CHAPTER IV
A MODERN BATTLE WITH CRIMINALS
When Dave Tower, Barney Menter's one-time pal, received the letter suggesting a bit of "jazz" somewhere within the Arctic Circle, he was on twelve-hour shore leave. They were to start on that mysterious subsea journey at high-tide next day. He grinned as he showed the note to Ensign Blake, his commander. Then he went around the corner and purchased a second-hand guitar and an oboe.
"Look!" he exclaimed, pointing to a pair of battered kettledrums in the corner. "There's the original pair—made by the Adam and Eve of the South Sea Islands, or wherever kettledrums originated. I'll buy 'em and teach some gob to drum. We'll have a whole band when we arrive."
A few hours later found them aboard the snug, shapely hull of U boat N. 12 of the U.S.A. submarine fleet. The sub was a small one, patterned after the most recent British model, known as the "K" class. Fleet as a flying-fish, she made twenty-two knots on the surface and ten knots when submerged. She presented a rather odd appearance, having a short, square funnel, which was swung over into a recess in the deck when the craft submerged.
Her gun and torpedoes had been removed. The weight of those had been replaced by an additional supply of oil and by quantities of provisions. The provisions, together with bales of skin clothing, were packed into every available space.
She made splendid progress as she left the harbor and wound her way in and out among the islands of Puget Sound, to emerge finally round Cape Flattery and strike away into the open sea.
It became evident at once that this was no coastwise journey. Further than that, not even Ensign Blake knew its purpose.
The sub was registered at the Navy-yard as "off on detached duty." The crew of ten men were all volunteers for the trip. The expedition was under the direction of a doctor. A man past middle age, he sat in a wicker chair below, smoking innumerable cigars and saying nothing.
"Far's I can dope it out," Blake said to Dave, "the old fellow did some good service for the Government during the war. He's had plenty of experience in the North; has some theories he wants to work out about subs and the Arctic. The Government has some little trick they want pulled off up in that North country. The Doctor volunteers to lead the expedition, and here we are!"
"But what do you suppose—"
"Don't suppose a thing," said Blake, gazing astern at the last fading bit of land. "There's a lot of things that might be; but like as not none of my guesses is correct."
"Let's hear you guess."
"Well, first, you know, Uncle Sam has some valuable seal islands in the Aleutian group. Maybe, during the war the Japs or Russians have got careless about drifting around that way and carrying off a few hundred skins. Might be, you know.
"But I'm not saying that's it. A sub would be a mighty fine craft for watching that sort of game, though. And then, there's another thing I've thought of. There's gold in Russia, on the Kamchatkan peninsula; you know that, don't you?"
"No." Dave opened his eyes wide in surprise.
"Heaps of it. Tons and tons! Just waiting for the digging. And before we went into the war, when Russia was still with the Allies and needed money, our Government, or independent capitalists, I don't know which, furnished the Russians a lot of machinery for mining the gold; about a million dollars' worth, I guess. Then came the revolution in Russia. I doubt if a cent has been realized from the sale of machinery. Who's in possession of that peninsula at the present time? God alone knows. Japan would like to meddle there, I'm sure. Perhaps we're being sent up there to conduct an investigation.
"Those are my two guesses. Take 'em for what they're worth."
"You don't think," said Dave, "that we'd attempt the Pole?"
The ensign was silent for a time. "No," he said at last, "I don't. Of course, Stefansson has said that a 'sub' is the most practical way to go there; that ice-floes are never more than ten feet thick and twenty-five miles wide, and all that; but there are too many unsettled problems relating to such a trip."
"But say!" exclaimed Dave, "who is this doctor of ours, anyway?"
"Blamed if I know," said Blake, as he turned away to go below.
"Well, anyhow," Dave remarked, "whoever he is, he's going to take us where the white ice-floes are drifting. Look at the color of this craft; blue-white, like the ice itself."
The journey North, save for a storm, which they avoided by submerging, was uneventful until they found themselves in the company of scattered ice-cakes with the snow-capped ridges of the Aleutian Islands looming up before them.
In no time at all every man on the craft realized that on these islands was to be found one of the objects of their quest; for, once they had sighted the shores, the funnel was dropped, electric power applied, and watchers, dressed in white to match the color of the craft, set to scan the shores for signs of life. They stole through the water like some ghost craft.
"Believe it's that seal-fishery business?" asked Dave, as he and the ensign took their watch.
"No."
Dave was certain from the tone that the doctor had confided his secret to the ensign. He asked no more questions.
So they drifted on. The wind had dropped. The swell rolled their craft as it plowed along. Here and there a sea-lion thrust its ugly head from the water. Twice a seal attempted to climb upon the slippery hull for a rest, but, to the amusement of the boys, slid back into the water. An offer to assist the third one was not appreciated, and the ridiculously human-like head disappeared beneath the water with great alacrity.
Dave had been searching the hills with his binoculars for some time when he suddenly gave the glass to the ensign.
"What's that tangle above the cliffs there?" he asked.
The ensign studied the cliffs for some time. Then he touched a button with his foot and they turned silently shoreward.
"That's it!" He said with an air of finality.
"What?" asked Dave eagerly.
"The wireless." Then the ensign explained to Dave the purpose of their journey. They had been sent into the Arctic to locate a wireless station, supposed to be placed in the Aleutian Islands; a station run by radical propagandists, part of a world-federation, which proposed to wreck all organized society. Had Dave realized that the missions of sub and airplane were alike he would have been startled. As it was, his face took on a tense, expectant look, his cheeks burned hot with excitement.
The Doctor was called to the conning-tower. After studying the contour of the island for some time, he said:
"Their shack, built of rocks and driftwood logs, is at the base of the cliff. That is good. We will divide into two parties. Four of us will go up the cliff and get above them, while four others will skirt the cliff and, under cover, await my signal. Our supporting party will take ropes, rifles and a machine-gun. I will go with the party to the top of the cliff. We will carry only rifles and some special instruments of attack which I have stored in canvas sacks below. Two men must remain on board. Head in close to those rocks before us. They are out of sight of the shack and there is ice stranded there—a straggler will scarcely tell our craft from it. I have no doubt there are a number of them and that they are hardy ruffians. We must proceed with great care.
"Hark!" He put his hand to his ear. "They are sending messages now.
"In the future," continued the Doctor, as he handed Dave two strange-looking spheres, the size of a man's head, "the work of sheriffs, policemen and other officers of the law is not going to be quite so hazardous. When a criminal runs amuck, he will not kill a half-score of brave men before he is captured. The officers of the law will do what we will soon be doing, and a child can do the rest. Only," he continued, "watch your step going up that hill. It doesn't take much of a bump to get one of these funny little balls excited."
Dave had been detailed to assist the Doctor. Ensign Blake would lead the supporting party around the cliff, there to await the Doctor's signals.
Besides the sack in which Dave carried the large spheres, there was another carried by a seaman. This one gave forth a metallic clinking, as if it were full of iron eggs. With the Doctor and the other seaman carrying two rifles each, the four men made their way slowly around the rocky hillside and were soon advancing silently, single-file, up the surface of one of those perpetual snow-banks for which the islands are noted.
The rocks above were much larger than they had seemed from the sub. Twice, as he climbed over them, Dave's foot slipped and each time his heart was in his mouth. One stumbling misstep and all might be over for him. But he had the clear, cool head of a clean boy who had lived right, and an appreciation of the joy of living, which would take him far and keep him safe through many an adventure. So, safely, they reached the top of the cliff.
The Doctor motioned Dave to come back with him to a box-like edge of rock, which would give them a view of what lay some three hundred feet below. All was still. The moon, a great yellow ball, floated in the sky above and in the sea beneath. A lone sea-gull, awakened by the supporting party, sailed screaming away. Not a move, not a sound was to be detected below. Yet there, in a rocky cavern, were a number of world-criminals, and behind some crag were three jackies and their commander. Soon all this would be changed. Fighting, perhaps death, would end the quiet of that Arctic scene. Dave's hand trembled with excitement as he arranged the two sacks beside the Doctor. Even the Doctor's hand shook as he opened one sack and drew forth a number of small iron objects, the size and shape of a bicycle handle-bar grip. His face grew stern.
"Understand Mill's grenades?" he asked.
"Yes."
"All right. When I say 'Go' drop ten of these as fast as you can release the pins. Drop 'em on their shack."
Dave's heart thumped violently. He had thrown Mill's grenades at manikin "enemies," but never had he hurled them where human flesh was the target. Slowly, mechanically, he arranged the ten grenades in a row.
"Go!" The word sang in his ears.
Ten seconds later from below came two sharp reports—his grenade and the Doctor's. They were off together. Crash followed crash in quick succession until the row was finished. Silence followed for a single second. Then came the cries and curses of men, as they staggered from their half-demolished shelter and began to scatter. Dave's heart thumped. There were fifteen, at least.
"Now!" exclaimed the Doctor, and lifting one of the large spheres he dropped it over the ledge's edge. Just as that instance Dave saw one of the rascals raise his rifle and fire. Immediately there came a cry of distress. Dave thought he recognized the voice and a lump rose in his throat.
But now there came a dull muffled explosion—the strange bomb. Instantly the men below began acting like madmen. Throwing away their rifles, they staggered about, tearing at their eyes, their throats, their clothing, and uttering wild cries of distress. At the same time three automatic pistols cracked, and Dave knew the doctor had given his signal.
To his surprise, he saw the three jackies emerge from hiding wearing gas masks. Quickly they overpowered the wild men, tied them and carried them around a point of land. As they did this the Doctor and his band kept guard above, rifles ready for any man who might, by some chance, recover sufficiently from the gas to shoot. But none did.
"It won't do them the least bit of harm," the Doctor said, as he noticed the look of surprise on Dave's face. "It's only chlorpicrin—a tear gas. It comes in liquid form, so must be associated with an explosive which transforms it into a gas and scatters it. You will see that our men are carrying them out of it as soon as they have them secured. It's a safe and harmless way of handling criminals. The war taught us that."
"But the ensign?" exclaimed Dave, as he saw the last ruffian in the hands of the jackies.
"Something must have happened to him," said the Doctor rising hastily.
"There was a shot," Dave reminded him.
Together they hastily made their way down the rough hillside. Slipping, sliding, falling, to rise again, they came to the lower surface and hurried around the point where the prisoners had been carried.
A strange scene awaited them. Sixteen men lying in a row, all tightly bound. And what a motley crew they were—Japs, Russians, Mexicans, Greeks, and even Americans, they had gathered here for a common purpose. But it is doubtful if one of them could have told what the next step would be, should their first task be accomplished.
Off to one side, lay Ensign Blake, white and still. One of the seamen was bending over him.
"Got an ugly one in the chest," he said simply. "Think we can save him?"
The Doctor bent over, and tearing away Blake's garments, made a thorough examination.
"He'll pull through," he said. "But we must get him to the mission hospital at Unalaska at once. Begin throwing those rascals aboard. There's a prison there for their accommodation."
At that moment the two other jackies appeared, carrying a moaning burden in the shape of a Jap radical.
"One's done in for good," the foremost man explained. "We searched the ruins. Maybe we can save this fellow."
"Take him aboard," said the Doctor. Then, turning, he directed the men who carried their fallen commander to the craft.
* * * * *
"Well, that about ends our present career in the Arctic." The Doctor was speaking to Dave, and emphasized his word with a sigh. "I had hoped we might do something really big, but Blake will not be out again this season. He'll get around again all right, but it's a slow process."
Dave sat thinking. Suddenly he jumped to his feet.
"Doctor," he said eagerly, "there's a gob on board who is sure a wonder at navigation. Don't you think—think, he and I might manage the sub for you—your trip?"
"H—m." The Doctor grew thoughtful, but a flash of hope gleamed in his eye.
"Tell you what," he said presently, "there's a considerable ice-floe between the islands; the north wind brought it down last night. Have your crew ready for a try-out in the morning."
With a heart that ached from pure joy of anticipation, Dave hurried to an ancient sealer's bunk-house where his men were housed. "A try-out, try-out, try-out," kept ringing in his ears. What did it mean if they were successful? Something big, wonderful, he was sure. Russian gold? Charting Northeast Passage? North Pole? He did not know, but nothing seemed too difficult for his daring young heart.
And the next day the try-out came. And such an ordeal as it was! Gobs had surely never been put to a test like that in any navy-yard training station! For five long hours they dived and rose and dived again. They rose suddenly, rose slowly; they tipped, glided, shot through the water. They passed for miles beneath the ice-floe, to emerge at last and bump a cake, or lift themselves toward a dark spot not larger than the sub itself—a patch of open water in the midst of the floe.
With mind all in a whirl, Dave gave the final command to make for port.
It had been a great day.
That night, after "chow," the Doctor called Dave into his room at the hospital.
"Young man," he said, motioning the boy to a seat, "you and your crew have surprised me beyond belief. I feel that we shall be risking little in attempting what, to many, might seem the most difficult task ever undertaken by a submarine. I do not yet feel free to tell you what that trip will be; you'll have to take that on faith. I can only tell you that we will proceed from here directly to Nome, Alaska. There we will get more oil and provisions. We will then sail through Behring Strait due North."
For a time the two sat in silence. The Doctor's face grew mellow, then sad at recollections of years that had gone.
"I don't mind telling you," he said after awhile, "that I am an explorer, you almost might say 'by profession;' that some years ago another explorer and I sought the same goal. We went from different points; both claimed to have reached it. But he got the honors."
"And you really reached—"
"Doesn't matter now what I did in the past," interrupted the Doctor quickly. "What I am to do in the future is all that counts, and the immediate future is big with possibilities."
"The crew will be with you to a man," Dave assured him, as he rose to go.
As he stepped into the cool night air, Dave found that his face was hot with excitement. There was left in his mind not one doubt as to their final destination: it was to be a try for the Pole. Only one thought saddened him; that his good friend, Blake, would not continue as one of the party.
Two days later they crossed over to the island of the illicit wireless station. They found the apparatus in perfect condition, and the Doctor at once began sending messages.
"I'm letting the world know of our purpose," he explained. "At least, trying to. Sending messages by code to a friend of mine in Chicago. Hope Seattle will pick it up, and if not, perhaps that radical operator who is supposed to be relaying messages to Canada and the States from the north-central portion of the Continent will catch it, and, thinking it one of his own messages in a new code, pass it on."
Had the doctor known what kind of radicals were in control of the station on Great Bear Lake at that moment, perhaps he would have been more careful what messages he sent.
"If you don't mind," said Dave, "for the sake of my friends, and especially of my mother, I wish you'd include my name in the message."
"It's already done," smiled the Doctor.