joe acted on us like a blood transfusion. Hope and strength came flooding back, and with them a renewed sense of urgency.
We bent over the inert coastguard. His breathing was stertorous. He appeared to have some sort of concussion but we couldn’t be sure. Anyhow, there was nothing we could do about him. We couldn’t kill him in cold blood and we certainly didn’t want him with us. We carried him to the shelter of the cliff, where he’d be less conspicuous at daybreak, and left him there.
Joe had the dinghy beached just below us. We soon had Marya in the sternsheets, and with my good arm I helped Joe push the boat off. In a few moments we were under way.
Until the dinghy was clear of the shore no one said a word. Poor Marya was shivering violently—the mental reaction was almost more exhausting than the physical strain. I sat with my arms round her stroking her hair, and gradually she calmed down.
When we were well away from the beach Joe said in his commonsense way: “Have some grub. It’s under the seat.”
It was just what we needed. I didn’t know when Marya had eaten last, but I hadn’t had a bite myself for seven hours and now that the tension was relaxed I felt ravenous. A large tot of brandy apiece did a lot to revive us. After sandwiches and coffee I felt a new man, apart from the wrist I must have twisted as I rolled down the cliff. Marya bandaged it for me. When she’d finished she began fumbling in the bag which somehow she still carried and started to tidy her hair and do things to her face in the darkness. I knew then that she was feeling better too.
Joe was concentrating on rowing, pulling with strong, expert strokes. The explanations could wait till afterwards, if there was an afterwards. The dark coast seemed quiet enough now, but I couldn’t believe it would stay like that. Apart from the injured coastguard there was that girl Valya to give the show away. When Marya didn’t return, and she heard about the stolen uniform, it wouldn’t take her long to draw the right conclusion. We were still going to need a lot of luck.
The night was incredibly still and it was difficult to believe we were only a few miles from a big city. We seemed to have the whole Bay to ourselves. I could hear nothing at all except the chafe of oars and the gentle slapping of water under the dinghy’s planks. It was a soothing sound. I remember whispering “Are you all right, Joe?” and when he answered, with a faint chuckle, that he was, I became drowsy. Actually, Marya and I must have slept for half an hour, for when we woke the Vake light was very close. I could see the buoy when it flashed. We slid by one of the unlighted beacons and soon I made out the line of Dawn’s mast against the starry sky. At that moment Denny and Svetlana must have seen or heard the dinghy, for voices incautiously raised came echoing over the water. I heard Denny say excitedly “I believe they’re all there,” as Joe swung the dinghy under Dawn’s stern. Then we bumped, and Marya was being helped aboard. For a few minutes our peril was forgotten. Denny shook my hand and shook Joe’s hand and kept saying, “Praise the Lord.” The girls were chattering and laughing and there was a lot of kissing all round in which Joe seemed to be sharing. But it didn’t last long. Joe said: “We’d better save this till afterwards. Let’s get under way.” He became very businesslike. “Women in the cabin, please, and no lights. Denny, help me stow the dinghy. And let’s have a little less noise.”
The girls disappeared and Denny and Joe got to work. I couldn’t do much except keep an anxious watch on the shore. We had precious little time if we were to clear territorial waters before daybreak—it seemed to me that there was already a hint of grey in the east. At last, too, there was more activity ashore. Two or three cars were racing along the coast road towards Pirita. Soon the whole place would be in an uproar.
There was only a capful of wind, but we daren’t risk running the engine until we were out of the Bay. I took the tiller and sheet, Joe got the anchor, the mainsail caught a puff of air, and the Vake light began to fall away to starboard.
We were moving very slowly—you could see that by the angle of the two lights on Viimsi. It hardly changed. I looked at the compass and saw that we were headed almost due north. The main thing was to get out of the Bay. There was a shoal with a least depth of only two feet about three miles ahead and the chart showed one or two rocks awash. But there were distant buoy lights to guide us to the mouth of the Bay. Lack of wind was the chief anxiety. I couldn’t see Joe’s face, but he was whistling softly between his teeth, which was always a sign that he was deeply preoccupied. He kept looking up at the drooping sail and then over towards Viimsi.
Presently he muttered: “It’s no good—we’ll have to risk the engine. We’re almost becalmed.”
Denny reached for the handle and gave it a swing and the motor sprang to life at once. The sudden noise was shattering, but at least we were moving. Svetlana put her head out of the cabin to see what was happening but retired again immediately. Joe called for full throttle and Denny furled the useless sails. The sea was beginning to take on the luminous pewter colour that it gets at first light. We had undoubtedly left things very late.
Joe said, “How soon do you think they’ll be after us?”
I thought of the clues we’d left behind. There’d be plenty of things pointing to an escape by sea—Svetlana’s clothes on the beach, my clothes in the convenience, the battered coastguard, our footmarks in the sand, the marks of the dinghy on the beach. But it might be some hours after daylight before they came across these signs.
I said: “I can’t see them catching us up much before midday unless they’re very smart. But your guess is as good as mine.”
Denny looked nervously back along our wake. “There’s no sign of a ‘hot pursuit’, anyway,” he said.
We were almost abreast of Aegna Island and in an hour we should be out of the Bay. Joe said: “You two had better get some sleep. If I need you, I’ll shout.”
That made sense. What with the hangover, the strenuous night and the reaction from immediate danger, I felt just about whacked, and in the first grey of morning Denny didn’t look much better. And nothing would have made Joe give up the tiller at that moment. I said, “Thanks, Joe,” and we went into the cabin. Svetlana was stretched out on one of the settee bunks in the main cabin with a rug over her, dead to the world. Marya occupied one of the two bunks in the fo’c’s’le. She, too, was fast asleep. She lay like a child, with her small head cushioned on her hand and an expression of utter contentment on her face. I hoped fervently that nothing would shatter that new-found peace. I climbed into my own bunk, and in a couple of minutes I must have been asleep too.
I was wakened by a shout from the cockpit. I tumbled out automatically and rushed on deck with Denny just behind me. The scene had greatly changed. The morning had brought a fresh breeze and, all unknown to us, Joe had hoisted the sails and switched off the engine. The sea had got up a little and Dawn was pitching a bit as she thrashed to windward. Joe looked worn out and my conscience smote me. I realiz
ed that he had had no rest for thirty-six hours.
“There’s a boat over on the starboard quarter,” he said. “Get the glasses.”
Denny snatched the binoculars from their hook in the cabin and handed them to Joe, who said to me: “Take the tiller, will you? My arm’s breaking.” Steering was about all I was fit for. Joe trained the glasses on the distant black speck. He said, “It’s a boat, all right,” and handed the glasses to me. The pitching made it difficult to keep them steady but I could see the outline of a hull.
I said, “Where are we, Joe?”
“About twenty miles from land and thirty from Tallinn. We’re headed for Stockholm.” He braced himself against the starboard gunwale and took another look at the boat. “She’s making heavy weather of it,” he said, “but she’s nearer. I believe she’s the Neva.” That, of course, had been in all our minds. “She’s moving pretty fast—there’s a hell of a bow wave.”
There was nothing for us to do except keep sailing. We held our course for ten minutes. Presently Svetlana stuck her head out of the cabin and gave us a wan “Good morning”. She felt her way cautiously into the cockpit and looked around. “What’s happening?”
“We have company,” said Denny grimly.
Svetlana seemed more concerned about the vast expanse of tossing sea. She said “What a lot of water!” and staggered as Dawn gave a lurch.
“Better get back inside,” said Joe curtly. “We’re busy. And stay there till we call you.” Svetlana gave him a sharp look, but did as she was told.
Joe had taken the glasses again. He said: “It’s Neva—no doubt about that. I can see the lieutenant. We’re on converging courses—she’ll be alongside in a few minutes.”
“She can’t do anything to us here,” said Denny hopefully. “I wonder what she wants.”
It was fairly clear that she wanted something. She was coming very purposefully our way. I could make out the lieutenant plainly now without glasses, and presently we saw the little man come out of the cabin and join him in the cockpit. I saw him take the wheel from the lieutenant and then a bright light winked at us across the water. They were signalling with an Aldis lamp.
Joe gazed out over the water, his eyes narrow with concentration. It must have been a short message—some international signal that I didn’t know. Joe’s face became grim. He said, “They want us to heave to.”
“Who the blazes do they think they are?” said Denny. “Don’t take any notice.” It wasn’t like Denny to give instructions, but the indignant flush in his cheeks showed that he was roused.
We watched the launch race towards us, rolling and pitching in the slight chop. The lieutenant was back at the wheel and Kleinman was leaning over the side, gesticulating in our direction. In a few minutes she was abreast of us, ten yards away, and had slowed to our speed. The lieutenant was pale and stolid; Kleinman was agitated. He cupped his hands and shouted: “You must stop. You have been ashore. You have contraband aboard.”
Joe shouted back, “Go to hell!” He was getting angry too.
The little man danced up and down. He looked beside himself with rage. “You are in Russian waters,” he bawled. “You are breaking the law. I command you to stop.”
Joe yelled back: “We’re on the high seas. We’re twenty miles from land. You’ve no right to interfere with us. Get out of our way.”
Denny joined in. He shouted, “It’s you that’s breaking the law!”
It didn’t seem at all clear how the shouting match was going to end. At that moment, however, Svetlana appeared again at the cabin door. Her face was a dirty green, and her need for air had been stronger than her sense of discipline. She sprawled over the side and was violently sick. Kleinman gave a yell of triumph. “You see! You have Russian women aboard your ship. You must give them up.” Neva swung in as though to come alongside. Joe muttered, “Stand by to repel boarders.” Denny was bursting with anger, and as the gap closed he seized our long boat-hook and waved it threateningly in the air. “You bloody pirates!” he shouted. “Come and get them!” And he brought the boat-hook down with a crack on their gunwale a foot from Kleinman’s head.
The little man looked startled and I heard him give a sharp order to the lieutenant. Neva sheered away and stood off from us at about twenty yards’ distance.
“Good work, Denny,” Joe said calmly. “Keep her on her course, Philip. What’s their next move, I wonder?”
We knew Kleinman wouldn’t let the girls go—he had enough blunders to account for already. We guessed he was preparing for a real crack at us, and we weren’t far wrong. Neva kept her course abeam of Dawn for a few minutes and then began to close in again.
I gripped Joe’s arm. “Look,” I said. “Kleinman’s got a gun.”
Joe stood motionless, staring. I think he hardly believed that they would dare to shoot. Kleinman was shouting again, “Heave to, or we’ll fire at you!” He said something to the lieutenant, who rather slowly undid his holster and took out his own gun. The situation was about as ugly as it could be. They might have difficulty in hitting anyone, pitching as both boats were in that short sea, but they could do a lot of damage and might kill someone with a chance shot even if they didn’t intend to.
Suddenly I remembered the gun that was still with the colonel’s uniform in the cabin. If we could shoot back it would keep them at a distance. “Denny,” I said urgently, “the gun—in the colonel’s holster!” Denny rushed into the cabin and came back with the gun. He examined the chambers with a quick expert eye and gave an exclamation of disgust. “Empty!” he said, and threw the gun on the deck. “Just for show.”
Neva was coming in for the attack. Kleinman shouted, “You’ve been warned!” I saw him raise his gun and fire, and I heard the whine of a bullet quite close. He fired again, and the lieutenant too. A couple of holes appeared in our mainsail. Kleinman had an evil grin on his face. Denny jumped on to the cabin-top and hurled an empty bottle which shattered on Neva’s counter. The launch swung away out of bottle range and they went on firing. I heard a crash in the cabin and a sudden cry. I couldn’t leave the tiller but Denny was inside in a moment. He emerged a couple of seconds later and gave me a quick ‘thumbs up’ sign, but he looked shaken. It only needed one unlucky shot .…
Now Neva put on speed and started to cross our bows. I suppose our sail was in the way and they wanted to get to windward of us so that they could see better what they were doing.
I felt utterly impotent and Joe told me afterwards that he’d felt just the same. This kind of thing was right outside his sailing experience. We couldn’t fight, we couldn’t run, and we certainly weren’t going to hand over. We’d done too much damage—there’d be no mercy for any of us now if we were caught—least of all for the girls.
Then I saw that Denny was up by the mast, feverishly stripping the oilcloth from the old punt gun. I had completely forgotten it, and I think he had until that moment, when he saw Neva crossing our course. Anyway, it didn’t take him a second to whip the cover off and I saw him fumbling in his pocket for a cap. I held Dawn steady and watched Neva. Joe clambered on to the cabin-top, an iron bar in his hand. As Neva cut across us, broadside on and almost under our bowsprit, Denny waited for our bows to dip and then snapped the heavy trigger. The gun was pointed straight into their cockpit.
I wouldn’t have been surprised if nothing had happened, but somehow Denny had managed to keep that powder dry. He must have put in a massive charge, too, for the explosion was far louder than the one we’d heard in the Thames estuary. Denny’s recoil apparatus collapsed under the strain and the whole bowsprit came adrift. Joe was hanging on to the lifeline, which he’d never removed, but Denny himself came flying over the cabin-top into the cockpit. He was lucky not to be knocked into the sea.
Joe rushed forward to haul in our slatting jib and make the punt gun fast where it had torn loose near the mast. I peered anxiously through the smoke. Neva was almost stationary and a little to port, and I steered towards her. Kleinman, who had
been leaning against their starboard bulwark, had disappeared. The lieutenant had left the wheel and was gazing overboard. After that things became confused. I felt Dawn scrape the side of Neva and I let the mainsheet go. I saw Joe take a flying leap from our deck into Neva’s cockpit, looking like a fighting Norseman with his iron bar raised. Denny was right behind him. The lieutenant, bleeding, shaken by the unexpected explosion and unnerved by the disappearance of Kleinman, was in no condition to put up much of a fight. As he turned and saw Joe coming at him with the lump of iron he recoiled against the side of the boat, lost his balance and fell into the sea. He swam round to the stern and with some difficulty Joe and Denny hauled him aboard. He slumped on the floor of the cockpit—the most bedraggled and miserable-looking lieutenant I’d ever seen. Denny took his gun away from him, just to make sure.
Joe quickly switched off Neva’s engine and shouted to me to throw him a rope from Dawn, which had begun to drift away. In a few minutes Neva was made fast to us. With a sharp instruction to Denny to keep his eye on the lieutenant Joe jumped back aboard Dawn and lowered the mainsail, which was flapping like mad in the stiff breeze.
Then we began to search for Kleinman. Neva’s engine, left just ticking over by the lieutenant, had continued to propel the boat slowly through the water while the fight was on and Dawn had had quite a lot of way on her. The mêlée, though short, had been so fierce that no one now had much idea how far we’d travelled or from what direction. The lieutenant said Kleinman could swim, so there was still a chance we might pick him up. I started Dawn’s engine and we began slowly to circle round, with Neva in tow, scanning the water for any sign of life. There was enough of a sea to make it difficult to spot a bobbing head. We searched for nearly half an hour but with no success. It seemed likely that Kleinman had been hit by some of the heavy pellets—perhaps knocked unconscious—and that he’d drowned right away.