CHAPTER XIV
A DOUBLE DECOY
"Gun-fire!" exclaimed Lieutenant-Commander Morpeth, sniffing the salt air like an alert terrier scenting a rat.
"Away to the south-east'ard," corroborated Wakefield. "Is this going to be one of your lucky days, George?"
"It won't be for the want of trying," rejoined the R.N. R. man grimly; then bending till his lips nearly touched the mouth of the voice tube, he shouted, "Stand by, below there, to whack her up."
A few crisp orders followed. Men moved swiftly and silently to their appointed stations, while the course was altered a couple of points to take Q 171 to the scene of the supposed action.
It was the second day of Wakefield's and Meredith's enforced but none the less interesting detention on board the mystery ship. Q 171 was well out into the North Sea, bound for a certain position a few miles to the west'ard of the now famous Horn Reefs Lightship. The sea was calm, a light breeze blew from the west'ard, while the sky was filled with small fleecy clouds drifting slowly athwart the lower air-currents—an indication of a forthcoming change of wind.
The three officers, clad in black oilskins to keep up the rôle of Hun pirates, had been sitting on the cambered edge of the base of the dummy conning-tower, yarning of times not long gone and holding forth wondrous theories of what might happen in the seemingly far distant epoch after the war.
"Small quick-firers," declared Morpeth, as the rumble of the sharp reports grew louder and louder. "None of our M.L.'s in action by any chance, I hope?"
Slinging his binoculars round his neck, Morpeth, with an agility that his ponderous frame belied, clambered to the domed top of the conning-tower, reckless of the fact that his weight was causing the frail metal-work to "give" ominously.
Bringing his glasses to bear upon a faint dot just on the horizon, Morpeth made a long and steady scrutiny.
"Merchant vessel—tramp, by the look of her—chased by a Fritz," he reported, "Unhealthy work—for Fritz. I'll keep her on my lee bow a bit. It's no use butting in too soon. Too much dashed hurry spoils everything."
At sixteen knots Q 171 held on, with the apparent object of joining in the chase and cutting off the fleeing merchantman. Quickly the chase came in sight—a bluff-bowed, wall-sided tramp, with an elaborately camouflaged hull.
"Confounded scheme that razzle-dazzle," commented Morpeth. "Meet three or four in a crowded waterway, and you begin to wonder whether you'll see mother again. Can't tell whether they are bows on, or what. Fancy we've got her cold, though. For'ard gun, let her have it."
The bow-chaser spat viciously, sending a shrieking missile within a hundred yards of the tramp, which, badly on fire aft, was still proudly flying the Red Ensign. Her funnel, hit about six feet above the deck, was showing signs of collapse, being supported only by the wire rope guys. Making a bare eight knots, she was evidently at the mercy of the pursuing U-boat, which, capable of doing eighteen on the surface, was slowing down after the manner of a cat playing with a mouse.
Q 171, firing rapidly, but deliberately planting her shells wide of the merchant vessel, now turned twelve points to port. This had the effect of bringing her into a decidedly convergent course with that of the U-boat. The latter, probably "smelling a rat," or taking exception to what appeared to be another of her kind "spoiling the game," edged away to starboard, at the same time hoisting a signal.
By the aid of the appropriated German Naval Code Book, Q 171's skipper deciphered the signal. It was a peremptory request for the pseudo U-boat to make her number and thus proclaim her identity.
This was easily done. A four letter hoist of bunting fluttered from Q 171's mast, giving the information that she was U 251 of the Imperial German Navy.
"This is my prize," signalled the dog-in-the-manger Fritz.
"I have good reasons for joining in the chase," was Morpeth's reply.
During the lengthy exchange of flag messages, both boats had maintained a hot fire upon the tramp. From the genuine U-boat the result of Q 171's shells could not be observed. Had the Huns been able to do so, they would have expressed considerable surprise at their supposed consort's decidedly erratic gunnery; but in the heat of rivalry they became reckless.
Almost imperceptibly, Q 171 lessened the distance between her and her prey. The tramp was two miles ahead, while barely half a mile separated the U-boat and the decoy.
"Stand by the tubes!" ordered Morpeth, at the same time motioning to Wakefield and Meredith to step clear of the rails.
Meredith felt a distinctly unpleasant sensation in his throat. Perspiration oozed from his forehead. Fascinated, he watched the alert faces of the men standing by the mechanism that was to lay bare the deadly torpedo-tubes.
"Let her have it!" shouted Morpeth.
With hardly a rumble, the dummy conning-tower rolled over the well-oiled rails, revealing the triple tubes trained abeam upon their prey. The next instant the glistening cigar-shaped missiles leapt over the side and disappeared in a welter of foam.
Travelling at the rate of an express train under the impulse of small but powerful electric motors, the torpedoes took very little time to cover the intervening distance. So intent were the Huns at shelling the tramp that they failed to notice the tracks of the sinister weapons until, with an appalling roar, two of them exploded simultaneously and thirty yards apart against the U-boat's hull.
Morpeth gave a grunt of satisfaction as he watched the tall column of water break and fall in a shower of smoke-mingled spray.
"Simple—quite simple," he remarked; then, observing Meredith's white face, he clapped the young officer on the shoulder.
"Cheer up!" he ejaculated. "Nothing to look white about the gills.... When you've been on the game as long as I have, and seen what an utter bounder Fritz is, you'll understand."
With the discharge of the torpedoes Q 171 altered helm and resumed her former course. Morpeth meant to take no chances by revealing his identity to the tramp. He preferred to let the crew of the merchant vessel think that the disaster of her supposed consort had effectually put the wind up the second U-boat. Q 171 was a mystery ship, and once her true character was known the story would be all over the first port at which the tramp touched. And, after all, it was not a very far cry from an East Coast port to Berlin in war time, and benevolent neutrals had an unfortunate liking for spreading reports, true or otherwise, of what they saw and heard in British harbours.
A sudden ejaculation from Morpeth attracted Meredith's attention. The R.N.R. man was pointing with outstretched arm in the direction of the tramp.
He had good reason for astonishment. The apparently badly battered tramp had swung round and was forging through the water at high speed—possibly a good twenty-five knots. The Red Ensign had been struck, and the White Ensign streamed proudly in the breeze.
"Look alive there!" shouted Morpeth. "Up with our rag, or they'll be planking a four-point-seven into us. Hanged if she isn't a Q-boat too!"
The R.N.R. man was right concerning the rôle of the oncoming ship; but he was wrong in his surmise as to her intentions. Her skipper had noticed that the shells fired from the second U-boat had purposely gone wide, he had spotted the uncovered torpedo-tubes on her deck, and had seen the sudden disintegration of U-boat No. 1. Metaphorically speaking, he was foaming at the mouth.
A hoist of bunting rose to the masthead of the approaching vessel. "Heave-to; I wish to communicate," read the signal.
Morpeth rang for "half speed" and then "stop." He turned to Wakefield.
"Now's your chance to get a lift back," he remarked.
"Fancy I'll hang on," replied the late skipper of M.L. 1071. "A day or two won't make much difference. Had I been ashore I suppose the S.N.O. would have packed me off on leaf."
"And you, my festive?" inquired Morpeth, addressing Meredith.
"I'm following my senior officer's lead," replied the Sub promptly.
"As regards your men, I'll put them on board if she'll have 'em," continued Morpeth. "It'll relieve the pressure on the grub locker. Hope they won't kag too much about us, though."
"I don't think so," replied Wakefield, who had great faith in the sound sense of his crew.
"But after all it won't matter so very much," added the R.N.R. officer. "By the time they get ashore my little stunt will, I hope, be a back number. Now, let's see what this camouflaged blighter has to say."
The Q-boat had now ranged up within fifty or sixty feet of her small co-worker. Men, rigged out in the nondescript garments affected by the Mercantile Marine, were clustered for'ard, while a couple of stalwart individuals, rigged out in pilot-coats, serge trousers and sea-boots, were leaning over the side abreast the mainmast.
"Dash you, you meddling bounder!" roared one of the latter. "What d'ye mean by butting in and spoiling our sport? D'ye think we stood a gruelling for four mortal hours just for the fun of seeing you give Fritz socks? An' we had her nicely within range when you let rip."
"Sorry," replied Morpeth apologetically, "But how the blazes was I to know?"
"You'd have known quick enough if we had shown our teeth," replied the other grimly. "Three of my men killed and six wounded, and nothing to show for it."
"So I suppose when I fall in with a genuine tramp being chased by a Fritz, I'll just carry on?" inquired Morpeth caustically.
"I won't say that," replied the other. His wrath was fast evaporating. He was beginning to realise that, after all, cooperation was the thing, and that rivalry, except of the healthy order, was detrimental to the great work in hand. "When all's said and done, it's something to think that we took you in. At first I thought you were a Fritz: your get-up was so good. But I say, isn't your name Morpeth—Geordie Morpeth?"
"I have a notion that you've hit the right nail on the head," replied the skipper Of Q 171. "But I'm dashed if I can call your face to mind!"
"Met you in Rio in January '12," announced the other, with a typical sailorman's memory for dates. "You were in the Humming-Bird. I was on the Glaucis, second mate at the time."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Morpeth, "you're Bellairs. I didn't recognise you; you've altered some."
"Hardly recognise myself at times," remarked Bellairs. "If you want to age rapidly, try a trick in a Q-boat. I see you're trying it already. Well, I must be pushing along. I'm making for Newcastle, after three weeks off the Lofoden Islands. Fritz was pretty busy in Norwegian waters, but I guess he's put up his shutters for a time at least. We've driven a few nails into his coffin."
"Left one or two for me, I hope?" remarked Morpeth. "But look here, can you give a passage to a few hands?"
"A few," agreed Bellairs guardedly. "How many?"
Morpeth told him.
"I've also two officers on board," he added. "They wish to stay and have a rest cure. I'm doing my best to educate 'em at the same time."
The other R.N.R. man laughed. "Right-o!" he exclaimed. "If you educate 'em like you did the youngsters on the Humming-Bird I can see them writing home to mother about you."
"Hear that?" inquired Morpeth, turning to Wakefield and Meredith. "Old man Bellairs evidently thinks I'm a tough nut. Hope Fritz'll think so too; that's the thing that counts."