The wake of the gertrud.., p.26
The Wake of the Gertrud Luth, page 26
“Well I couldn’t get to sleep so I went along to the office. I had the radio on intermediate and suddenly I heard a number of people talking about us. It was all Chinese stuff and all I could make out was our name. Then just now I heard Taipeh send out a General requesting all south and northbound shipping in the Straits to report if they had seen us.”
“Did you tell anybody else about this?” Schepke asked as they went forward to the Radio Office.
“I came straight to you, sir,” Altmeyer said, closing the door then sitting into the swivel chair and fitting the headphones.
Karl Schepke glanced at the bulkhead clock and saw it showed a little after five o’clock.
“There!” Altmeyer said, suddenly, swivelling the left headphone. “That’s Taipeh now.”
Schepke heard the metallic, static-disturbed voice of an English-speaking operator at Taipeh requesting all shipping to report in on sighting the southbound Gertrud Lüth.
“Keep listening,” he told the boy and went out hurriedly to see Hechler’s broad back as he went aft. “Hans!”
Hechler waited for him.
“There’s an alert out for us. I just heard Taipeh send out a General.”
“What in hell’s that for?” Hechler asked, puzzled.
“You know as much as I do,” Schepke told him. “I told Altmeyer to keep listening.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I think we should keep going. I’ve got a feeling we’re involved in something we don’t know anything about.”
“I’ll have a cup of coffee then go back below and keep Frauenheim company,” Hechler said, pausing outside of the galley. “They did a good job at Taikoo,” he went on. “I don’t think you need worry about the ship any.”
Karl Schepke went on up to the bridge.
“Something is wrong, Captain?” Cheng asked, surprised at seeing him.
“I don’t know,” Schepke said evenly.
“I am not sure I understand, Captain.”
“Never mind. Just go down to the main box and slip all the deck, derrick, and alleyway lights. Then get Müller up here.”
From the window he watched the lights go out, and now everything was dark except for the navigation lights and the lights in the inboard passages and cabins.
“Kapitän, sir,” Altmeyer said as he came onto the bridge. “There’s a lot of coded stuff coming across on high frequency. I’m afraid there’s none of it any good to me.”
“All right,” Schepke told him. “Keep listening,” He went into the charthouse and leaned across the glass topped table, noting all the Formosa ports that could harbour warships, American or Nationalist. Unknowingly, by running the Gertrud Lüth full out they had made better time through the Straits than normally anything but a fast freighter would have made and he presumed it just possible that anyone searching for them would not allow for so much headway.
Well I guess the luck’s maybe changed after all, old turtle-head, he was thinking. Maybe. And maybe it wasn’t the yellow stuff that built the Great Wall. Maybe.
And outside it was still dark in the Straits and the morning had not yet begun to come in.
53
LEAVING the main switch box, Cheng knocked lightly on the door of the Radio Office.
Altmeyer turned to see him come in and pushed the headphones forward off his ears.
“There is some sort of trouble?” Cheng asked.
“It’s Taipeh,” the boy told him. “They put out a General for us.”
“Then it is something serious?”
Altmeyer shrugged. “Even the Kapitän doesn’t know yet,” he said.
Cheng nodded thoughtfully then went out and hurried aft.
Müller was asleep. “Müller! Wake up!”
Müller sleepily focused his eyes.
“Wake up!” Cheng told him. “Something is wrong. Taipeh has sent out an alert for us.”
Müller came swiftly off the bunk, wide awake. “Nothing was supposed to happen until morning!”
“Keep your voice down!” Cheng hissed. “One of the timing mechanisms must have proved faulty.”
“They were bound to suspect us in any case,” Müller argued. “The whole thing was stupid.”
“You are not being paid to criticize!” Cheng hissed, the contempt showing in his words. “We are paid only to obey instructions. It has just been unfortunate. There is much espionage going on all the time and these charges exploding at the precise time could have been set by someone on shore. A dockworker, maybe. We have men everywhere. No one can prove anything, not even if we are stopped.”
Müller sighed deeply. “I still don’t like it,” he said, pulling on his tunic.
“Not even the money?” Cheng said contemptuously.
Müller stared back at him for a brief moment, then went on buttoning his tunic.
54
IT had begun to rain again. There was no wind now and the rain fell hissing on the darkness of the ocean. After Cheng had gone below Karl Schepke picked up the blur of approaching lights on the starboard bow and now he watched them as they came on through the heavily falling rain, arcing with the movement of the ocean. She was a large freighter probably bound north for Japan. He went on out to the port wing and put the glasses astern. There was no sign of the lights of the two ships they had passed earlier in the morning. Then as he turned back amidships Cheng and Müller came in from below.
“Get me the register.” He saw Cheng move as he put the glasses on the freighter again. She was taking shape now, big and solid, her lights showing high in the darkness.
Dropping the glasses onto his chest he took the heavy register from Cheng and stood under the pale glow of light from the compass bowl, running his finger down the lists of ship names.
“Get Altmeyer up here.”
The lights were closing to pass on the starboard side.
Almost immediately a searchlight flashed out across the intervening darkness, the rain falling brilliantly through the flashing beam.
Karl Schepke watched it, reading it as it came: Bad night. Visibility poor further south. T.S. Kroonstad, bound Yokohama.
He turned as Cheng came in with Altmeyer hastily pulling on his storm coat.
“Make: Many thanks. S.S. Zanoni Maru, bound Saigon.”
He crossed to the starboard wing now and watched the large Dutchman draw abeam, at the same time hearing the metallic clatter and seeing the sudden brilliance of light reflect on the ocean as Altmeyer hammered out the signal. The Dutchman steamed steadily on through the heavily falling rain, acknowledging the signal as she slipped rapidly astern.
Then Altmeyer came in off the flying bridge and fastened the hatch down, rain streaming from his storm-coat. “Fine,” Schepke told him. “Heard anything else?”
“The British warship Cockade reported in on intermediate that she had passed an unidentified merchantman proceeding south at one-fourteen. There’s still some coded stuff on high frequency but I can’t make out if it’s shipping or shore stations. Our RID is rigged only for low and intermediate.”
“May I ask what is happening, Captain?” Cheng interrupted.
Schepke looked first at him, then at Müller. “I thought somebody on board might be able to tell me,” he said.
“Tell you what?” Müller said.
“Carry on, Altmeyer,” Schepke said, dismissing the boy, and at the same time ignoring Müller. “Cheng. You organize some extra look-outs. It’s going to be light soon and I think we’re going to find somebody very intent on finding us. I just hope this rain and low cloud ceiling holds.”
“We’re going to run?” Müller asked.
“Don’t tell me you’re really one of the bright boys after all,” Schepke said. “What do you suggest we do, go back?”
“Well I mean what the hell’s happening?”
“If I knew I would tell you,” Schepke said, watching him. “But whatever it is they won’t be wanting to hang medals on us.”
“I think the Captain is right,” Cheng interrupted. “It is better to keep going. We all know how politically involved even the smallest incident can become in these waters.”
Karl Schepke did not say anything. But he was thinking, and he was thinking, if this old sea-cow ever reaches Hong Kong and I ever set foot on board her again, you, Mr. Chinaman, are going to take a lot of watching.
55
HE was in the messroom when he heard someone shouting on the boatdeck. Kicking the chair from under him, he went out at a run. Kamei and two of the Chinese lookouts were on the port side, all three of them staring intently at the mass of low cloud on the port quarter.
“Airplane,” Kamei said. “It is very low.”
Karl Schepke already heard it, the cloud-muffled drone of her motors growing to a roar as she seemed to pass directly overhead.
“She has not seen us,” Kamei said.
“Not visibly,” Schepke told him. “But she’ll have us on radar. She sounds like a slow coastal patrol, probably a flying-boat.”
The sound of the motors had eased now as the airplane passed widely away to starboard, in the direction of the mist-shrouded mainland. Karl Schepke looked out toward the ocean. The rain had eased again and visibility had opened to ten or eleven hundred meters. Then looking back toward the mainland he saw the mist and the heavy fog-bank further in.
“Get all hands off the deck,” he told Kamei as he turned for the bridge.
“Did you see it?” Müller asked as he came in from below.
“Starboard ten!” Schepke shouted, ignoring him, dropping one of the forward windows down as the low hammering roar of motors passed wide ahead of the bows as they began their swing shoreward.
“She’s still there!” Müller shouted.
Schepke glanced at the Chinese on the wheel. “She’s coming in for a closer look,” he said. “Take us into that fog-bank and get back on course. Don’t slacken speed any.”
Müller immediately began shouting fresh orders to the two Chinese and the ship angled sharply in toward the fog-bank.
Then Karl Schepke heard her low down, coming on, the roar of her motors growing steadily louder. And suddenly she was low and dark, her white float belly seeming to hang just clear of the grey ocean as she came in on the port quarter. She seemed to take a long time, her two wing engines throttled right back and hammering the sky apart. He knew she could not possibly miss seeing the name boldly across the stern. Then suddenly her port wing dipped slightly as she banked, aiming her nose at the bridge. He glimpsed momentarily the identification marks on the underside of the wings and then found himself watching the red and yellow tracer shells seeming to float gently out from her nose then curve slowly in toward him. Then quite abruptly her belly lifted and he went down flat on the deck as she barely cleared the foremast, the terrific hammering of her engines drowning the clatter of her guns as she went over.
The deck around him was littered with glass from the smashed windows of the wing and he raised his head and saw the forward bulkhead just below the window rail a mass of splintered wood. Everyone was flat on the deck, Müller with his head toward him listening to the receding roar of the motors. The two Chinese were flat on their faces, their arms across their heads.
“Is everybody all right?” Schepke asked, rising.
Müller nodded and rose to his feet as Schepke steadied the wheel. They were coming in fast toward the fog-bank, everyone now watching nervously from the forward windows. Then they heard the mounting roar of the motors as the flying-boat swung around somewhere close by.
“Get ready!” Schepke shouted. “Müller! Tell Altmeyer to radio Hong Kong! Tell him we’re being attacked by a Nationalist flying-boat!”
He turned to see her come down through the cloud almost directly in line with the bows. The pilot had misjudged their position slightly and almost at once he started to pull up without levelling out.
Glass showered in upon him as he threw himself to the deck, the whole ship vibrating under him as the motors reached their mighty crescendo as the flying-boat flashed up over the bridge.
Karl Schepke was already pulling the wheel around to port, bringing their head away from the land now that they were inside the fog-bank, visibility sharply decreased to about one hundred meters.
“Take the wheel!” he told the nearest of the two Chinese.
“Here she comes again!” Müller shouted as he came in from below.
This time the roar of her motors seemed everywhere in the fog and then suddenly grew loud and passed somewhere close astern.
“She won’t see us in this,” Schepke said. “Get back on course and we’ll stay inside until dark.” He was already on his way below.
Cheng was in the passage.
“What the hell are you smiling about?” Schepke snarled. “If I thought you knew anything about this I’d throw you over the wall!”
“What would I know about anything?” Cheng protested.
Schepke ignored him and pushed past on his way to the boat-deck.
The decking and two lifeboats, and the port wing of the bridge were heavily holed and splintered. Then, glancing overhead, he saw the cannon shells had hammered great holes in the funnel casing and snapped a number of stays.
“We are lucky there is the fog.”
He turned to see Kamei. They could still hear the cloud and fog-muffled motors as the flying-boat circled steadily somewhere above them.
“Did you see anything wrong back at Taipeh?” Schepke said to him.
Kamei slowly moved his massive shaven head. “Nothing,” he said. “I do not understand this at all.”
“You’re not the only one,” Schepke said. “You think we will get clear now?”
“We’re too far south to get stopped unless they’ve got a warship in the area. If nothing else happens before dark we should be all right. After dark, I’ll take her out from the coast and run without lights.”
“It will be dangerous now,” Kamei said, looking astern at the Straits. “Next time they see us they will shoot. The only time we go through the Straits now is when dark.”
“I’d like to know what happened back there,” Schepke said. “From now on you keep a close watch on everybody. If you see or hear anything suspicious, tell me. Understand?”
“I understand,” Kamei said, and he was looking back toward the fog-shrouded Straits.
56
KARL SCHEPKE brought the Gertrud Lüth slowly around Tsim Sha Tsiu and docked her at the bottom of Kowloon’s Navy Street. Before they were through tying up an excited crowd of dockworkers had gathered to gape at the gunned superstructure. Schepke looked out toward the Star Ferry Pier and there was a British freighter of the Prince Line tied up at the wharf, a crowd gathered on her forward well and looking down across the empty dock between the two wharves.
“It looks as though the news got out ahead of us,” Schepke said, turning to Müller.
“There’s no sign of Wang.”
“Take care of her,” Schepke told him and went below to the cabin deck.
Hechler was leaving his cabin, dressed, and putting on his cap.
“In a hurry, Hans?”
Hechler nodded. “I’m going across to see von Pittkamer.”
“Let me know how you get on.”
“Sure,” Hechler said.
Karl Schepke went into his cabin and ran some water into the bowl and washed. The ship was quiet except for the hum of the generators, and after dressing, he went aft to the messroom. Frauenheim, Cheng, and Altmeyer were sitting at the long table, sunlight slanting in through the open scuttles and a warm breeze coming in off the harbour.
“Anybody staying on board tonight?”
“I can stay,” Cheng said.
”Then you better arrange for off-loading in case I’m late in getting back.”
“You will be ashore all night?”
“Maybe. And don’t use Kamei tomorrow. I don’t want him on deck.”
When he went below Kamei was lying on his bunk.
“Stay here tomorrow,” he told him. “It’s better you’re not seen on deck while we’re in harbour.”
“I understand,” Kamei said.
Karl Schepke carefully lit a cigarette. “Do you know where I can buy a gun?”
Kamei, looking at him, nodded. “Go to Flower Market Road. Go to the lantern shop. Ask for Chu Wei. Tell him Kamei sent you. He will get you a gun.”
57
HE had come without announcement, past the girl at the desk in the outer office, throwing his cap on the divan.
Mr. Wang rose nervously.
“All right,” Schepke told him angrily, his hands flat on the polished top of the desk, leaning his face close to Mr. Wang’s. “Now you can tell me what happened at Taipeh!”
Mr. Wang dabbed nervously at his forehead with a silk handkerchief. “I am afraid I am not at all certain of what you mean, Captain,” he said.
“What do you think I am?” Schepke demanded, then heard the door behind him open.
“I am sorry if I have interrupted you, gentlemen.”
“Oh, no. No.” Mr. Wang said, smiling his relief, lifting his head toward the newcomer, his heavy-rimmed spectacles catching the light so there momentarily appeared no eyes in his face. Then smilingly, he returned to Schepke. “This is Mr. Saito.”
Mr. Saito was an old man. He held his hat in his hand and leaned both hands on a cane.
“So?” Schepke said, looking from one to the other.
“Mr. Saito is our managing director,” Mr. Wang said with some reverence.
“Isn’t that wonderful?” Schepke said.
Mr. Saito smiled amusedly.
“I still want to know what happened at Taipeh,” Schepke said to Mr. Wang.
“Perhaps I can offer some explanation,” Mr. Saito politely interrupted.
“Are you in this, too?” Schepke said, not thinking very much of either of them.
Mr. Saito sat delicately down on the divan. “Captain,” he said quietly. “I assure you that I have made the strongest possible protest direct to the Generalissimo himself. It was made just as soon as it was known as to exactly what had transpired at Taipeh.”
“Did you tell anybody else about this?” Schepke asked as they went forward to the Radio Office.
“I came straight to you, sir,” Altmeyer said, closing the door then sitting into the swivel chair and fitting the headphones.
Karl Schepke glanced at the bulkhead clock and saw it showed a little after five o’clock.
“There!” Altmeyer said, suddenly, swivelling the left headphone. “That’s Taipeh now.”
Schepke heard the metallic, static-disturbed voice of an English-speaking operator at Taipeh requesting all shipping to report in on sighting the southbound Gertrud Lüth.
“Keep listening,” he told the boy and went out hurriedly to see Hechler’s broad back as he went aft. “Hans!”
Hechler waited for him.
“There’s an alert out for us. I just heard Taipeh send out a General.”
“What in hell’s that for?” Hechler asked, puzzled.
“You know as much as I do,” Schepke told him. “I told Altmeyer to keep listening.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I think we should keep going. I’ve got a feeling we’re involved in something we don’t know anything about.”
“I’ll have a cup of coffee then go back below and keep Frauenheim company,” Hechler said, pausing outside of the galley. “They did a good job at Taikoo,” he went on. “I don’t think you need worry about the ship any.”
Karl Schepke went on up to the bridge.
“Something is wrong, Captain?” Cheng asked, surprised at seeing him.
“I don’t know,” Schepke said evenly.
“I am not sure I understand, Captain.”
“Never mind. Just go down to the main box and slip all the deck, derrick, and alleyway lights. Then get Müller up here.”
From the window he watched the lights go out, and now everything was dark except for the navigation lights and the lights in the inboard passages and cabins.
“Kapitän, sir,” Altmeyer said as he came onto the bridge. “There’s a lot of coded stuff coming across on high frequency. I’m afraid there’s none of it any good to me.”
“All right,” Schepke told him. “Keep listening,” He went into the charthouse and leaned across the glass topped table, noting all the Formosa ports that could harbour warships, American or Nationalist. Unknowingly, by running the Gertrud Lüth full out they had made better time through the Straits than normally anything but a fast freighter would have made and he presumed it just possible that anyone searching for them would not allow for so much headway.
Well I guess the luck’s maybe changed after all, old turtle-head, he was thinking. Maybe. And maybe it wasn’t the yellow stuff that built the Great Wall. Maybe.
And outside it was still dark in the Straits and the morning had not yet begun to come in.
53
LEAVING the main switch box, Cheng knocked lightly on the door of the Radio Office.
Altmeyer turned to see him come in and pushed the headphones forward off his ears.
“There is some sort of trouble?” Cheng asked.
“It’s Taipeh,” the boy told him. “They put out a General for us.”
“Then it is something serious?”
Altmeyer shrugged. “Even the Kapitän doesn’t know yet,” he said.
Cheng nodded thoughtfully then went out and hurried aft.
Müller was asleep. “Müller! Wake up!”
Müller sleepily focused his eyes.
“Wake up!” Cheng told him. “Something is wrong. Taipeh has sent out an alert for us.”
Müller came swiftly off the bunk, wide awake. “Nothing was supposed to happen until morning!”
“Keep your voice down!” Cheng hissed. “One of the timing mechanisms must have proved faulty.”
“They were bound to suspect us in any case,” Müller argued. “The whole thing was stupid.”
“You are not being paid to criticize!” Cheng hissed, the contempt showing in his words. “We are paid only to obey instructions. It has just been unfortunate. There is much espionage going on all the time and these charges exploding at the precise time could have been set by someone on shore. A dockworker, maybe. We have men everywhere. No one can prove anything, not even if we are stopped.”
Müller sighed deeply. “I still don’t like it,” he said, pulling on his tunic.
“Not even the money?” Cheng said contemptuously.
Müller stared back at him for a brief moment, then went on buttoning his tunic.
54
IT had begun to rain again. There was no wind now and the rain fell hissing on the darkness of the ocean. After Cheng had gone below Karl Schepke picked up the blur of approaching lights on the starboard bow and now he watched them as they came on through the heavily falling rain, arcing with the movement of the ocean. She was a large freighter probably bound north for Japan. He went on out to the port wing and put the glasses astern. There was no sign of the lights of the two ships they had passed earlier in the morning. Then as he turned back amidships Cheng and Müller came in from below.
“Get me the register.” He saw Cheng move as he put the glasses on the freighter again. She was taking shape now, big and solid, her lights showing high in the darkness.
Dropping the glasses onto his chest he took the heavy register from Cheng and stood under the pale glow of light from the compass bowl, running his finger down the lists of ship names.
“Get Altmeyer up here.”
The lights were closing to pass on the starboard side.
Almost immediately a searchlight flashed out across the intervening darkness, the rain falling brilliantly through the flashing beam.
Karl Schepke watched it, reading it as it came: Bad night. Visibility poor further south. T.S. Kroonstad, bound Yokohama.
He turned as Cheng came in with Altmeyer hastily pulling on his storm coat.
“Make: Many thanks. S.S. Zanoni Maru, bound Saigon.”
He crossed to the starboard wing now and watched the large Dutchman draw abeam, at the same time hearing the metallic clatter and seeing the sudden brilliance of light reflect on the ocean as Altmeyer hammered out the signal. The Dutchman steamed steadily on through the heavily falling rain, acknowledging the signal as she slipped rapidly astern.
Then Altmeyer came in off the flying bridge and fastened the hatch down, rain streaming from his storm-coat. “Fine,” Schepke told him. “Heard anything else?”
“The British warship Cockade reported in on intermediate that she had passed an unidentified merchantman proceeding south at one-fourteen. There’s still some coded stuff on high frequency but I can’t make out if it’s shipping or shore stations. Our RID is rigged only for low and intermediate.”
“May I ask what is happening, Captain?” Cheng interrupted.
Schepke looked first at him, then at Müller. “I thought somebody on board might be able to tell me,” he said.
“Tell you what?” Müller said.
“Carry on, Altmeyer,” Schepke said, dismissing the boy, and at the same time ignoring Müller. “Cheng. You organize some extra look-outs. It’s going to be light soon and I think we’re going to find somebody very intent on finding us. I just hope this rain and low cloud ceiling holds.”
“We’re going to run?” Müller asked.
“Don’t tell me you’re really one of the bright boys after all,” Schepke said. “What do you suggest we do, go back?”
“Well I mean what the hell’s happening?”
“If I knew I would tell you,” Schepke said, watching him. “But whatever it is they won’t be wanting to hang medals on us.”
“I think the Captain is right,” Cheng interrupted. “It is better to keep going. We all know how politically involved even the smallest incident can become in these waters.”
Karl Schepke did not say anything. But he was thinking, and he was thinking, if this old sea-cow ever reaches Hong Kong and I ever set foot on board her again, you, Mr. Chinaman, are going to take a lot of watching.
55
HE was in the messroom when he heard someone shouting on the boatdeck. Kicking the chair from under him, he went out at a run. Kamei and two of the Chinese lookouts were on the port side, all three of them staring intently at the mass of low cloud on the port quarter.
“Airplane,” Kamei said. “It is very low.”
Karl Schepke already heard it, the cloud-muffled drone of her motors growing to a roar as she seemed to pass directly overhead.
“She has not seen us,” Kamei said.
“Not visibly,” Schepke told him. “But she’ll have us on radar. She sounds like a slow coastal patrol, probably a flying-boat.”
The sound of the motors had eased now as the airplane passed widely away to starboard, in the direction of the mist-shrouded mainland. Karl Schepke looked out toward the ocean. The rain had eased again and visibility had opened to ten or eleven hundred meters. Then looking back toward the mainland he saw the mist and the heavy fog-bank further in.
“Get all hands off the deck,” he told Kamei as he turned for the bridge.
“Did you see it?” Müller asked as he came in from below.
“Starboard ten!” Schepke shouted, ignoring him, dropping one of the forward windows down as the low hammering roar of motors passed wide ahead of the bows as they began their swing shoreward.
“She’s still there!” Müller shouted.
Schepke glanced at the Chinese on the wheel. “She’s coming in for a closer look,” he said. “Take us into that fog-bank and get back on course. Don’t slacken speed any.”
Müller immediately began shouting fresh orders to the two Chinese and the ship angled sharply in toward the fog-bank.
Then Karl Schepke heard her low down, coming on, the roar of her motors growing steadily louder. And suddenly she was low and dark, her white float belly seeming to hang just clear of the grey ocean as she came in on the port quarter. She seemed to take a long time, her two wing engines throttled right back and hammering the sky apart. He knew she could not possibly miss seeing the name boldly across the stern. Then suddenly her port wing dipped slightly as she banked, aiming her nose at the bridge. He glimpsed momentarily the identification marks on the underside of the wings and then found himself watching the red and yellow tracer shells seeming to float gently out from her nose then curve slowly in toward him. Then quite abruptly her belly lifted and he went down flat on the deck as she barely cleared the foremast, the terrific hammering of her engines drowning the clatter of her guns as she went over.
The deck around him was littered with glass from the smashed windows of the wing and he raised his head and saw the forward bulkhead just below the window rail a mass of splintered wood. Everyone was flat on the deck, Müller with his head toward him listening to the receding roar of the motors. The two Chinese were flat on their faces, their arms across their heads.
“Is everybody all right?” Schepke asked, rising.
Müller nodded and rose to his feet as Schepke steadied the wheel. They were coming in fast toward the fog-bank, everyone now watching nervously from the forward windows. Then they heard the mounting roar of the motors as the flying-boat swung around somewhere close by.
“Get ready!” Schepke shouted. “Müller! Tell Altmeyer to radio Hong Kong! Tell him we’re being attacked by a Nationalist flying-boat!”
He turned to see her come down through the cloud almost directly in line with the bows. The pilot had misjudged their position slightly and almost at once he started to pull up without levelling out.
Glass showered in upon him as he threw himself to the deck, the whole ship vibrating under him as the motors reached their mighty crescendo as the flying-boat flashed up over the bridge.
Karl Schepke was already pulling the wheel around to port, bringing their head away from the land now that they were inside the fog-bank, visibility sharply decreased to about one hundred meters.
“Take the wheel!” he told the nearest of the two Chinese.
“Here she comes again!” Müller shouted as he came in from below.
This time the roar of her motors seemed everywhere in the fog and then suddenly grew loud and passed somewhere close astern.
“She won’t see us in this,” Schepke said. “Get back on course and we’ll stay inside until dark.” He was already on his way below.
Cheng was in the passage.
“What the hell are you smiling about?” Schepke snarled. “If I thought you knew anything about this I’d throw you over the wall!”
“What would I know about anything?” Cheng protested.
Schepke ignored him and pushed past on his way to the boat-deck.
The decking and two lifeboats, and the port wing of the bridge were heavily holed and splintered. Then, glancing overhead, he saw the cannon shells had hammered great holes in the funnel casing and snapped a number of stays.
“We are lucky there is the fog.”
He turned to see Kamei. They could still hear the cloud and fog-muffled motors as the flying-boat circled steadily somewhere above them.
“Did you see anything wrong back at Taipeh?” Schepke said to him.
Kamei slowly moved his massive shaven head. “Nothing,” he said. “I do not understand this at all.”
“You’re not the only one,” Schepke said. “You think we will get clear now?”
“We’re too far south to get stopped unless they’ve got a warship in the area. If nothing else happens before dark we should be all right. After dark, I’ll take her out from the coast and run without lights.”
“It will be dangerous now,” Kamei said, looking astern at the Straits. “Next time they see us they will shoot. The only time we go through the Straits now is when dark.”
“I’d like to know what happened back there,” Schepke said. “From now on you keep a close watch on everybody. If you see or hear anything suspicious, tell me. Understand?”
“I understand,” Kamei said, and he was looking back toward the fog-shrouded Straits.
56
KARL SCHEPKE brought the Gertrud Lüth slowly around Tsim Sha Tsiu and docked her at the bottom of Kowloon’s Navy Street. Before they were through tying up an excited crowd of dockworkers had gathered to gape at the gunned superstructure. Schepke looked out toward the Star Ferry Pier and there was a British freighter of the Prince Line tied up at the wharf, a crowd gathered on her forward well and looking down across the empty dock between the two wharves.
“It looks as though the news got out ahead of us,” Schepke said, turning to Müller.
“There’s no sign of Wang.”
“Take care of her,” Schepke told him and went below to the cabin deck.
Hechler was leaving his cabin, dressed, and putting on his cap.
“In a hurry, Hans?”
Hechler nodded. “I’m going across to see von Pittkamer.”
“Let me know how you get on.”
“Sure,” Hechler said.
Karl Schepke went into his cabin and ran some water into the bowl and washed. The ship was quiet except for the hum of the generators, and after dressing, he went aft to the messroom. Frauenheim, Cheng, and Altmeyer were sitting at the long table, sunlight slanting in through the open scuttles and a warm breeze coming in off the harbour.
“Anybody staying on board tonight?”
“I can stay,” Cheng said.
”Then you better arrange for off-loading in case I’m late in getting back.”
“You will be ashore all night?”
“Maybe. And don’t use Kamei tomorrow. I don’t want him on deck.”
When he went below Kamei was lying on his bunk.
“Stay here tomorrow,” he told him. “It’s better you’re not seen on deck while we’re in harbour.”
“I understand,” Kamei said.
Karl Schepke carefully lit a cigarette. “Do you know where I can buy a gun?”
Kamei, looking at him, nodded. “Go to Flower Market Road. Go to the lantern shop. Ask for Chu Wei. Tell him Kamei sent you. He will get you a gun.”
57
HE had come without announcement, past the girl at the desk in the outer office, throwing his cap on the divan.
Mr. Wang rose nervously.
“All right,” Schepke told him angrily, his hands flat on the polished top of the desk, leaning his face close to Mr. Wang’s. “Now you can tell me what happened at Taipeh!”
Mr. Wang dabbed nervously at his forehead with a silk handkerchief. “I am afraid I am not at all certain of what you mean, Captain,” he said.
“What do you think I am?” Schepke demanded, then heard the door behind him open.
“I am sorry if I have interrupted you, gentlemen.”
“Oh, no. No.” Mr. Wang said, smiling his relief, lifting his head toward the newcomer, his heavy-rimmed spectacles catching the light so there momentarily appeared no eyes in his face. Then smilingly, he returned to Schepke. “This is Mr. Saito.”
Mr. Saito was an old man. He held his hat in his hand and leaned both hands on a cane.
“So?” Schepke said, looking from one to the other.
“Mr. Saito is our managing director,” Mr. Wang said with some reverence.
“Isn’t that wonderful?” Schepke said.
Mr. Saito smiled amusedly.
“I still want to know what happened at Taipeh,” Schepke said to Mr. Wang.
“Perhaps I can offer some explanation,” Mr. Saito politely interrupted.
“Are you in this, too?” Schepke said, not thinking very much of either of them.
Mr. Saito sat delicately down on the divan. “Captain,” he said quietly. “I assure you that I have made the strongest possible protest direct to the Generalissimo himself. It was made just as soon as it was known as to exactly what had transpired at Taipeh.”
