The Submarine Hunters, Percy F. Westerman [e reader comics txt] 📗

in a manner that had not been intended.

"What are you doing?" asked Haye curiously.

"Jam your ear against the centre one of these three pipes," said his chum.

Vernon did so. It required very little movement on his part, since the bunks were rather narrow. The same voice-tube that Ross was "tapping" ran vertically past Haye's bunk, which was immediately underneath the one Trefusis had appropriated from the time when he had been laid upon it under the influence of the injection.

This particular pipe formed a means of vocal communication between the conning-tower and Kapitan Schwalbe's cabin. For some reason the whistle had been removed from the cabin end, and consequently sounds from the Kapitan's quarters were conveyed with tolerable clearness.

There were two men engaged in conversation. One was Kapitan Schwalbe; the other, who spoke in a lower key, and so rapidly that Ross had great difficulty in mentally translating his words, was the Lieutenant-Commander of U77. He had been put aboard U75 only a few minutes previously.

"My dear von Hoffner," Kapitan Schwalbe was saying. "Your plan is all very well as far as you are concerned; but where do we come in? Understand that while we are on the surface our risks are increased ten-fold. Suppose, for instance, the battleship does not notice, or affects not to notice, the white flag?"

"She will, right enough," assured the Lieutenant-Commander of U77. "These English are such fools that in their anxiety to observe the rules of warfare" (here von Hoffner laughed sardonically) "they play into our hands. More than a twelvemonth of war has not taught them that the hitherto recognized observances of war are no longer binding. This is not a petty squabble between two nations. It is a struggle for existence; consequently it is where our frightfulness scores."

"It hasn't up to the present, according to my experience," objected Kapitan Schwalbe gloomily. "These Englishmen simply won't be frightened. But to return once more to the point: what steps do you propose to take to minimize my risk?"

"There must be risk, of course," remarked von Hoffner. "According to latest reports, it seems pretty certain that we cannot hope to intercept the Tremendous during the hours of darkness. Consequently we have to make use of a ruse. Directly I spot her I dive, keeping as much as possible close to her track, say three hundred metres off."

"Yes, you dive," commented Schwalbe caustically. "That is quite feasible. But what of U75?"

"She will keep on the surface almost exactly in the indicated path of the battleship. You will strike your ensign and hoist a large white flag in its place. It will mean scrapping your best tablecloth, mein herr. With the wind in its present quarter the flag will blow athwart the battleship's course, so there is no risk of it not being seen. You and your crew will, of course, form up aft. That will give more colour to the deception."

"Perhaps it will work," said Kapitan Schwalbe.

"Perhaps? Of course it will," declared von Hoffher sanguinely. "Then the rest is child's play. Directly the Tremendous slows down—it's the speed of these battleships that has caused us to miss hitherto—I will let loose two torpedoes. There will be no bungling, I assure you. I'll take good care to hit her close to the magazine, and there will be no opportunity for her to use her quick-firers.

"By the by, I've two English boys on board," said the Kapitan of U75. In a few words he related the circumstances in which they were made prisoners. "I suppose they ought to line up on deck with the hands?"

"Certainly," replied von Hoffher, with one of his cold-blooded sniggers. "It will heighten the illusion. It will do them good to see what one of our unterseebooten can do. But it is highly important that there be no survivors from the torpedoed battleship. The ruse is a grand one, and can be employed over and over again, provided that the secret does not leak out. After all, I don't think I would bring these English youths on deck."

"They are safe enough," protested Schwalbe. "If we return to Wilhelmshaven, they will be locked up in safe custody until the end of the war. If we do not, then I fancy there will be no survivors from U75 as well as from the English battleship Tremendous."

The two treacherous officers conversed in a similar strain for several minutes longer. Then came the sound of glasses being clinked as an accompaniment to a boastful toast. Talking boisterously, the two officers left the cabin, and presently the lads heard the sound of oars as von Hoffner was rowed back to his command.

CHAPTER XI Preparations

"The brutes!" ejaculated Vernon savagely. He was violently excited. Perspiration was pouring off his face at the thought of the almost unparalleled act of wanton treachery that was about to be enacted. "If we could only prevent them!"

"I can't see how," rejoined Ross gloomily. "We cannot give an alarm. If we could control the valves for half a minute, I'd sink this blessed craft with all on board, myself included, for good and all. But it is no use talking of the impossibly heroic."

"I have a plan," announced Vernon, after thinking deeply for a few minutes.

"Well, out with it!"

"We have to pass through one of the broadside torpedo-rooms as we go on deck. We could each snatch a spanner and give the war-heads a terrific blow. You'll remember that there are half a dozen torpedoes in the cages against the bulkhead. It would mean certain death for us, but it would save nearly a thousand lives."

Ross shook his head.

"There's no certainty of success," he objected. "Those torpedoes are very much like our own Whiteheads. The striker in the head is protected against accidental discharge by a small propeller. Until the torpedo travels a certain distance through the water—sufficient for the resistance against the blades to cause the safety device to unthread and leave the striker free to hit the primer—the danger of premature explosion is almost negligible. We shouldn't have time to revolve the safety blades enough, and I'm pretty certain that even a heavy blow on the war-head itself would not explode the charge."

"Then I'm done," said Vernon dejectedly. "Think of something, old man—something that will hold water."

Silence ensued for nearly ten minutes, broken only by the tapping of the waves against the sides of the submarine, and the gentle purr of the dynamos for supplying light to the interior of the vessel.

Suddenly Ross leapt out of his bunk. He dared not trust himself to speak above a whisper for fear of being overheard.

"Dash it all, old man!" exclaimed Vernon, when his chum had confided his plans; "it ought to work. If it doesn't, nothing else will. I'm on it, happen what may!"

"We'll want our knives for the job," continued Ross. "Yours will open easily, I hope? Good! Sharp? We'll run no risks. A sharp blade is absolutely necessary."

They drew the knives and whetted the blades upon the soles of their boots. At Vernon's suggestion they kept open the big blades, making a hole through the lining of their pockets in order to keep the knives in a horizontal position and ready to hand.

"Now let's turn in properly," suggested the practical Ross. "We want to be fairly fresh for the job in front of us."

Soon after sunrise on the morrow all hands were mustered aft on deck, Ross and Vernon included. It was a bright morning. The sun had risen seemingly out of the sea, or in nautical parlance it was a "low dawn". There was a chilliness in the air that made the lads wish that they had been wearing overcoats.

They looked in vain for U75's consort. The unterseeboot that was to deal the coward's blow was not to be seen. Her presence was to be kept a secret from the crew of the decoy.

Kapitan Schwalbe, accompanied by his Unter-leutnant, made his way aft. He looked pale and care-worn. He had lost his military manner. His gait suggested that of a man recovering from a long illness.

"My men," he exclaimed, "circumstances over which I have no control make it necessary to bring our cruise to a speedy termination. U75 is no longer in a state of efficiency, either for offence or flight. It therefore remains for us to save our lives by surrendering to the first English ship of war that we fall in with. It is a humiliating and distasteful step to take, but there is no option."

The crew heard this lying speech in silence. They hardly knew what to make of it. The majority mentally decided that it was better to be imprisoned in England than to rot on the bed of the sea. Kapitan Schwalbe had no faith in his men's histrionic abilities; he was also afraid that they would oppose the scheme that he himself had deprecated as being too risky.

Hiding their indignation, Ross and his chum saw the Kapitan hand a petty officer a white flag. The man took it, and lashed short pieces of cord to two adjacent corners.

Hans Koppe sidled up to his charges.

"You will soon be free," he remarked. "Ach! but you do not seem overjoyed. You English are indeed a queer race."

Receiving no reply, the man went below to follow the example of his comrades, who were getting together their personal belongings. Many of them thought of the times when they had seen non-belligerents do likewise. It was the boot on the other foot with a vengeance.

Ross gave another glance across the horizon. Nothing was in sight. Gripping his chum's arm, he led him for'ard. U75 was motionless. The deck was deserted. A quartermaster stood on the navigation platform in front of the conning-tower. Kapitan Schwalbe and his Unter-leutnant had likewise vanished.

As Ross passed the conning-tower, he pulled out his knife and deftly severed the lashings of a couple of buoys secured to the hand-rail. It was the first act of the lad's plan of operations.

"Vessel on the port bow, sir!" shouted the quartermaster.

Kapitan Schwalbe was on deck in a trice, closely followed by his subordinate. For a few moments, he kept his binoculars focused upon the indistinct grey object, then three miles off.

"It is the Tremendous," he announced in an undertone to the Unter-leutnant. "Another ten minutes will see the business through."

He spoke with confidence, but it was a confidence inspired by a liberal dose of brandy. He felt that he had already passed the Rubicon. There could be no turning back.

A whistle trilled shrilly. At the signal the men again doubled aft, and joined up in a double line.

"Where are the English boys?" enquired Kapitan Schwalbe.

"Coming," replied Ross. For the first time on board he omitted to add the word "sir". His omission was deliberate. Utter contempt for the German captain consumed him. Schwalbe, too, noticed the manner in which he had replied. He smiled grimly, imagining that now the lads thought themselves about to be free they could afford to be curt.

As the chums passed the lifebuoys, they deftly heaved them overboard. They fell with hardly a splash, dropping close to the side of the motionless submarine.

No one noticed the act. The attention of the crew was centred upon a little ceremony that was taking place. Bareheaded, the men stood at attention. Their voices broke into the song of "Die Wacht am Rhein" as the emblem of German sea-power was slowly lowered from the ensign staff.

The men sang sonorously and in perfect cadence. They firmly believed that it was their last tribute as free men to their Fatherland. As the last bar terminated, the petty officer smartly hoisted the white flag. For an instant it hung limply, confined by one of the halliards; then like a square of stretched canvas it blew out in the steady breeze—a modern counterpart of the kiss of Judas.

And standing just behind the Kapitan, within arm's reach of the ensign staff, were Ross Trefusis and Vernon Haye.

CHAPTER XII The