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."