Rogue Raider Read Online Free Page B

fat buttocks uncomfortably on the hard wooden chair. Von Muecke had made them heroically fling all cushions overboard as part of the change from peace to war footing. The curtains over the portholes had gone too and they had been blacked out with paint. A good nautical fug of armpits, fags and fish supper was building behind them. When on war watch, men slung their hammocks by their stations, slept in their clothes for days and had no time to wash. The stink of a warship was like that of a prison – all balls and boredom. Lauterbach hated it.
    â€œThe war is nearly won. Berlin reports that our forces have already scored significant victories in France and Belgium …” Von Muecke’s pointer coolly moved whole divisions effortlessly across borders through barbed wire and machine guns. War was then not a thing of rotting green corpses and foul decay but of crisp lines etched on a map. “It was feared that the British, unable to confront Germany as an equal, would take the coward’s route yet again and fight its battles through others. Luckily that has not occurred and Britain has let slip the mask and we see, at last, the naked face of our enemy’s jealous hatred. English greed for wealth and power has deceived and humbled France and Russia, now also enemies, and reveals the sole purpose of that perfidious nation to be nothing less than the total annihilation of peaceful Germany.” His beaky little nose pecked the air with satisfaction. Its silhouette fell across the map of Europe seizing Paris in an ambitious pincer movement between nostrils and upper lip. The eyes gleamed fervently. “Our glorious victory is certain. The land war will be over in a matter of months. Our mighty fleet has gained the open sea. Tsingtao is an impregnable citadel, a secure part of the fatherland, that will vigorously defend the honour of German arms. If we are to deck our beloved vessel with a champion’s laurels we must all lend ourselves swiftly to that great purpose, before our foes bend on trembling knee to sign their unconditional surrender” The pointer became a sword for the flourishing. “Three cheers for the Kaiser!”
    The ratings leapt to their feet, crying out lustily, fisting the air, cheers ricocheting around the steel walls like shrapnel. Lauterbach flourished his pipe silently in token participation, mimed cheers slack-mouthed, being irrelevantly distracted by the irritating image of foes trying to sign while on bended knee. He had no hatred for the British. He had met lots of decent British seamen and the world for him was divided along a simpler line – that between sailors and landlubbers. The sea belonged to no state, neither did sailors so that a seaman’s vocation was its own nationality and brotherhood. One of the turning points in his early life had come with the realisation that his father’s mind was irrevocably decayed when he developed a sudden rabid interest in national politics.
    â€œThree cheers for Admiral Graf Spee!”
    The situation was bad then, much worse than he had thought. The rest of the Pacific squadron had got out of port fast and sailed for German Samoa to avoid being bottled up by the British. Tsingtao was undefended and would fall if the Japanese came in on the other side. In a few short months Germany would have no coaling stations left in the East and the entire fleet would be immobilised for lack of fuel, whereas the whole British empire could be reduced in naval terms to a series of heaps of Cardiff coal, dumped arrogantly all over the face of the planet. Earlier that day they had passed through the lingering wakes of a big flotilla of ships and there was noisy wireless in code. It could only be the British foolishly chattering and giving their position away. Germany had eight cruisers, Britain alone had thirty-four, not counting their French, Russian and Japanese allies. A less skilled card-player than Lauterbach could see that