The wake of the gertrud.., p.25
The Wake of the Gertrud Luth, page 25
The Nationalist pilot brought them in to the wharf directly ahead of the transport and they tied up opposite a long line of corrugated iron sheds, the high sliding doors already open and gangs of storm-coated Chinese waiting alongside a stream of lifting trucks. It was an open, miserable harbour, and with guardhouses spaced at intervals along the wharves and the army sentries sheltering inside with their rifles.
On the forward well Kamei was already having One and Two hatches broken open and preparing to off-load.
“There’s somebody coming on board now,” Müller called from the port wing.
Karl Schepke collected the briefcase from the chart house and hurried below to the foredeck. Two blue raincoated Chinese and an American army officer were waiting for him in the alleyway.
“Good day, Captain,” the American said, saluting. “I am Captain Anders, Chief Port Security Officer.”
“Pleased to meet you, Herr Kapitän,” Schepke said.
The two Chinese remained silent, one of them carrying a heavy briefcase.
“May we see the papers, Captain?” the American asked.
Schepke handed him the manifest and Certificates of Import.
“With your permission,” the American said, turning to the open hatches.
Karl Schepke led the way across the foredeck. The rain was cold and falling heavily in the wind. They all climbed down into Number Two hold, the packing cases loaded in above the huge bales of raw cotton. The American at once began checking the case numbers against the manifest, then against a list of his own.
“I believe you’ve just come down from Shanghai,” the American remarked as he worked.
“We left yesterday,” Schepke told him.
“May I ask what you have below these cases?”
“Cotton. It’s all cotton,” Schepke said, seeing Kamei towering above the hatch combing on deck, watching them carefully.
“It must have given you a great deal of unnecessary work to rearrange your cargo. It would have been easier to call here before going up-river.”
“The cargo for Shanghai was in bulk,” Schepke explained. “We carried it aft. Besides, I was ordered to call there first.”
“And the cargo?”
“It was fertilizer.”
The taller of the two Chinese said something to the American and he nodded in agreement. “Something wrong?” Schepke asked.
“The Lieutenant says they would have wanted the cargo now to give them time to distribute it for the spring planting.” Then he handed Schepke back the manifest. “These seem perfectly all right,” he said politely. “Can you open one of the cases?”
Karl Schepke called to Kamei for a bale hook then prised the lid from the nearest case.
The American brought one of the tins out and examined its raised code number against another list, then passed it to the taller of the two Chinese. He in turn nodded then returned the tin to the case.
“Everything checks, Captain,” the American said. “You can start to off-load as soon as you wish. There’s no cargo to embark here so you may yet be able to sail on the night tide.”
“Thank you,” Schepke said.
They went back across the foredeck to the port alley way.
“There is just one other thing, Captain,” the American said, pausing at the brow. “I’m afraid no one will be allowed ashore while you’re here. It’s a port regulation.”
“I understand,” Schepke said, returning the salute. He watched the three of them go down the brow in the falling rain.
“Makes you wonder whose side you’d be on in another war.”
He turned to see Hechler grinning broadly.
“You know, the more yellow stuff I see the less I like it,” Hechler went on. “If they found out about this cargo, shooting would be the last thing they would do. Besides, something tells me we’re being underpaid.”
“I’m beginning to think that myself,” Schepke told him. “The first opportunity that comes along, I’m off here,” Hechler said, serious now.
“We’re victims of circumstance, Hans,” Schepke said lightly.
“Well I don’t want to be a victim too long. I don’t trust this yellow stuff at all.”
“Come on,” Schepke told him. “Let’s have a drink.”
And the cold rain swept across the city in the southerly wind, and the city grey and bleak-looking in the early morning.
48
IT was dark now and still raining, the scattered lights of the city weak and cold-looking in the thinly blown rain. Out on the foredeck Kamei had the crew battening down the hatches as the last of the coolies went ashore.
Karl Schepke, leaning on the wheel, watched the work go on below him from the rain-blurred windows. During the afternoon another American transport had come in from Stateside and was tied up ahead, her decks jammed with an assortment of trucks and jeeps. Now, in the darkness, he looked out ahead at the great black hulk of the Fort Somerville’s stern, her deck and masthead lights casting a yellow glow across the wharf, the cobbles and crane rails wetly reflecting the lights in the falling rain. The wharf was deserted and not even the sentries showed themselves outside of the guardhouses.
He leaned up off the wheel as Müller came in shaking the rain from his storm-coat.
“Those are all the hatches battened down and the ship secured for sea,” he reported, putting the light on in the charthouse and hanging his coat behind the door. “What time do we sail?”
“High water’s at twenty-three-sixteen. We’ll slip right after. I’ve told Hechler. I’m going down to eat now then turn in for a while. Call me at ten-thirty.”
“Is there anything else you want done?”
“No. Everything’s ready.” Schepke started to leave. “You’re —” Müller began to say something then stopped.
“What is it?”
“You’re pleased with the way I’ve handled things so far?”
Karl Schepke looked back at him evenly in the light from the charthouse. “You’ve done all right,” he said, and went on below.
Altmeyer was waiting for him. “I’ve just got the weather and clearance papers, sir.”
Schepke took them from him and saw him still waiting. “What is it?”
”There was two of them followed me to the signal tower when I went to collect these.”
“Soldiers?”
Altmeyer nodded. “Yes, sir. I wondered if something was wrong.”
“I don’t think so,” Schepke told him. “A state of war exists here. They still shell this island from the mainland.” He went on aft to the messroom.
“Still raining, Captain?” Cheng asked.
Schepke nodded and started on his supper as soon as Kuang brought it.
“I don’t think the weather will settle until after the North-East Monsoon is out,” Cheng said, after a while. “That will not come until April. There will be a great deal of bad weather yet.”
Schepke nodded politely and went on eating.
After a time Cheng rose and collected his cap. “I think I will get some sleep before we sail,” he said.
“We’ll be slipping about twenty-three-thirty,” Schepke told him.
When he was through eating Kuang brought a fresh pot of coffee and set it on the table.
“Put it in my cabin,” Schepke told him, and got his cap and went onto the boatdeck. Just before midday the army had put a double sentry box at the foot of the brow and the sentries had carefully inspected the papers and identity cards of everyone who had gone on board. They were still there, a portable light strung out across the roof of the box and lighting the brow. He turned back into the passage now and went below. Kamei was in the port alley way, looking out across the wharf at the city.
“I think you better stay on board,” Schepke told him. “There seems little chance of getting ashore here. Any way, it looks as bad, if not worse, than the Communist side.”
Kamei looked below at the wharf.
“If you went over the wall they would shoot you before you were halfway across the dock,” Schepke went on. “Even if you made it a man your size would be noticed as somebody strange. You don’t even have any papers.”
“You think it is safe to return to Hong Kong?” Kamei asked.
“What else is there? You’ll have to stay below while we’re in harbour. The biggest worry is the crew when they go ashore.”
“They will not talk,” Kamei said, smiling, the smile showing only about his mouth. “But you?”
“I’ve had worries ever since I can remember,” Schepke said.
“I am humbly grateful,” Kamei said.
“Forget it. Stand by ready to slip after twenty-three hundred.” He left Kamei still in the alleyway and went up to his cabin.
Kuang had left the coffee on the shelf over the bunk. He was thinking about Hechler now and what Wang would do about another engineer. If Hechler went, Dorsch and Frauenheim would probably go with him. And after having made the first trip he was not anxious about remaining too long on board himself.
He finished the coffee and lay out on the bunk.
The only thing he could say for the Gertrud Lüth was that she was better than the beach. And the money. In six months he could move down to Manila. Manila was a regular port of call and after time had stilled any talk of the Gertrud Lüth it might be possible to ship out without too much trouble. Yes, Manila would be all right, he was thinking. Manila would be fine. He went to sleep thinking about Manila.
49
MÜLLER was waiting for Cheng on the bridge. “He’s just finished eating now.”
Müller moved across to the doorway. From there he could see most of the way along the passage.
“You’re sure you’ve changed your mind about the one astern?”
“She was empty,” Cheng told him. “We will take the Fort Somerville. The other was merely waiting for engine spares from Okinawa.”
Müller looked back at him in the gloom of the bridge. He did not feel confident about any of it. Then thought fully, he rubbed his thumbnail across the stubble on his jaw.
“What are you thinking about this time?” Cheng asked.
Müller raised his eyes. “I wouldn’t like to see anything go wrong.”
”There is nothing to go wrong,” Cheng told him, disapproval showing plainly in his voice.
“He’s just gone aft to the boatdeck,” Müller said, his attention turned to the passage below.
“You are certain he said he was going to sleep after supper?”
“He told me to call him at ten-thirty.” Müller’s eyes had not left the passage. Then in a few moments he saw Schepke come in and go below on the main stairway.
“What’s happening?” Cheng asked.
“He’s gone below somewhere.”
Cheng said something aloud to himself then went to the window. Müller lit a cigarette and waited quietly by the doorway, and in a little while he saw Schepke come back up top and go in and shut his cabin door. “He’s in his cabin.”
“We will give him a few minutes,” Cheng said, checking the luminous dial of his wrist watch. “We have almost two hours yet.”
50
IT was cold and dark and with the rain blowing thinly in from across the city. Müller, firmly holding the knapsack by the shoulder straps, slowly descended into the gloom of the after well from the boatdeck. All about him the rain ran from the superstructure, running in the scuppers and swilling across the deck with the low, slow lift of the incoming swell.
“Müller!”
He recognized Cheng’s hushed voice calling from the gloom just forward of the deck-lights high on the break of the fantail. Making his way carefully around the combing of Number Three hatch he came upon the three storm coated figures crouched in the lee of the port bulwarks.
Cheng took the knapsack and very carefully brought out the six limpets from their wadding and set them onto the deck. Next he took the canvas folder of firing watches from his storm-coat and expertly clipped them to the firing mechanisms.
“Are you sure they’re timed properly?” Müller asked as Cheng put the limpets back into their wadding in the knapsack.
Cheng ignored him, giving the knapsack to the flat faced one called Tab Gu Tze. The crewman settled the knapsack squarely onto his shoulders after taking off his storm-coat then looked to Cheng.
Müller raised his head and peered across the dripping bulwarks. The brow was forward of them at the waist, the rear of the double sentry box toward them and no one about.
“All right,” he said, and saw Cheng glance hurriedly at the fantail and boatdeck. There was no one about and he nodded to the other crewmen and they swiftly dropped the lightly weighted nylon ladder across the wall, the inboard end already secured to a deck cleat.
“Work carefully,” Cheng told the one with the knapsack. “Make certain everything is set as it should. Be as quick as possible, but remember, below the waterline.” Müller saw the man raise his head, glance quickly out toward the sentry box then roll smoothly over the bulwarks onto the ladder, the soles of his slipper type shoes wetly catching the glow of the deck-lights as he went over. Glancing nervously overhead at the boatdeck, Müller settled to watch the taut jerking inboard end of the nylon ladder as the man descended the sheer wall. Then suddenly the ladder leapt on the bulwarks and went slack and they knew Tab Gu Tze had reached the catamarans and gone in underneath on the pilings of the wharf.
51
CLOSE to midnight the Gertrud Lüth slipped quietly out into the darkness of the Formosa Straits. The wind was still southerly, the rain blowing coldly with it, setting up a long loping sea that set the ship rolling sluggishly as she bore on into the night, sending shoals of spray up on the port side to be whipped across her decks by the cross wind. There was always a fair amount of shipping using the Straits, both bound for southern and northern China and north to Japan, and for some time Karl Schepke had been watching the low rolling lights of a northbound ship off the starboard bow.
Dropping the night-glasses onto his chest he reached for the engine room telephone and spun the handle.
“Engine room!” came Hechler’s reply amid the high powered pound and whine of the engines.
“Schepke here. We’ve got a warship on our starboard bow. I think we should step speed up and get to hell off this part of the coast.”
“That’s fine with me,” Hechler replied. “After all the work that’s been put out on her down here it might be interesting to see just how she stands up to things.”
“Full ahead,” Schepke called to the Chinese on the telegraph as he replaced the receiver.
“Full ahead, sir.”
“Up twenty.”
“Up twenty, sir,” the Chinese repeated as he rang the revolutions onto the counter.
Karl Schepke felt the ship surge ahead. Moments later he saw the searchlight of the low rolling warship beam out across the ocean.
Her Majesty’s Britannic Warship Cockade requests recognition.
He read the message as it came, Bahr watching him from the wheel. Then raising the night-glasses he searched the darkness out beyond the bows.
“She’s signalling again, sir,” Bahr called.
Schepke turned and saw the warship had begun a repeat of the previous signal.
The Gertrud Lüth bore unheedingly into the night, the warship slipping rapidly astern.
“Herr Kapitän!” Altmeyer said as he entered the bridge. ”There’s a Limey warship somewhere close by calling us for recognition.”
“She’s astern now. Ignore her.”
“Yes, sir,” Altmeyer said, relaxing. “I had just switched on to listen to the traffic and she almost deafened me.”
“That’s all right,” Schepke told him. “She’s got nothing to do with us. To hell with these Limeys.”
About an hour later he picked up two more sets of lights, one of them away on the port bow and the other right ahead. The rain was beginning to ease now and he smoked and paced the bridge and watched the lights ahead gradually take shape as the Gertrud Lüth overhauled them. Whoever they were they had course set and headed toward Hong Kong. The air in the bridge was heavy and stale with cigarette smoke and he dropped one of the port wing windows down and felt the cold clean air suck in past him. The rain was very fine now, hanging in the wind as it began to ease. By daylight he felt the wind would be gone.
Glancing at his wrist watch he saw it was almost time for the morning watch to take over. Running the window up, he crossed to the engine room telephone. “Want to shut her down?”
“I’d rather you kept her going as she is,” Hechler said.
“I’d like to see how she holds together. I want Frauenheim to sound the wells, say at daylight?”
“I’m going off now. Suit yourself.”
Cheng was waiting for him.
“She’s all yours,” Schepke told him as they went to the charthouse. “Keep her as she is. Hechler wants to see how she runs. All the same you might have to ease her before daylight as the wind’s easing fast and when she falls away we can run into fog.”
“Very good, Captain,” Cheng said, smiling politely.
“Call me when it starts to get light.”
“Good night, Captain.”
Karl Schepke went out without replying. There was something about Cheng that bothered him, something that was too smooth.
52
KARL SCHEPKE woke with Altmeyer leaning across the bunk calling him.
“Something wrong?” he asked, sitting up.
“I’m not sure, sir,” Altmeyer said. “It’s coming across without making very much sense.”
“Go on,” Schepke told him, already dressing.
