PONGA JIM JERKED the pin and hurled the grenade. It hit the side of the submarine near the gun crew, and there was a terrific blast. But he had already thrown another. It fell short, but even as the gun crashed, he hurled another.
Their shot put a hole through the stack, but it was the only one they got a chance to fire. Arnold had rushed into the wing of the bridge and poured a stream of hot lead down at the conning tower and then clipped a couple of shots at the boat. Ponga Jim Mayo’s next grenade lifted the boat out of the water, a blasted bunch of wreckage and struggling men.
The sub started to back off, but Jim hurled another grenade. The officer on the conning tower, apparently uninjured by Arnold’s burst of rifle fire, had started down the ladder. In one horror-stricken moment his face showed white. Then there was a terrific concussion! The last grenade had fallen down the conning tower hatch.
William lowered his gun. His face was bleeding from a cut on his head.
“The marines have landed and have the situation well in hand!” he said.
“It wasn’t a limey said that!” Mayo grunted. “That was an American.”
“Righto!” William Arnold agreed.
Borg was getting to his feet. Mayo walked in and slugged him with the barrel of his automatic, which he’d retrieved and loaded.
“I’ll tie this bird. He’s wanted somewhere. Or we can kick him ashore in Sydney.”
“Sydney?” Arnold said. “Why Sydney? This ship—”
“Listen, pal,” Ponga Jim said patiently. “You’re the British Intelligence or something, aren’t you? Well, you want this activity stopped down here. You’ve prevented the landing of a lot of guns, and you’ve sunk an enemy submarine. Now I am informed that a certain gent high in official military circles at Sydney can buy arms and ammunition. For me, this represents profit, no loss. Now unless you want to stage the War of 1812 all over again, we go to Sydney!”
Major William Arnold grinned. “This is no time to sever diplomatic relations with Ponga Jim Mayo,” he said cheerfully. “Let me get some pants while you muster the rest of this crew, and we’re off!”
He started down the ladder.
“Hey!” Jim said. “You know any dames down there?”
“Just two,” Arnold said. “Why?”
“Just two,” Mayo said regretfully. “That’s going to be tough. I’d hoped there would be enough for you, too!”
“Nuts!” Arnold said grimly, and walked down the ladder with his green pants flapping.
On the Road to Amurang
When he reached the road, Ponga Jim Mayo hesitated. Behind him, the wide, cool verandah of the Dutch Club echoed with soft laughter, the click of billiards, and the tinkle of glasses. There was a glow in the sky over Glandestan Way. But Ponga Jim’s eyes turned toward the Punchar Wharves, where the Semiramis was tied.
His frown deepened. Balikpapan was no place for an empty ship. But it was better than having it at the bottom of the Molucca Passage, like the Silver Lady.
He hitched his shoulder to shift the heavy Colt automatic. Abruptly he faded into the shadows of the shrubbery, gun in hand.
“Jim,” a voice called softly. “Hold it.”
A drunken seaman was staggering down the road in stained dungarees and a grizzle of gray beard. He lurched closer, peering into Jim’s face. Ponga Jim slipped the gun back into its holster.
“Damn you, William! If this is the way the British Intelligence works, the enemy will have to fumigate to get rid of you!”
Major Arnold chuckled. Then he grew serious.
“Jim, don’t you own the Semiramis now?”
“If you call a down payment owning it. But the way things look, I’ll never get a cargo for her. She’s lying over at Punchar Wharves, as empty as my pockets will be tomorrow.”
“What’s the matter? Are the shippers afraid?”
Jim spat disgustedly. “Do you blame them? The Arafura, gone without a trace somewhere in the Sea of Celebes. The Viti Queen, last sighted off Flores. And now it’s the Silver Lady, with a thousand tons of tin. In case you don’t know, tin is valuable stuff. And a half-dozen sailing craft gone.”
“I know, Jim. Japan has threatened for years to take all the Far Eastern Dutch and British colonies if England went to war in Europe. There won’t be a British or Dutch ship in the Indies within thirty days!”
Ponga Jim whistled. “Submarines?”
“We don’t know. Subs demand a base.”
Jim stared thoughtfully down the dark road. Thousands of islands, with lagoons, streams, and bays—
“You know all these damn islands, Jim. If you were going to hide a submarine base, where would you do it?”
“There’s a lot of places on Halmahera, on Buru, or Ceram. But there are places along the coast of Celebes, too. Nobody really knows these islands yet, William. But if I were going to base subs, I’d pick a spot on the Gulf of Tolo.”
“That’s Celebes, isn’t it?” Major Arnold asked.
“Yeah, an’ not a track or clearing for miles and miles. A lonely country with cliffs and canyons six hundred feet straight up and down. Waterfalls and rapids that plunge over a wilderness of rocks. William, there’s jungle back there that would turn a monkey’s stomach sick with fear!”
“Listen, Jim,” Major Arnold said slowly. “I’m going to do you a favor. In return you can do me one. Li Wan Fang has a consignment to deliver that means a contract for him. The Silver Lady was to handle it. The cargo goes to Amurang, Menado, and Wahai.”
“What a pal you are! Between Menado and Wahai is the Molucca Passage. And on the bottom of the passage is the Silver Lady! You wouldn’t put a guy on the spot, would you?”
The major grinned cheerfully. “You wanted a cargo, didn’t you? All I ask is that you keep an eye open for a sub base.”
“An’ go prowling around the Gulf of Tolo and get my rudder shot off? Listen, you scenery bum. I’ll keep my eyes open, but I’m not getting the Semiramis sunk running errands for you.”
“Ssh!” Major Arnold whispered suddenly. His voice became querulous, whining. “I sye, Guv’nor. Let a chap ’ave the price of a beer?”
“A beer?” Jim snapped harshly. “Here’s a guilder. That ought to get you off the streets.”
Jim spun on his heel and strode down the road. A car swung around a bend behind him. For an instant, its headlights sharply revealed three men. Ponga Jim’s breath came sharply, and his hands slid from his pockets. He walked toward them.
Everyone in the islands knew Pete Lucieno. Short, fat, and oily, he participated in everything crooked in the Indies. With him were Sag Dormie and a huge man with a great moonlike face. Sag Dormie was known all too well in the islands. He had done time in the States and Australia. Some said he’d escaped from Devil’s Island penal colony. He was kill crazy. The big man was new. Looking up into his face, Ponga Jim felt his hackles rising. The man’s eyes were dead.
Years before, in the States, Ponga Jim had been climbing a mountain. Pulling his head over the edge of a great, flat rock, he had found himself staring into the ugly eyes of a rattlesnake. That snake’s eyes had been blank like these.
Ponga Jim looked at Pete and grinned insolently.
“What are you doing in Borneo? I thought they were putting a bounty on rats.”
Pete Lucieno’s eyes narrowed. “At least my ships have cargoes,” he said softly. “They don’t lie rusting at the dock.”
“Yeah? Some people will carry anything for money. But you can have that stuff. I’ve got my own cargo. Sailing tomorrow for Amurang, Menado, and Wahai.”
“Where?” Sag Dormie leaned forward intently. Jim noticed that Pete’s eyes were eager. “Taking the Molucca Passage?”
“You bet! Want to come along? There’s always room for rats in the bilges.” Even as Jim watched Sag, he sensed the real danger was in the placid, fleshy man beside him.
Sag’s hatchet face twisted into a sardonic smile.
“Through the Molucca Passage? I want to live a few
years yet!”
“You are too sure of yourself, Captain,” Lucieno said, his beady eyes gleaming from under his brows. “What of the Silver Lady?”
“Cap Marlin was my friend,” Ponga Jim said coldly. “He was sunk. I only hope the guys who got him come after me.”
He brushed by them and strode along the road. There was work to do and a cargo to load before daybreak. Yet he was uneasy. It had been only a matter of weeks since he had thrown Pete Lucieno for a loss by preventing the landing of munitions on the coast of New Guinea. Lucieno would never forgive that. What was more natural than that he should know of this threat that hung over the masts of British and Dutch shipping? Who else would dare locate a submarine base in the islands?
Jim walked up the gangway. A slim, dapper young Chinese stepped from the shadows behind the companionway.
“Captain Mayo? I am Li Wan Fang. I have been informed you would transport some cargo for me. I took the responsibility of ordering it on the docks in readiness.”
“Yeah—okay,” Jim said, startled. “You surprised me. Chinese in these waters don’t often speak good English. On second thought; neither do the white men.”
“I went to the University of California for two years and took it very seriously. Then I went to the University of Southern California for two years. Now I take nothing seriously.”
“We’re going to get along,” Ponga Jim grinned. “Do you know the chance we’re taking?”
Li nodded. “But I must make delivery at once. And you have a reputation for getting results, Captain Mayo.”
“It’ll take more than that,” Jim said crisply. He spun on his heel. “Mr. Millan! Get those hatches open and tell Haynes to power the winches.”
It was hours later when he went below. The Semiramis was already dipping her bow into the heavy seas. The deck was still a confusion of lines and gear. It was going to be good to lie down. And he’d need all the rest he could get.
Opening the door, he stepped into his cabin. The wind caught the door, jerking it from his hand. He turned and pushed it shut.
When he looked around again, he stared into a gun muzzle. Beyond Sag Dormie, Pete Lucieno and the other man were sitting on a couch.
JIM HESITATED. It was only for the flicker of an eye, but he found there wasn’t a chance to shoot it out. Sag had him covered, yet was out of the line of fire of Lucieno and the big man. Ponga Jim relaxed.
“Visitors, I see. Just where do you boys think you’re going?”
“Dussel thought this would be a good way to go to—to Menado,” Sag said. “So we moved in when you weren’t looking. I’ve been wanting to see how tough you were.” He struck suddenly, smashing the back of his hand across Jim’s lips.
Ponga Jim felt something burst inside and then dribble away, leaving him cold with anger. But Sag Dormie’s gun was steady, and he did not move. Lucieno had a gun out, too. Mayo tasted blood in his mouth. He started to lift his hand to his mouth. The gun butt was just inside his coat—
“He’s got a gun, Sag,” Lucieno said. “In a shoulder holster. He carries it so always.”
Sag jerked the gun from Mayo’s holster and stuck it in his belt.
“I’ll handle this. You won’t need a gun anymore, Captain Ponga Jim Mayo.”
Dussel moved his big body, and the settee creaked.
“You are to proceed as if nothing has happened, Captain Mayo,” he said. “You will go to Amurang, discharge cargo there, and then go on to Menado. I trust you will be discreet. Otherwise it might be necessary to take steps.”
“You think you’ll get away with this?” Jim queried casually. “You got to go topside sometime. What happens when the crew finds out?”
Dussel smiled, his pulpy flesh folding back like sodden dough.
“They know already. The last two cases you hoisted aboard contained my men. By now they have taken command. Your crew will do the work. My men will superintend it. Job Dussel does not make mistakes.”
“I wonder about that. Do you think I’m going to take this lying down? And when this is over, what happens?”
“It is immaterial to me how you take this. When this is over, you and your ship will lie at the bottom of the Molucca Passage.”
Dussel’s voice was utterly final. For the first time in his life, Ponga Jim felt a rush of desperation. His eyes met Dussel’s and fastened there. In the gross, white body before him was cold brutality, a ruthlessness almost reptilian. This man would stop at nothing.
Ponga Jim pushed the cap back on his head and slipped his thumbs behind the broad leather belt.
“Nothing to lose, eh?” he said. “I like it that way, Herr Dussel. You guys can pilot this ship. These are dangerous waters. But if I get knocked off anyway, what’s it to me?”
Dussel’s heavy-lidded eyes gleamed.
“I thought you would understand, Captain. You will obey orders carefully. You have heard of the Malay boot, Captain? It is child’s play to some of the tortures I could use. If you don’t obey—” He smiled. “But you will.”
Ponga Jim shrugged. “You win.”
Job Dussel’s face remained folded back in a flabby smile.
Turning, Ponga Jim went topside. Daylight had come, and the sun was sparkling on the choppy sea. Thoughtfully he climbed the companionway to the wheelhouse.
Slug Brophy, his chief mate, was standing watch. His tough, hard-bitten features were surly. In either wing of the bridge lounged a man with a Luger automatic. There was another in the wheelhouse. When Jim walked into the chart room, the man followed to the door, standing aside to let Brophy enter.
“Keep everything quiet, Slug,” Jim said. “We hold this course until we get out of the strait. We’re calling at Amurang and Menado before we make the Molucca Passage, then south to Wahai.”
Ponga Jim paused. The guard was still standing in the door. Jim’s finger touched the chart.
“I expect Herr Dussel to take over after we get into the passage.” Jim touched the chart again, and his voice was precise. “We’ll have to be careful right here. It’s a bad spot, where things usually happen. Until then it should be plain sailing.”
Slug nodded. “Okay, Cap. I get it.”
The days were bright and sunny. The old Semiramis rolled along over the sea, doing her ten knots without a hitch. The crew moved carefully. Ponga Jim slept on the settee in the chart room. No further words were spoken. Yet he knew the crew was ready and waiting. But they didn’t get a chance. Herr Dussel remained below, usually in conference with Lucieno.
Sag Dormie was wearing two guns openly now, and there were ten armed white men. Slowly Ponga Jim’s spirits ebbed, but he continued to watch. There was bound to be a break.
It was almost midnight, and he was to go on watch. He swung his feet down from the settee. Pulling on his woven-leather sandals, he heard the lookout sound the bells, warning of a ship to starboard.
Instantly he was on his feet. He could see the squat, powerful mate on the bridge. Not far away, the two guards engaged in low-voiced conversation. The guard in the wheelhouse was nodding against the bulkhead. It was one chance in a million, and Jim took it.
His hand groped for the switch controlling the light on the topmast. He began switching the light on and off, his eyes intent on the topmasts of the approaching ship.
LI WAN FANG, BALIKPAPAN, ENEMY ABOARD GET WORD M.W.A.
SIGNED MAYO.
He was sending the message the second time when one of the guards saw the flickering light. As the guard leaped from the deck of the wheelhouse, Jim slammed a vicious right to his chin. He toppled back. Just as the two guards jammed in the port door, Jim sprang out. A bullet shrieked after him. He went down the companionway and crashed into Herr Dussel, just issuing from the captain’s cabin.
Mayo hurled a terrific right at Dussel, and missed. A smashing right sprawled him to the deck. He sprang to his feet, amazed at the huge man’s astonishing speed. Jim stabbed out with a wicked left. He might as well have hit a wall. A powerful blow stru
ck him on the chin, and he rolled back against the bulkhead. Before he could get in the clear, two more vicious punches hit him.
Staggering, Jim tried to crouch. An uppercut jerked him erect. A lightninglike right cross sent him spinning. Dussel followed, for a killing punch. Jim struggled to his feet, rolled away, and then circled warily.
He wanted to tear into the giant, battle him to the wall, and beat him down. But there was no time for that. Even if he won, there were the other men.
Job Dussel was crowding him into a corner. Jim backed away carefully. Suddenly he reached back and grabbed the rail. He kicked out viciously. The blow caught Dussel in the chest, staggering him across the deck.
With the agility of a panther, Jim leaped over the rail to the main deck.
He landed running. A bullet smashed into the hatch coaming nearby. Another one whipped by his ears. He threw himself to the deck, landing on one shoulder. He rolled over to momentary safety behind a winch.
Something hard lay under his hand—a wooden wedge used for battening a hatch. The sky had clouded over, and a few spattering drops of rain were falling. In the glare of occasional lightning, he could see four men with rifles on the bridge. Two more were on the captain’s deck, where he had battled Dussel.
Coming forward were Sag Dormie and three thugs. Behind him was the tightly battened number one hatch. Beyond that was the forecastle, and above it the forecastle head, and nothing else but a spare ventilator lashed to the steam-pipe housing and a small hatch into the forepeak. Of course there was the anchor winch. But he couldn’t see a possible hiding place.
Instinctively Jim knew these men were out to kill him. Crawling to his feet, grasping the wedge, he waited. At a distant flash of lightning, he hurled the wedge. He had the satisfaction of hearing the solid smack of wood against flesh. A gun roared, but it was a chance shot. He knew he hadn’t been seen.
The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume Four Page 34