CHAPTER XXV
TRAPPED
Cold, grey dawn was stealing over the North Sea. Hull down to the east'ard, her cage-mast just showing above the horizon, lay the Hoorn Reefs Lightship. Off the tail of the bank that fringes Denmark's shores Hun submarines were in the habit of bringing up and receiving wireless orders before venturing through the inner mine-fields either to the mouth of the Elbe or northwards to the Baltic through the Kattegat.
Q 171 was moving slowly through the greyish-green water. Her triple torpedo-tubes were ready with their deadly complements; her quick-firers, trained fore and aft after the manner of U-boats returning to their bases, were ready for action at a moment's notice. The torpedo-men and gun crews, sheltering under the lee of the dummy conning-tower, were keenly on the alert, watching their commanding officer as he, in his turn, watched the broad expanse of sea over which the rising sun would shortly throw its slanting rays.
Supporting himself by the shaft of the periscope, which, like the conning-tower, was a "dud," Morpeth again and again raised his prism-binoculars to his eyes. Just below him stood Wakefield, conscious of a peculiar sensation of mingled doubts and hopes. He, too, shared with Morpeth the feeling that the climax was at hand. The great stunt that was to deal a terrific blow to Germany's campaign of unrestricted warfare was imminent. Would it succeed?
The plan of operations was daring in its simplicity. According to information obtained from a British Secret Service agent in Kiel, two giant submarine-cruisers were leaving the German Baltic port, passing through the Imperial Kiel Canal during the hours of darkness, and leaving Brunsbuttel the following night for the Hoorn Reefs rendezvous. Here they were to take on board two experienced U-boat commanders from submarines expected to be homeward-bound from the Irish Sea, and then proceed to the Atlantic seaboard of the United States. Capable of keeping the sea for a period of sixty days without having to re-fuel or re-provision, these submarine-cruisers were a direct menace to the Allies in general and to Uncle Sam in particular. Consequently, if Morpeth's plans were successful and he were able to destroy both submarine-cruisers before the returning U-boats arrived at the rendezvous, the moral effects of the mysterious disappearance of two brand-new additions to Germany's under-sea fleet would be more far-reaching than their actual loss.
And the hour was approaching when the two submarine-cruisers would arrive at the rendezvous—and then Q 171 would strike—swiftly and with annihilating force.
Right aft stood Meredith and Ainslie. The former was in charge of the after quick-firer, while on the other sub-lieutenant rested the responsibility of "dumping the ash-cans," or, in other words, dropping the depth-charges, should they be required. He also had charge of the hand-steerage flat, where, in the event of the electrically-operated wheel becoming disabled, the work of steering the Q-boat would be undertaken.
"Fritz is late in keeping his appointment," remarked Meredith. "Beastly uncivil of him on a cold morning like this."
Ainslie swung his arms vigorously and stamped with his rubber boots upon the metal deck.
"We'll forgive him if he shows up," he remarked. "Wonder if there'll be a chance of a scrap? By the by, you've your gasmask ready?"
"Yes, old son," replied Meredith, producing a hideous-looking contraption from the pocket of his oilskin coat. "We hadn't them issued to us on the M.L.'s, for which many thanks. Gosh! What would the old folks at home say if they could see their little Kenneth in this?"
"You do look a Hun," admitted Ainslie, as Meredith rather clumsily clipped the antigas device to his nose. "What a dash you'd cut at a kids' Christmas party! Got everything—pneumatic life-belt, first-aid outfit, meat lozenges, spirit flask an' all, in case you fancy rivalling a cross-Channel swimmer?"
Meredith gravely assured his questioner that he had all the articles named.
"Right-o," rejoined Ainslie. "And just kick over the oiler. Here's a link that wants a drop of oil pretty badly. Thanks, old thing."
The Sub was about to attend to what appeared to be a stiff link in the dummy deckgear release, when a cry came from for'ard:
"Submarine two points on the starboard bow, sir!"
At a distance of two miles in the direction indicated lay a U-boat motionless, with her deck just awash. Telescopes and binoculars were brought to bear upon her.
"That's not the bird I want," declared Morpeth. "She's one of the ordinary submarine mine-layers. We'll sheer off. No sprat to catch a mackerel for me!"
Q 171 turned eight points to port. Expecting at any moment to be challenged by the U-boat, Morpeth gave a curt order to the signalman. The latter toggled the soi-disant U 251's signal numbers to the halliards and stood by.
"They don't keep a sharp look-out," remarked Wakefield. "If we can spot them lying awash, surely they've twigged us by now."
"Just back from a cruise, I expect," surmised the R.N.R. officer. "And jolly glad to be back out of it, so they're holding on to the slack."
"Where's the other one, then?" inquired Wakefield. "There were two expected."
"She's neither of 'em," explained Morpeth. "Sort of stray cat coming home. The ones expected to meet the submarine-cruisers are big ones—three hundred feet or thereabouts. This one's not more'n a couple of hundred. I'd slip a tinfish into her with the greatest of pleasure, only that would spoil the proper stunt. Au revoir, Fritz!"
"Seaplane, sir!" shouted one of the crew.
"Confounded nuisance!" muttered "Tough Geordie." "Get our decorations ready, lads, and look slippy about it."
Two or three of the hands prepared to unroll a couple of square pieces of canvas. These were Morpeth's "decorations," or, in other words, the vessel's "aircraft distinction discs." On one side of the canvas were painted red, white and blue concentric circles—the British hall-mark for aerial efficiency. On the reverse were black Maltese crosses on a white ground—the symbol adopted by Hun aircraft. In both cases the same device showed on the deck of a ship denoted her either as a friend or foe.
"Hun, sir!" shouted three or four voices in unison, when the rapidly approaching seaplane drew near enough for the crew of Q 171 to distinguish the Black Crosses on her wings.
"Up with 'em!" shouted Morpeth.
Dexterously "Tough Geordie's" decorations were unfolded and exhibited—one at the top of the conning-tower, the other just abaft the for'ard gun.
Right aft the gun-layer of the concealed anti-aircraft weapon kept the sights trained on the approaching Hun, ready and eager at the word of command to let fly with a novel type of shell that on bursting would entail the immediate destruction of any aircraft within a couple of hundred feet of the point of detonation.
"'Nother seaplane right astern, sir!" roared a seaman in stentorian tones.
"Confound it!" ejaculated Morpeth. "What is their little game?"
The anti-aircraft gun could have effectively silenced one seaplane, but the other would have turned and flown off to give the alarm. So impassively Q 171 held on, every man on board (except von Preugfeld and von Loringhoven, who were ignorant of what was transpiring) fervently hoping that the Hun airmen would take it for granted that she was a U-boat.
With a rush and a roar the first seaplane dived steeply, flattening out and passing within fifty feet of the mystery ship's deck. Meredith distinctly felt the rush of air from her wake and could make out the goggled and helmeted heads of the observer and machine-gunner. The pilot behind his triple glass screen was invisible.
The seaplane began climbing in vast circles, until it became a mere dot in the now sunlit sky. The second Hun, content with hovering at five hundred feet for nearly five minutes, also began climbing, and finally both disappeared behind a stratum of high, fleecy clouds.
"Hanged if I like that!" remarked Morpeth.
"They've probably mistaken us for one of the returning U-boats," suggested Wakefield. "In that case they've cleared off to report that the submarine-cruisers can repair to the rendezvous."
"Let's hope you're right," added Morpeth. "Once I bag those submarine-cruisers, I'll take my chance with the seaplanes."
He rapped out an order to the quartermaster.
Round swung Q 171 until she steadied on a course that would bring her once more within a short distance of the U-boat they had sighted soon after dawn.
She was practically in the same position, but had swung with the change of tide—a fact which indicated that she was riding at anchor.
For full half an hour Morpeth kept her under observation, but no sign of life was visible on board.
"Another mutiny?" queried Meredith.
"Hardly," replied Wakefield. "Unless it were a general mutiny amongst the submarine fleet, and this one were left behind. No, it's not that."
"Then what do you think?" asked the Sub.
"A booby-trap, possibly. If so, then Morpeth's stunt is off. I'll see what he says."
The late skipper of M.L. 1071 went up to the R.N.R. officer and saluted—as he always did when on deck.
"Yes," admitted "Tough Geordie" gloomily. "I'm afraid that it's a booby-trap. Those seaplanes, too, rather support the theory. And there are no signs of the submarine-cruisers. If nothing turns up by noon I'll torpedo that packet and leg it home at the rate of knots."
"Any objection to my boarding her?" asked Wakefield.
"None, as far as I am concerned," replied Morpeth, "provided, of course, you take all reasonable precautions. I'll be ready in case of an accident, but I must insist upon your taking a volunteer crew."
A boarding-party was quickly forthcoming, consisting of Wakefield, Meredith, an armourer's mate, and two bluejackets. Launching the collapsible dinghy, they approached the U-boat, while Q 171, her concealed torpedo-tubes bearing on the former's hull, was ready to frustrate or at any rate to avenge any attempt upon the boarding-party.
A rope ladder trailed forlornly over the U-boat's bulging side. This Wakefield studiously avoided, making for the after-part where the long tapering stern dipped beneath the surface.
He hailed in German. No reply came from the apparently deserted craft, which was fretting at her cable in the now strong tideway.
Wakefield motioned to the rowers to pull alongside. Followed by Meredith and the armourer's mate, he gained the rusty deck.
"Hatches are closed," he said, in a low voice.
"Soon have them open, sir," declared the petty officer confidently.
"I think not," replied Wakefield. "Not until we've looked round a bit."
The three men moved for'ard. There were signs that the boat had not recently been in commission. Apparently she had been towed out of harbour and moored in the isolated position off the Hoorn Reefs. Why? If as a mark-boat to assist returning submarines to verify their position, the fact of closed hatches was easily explained. Being shut, they enabled her to ride out a spell of bad weather, otherwise she would have foundered.
"That's curious," exclaimed Meredith, pointing to the closed fore-hatch.
"What?" asked Wakefield.
"This," replied the Sub, pointing to a small, almost unnoticeable disc let in flush with the steel lid.
"By Jove, rather!" agreed the lieutenant. "An ebonite plug with a copper core! Yes; look here. There's a corresponding gadget on the deck. The two would come in contact when the holding down bolts of the hatch are released and the cover flies back. I fancy we were wise not to meddle with those hatch covers, or our curiosity would have landed us in a hole."
"She's stuffed with explosives, then?"
"Precisely," agreed Wakefield. "Once the circuit is completed by opening any of these hatches, up she goes, and anyone on board with her. We've seen enough. We'll clear out."
"What's the reason?" inquired Meredith.
"Ask Morpeth," was the reply. "He'll probably tell you that details of his stunt have leaked out. Hello! Seaplanes coming back? Look alive there!"
The boarding-party hurried to the boat. Quickly the rowers gave way. It was a race between a comparatively slow-moving boat and a pair of swift seaplanes. The former had to cover about two hundred yards: the latter a distance of from two to three miles.
The aircraft would have won hands down had they not banked and circled. As it was, there was time for Wakefield and his party to regain the mystery ship.
"Fritz has smelt a rat," reported the R.N.V.R. officer. "That U-boat's chock-a-block with explosives."
"Good enough!" declared Morpeth, ringing for "Easy ahead, both engines." "See that the smoke-screen gear is ready, Wakefield. We may want it, badly."
Q 171 increased her distance from the booby-trap to a good two cables' length, then she turned until she could bring her broadside torpedo-tubes to bear upon the anchored U-boat.
Diving steeply, the first seaplane swooped down to within three hundred feet. From underneath her fuselage a black object dropped swiftly—then another. Four seconds later the first missile struck the water, exploding with a deafening report unpleasantly close to the Q-boat's starboard quarter and deluging the after quick-firer's crew with spray. The second bomb fell further away.
Morpeth gave no signal to the anti-aircraft gun, although the departing seaplane offered a tempting target. His cool and ready wit saw an opening and he took it.
Both Hun machines were now flying on a parallel course, the first one manoeuvring to return to the attack. Incautiously they were approaching the anchored U-boat.
Like an arrow from a bow, a gleaming steel cylinder leapt from the Q-boat's side. Striking the water with a shower of spray, it dived obliquely and made straight for the Hun's booby-trap, its trail clearly defined by the milky foam on the surface.
Suddenly there was a lurid flash that seemed to outshine the light of the sun. A roar so stupendous that it shook Q 171 from stem to stern gave warning that the torpedo had reached its mark.
The terrific crash was not merely the result of the torpedo detonating. Laden with tons of powerful explosive, the decoy U-boat was literally blown to fragments. Even at the intervening distance pieces of molten metal hit Q 171 with great force. Fragments rattled against her side and on her deck like hailstones upon a galvanised iron shed.
For a brief space officers and men were stupefied by the overpowering concussion. Wakefield and three of the seamen were hit by flying debris, although fortunately the wounds were nothing worse than skin deep. In fact, Wakefield, in the excitement of it all, was unaware of the fact until Meredith called his attention to a trickle of blood down his cheek.
The first seaplane, which at the moment of explosion was immediately above the anchored U-boat, had vanished utterly in the irresistible blast of fire. The other, with her wings and tail planes riddled and rent, fluttered downwards like a wounded bird until, the drop developing into a tail-spin, she crashed into the sea. Floats were shattered under the impact, and almost before the foam had subsided the wreck of the second seaplane had disappeared beneath the waves.
"The stunt's a wash-out," declared Morpeth disappointedly. "It might have been worse, though, if those seaplanes had brought a crowd of their pals with them instead of being too sure off their own bat. We'll have to leg it for home."
"If we can," added Wakefield calmly. "Look!"
He pointed with outstretched arm towards the south-west. Pelting along at high speed, with their funnels belching out clouds of oil-fed smoke, were seven German ocean-going torpedo boats. Simultaneously, away to the nor'ard, three more columns of smoke indicated pretty plainly that Fritz was doing his utmost to trap the too daring Q-boat.
"Tough Geordie" shrugged his massive shoulders.
"Looks like a bit of a scrap after all," he remarked.