Double or Die

by Charlie Higson

  They arrived at the door to the rear hold without seeing anyone else. James opened it and they went through on to the walkway.

  The great machine was silent and still, its brass rods and gears gleaming under the lights. Down below two sailors stood guard, handguns in holsters on their belts. James had a quick whispered conversation with the others, then got ready.

  As Ray and Harry went quietly down a ladder, James, Red and Billy Jones climbed over the rail and waited on the edge of the walkway, leaning out into space.

  The sailors turned when they saw the two big men walking towards them across the deck. They said something in Russian and their hands strayed towards their guns.

  ‘Now!’ said James and he jumped. Red and Billy followed. There was a brief exhilarating rush, followed by a bone-loosening crunch. The sailors were flattened. Ray and Harry dashed forward and finished them off. In a minute they were bound and gagged.

  James walked over to Nemesis and looked up at it, filling the hold.

  ‘Find some tools,’ he said. ‘Anything. We’ve got to smash it to pieces.’

  He was about to say something else when he felt a hand grip his ankle. He stifled the urge to yell and looked down.

  Sir John Charnage was lying on the deck beneath the machine, all colour drained from his skin. A puddle of blood had formed around him and there was a dark slick where he had pulled himself along. His eyes were wild and feverish and he was trying to speak. James bent down and put his ear to his mouth. He heard two words:

  ‘Help me.’

  James and Red dragged him out from under Nemesis and propped him against a bulkhead. Billy Jones found a bottle of water and gave it to Charnage, who drank greedily.

  A little life seemed to come back to him, but blood was seeping steadily from his back.

  ‘They turned on me,’ he whispered hoarsely, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t quite believe it. ‘They blamed me.’ He looked at James. ‘Your fault.’

  ‘No, your fault,’ said James. ‘You betrayed your friends and you were going to betray your country.’

  ‘It was unforgivable what I did to Ivar and Alexis,’ Charnage muttered, ‘but, believe me, I had no choice.

  James snorted.

  ‘As for my country…’ Charnage tried to laugh but it was too painful. ‘The country that sent me to Gallipoli… I care nothing for my country.’

  ‘You betrayed everyone,’ said James.

  ‘You weren’t there,’ said Charnage. ‘In Gallipoli. It was madness. The generals and the politicians didn’t care a jot about the ordinary men. They were just numbers. Rule Britannia? Great Britain? A great lie. They told us the Turks were barely human, but they were just boys like us. My country betrayed me. I hate this country. I realise now, though, that the Russians are no better. The men who rule this world are nothing but a bunch of gangsters.’

  ‘Who did this to you?’ said James.

  ‘She did,’ said Charnage. ‘Babushka. And those two sewer rats, the Smith brothers. But it wasn’t well enough done. I survived a mortar blast in the war. It’ll take more than this to kill John Charnage.’ He grabbed James’s arm, a wild look on his face. ‘She’s not having the Nemesis, though. No one is going to have it.’

  ‘We’ll destroy it,’ said James. ‘If you tell us how.’

  ‘Get me down to the engine room,’ gasped Charnage, trying to stand. ‘If we put too much pressure on the boilers they might rupture. The explosion would send the Amoras and everything on it down to the bottom.’

  James looked to Billy Jones.

  ‘Can it be done?’ he asked.

  Billy looked worried, but he nodded his head.

  ‘Don’t use this unless you absolutely have to,’ he said to Red, handing him one of the handguns they had captured from the sailors. ‘You’re in charge, but do as Charnage says. Take him to the engine room. Billy and the others will come with you. If anyone gets in your way, flatten them.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ said Red.

  James untied the legs of the two trussed-up sailors. ‘I’ve got to get them out of here,’ he said. ‘If they stay down here they’ll drown.’

  James took the other gun and prodded the two sailors. They were groggy and sheepish and had no desire to be shot, so they moved off willingly.

  In a few minutes they were outside and James hurried them along the deck. The lookout they had dumped behind the lifeboat was just coming to. James marched his two captives over to him and indicated in dumb show that he should untie his comrades.

  James looked at the three of them. They were tough-looking young men.

  He hoped they were good swimmers.

  He aimed his pistol at them and nodded towards the edge of the ship.

  ‘Over you go, now,’ he said.

  They looked at him dubiously, but his meaning was clear.

  ‘Now,’ said James, and something in his expression told them that he was not to be argued with.

  There were three splashes as they hit the water.

  James was just about to go back and help the others when he heard footsteps and he ducked behind the lifeboat.

  Two familiar figures loomed out of the fog. Ludwig and Wolfgang Smith. Ludwig’s big, white skull face was almost glowing, and his mouth, with its rotten brown teeth, was a dark hole. He was carrying an axe in his bony fingers.

  Wolfgang, who was carrying a lantern, looked as yellow as the fog and there wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t bandaged. James almost felt sorry for him.

  Just then, the ship gave a sudden lurch forward as the tugboats’ anchors were torn loose and James was thrown to the deck. There were deafening thuds as the tugs swung round and hit the Amoras’s hull, as they were both still attached to her by their towing ropes. James got to his feet and moved off after the two brothers.

  He heard the sound of chopping and was soon able to see Ludwig in the forecastle, hacking at one of the towing ropes with his axe. Wolfgang stood there, shivering, the lantern held up in one hand, his other hand, the wounded one, thrust deep into his coat pocket.

  The ship was picking up speed.

  James crept closer for a better look, trying to see if there was any way of stopping Ludwig. With the tugboats cut free, there would be a greater chance of the Amoras escaping if Charnage’s plan to sink it didn’t work.

  The first rope gave way and Ludwig crossed the deck to start on the second one. He took a couple of swings and then there was a horrible crashing sound and the whole ship was jerked around in the water.

  The helmsman, steering blind, had got too close to another ship and the trailing tugboat was jammed against it, the towing rope hopelessly tangled. The whole ship was creaking and groaning, the rope stretching, the engines pounding.

  ‘Bloody idiots,’ snarled Ludwig and he started shouting to them to stop and reverse the engines. Someone shouted back from the bridge.

  ‘What is going on?’

  ‘The tugboat’s caught!’ yelled Ludwig, turning round.

  James had been thrown over again and fallen badly. He was lying out in the open, half-stunned.

  ‘It’s the rat,’ yelled Ludwig.

  ‘Let me at him,’ said Wolfgang.

  ‘He’s all yours,’ said Ludwig and he passed the axe to his brother, who dropped the lantern and went into a hopping, gammy run.

  James got groggily to his feet and bolted, stumbling along the deck, which was damp and slippery, sliding into things, like a man on ice in the dark. He glanced back. Wolfgang was gaining on him, moving surprisingly fast on his injured leg, the axe raised above his head. A look of pure hatred on his face.

  A particularly dense patch of fog drifted across the ship. James could see nothing and, before he knew what was happening, he’d skidded and fallen for a third time. He was blind, disorientated. All he could hear was Wolfgang’s approaching feet. He scrabbled around for some sort of weapon but could find nothing.

  Then there was a huge twang and a crack followed by the sound of a
giant whip slicing through the air. At the same time the Amoras gave another almighty lurch and shot forward in the water.

  The other end of the remaining towrope had snapped, and now, released from the tremendous tension, it scythed back across the deck. If James hadn’t fallen over it would have taken his head off.

  Then he saw an extraordinary sight.

  Where Wolfgang had been running towards him out of the fog, suddenly there was no body, only legs. They staggered and slumped to the deck and the next moment the axe came tumbling though the air and embedded itself half an inch away from where James was lying.

  James shivered as a flood of nausea welled up from his guts. He swallowed hard and screwed his eyes tight to try and shut out the image of Wolfgang’s mutilated body.

  He opened his eyes and looked around.

  There was no sign of the other brother. Maybe the cable had got him too. James didn’t wait to find out. He ran towards the bridge deck. Freed of both tugs, the Amoras was making better progress. In fact she was steaming ahead recklessly fast.

  Red and Charnage obviously hadn’t made it. The engines were working all too well. James’s only hope now was to get to the bridge and somehow put the ship out of action from there.

  He passed someone running in the opposite direction along the deck, but in the fog James was mistaken for another crewman and he carried on unchecked.

  He almost missed the bridge deck, but at the last moment spotted white painted steps going up into the fog. He climbed two decks and peered into the wheelhouse.

  A sailor was at the wheel, straining to see anything ahead. The captain stood next to him, looking more than a little anxious. As James watched he wrenched the lever on the telegraph round to the SLOW position but it appeared to have no effect. If anything, the ship speeded up. The helmsman said something to the captain who yelled a torrent of angry Russian into the speaker tube that connected with the engine room.

  He got no reply and ran out of the wheelhouse on the other side.

  James opened the door and went in, yelling at the startled helmsman.

  ‘Off! Get off! Abandon ship!’

  The sailor stared at him, panicked, but unwilling to leave his post.

  ‘Go!’ James shouted. ‘Get away.’

  Suddenly there was a crash and James was showered with broken glass. Next moment a hand grabbed him by the collar and yanked him backwards.

  Ludwig had punched through the window with his knuckleduster. He held James in the broken window frame, an arm clamped round his throat.

  With a schink, Ludwig released the blade on his second Apache and put it up to James’s eye.

  He pressed his face next to James’s. The smell of his rotting teeth was overpowering and James gagged.

  ‘I’d love to make this slow,’ he whispered into James’s ear, his breath hot and damp. ‘But I don’t have time. So, say your prayers quickly, the Apache’s going to give you a goodnight kiss.’

  Before Ludwig could do anything, however, there was a terrific boom from the depths of the Amoras and she seemed to lift out of the water and then thump down again.

  The boilers, thought James. Red made it.

  Ludwig was thrown off balance and his grip on James weakened.

  James slammed him with his elbow through the broken window. Moments later a second, even bigger, explosion rocked the ship and she tilted sideways, tipping Ludwig over the railing.

  James rubbed his bruised neck and looked round. The helmsman had disappeared. The Amoras was going down. He cautiously peeked out of the broken window to see if there was any sign of Ludwig.

  He was welcomed by a loud bang from below, and a bullet whistled past his head. He ducked back into the wheelhouse as another shot ripped through the fog, leaving a vapour trail. He crawled over to the far side, slithering on his belly through the broken glass, and out on to the deck. There was another shot and a bullet pinged off the railing next to him.

  He jumped up, feeling another bullet pass him so closely it singed his cheek. It was too risky to go down, towards Ludwig, so he scrambled up on to the roof of the wheelhouse and lay flat.

  The ship was out of control now, the steering mechanism taken out by the blasts in the engine room. It was wheeling across the water in a wide arc, carried along by its own momentum.

  James kept still and hoped he hadn’t been spotted, but his hopes were short-lived. There were three hard clangs as three bullet holes appeared between his legs. Ludwig was in the wheelhouse firing up at him through the roof.

  James jumped to his feet and ran to the rear of the roof where there was a thick, wooden, radio mast with a ladder running up it.

  There was nowhere else to go.

  Another shot rang out as James began to scale the ladder. He looked down. Ludwig was climbing on to the roof. He fired wildly at James, who pressed himself against the mast.

  Ludwig stood up and steadied himself on the tilting roof. He was going to take his time on this one.

  James carried on climbing, higher into the fog, hoping it would hide him.

  Ludwig took aim. He could just see James moving up the ladder.

  He pulled the trigger.

  Nothing.

  He raised his second gun. James was fast vanishing. The Apache was not designed for shooting at a distance.

  He fired.

  Nothing. And now he was out of bullets. Ten shots was all he had. Even though each cylinder held six bullets, he always left one chamber empty on each gun, with the hammer resting in it, so as not to risk shooting himself when the weapons were in his coat.

  James was nearly at the top of the mast. There were no more gunshots, but he knew it wasn’t over. He heard the familiar schink again as Ludwig readied his bayonets.

  Then Ludwig was climbing the mast, quickly and efficiently, the knuckleduster grips of his guns leaving his fingers free to hold on.

  James climbed higher. The mast narrowed and the ladder ran out. From here on up there were just metal spars jutting out from each side of the mast and he had to go slowly or risk falling off.

  Ludwig loomed out of the fog and James kicked out at his head, catching him a glancing blow on his right eyebrow. Ludwig cursed but held on tight.

  James heard shouts and looked round. He had forgotten about everything else. His world had narrowed to this lone radio mast in a universe of fog, but reality was approaching fast. He was shocked to see that the Amoras was heading towards the dockside at a sharp angle. He could see a small tramp steamer unloading, a crane holding a full cargo net over its deck. Men were waving and yelling. A siren blared.

  The Amoras was completely out of control. Nobody could stop her now. James held on for dear life as she powered into the rear of the tramp steamer, splintering the wooden hull. The next thing he knew the crane was coming straight for him. At the last moment he jumped and took hold of the thick rope mesh of the cargo net, clinging to it with hands and feet and teeth. With a terrible groaning and grinding noise the prow of the Amoras scraped along the dockside, slowly pushing the tramp steamer underwater.

  James looked round for Ludwig but could see no sign of him. Maybe the impact had knocked him off the mast.

  But then he saw him. He hadn’t fallen. Like James he had jumped on to the cargo net and was even now coming around it like a great black spider.

  James looked down. It was too high to jump, and too dangerous with the Amoras breaking up below.

  Ludwig took a swipe at him and he had to let go with one hand or risk having it sliced off.

  Before Ludwig could lunge again, though, the net became tangled in the Amoras’s own steam winch at the rear of the main deck. The cargo net twisted round, then there was a rip and a jerk and a mighty crack as the cable supporting it snapped and the whole thing dropped.

  James and Ludwig hurtled down and a second later the net crashed on to the Amoras’s rails and they were dumped into the water. Most of the cargo of tobacco crates spilt on to the deck, exploding in clouds of dried leaves.
The net ended up hanging down the side of the Amoras’s hull, a few crates still held in its web.

  As James hit the oily water he was momentarily stunned, but he soon came to his senses and knew that he had to get out fast. Stray ropes dangled down from the netting and he managed to grab hold of one as the Amoras drifted past. He hauled himself up until he was safely on the net, where he rested, shaking and panting.

  He realised, though, that it wasn’t over. He was in more danger now than before. The Amoras was still moving, her prow nosing along the wharf in a shower of dust and sparks, gouging out great lumps of stonework. Her stern still sticking out into the middle of the dock, but slewing across and inwards. Soon the whole ship would broadside the wharf.

  With a shudder, James remembered what had happened to Wolfgang’s hand, pinched between two boats. The Amoras was much bigger than them – seven thousand tons would crush more than just a hand. If he didn’t get off the net fast he was going to be sandwiched between the hull and the wharf.

  Before he could think what to do, he felt a sharp pain in his foot.

  He looked down.

  It was Ludwig.

  He, too, had climbed on to the net, his bayonets still fixed to his hands, and he had got James with the point of one blade.

  Didn’t the man ever give up? Couldn’t he see that they were about to be killed?

  The blade hadn’t penetrated deeply, the angle had been too awkward for Ludwig, but the pain was intense and James felt warm blood soaking into his already sodden sock.

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ James shouted. ‘We’re going to get crushed!’

  But Ludwig ignored him. He climbed quickly and jabbed again. This time James was ready for him, though, and he pulled his foot out of the way, rolling sideways. Ludwig grunted and stabbed at him once more. The blade missed and stuck fast into the side of one of the crates that was still caught in the net.

  Ludwig swore and tried to wrench the Apache free, but it was jammed tight. James saw his opportunity and kicked out at him, smashing his heel into Ludwig’s knuckles. Ludwig yelped and James kicked again. And again. Filled with an awful, bloody fury.