As the launch approached, Sebastian studied the work carefully.
He could see that it was nearing completion, the welders were running closed the last seams in the new plating. Already there were painters covering the oxide red with the matt grey final coat.
The pock marks of the shell splinters in her upper-works following had been closed, and here again men hung on the flimsy trapezes of rope and planks, their arms lifting and falling as they plied the paint brushes.
An air of bustle and intent activity gripped the Blitcher.
Everywhere men moved about fifty different tasks, while the uniforms of the officers were restless white spots roving about her decks.
"They have closed all the holes in her belly?" Sebastian asked.
"All of them," Mohammed's cousin confirmed. "See how she spits out the water that was in her womb." And he pointed again with his chin. From a dozen outlet vents, Blitcher's pumps were expelling solid streams of brown water as she emptied the flooded compartments.
"There is smoke from her chimneys," Sebastian exclaimed, as he noticed for the first time the faint shimmer of heat at the mouths of her stacks.
"Yes. They have built fire in the iron boxes deep inside her. My brother Walaka. works there now. He is helping to tend the fires. At first the fires were small, but each day they feed them higher."
Sebastian nodded thoughtfully, he knew it took time to heat cold furnaces without cracking the linings of fireclay.
The launch nosed in and bumped against the cliff-high side of the cruiser.
"Come, said Mohammed's cousin. "We will climb up and work with the gangs carrying the wood down into her. You will see more up there." A new wave of dread flooded over Sebastian. He didn't want to go up there among the enemy. But already his guide was scrambling up the catwalk that hung down Blucher's flank.
Sebastian adjusted his penis-sheath, hitched up his cloak, took a deep breath and followed him.
orrietirries it goes like that. In the beginning everything is an obscene shambles; nothing but snags and accidents and delays. Then suddenly everything drops into place and the job is finished." Standing under the awning on the foredeck, Commander (Engineering) Lochtkamper was a satisfied man, as he looked around the ship.
"Two weeks ago it looked as though we would still be messing around when the war was over but now!"
"You have done well," von
Kleine understated the facts.
"Again you have justified my confidence. But now I have another task to add to your burdens."
"What is it, Captain?" Lochtkamper kept his voice noncommittal, but there was a wariness in his eyes.
"I want to alter the ship's profile change it to resemble that of a British heavy cruiser."
"How?"
"A dummy stack abaft the radio office. Canvas on a wooden frame. Then mask "a turret, and block in the dip of our waist. If we run into the British blockade squadron in the night, it may give us the few extra minutes that will make the difference between success or failure." Von Kleine spoke again as he turned away, "Come, I will show you what I mean." Lochtkamper fell in beside him and they started aft, an incongruous pair; the engineer swaddled in soiled overalls, long arms dangling, shambling along beside his captain like a trained ape. Von Kleine tall over him, his tropical whites crisp and sterile, hands clasped behind his back and golden beard bowed forward on to his chest, leaning slightly against the steeply canted angle of the deck.
He spoke carefully. "When can I sail, Commander? I must know precisely. Is the work so far advanced that you can say with certainty?" Lochtkamper was silent, considering his reply as they picked their way side by side through the milling jostle of seamen and native porters.
"I will have full pressure on my boilers by tomorrow night,
another day after that to complete the work on the hull, two more days to adjust the trim of the ship and to make the alterations to the superstructure," he mused aloud.
Then he looked up. Von Kleine was watching him. "Four days, "he said. "I will be ready in four days."
"Four days. You are certain of that?"
"Yes."
"Four days," repeated von Kleine, and he stopped in midstride to think. This morning he had received a message from
Governor Schee in Dares Salaam, a message relayed from the Admiralty in Berlin. Naval Intelligence reported that three days ago a convoy of twelve troop ships, carrying Indian and South African infantry, had left Durban harbour.
Their destination was not known, but it was an educated guess that the British were about to open a new theatre of war. The campaign in
German West Africa had been brought to a swift and decisive conclusion by the South Africans. Botha and Smuts had launched a double-pronged offensive, driving in along the railroads to the German capital of
Windhoek. The capitulation of the German West African army had released the South African forces for work elsewhere. It was almost certain that those troopships were trundling up the east coast at this very moment, intent on a landing at one of the little harbours that dotted the coast of East Africa. Tonga perhaps, or Kilwa Kvinje possibly even Dares Salaam itself.
He must have his ship seaworthy and battle-ready to break out through the blockade squadron, and destroy that convoy.
"The big job will be readjusting the ship's trim. There is much to be done. Stores to be manhandled, shell from the magazines, the guns remounted..." Lochtkamper interrupted his thoughts. "We will need labour."
"I will order Fleischer to bring all his forced labour down to assist with the work," von Kleine muttered. "But we must sail in four days. The moon will be right on the night of the thirtieth, we must break out then." The saintly face was ruffled by the force of his concentration, he paced slowly, the golden beard slink on his chest as he formulated his plans, speaking aloud. Kyller has buoyed the channel. He must start clearing the minefield at the entrance. We can cut the boom at the last moment and the current will sweep it aside."
They had reached the waist of the cruiser. Von Kleine was so deep in his thoughts that it took Lochtkamper's restraining hand on his arm, to return him to reality.
"Careful, sir." With a start von Kleine looked up. They had walked into a knot, of African porters. Wild tribesmen, naked beneath their filthy leather cloaks, faces daubed with yellow ochre. They were man-handling the faggots of cordwood that were coming aboard from the launch that lay alongside Blitcher. One of the heavy bundles was suspended from the boom of the derrick, it was swaying twenty feet above the deck and von Kleine had been about to walk under it.
Lochtkamper's warning stopped him.
While he waited for them to clear away the faggot, von Kleine idly watched the native gang of workers.
One of the porters caught his attention. He was taller than his companions, his body sleeker, lacking the bunched and knotty Muscle.
His legs also were sturdier and finely moulded. The man lifted his head from his labours, and von Kleine looked into his face. The features were delicate; the lips not as full as, the forehead broader and deeper than, the typical African.
But it was the eyes that jerked von Kleine's attention back from the troop convoy. They were brown, dark brown and shifty. Von Kleine had learned to recognize guilt in the faces of his subordinates, it showed in the eyes. This man was guilty. It was only an instant that von Kleine saw it, then the porter dropped his gaze and stooped to take a grip on the bundle of timber. The man worried him, left him feeling vaguely uneasy, he wanted to speak with him question him. He started towards him.
"Captain! Captain!" Commissioner Fleischer had come puffing up the catwalk from the launch, plump and sweaty; he was pawing von
Kleine's arm.
"I must speak with you, Captain."
"Ah, Commissioner," von Kleine greeted him coolly, trying to avoid the damp Paw. "One moment, please.
"I wish to.
"It is a matter of the utmost importance. Ensign Proust -."
"In a moment, Commi
ssioner." Von Kleine pulled away, but Fleischer was determined. He stepped in front of von Kleine, blocking his path.
"Ensign Proust, the cowardly little prig..." and von Kleine found himself embroiled in a long report about Ensign Proust's lack of respect for the dignity of the Commissioner. He had been insubordinate, he had argued with Herr Fleischer, and further he had told Herr Fleischer that he considered him "fat'.
"I will speak to Proust," said von Kleine. It was a trivial matter and he wanted no part of it. Then Commander Lochtkamper was beside them. Would the Captain speak to the Herr Commissioner about labour for the handling of ballast? They fell into a long discussion and while they talked, the gang of porters lugged the bundle of timber aft and were absorbed by the bustling hordes of workmen.
Sebastian was sweating with fright; trembling, giddy with fright.
Clearly he had sensed the German officer's suspicions. Those cold blue eyes had burned like dry ice. Now he stooped under his load, trying to shrink himself into insignificance, trying to overcome the grey clammy sense of dread that threatened to crush him.
"He saw you, wheezed Mohammed's cousin, shuffling along beside
Sebastian.
"Yes." Sebastian bent lower. "Is he still watching?" The old man glanced back over his shoulder.
"No. He speaks with Mafuta, the fat one."
"Good." Sebastian felt a lift of relief. "We must get back on the launch."
"The loading is almost finished, but we must first speak with my brother. He waits for us." They turned the corner of the aft gun-turrets. On the deck was a mountain of cordwood. Stacked neatly and lashed down with rope. Black men swarmed over it, between them spreading a huge green tarpaulin over the wood pile.
They reached the wood pile and added the faggots they carried to the stack. Then, in the custom of Africa, they paused to rest and talk. A man clambered down from the wood pile to join them, a sprightly old gentleman with woolly grey hair, impeccably turned out in cloak and penis sheath Mohammed's cousin greeted him with courteous affection, and they took snuff together.
"This man is my brother, "he told Sebastian. "His name is Walaka.
When he was a young man he killed a lion with a spear. It was a big lion with a black mane." To Sebastian this information seemed to be slightly irrelevant, his fear of discovery was making him nervously impatient. There were Germans all around them, big blond Germans bellowing orders as they chivvied on the labour gangs, Germans looking down on them from the tall superstructure above them, Germans elbowing them aside as they passed. Sebastian found it difficult to concentrate.
His two accomplices were involved in a family discussion.
It seemed that Walaka's youngest daughter had given birth to a fine son, but that during his absence aleopard had raided Walaka's village and killed three of his goats. The new grandson did not seem to compensate Walaka for the loss of his goats. He was distressed.
"Leopards are the excrement of dead lepers," he said, and would have enlarged on the subject but Sebastian interrupted him.
"Tell me of the things you have seen on this canoe. Say swiftly,
there is little time. I must go before the Allemand comes for all of us with the ropes." Mention of the ropes brought the meeting to order,
and Walaka launched into his report.
There were fires burning in the iron boxes in the belly of the canoe. Fires of such heat that they pained the eye when the door of the box was opened, fires with a breath like that of a hundred bush fires, fires that consumed... "Yes, Yes." Sebastian cut short the lyrical description.
"What else?" There had been a great carrying of goods, moving of them to one side of the canoe to make it lean in the water.
They had carried boxes and bales, unbolted machinery and guns.
See how they had been moved. They had taken from the rooms under her roof a great quantity of the huge bullets, also the white bags of powder for the guns and placed them in other rooms on the far side.
"What else?" There was more, much more to tell. Walaka enthused about meat which came out of little tins, of lanterns that burned without wick, flame or oil, of great wheels that spun, and boxes of steel that screamed and hummed, of clean fresh water that gushed from the months of long rubber snakes, sometimes cold and at other times hot as though it had been boiled over a fire. There were marvels so numerous that it confused a man.
"These things I know. Is there nothing else that you have seen?"
Indeed there was. The Allemand had shot three native porters, lining them up and covering their eyes with strips of white cloth. The men had jumped and wriggled and fallcii in a most comical fashion, and after-wards the GerJulius had washed the blood from the deck with water from the long snakes. Since then none of the other porters had helped themselves to blankets and buckets and other small movables the price was exorbitant.
Walaka's description of the execution had a chilling effect on
Sebastian. He had done what he had come to do and now his urge to leave Blitcher became overpowering. It was helped on by a German petty officer who joined the group uninvited.
"You lazy black baboons," he bellowed. "This is not a bloody
Sunday-school outing move, you swine, move!" And his boots flew. Led by Mohammed's cousin they left Walaka without farewell and scampered back along the deck. Just before they reached the entry port,
Sebastian checked. The two German officers stood where he had left them, but now they were looking up at the high smoke stacks. The tall officer with the golden beard was describing sweeping motions with his outstretched hand, talking while the stocky one listened intently.
Mohammed's cousin scurried past them and disappeared over the side into the launch, leaving Sebastian hesitant and reluctant to run the gauntlet of those pale blue eyes.
"Manali, come quickly. The boat swims, you will be left!"
Mohammed's cousin called from down below, his voice faint but urgent above the chug of the launch's engine.
Sebastian started forward again, his stomach a cold lump under his ribs. A dozen paces and he had reached the entry port.
The German officer turned and saw him. He challenged with raised voice, and came towards Sebastian, one arm outstretched as though to hold him.
Sebastian whirled and dived down the catwalk. Below him the launch was casting off her lines, water churning back from her propeller.
Sebastian reached the grating at the bottom of the catwalk. There was a gap of ten feet between him and the launch. He jumped, hung for a moment in the air, then hit the gunwale of the launch. His clutching fingers found a grip while his legs dangled in the warm water.
Mohammed's Cousin caught his shoulder and dragged him aboard.
They tumbled together in a heap on the deck ofthelaunch.
"Bloody kaffir," said Herman Fleischer and stooped to cuff them both heavily around the ears. Then he went back to his seat in the stern, and Sebastian smiled at him with something close to affection.
After those deadly blue eyes, Herman Fleischer seemed as dangerous as a teddy-bear.
Then he looked back at Blitcher. The German officer stood at the top of the catwalk, watching them as they drew away, and set a course upstream. Then he turned away from the rail and disappeared.
Sebastian sat on the day couch in the master cabin of HMS.
Renounce, he sagged against the arm-rest and fought off the grey waves of exhaustion that washed over his mind.
He had not slept in thirty hours. After his escape from Blucher there had been the long launch journey up-river during which he had remained awake and jittery with the after-effects of tension.
After disembarking he had sneaked out of Fleischer's camp,
avoiding the Askari guards, and trotted through the moonlight to meet
Flynn and Rosa.
A hurried meal, and then all three of them had mounted on bicycles supplied with the compliments of the Royal Navy, and ridden all night along a rough elephant path to where they had left a c
anoe hidden among the reeds on the bank of one of the Rufiji tributaries.
In the dawn they had paddled out of one of the unguarded channels of the delta and made their rendezvous with the little whaler from
HMS. Renounce.
Two long days of activity without rest, and Sebastian was groggy. Rosa sat beside him on the couch. She leaned across and touched his arm, her eyes dark with concern.
Neither of them was taking any part in the conference in which the other persons in the crowded cabin were deeply involved.
Wilbur Smith - Shout At The Devil Page 32