THE ocean was slick as a lake, and the tiny time-rusted tramp steamer, plugging westward, was the only thing to be seen on the huge bowl of blue. To all appearances, the “Elsie K” was one of the many vessels steaming to England with the fruits of American labor. The crew was in dirty whites and dungarees, and while some slept on the hatch covers, others worked listlessly about their tasks.
It was a strange sight, for in these waters operated the new giant submarine, the U-900, pride of the Nazi underwater fleet. Repeatedly she had attacked convoys and lone steamers, bagging an ever-increasing number of boats. She was such that she could come to the surface and fight it out with a destroyer, and this she had done, her two six-inch guns saving her from many an armed surface raider out to sink her. So, for the sloppy “Elsie K” to sail along unconcerned was indeed odd. True, on the stern deck was mounted a gun, but it was so small that it could hardly be of any use at all.
The sun was setting when the lookout on the tramp shouted a warning. On the port side was a white ripple, and coming up slowly, the black eye of a periscope. “Submarine to port!” There was a wild scramble as the “black gang” at the furnaces rushed to the deck to be free of a torpedo burst. Those on deck rushed to the rail.
No one even bothered to man the gun. Evidently the U-boat didn’t think the “Elsie K” worth a torpedo, and started to come to the surface to sink her with shell fire. Slowly the submarine rose out of the sea, until those on the ship’s rail gave a shout. Clearly marked on the conning tower was “U-900.” Men poured out, stood by the huge six-inchers. A warning shot across the bow and the “Elsie K’s” engines stopped. The captain of the sub shouted through a megaphone.
His guttural tone came to the steamer, “What is your cargo?”
MacDonald, skipper of the tramp smiled grimly. He’d waited many months for this moment, and now it was here!
“Butter, eggs and meat,” MacDonald shouted back, “but you’ll not get a bit of it.”
A yell went up from the U-boat when they heard this for they had been at sea nearly nine weeks, eating out of cans, and they howled in anticipation of a feast.
The U-900’s commander lifted his megaphone to his lips. “If you scuttle your ship, I’ll gun every man of you. Stand by for a boarding party.”
Over the side of the sub went a rubber boat, and the men paddled to the “Elsie K.” The crew, looking glum, said nothing but threw a ladder over the side, and the sub men climbed aboard. Captain MacDonald stepped forward.
“You dirty Huns —” But that was as far as he got, for one of the boche slammed him with a rifle butt. He turned to the crew.
“SHOW me your hold.” Under threat of the guns, they led the way down the ladder to the hold, with its precious contents. The Germans came back grinning. They could hardly wait to sink their teeth in the stolen meat after so long a diet of beans, fish, and tinned beef. The sailor in charge signaled to the U-boat, and slowly that great monster of modern warfare swung about and came along side the steamer. The crew of the “Elsie K” gasped when they saw it up close. It was bigger than the tramp by fifteen feet at both ends, and the conning tower was flush with her deck! The two guns were snouts of destruction, and a catapult meant they must even have a small scouting plane inside that fish hull! The U-900’s commander came up the ladder and laughed at MacDonald, sprawled on the deck, and bleeding from the head.
The skipper looked up, his eyes flashing fire. “He laughs best who laughs last.”
“Not this time, Captain,” he said curling his lip. “Tell your crew to take to the boats. My men will unload your cargo.”
“I hope you choke on it!”
The sub’s officer kicked MacDonald viciously in the ribs.
“Hurry,” he roared, “I do not like it to be kept waiting!”
THE skipper climbed painfully to his feet. His crew was mad and the sub men sensed it. Then the commander looked at them. “I don’t advise anything rash, pigs — I would gladly shoot you all, but since you are making me a present of such a fine dinner, Von Hultner is feeling very merciful. Take to your boats, dogs! I give you three minutes to be away!”
The crew looked at MacDonald. The wiry Scotchman seemed beaten. He nodded to his men, and they jumped into action, began lowering the lifeboats away. As the boats rode away, the skipper raised his fist. From the deck the Germans could not see his smile.
“You’ll regret this, Nazi scum.”
But no one on board heard him, so concerned were they with getting the cargo of the “Elsie K” on the submarine. Had anyone noticed them, it would have seemed peculiar, for the sailors in the boats, 2000 miles from land in a hopeless position, were pulling hard on the oars, rowing as fast as they could with no place to go-and the skipper glancing at his watch so often.
Then it came — an ear-bursting blast of fire and smoke! Debris rained down in fine powdered pieces, so terrific was the explosion. The sea was churned into a frenzy of foam! From a mile off the skipper and crew of the “Elsie K” watched and laughed.
They pulled back to where the steamer and sub were, but once more the ocean was calm, and except for a great oil slick and some scattered life preservers, there was no sign of the U-900.
About four hours later they were picked up by a convoy and when news got around that the undersea devil was no more, there were shouts of joy on all the Navy ships.
“How did you manage it?” someone asked MacDonald.
“Easy,” he smiled, “easy. We knew he’d come along side for the supply of fresh food, and we had the ‘Elsie K’ loaded with explosives and a time mechanism to blow her to bits when she did. Funny part of it was … our cargo was bricks, with only a few crates of grub to fool them with!”
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