A. Bertram Chandler by The Hamelin Plague

Author:The Hamelin Plague
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-01-25T19:50:03+00:00

“It’s obvious,” squeaked Clarendon. “Obvious. They have put the rocket-launching sites out of commission. They have the cunning of rats and the intelligence of men.”

“Do you think the Russian plan will be effective?” Barrett asked the admiral.

“It might be,” said Keane cautiously. “It might be—if they had enough bombs for all their cities. But I think that the same happened in Russia as in America. The bombs on Moscow and Leningrad were two that didn’t get sabotaged.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping a lookout?” Barrett asked the youth, who was still lounging outside the door, listening to the conversation.

“But there was nothing in sight when I came down.”

“You’d better make sure there’s nothing in sight now.”

“But—”

“Get back on the bridge. That’s an order.”

Grumbling, the young man slouched away, muttering something under his breath about brassbound bastards who thought they were Captain Bligh.

“One of your crew?” asked Keane.

“No,” snapped Barrett. “One of yours. I told you I had only two ratings aboard, and both of them are highly reliable.”

“Then why aren’t they on duty?”

“Because they’re catching up on their sleep. I shall want them on watch and watch, steering, as soon as we get under way.”

“You’re the master,” said Keane. “Or the acting master.”

“Might I suggest,” put in Pamela, “that we do something about getting on our way for Piper’s hideout?”

Barrett finished his drink, got to his feet. “All right,” he said. “I’ll get up top and lay off the course. The D.R. shouldn’t be too far out, and I shall be able to get a radar fix as we close the land. And you, Pamela, can give Mr. Ferris a shake. You know where his cabin is. Tell him we shall want the main engines as soon as he can let us have them.”

On the bridge somebody was shouting and jerking frenziedly at the whistle lanyard. Above the clamor sounded a sharp explosion, then another, and another.

“Rifle fire!” ejaculated Keane.

There was a scream, and the whistle no longer sounded an erratic succession of short blasts, but was emitting a sustained, mournful bellow.

The admiral, revolver in hand, pushed Barrett to one side and ran out on deck.

There were three fishing vessels, and they had taken advantage of the light breeze to approach Katana silently, ghosting along under stained and tattered canvas. One of them was already alongside to starboard and the boarding party was clambering from the wheelhouse top over the ship’s bulwarks. The other two were standing off, one on either side of Katana, and it was their riflemen who were opening fire on anything that moved on Katana’s decks.

Keane was shouting something, but Barrett could not hear what it was for the bellowing of the whistle. The dead lookout still clutched the lanyard in his stiff hand, his weight dependent from it. There was already a pool of blood on the white deck-planking.

Keane shouted again and his forty-five crashed, the noise of its firing shockingly loud even among the general commotion. And from the fishing boats there was a

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