Power of the Sword - Smith Wilbur (читать книги онлайн регистрации .TXT) 📗

That is the correct recognition signal, Captain. He straightened up and nodded. We should surface now and make the reply. To the thunder and crackle of compressed air purging the diving tanks, the U-boat rose up like Leviathan through the dark depths and burst out through the surface.

While the submarine still wallowed in her own froth, the captain and Manfred climbed the ladder and went out onto the bridge. The night air was cool and sweet, and Manfred drew deep breaths of it as he peered through his binoculars at the black loom of the shore.

The captain gave a quiet order to the signals yeoman, and he worked the handle of the Addis lamp, clattering out quick beams of yellow light across the dark silver-flecked ocean, spelling out the Morse letters W S', the abbreviation of White Sword'. After a short pause one of the beacon fires on the headland was snuffed out, and a few minutes later the second fire was extinguished, leaving only the one on the beach still burning.

That is the correct response, Manfred grunted. Please have my equipment brought on deck, Captain. They waited almost half an hour until out of the darkness close at hand a voice hailed them.

White Sword? Come alongside, Manfred called back in Afrikaans, and a small open fishing-boat crept towards them on its long oars.

Quickly Manfred shook hands with the U-boat captain and gave him the Nazi salute, Heil Hitler! Then he scrambled down onto the lower deck. The moment the wooden hull of the fishing-boat touched, Manfred leapt lightly across and balanced easily on the central thwart.

The rower in the forward seat rose to greet him.

Manie, is that you? Roelf! Manfred embraced him briefly. 'It's so good to see you! Let's get my equipment aboard. The rubber canisters were swung across by the U-boat's deck crew and stowed in the bottom of the fishing-boat, and at once they pushed off. Manfred took the oar beside Roelf and they gave way swiftly, then rested on their oars to watch the black submarine shark below the surface and disappear in a rash of white water.

Once again they began pulling towards the shore, and Manfred asked softly, Who are the others? He indicated the three other oarsmen with his chin.

All our people, local farmers from the district. I've known them since I was a child. They are completely trustworthy., They did not speak again until they had run the boat in through the low surf to the beach, dragged it up the sand and hidden it amongst the salt bush.

I will fetch the truck, Roelf muttered, and a few minutes later the yellow headlights came down the rough track to the beach. Roelf parked the battered green four-tormer beside the fishing-boat.

The three farmers helped them transfer Manfred's equipment to the back of the truck and cover the canisters with bales of dried lucerne and a tattered old tarpaulin. Then they climbed up on top of the load while Manfred took the passenger seat in the cab.

Tell me all the news of my family, first, Manfred burst out. We have plenty of time for business later. Uncle Tromp is just the same, What a sermon that man can preach! Sarie and I go every Sunday How is Sarah? Manfred demanded. And the baby? You are out of date, Roelf laughed. Three babies now.

Two boys and a little girl of three months. You'll meet them all soon. One at a time they dropped the other men off along the winding dirt road with a word of thanks and a quick handshake, until at last they were alone. A few miles further on they reached the main coastal road near the village of Riversdale, and turned westwards towards Cape Town two hundred miles away, and ran on through the night, stopping only to refuel the truck at the little town of Swellendarn and to spell each other at the wheel of the truck.

Four hours later they crossed the mountains and went down the steep narrow pass to the wide littoral. They stopped again a few miles outside Stellenbosch, at one of the cooperative winery companies. Although it was three o'clock in the morning, the manager was waiting for them and he helped them unload the rubber canisters and carry them down into the cellar.

This is Sakkie Van Vuuren, Roelf introduced the manager. He is a good friend, and he has prepared a safe place for your equipment. He led them to the rear of the cellar, to the last row of wooden casks. These were massive oak containers each holding a thousand gallons of immature red wine, but the manager thumped the palm of his hand against one of them and when it gave out a hollow sound, he smiled.

I did the work myself, he said and opened the front of the cask. It was hinged like a door and the cask beyond was empty. Nobody will ever find the goods here., They packed the rubber canisters into the cask and closed the hinged lid. It was indistinguishable from any other of the massive wine-filled casks in the row.

We will be ready to move when the time is ripe, the winemaker told Manfred. When will it be? Soon, my friend, Manfred promised him. Very soon, and he and Roelf drove on into the village of Stellenbosch.

It's good to be home. You will only stay here tonight, Manie, Roelf told him.

Even with your new black beard and broken nose, you are too well-known. You will be recognized. He parked the truck in the yard of a secondhand car dealer down near the railway tracks and left the key under the floor mat. Then the two of them walked the last mile, through the deserted streets to Roelf's home, a cottage in a row of small thatched cottages. Roelf let them in through the back door into the kitchen, and a familiar figure rose up from his seat at the kitchen table to greet them.

Uncle Tromp! Manfred cried. The old man held open his arms, and Manfred ran into his embrace.

What a terrible ruffian you are with that beard, Uncle Tromp laughed. And I see the American did a permanent job on your nose. Manfred looked over Uncle Tromp's shoulder and there was a woman standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

That was what misled him, a woman, not a girl. Her face was marked by a kind of sad wisdom, and her expression was pinched and without joy.

Sarah? Manfred left Uncle Tromp and went towards her.

How are you, my little sister? I was never your little sister, Manfred, she said. But I am very well, thank you. She made no effort to embrace him and Manfred was clearly disturbed by the coolness of her welcome.

Are you happy, Sarah? I have a fine man and three beautiful babies, she said, and looked at Roeff.

You will be hungry now, she told him. Sit down. You can talk while I make your breakfast. The three men seated themselves at the kitchen table and every once in a while Manfred glanced surreptitiously at Sarah as she worked over the stove, and his expression was troubled, ridden by old memories and guilt. Then he gathered himself and concentrated once more on what the others were saying.

The news is all good, the British smashed and broken at Dunkirk, France has fallen and the Netherlands. The German U-boats are winning the battle of the Atlantic and even the Italians are victorious in North Africa- I did not know you were one of us, Uncle Tromp, Manfred cut in on the discussion.

Yes, my son. I am a patriot as you are. The Ossewa Brandwag is forty thousand strong now. Forty thousand picked men in positions of power and authority, while Jannie Smuts has sent one hundred and sixty thousand of the English-lovers with their little orange tabs on their shoulders out of the country. He has put himself at our mercy. Our leaders know of your arrival, Manie, Roelf told him.

They know that you bring a message from the Fahrer himself, and they are eager to meet you. Will you arrange a meeting, Manfred asked, as soon as possible? There is much work to do. Glorious work to do. Sarah Stander stood quietly at the kitchen stove, breaking eggs into the frying pan, turning the chops under the grill.