CHAPTER VII
A U-BOAT OF SORTS
The "old hooker" was plugging along at a steady twelve knots. At frequent intervals copious quantities of spray would be flung inboard as her bows plunged into the long swell. Running dead into the eye of the wind, she gave one an exaggerated idea of speed, for even in a light breeze the wire rigging supporting the two short masts verberated tunefully in the night air.
From the partly closed fo'c'sle hatchway came sounds of mild revelry. Meredith smiled at the noise, for he recognised amongst others the voices of some of his own men. Evidently the ex-crew of M.L. 1071 were taking kindly to their new surroundings, and were not in the least perturbed by their change of fortune.
"Hefty sort of hooker after an M.L." remarked Wakefield. "And what did you tell me was her name?"
"I didn't tell you any name, for the simple reason that she hasn't one. She's simply Q 171, while to Fritz she appears as U 251—but Fritz doesn't get away to tell the tale."
"What are these for?" asked Kenneth, kicking his boot against one of a pair of metal rails that ran fore and aft.
"Our tram-lines," explained the lieutenant-commander of Q 171. "A little device to clear decks for action in a brace of shakes. See our conning-tower and that superstructure arrangement abaft it? They're duds. Stand aside a minute, and I'll give a little demonstration of how things are worked. A bit further—that's it; now you are clear of the rails. Jackson!"
"Sir!"
A bearded petty officer came aft at a double, and awaited orders.
"The gadget!" exclaimed Morpeth laconically.
The man ran for'ard and was lost to sight beyond the break of the conning-tower.
Ten seconds later, impelled by a swift and invisible force, the conning-tower and the raised superstructure glided forward along the rails, leaving exposed in all their stark aggressiveness three large objects resembling exaggerated drain-pipes.
"Torpedo-tubes, by Jove!" exclaimed Wakefield.
"Guess you've never seen the type before," remarked the lieutenant-commander of Q 171. "They are shorter than the standard pattern, and, as you might observe, are not exactly parallel. Discharge all three torpedoes simultaneously, and they run on slightly divergent courses."
"Doesn't give Fritz much of a chance," observed Meredith.
"Not a dog's chance, old thing," rejoined Morpeth. "They're only 14-inch torpedoes, but they're just some. Blow a hole in a battleship's hull large enough to take a stage-coach, so you can imagine what happens when Fritz stops one—perhaps two, and very occasionally three. In a way a fellow can't help feeling sorry for Fritz, but he's asked for it all along the line. If he'd played a straight game with his U-boats we would have given him credit for what he'd done, and taken our chances. That chap who torpedoed our Cressy, Hogue, and Aboukir early in the war did a smart thing, and the Navy admitted it; but now all the decent U-boat skippers have packed up, or else have degenerated into low-down curs."
"Precisely," agreed Wakefield. "Hospital ships, and all that sort of business."
"Unarmed merchantmen—that's why we've had to take on the Q-boat stunt. Hardly seems proper jonnick to lure a Fritz within range, and then blow him to bits, but, as I said before, he's asked for it."
"Bagged many?"
"A few," admitted the R.N.R. man modestly; then, pleased at a sudden recollection, he squared his massive shoulders and burst into a hearty roar of laughter. "That reminds me of the last Fritz we scuppered. We had information that a U-boat was knocking around off Bass Rock, playing Old Harry with small coasting craft out of Arbroath and Granton, so we sent out the old s.s. Niblick—one of the Pink Funnel Line. She had been sold to a firm of ship-breakers, but when the pinch came they fitted her out again. Well, we followed an hour after the Niblick left Montrose, got within range, and started firing at her, or rather putting shells into the sea within a hundred yards or so. Presently we sighted a periscope. Fritz couldn't quite understand things, since he imagined he was the only U-boat sculling around. But after a while he couldn't resist the temptation of joining in the pursuit, and he blew ballast-tanks and came to the surface at a cable's length broad on our starboard beam. Before he could get to work on the Niblick with his bow quick-firer, he went to the bottom for good and all. It required only one of our torpedoes for that job."
"That's the stuff to give 'em!" exclaimed Meredith.
"It strikes me, Sub," observed Wakefield, as he stifled a yawn, "that we of the M.L. patrol will have to pack up. There's nothin' doin' for us now the Q-boats are out."
"Ever sighted a Fritz?" inquired Morpeth.
Wakefield was obliged to confess that he had not.
"I'm not surprised," continued the R.N.R. skipper. "Your little packets make too much noise. I wouldn't mind betting that Fritz has had a squint at you many a time through his periscope, and then he's promptly legged it. You're like a fat policeman on the track of a young burglar. It's the moral effect that tells. Before we cover up these beauties I'd like to show you the torpedoes."
With a dexterous movement Morpeth opened the breech of one of the tubes. Unlike the standard pattern, which is closed by means of six butterfly nuts, the breech mechanism consisted of an intercepted thread action somewhat similar to that of a quick-firer.
"We bagged that idea from the Hun," remarked Morpeth. "Now here is our tinfish: it has a range of only two miles, but quite enough for our purpose. Propulsive force, electric, and no fooling about with compressed air."
The M.L. officers examined the well-oiled glistening steel cylinders. In the bright moonlight the missiles looked harmless enough, but it took very little effort of the imagination to picture the fate of a craft torn by the explosion of fifty pounds of gun-cotton and aminol.
"The hydrophone-room," announced Morpeth, indicating a hatchway almost amidships. "That's nothing new to you, I'm sure. Here is our engine-room—petrol motors, of course."
"And your speed?" asked Wakefield.
"We are running normally—twelve knots."
"Yes—but all out?"
"With luck we might touch thirty-eight," was the unconcerned reply. "It isn't very often we do that—it's not necessary when we're Fritz-hunting—but when the Hun does come out with his light cruisers and torpedo boats, then we just show a clean pair of heels before they as much as sight us. Once they get an inkling that a British Q-boat is out disguised as a U-boat, then we may just as well pay off and save the taxpayers."
"But if their aircraft spotted you?" asked Meredith. "Your speed wouldn't help you much then."
"I agree," said Morpeth. "Aircraft are, in my opinion, unmitigated nuisances—that is, as far as we are concerned on this little stunt. When I see any of our blimps or flying-boats I get the wind up, because they naturally take us for a U-boat; and unless we're pretty smart at making our distinguishing signs, and they are equally smart at reading the same, they proceed with the utmost relish to strafe us. When I meet the Air Force fellows ashore I chip 'em and say it's because they're jealous."
"And when you spot a Hun 'plane?" inquired Wakefield.
"That's quite a different story. Just step aft a minute."
Morpeth led the way abaft the engine-room hatchway. On the centre line of the narrow deck was a metal flap about eighteen inches square.
"Our anti-aircraft gun is below there," observed the R.N.R. officer. "No, we don't lug it on deck. It's fired from below. Now, when a Hun spots us and we can't make ourselves scarce, we stop our engines and display a signal as per Imperial German Navy Code Book, a copy of which was issued to me by the British Admiralty."
"I know the thing," remarked Wakefield.
"Down swoops inquisitive Fritz," continued Morpeth, "and then we have him cold."
Wakefield stifled another yawn.
"'Scuse me," he murmured apologetically, "but it's not because I'm not interested. I am, really; but Nature is reminding me that I've had no sleep for the last twenty-four hours."
"By Jove! Why didn't you tell me before?" demanded Morpeth, in genuine concern. "Turn in, both of you, at once; and if you're out before the sun's over the fore-yard there'll be trouble."
"Right-o, on one condition," rejoined Wakefield.
The R.N.R. lieutenant-commander smiled grimly.
"I don't have fellows making conditions with the skipper of this hooker as a general rule," he remarked. "But what is it?"
"That we are called if there's any little stunt on," continued Wakefield.
"That's a deal," agreed Morpeth. "Good-night."