Shout at the Devil - Smith Wilbur (лучшие книги .TXT) 📗
and even in the bright glare of midday, the welding torches flared and sparkled with blue-white flame. The new plating was conspicious in its coat of dull brown zinc oxide paint, against the battleship-grey of the original hull.
As the launch approached, Sebastian studied the work carefully.
He could see that it was nearing completion, the welders were running closed the last seams in the new plating. Already there were painters covering the oxide red with the matt grey final coat.
The pock marks of the shell splinters in her upper-works following had been closed, and here again men hung on the flimsy trapezes of rope and planks, their arms lifting and falling as they plied the paint brushes.
An air of bustle and intent activity gripped the Blitcher.
Everywhere men moved about fifty different tasks, while the uniforms of the officers were restless white spots roving about her decks.
"They have closed all the holes in her belly?" Sebastian asked.
"All of them," Mohammed's cousin confirmed. "See how she spits out the water that was in her womb." And he pointed again with his chin. From a dozen outlet vents, Blitcher's pumps were expelling solid streams of brown water as she emptied the flooded compartments.
"There is smoke from her chimneys," Sebastian exclaimed, as he noticed for the first time the faint shimmer of heat at the mouths of her stacks.
"Yes. They have built fire in the iron boxes deep inside her. My brother Walaka. works there now. He is helping to tend the fires. At first the fires were small, but each day they feed them higher."
Sebastian nodded thoughtfully, he knew it took time to heat cold furnaces without cracking the linings of fireclay.
The launch nosed in and bumped against the cliff-high side of the cruiser.
"Come, said Mohammed's cousin. "We will climb up and work with the gangs carrying the wood down into her. You will see more up there." A new wave of dread flooded over Sebastian. He didn't want to go up there among the enemy. But already his guide was scrambling up the catwalk that hung down Blucher's flank.
Sebastian adjusted his penis-sheath, hitched up his cloak, took a deep breath and followed him.
orrietirries it goes like that. In the beginning everything is an obscene shambles; nothing but snags and accidents and delays. Then suddenly everything drops into place and the job is finished." Standing under the awning on the foredeck, Commander (Engineering) Lochtkamper was a satisfied man, as he looked around the ship.
"Two weeks ago it looked as though we would still be messing around when the war was over but now!"
"You have done well," von
Kleine understated the facts.
"Again you have justified my confidence. But now I have another task to add to your burdens."
"What is it, Captain?" Lochtkamper kept his voice noncommittal, but there was a wariness in his eyes.
"I want to alter the ship's profile change it to resemble that of a British heavy cruiser."
"How?"
"A dummy stack abaft the radio office. Canvas on a wooden frame. Then mask "a turret, and block in the dip of our waist. If we run into the British blockade squadron in the night, it may give us the few extra minutes that will make the difference between success or failure." Von Kleine spoke again as he turned away, "Come, I will show you what I mean." Lochtkamper fell in beside him and they started aft, an incongruous pair; the engineer swaddled in soiled overalls, long arms dangling, shambling along beside his captain like a trained ape. Von Kleine tall over him, his tropical whites crisp and sterile, hands clasped behind his back and golden beard bowed forward on to his chest, leaning slightly against the steeply canted angle of the deck.
He spoke carefully. "When can I sail, Commander? I must know precisely. Is the work so far advanced that you can say with certainty?" Lochtkamper was silent, considering his reply as they picked their way side by side through the milling jostle of seamen and native porters.
"I will have full pressure on my boilers by tomorrow night,
another day after that to complete the work on the hull, two more days to adjust the trim of the ship and to make the alterations to the superstructure," he mused aloud.
Then he looked up. Von Kleine was watching him. "Four days, "he said. "I will be ready in four days."
"Four days. You are certain of that?"
"Yes."
"Four days," repeated von Kleine, and he stopped in midstride to think. This morning he had received a message from
Governor Schee in Dares Salaam, a message relayed from the Admiralty in Berlin. Naval Intelligence reported that three days ago a convoy of twelve troop ships, carrying Indian and South African infantry, had left Durban harbour.
Their destination was not known, but it was an educated guess that the British were about to open a new theatre of war. The campaign in
German West Africa had been brought to a swift and decisive conclusion by the South Africans. Botha and Smuts had launched a double-pronged offensive, driving in along the railroads to the German capital of
Windhoek. The capitulation of the German West African army had released the South African forces for work elsewhere. It was almost certain that those troopships were trundling up the east coast at this very moment, intent on a landing at one of the little harbours that dotted the coast of East Africa. Tonga perhaps, or Kilwa Kvinje possibly even Dares Salaam itself.
