war."
Millan's gun crashed. They saw the shell shatter the enemy's gun. Millan fired again.
A shot struck the Semiramis amidships. Mayo winced.
He ran to the rail and glanced at the faint discoloration of the reef.
"A fathom and a half is right," he said cheerfully. "I must report that to the Hydrographic Office. Get that after gun when she strikes the reef. When we swing alongside, let them board us. They will, because they'll be sinking!"
"Are you nuts?" Millan protested.
There was a terrific crash astern, a grinding scream as the bow of the pursuing ship lifted over the reef. With a tortured rending of steel plates, the big freighter slid over the reef, canted sharply to starboard. Ponga Jim turned and raced for the bridge.
"Hard to port!" he yelled at Brophy. "Swing around and come in alongside."
Millan's gun banged, then again. Someone was shouting from the bridge. Rifle shots swept the deck of the Semiramis.
Back aft, Millan was coolly battering the larger ship to pieces. The shells were smashing the superstructure into a mountain of twisted steel.
The Semiramis slid alongside. Ponga Jim dived for the ladder, gun in hand. A bullet slammed by his head and went whining off over the sea. He snapped an effective shot at a big German sailor.
The main deck was a pitched battle. Abandoning his gun, Millan was leading the lascars to stem the tide of men leaping from the rail of the wrecked ship. From the bridge, Slug Brophy was working two guns, firing from the hips.
Ponga Jim fired twice. Something struck him a terrific blow on the head. He pulled himself erect, feeling the warm rush of blood down his face. Something smashed into the bulkhead beside him and he found himself staring at a mushroomed bullet. With an effort, he pulled himself around.
Sag Dormie was standing on the edge of the ruined number four hatch. Just as Jim looked up, Sag's gun blossomed fire. Miraculously, he missed. Ponga Jim's gun swung up, roaring a stream of fire and lead.
Blank astonishment swept over Sag's face. Still trying to lift his gun, he toppled back into the black maw of the hatch. Shooting and slugging furiously, Ponga Jim leaped into the brawl on the main deck. Hassan was down, his body riddled. Big Abdul stabbed and ripped a heavy knife at a circle of enemies. Jim's shot cut one of them down. Another man wheeled to face him. Mayo slammed him with the barrel of the gun. The man wilted.
But where the hell was Dussel? Blood streaming down his face, Jim stared around.
He saw him, standing on the bridge of the other ship. As he looked up, job Dussel saw him and beckoned.
Jim cleared both rails at a leap. Job met him at the top, his white, pulpy face wrinkled in a smile. Then the big man leaped.
But this time Jim was ready. Rolling under a left, he slammed each fist into the big man's body. Dussel crowded him back, swinging. When he tried to duck he was caught with a wicked uppercut that knocked him back against the wheelhouse. There was no chance for boxing. It was a matter of standing toe to toe on the narrow bridge and slugging.
Dussel hooked a vicious right that knocked him to his knees and then shot out a kick that Jim barely evaded. Staggering to his feet, Ponga Jim was blinded by the blood from his scalp wound. He scarcely felt the terrific driving force of those blows that rained about his head and body. Driving in, he weaved and bobbed. He felt only the killing desire to batter that gross body against the bulkhead, to drive him back, back, back!
Knocked sprawling to hands and knees, Dussel toppled forward, and Jim sprang up behind him. The big man was on his feet in an instant. But Jim whipped a short, wicked right hook into that rising pulpy face.
Like a brick landing in a pool, the big man's features seemed to splash. With a cry of mortal agony, Dussel sprang back, blood streaming from a fearful gash across his cheek.
Ponga Jim stared. The huge, hard body, seemingly so soft, was impregnable, almost beyond injury.
Millan's gun crashed. They saw the shell shatter the enemy's gun. Millan fired again.
A shot struck the Semiramis amidships. Mayo winced.
He ran to the rail and glanced at the faint discoloration of the reef.
"A fathom and a half is right," he said cheerfully. "I must report that to the Hydrographic Office. Get that after gun when she strikes the reef. When we swing alongside, let them board us. They will, because they'll be sinking!"
"Are you nuts?" Millan protested.
There was a terrific crash astern, a grinding scream as the bow of the pursuing ship lifted over the reef. With a tortured rending of steel plates, the big freighter slid over the reef, canted sharply to starboard. Ponga Jim turned and raced for the bridge.
"Hard to port!" he yelled at Brophy. "Swing around and come in alongside."
Millan's gun banged, then again. Someone was shouting from the bridge. Rifle shots swept the deck of the Semiramis.
Back aft, Millan was coolly battering the larger ship to pieces. The shells were smashing the superstructure into a mountain of twisted steel.
The Semiramis slid alongside. Ponga Jim dived for the ladder, gun in hand. A bullet slammed by his head and went whining off over the sea. He snapped an effective shot at a big German sailor.
The main deck was a pitched battle. Abandoning his gun, Millan was leading the lascars to stem the tide of men leaping from the rail of the wrecked ship. From the bridge, Slug Brophy was working two guns, firing from the hips.
Ponga Jim fired twice. Something struck him a terrific blow on the head. He pulled himself erect, feeling the warm rush of blood down his face. Something smashed into the bulkhead beside him and he found himself staring at a mushroomed bullet. With an effort, he pulled himself around.
Sag Dormie was standing on the edge of the ruined number four hatch. Just as Jim looked up, Sag's gun blossomed fire. Miraculously, he missed. Ponga Jim's gun swung up, roaring a stream of fire and lead.
Blank astonishment swept over Sag's face. Still trying to lift his gun, he toppled back into the black maw of the hatch. Shooting and slugging furiously, Ponga Jim leaped into the brawl on the main deck. Hassan was down, his body riddled. Big Abdul stabbed and ripped a heavy knife at a circle of enemies. Jim's shot cut one of them down. Another man wheeled to face him. Mayo slammed him with the barrel of the gun. The man wilted.
But where the hell was Dussel? Blood streaming down his face, Jim stared around.
He saw him, standing on the bridge of the other ship. As he looked up, job Dussel saw him and beckoned.
Jim cleared both rails at a leap. Job met him at the top, his white, pulpy face wrinkled in a smile. Then the big man leaped.
But this time Jim was ready. Rolling under a left, he slammed each fist into the big man's body. Dussel crowded him back, swinging. When he tried to duck he was caught with a wicked uppercut that knocked him back against the wheelhouse. There was no chance for boxing. It was a matter of standing toe to toe on the narrow bridge and slugging.
Dussel hooked a vicious right that knocked him to his knees and then shot out a kick that Jim barely evaded. Staggering to his feet, Ponga Jim was blinded by the blood from his scalp wound. He scarcely felt the terrific driving force of those blows that rained about his head and body. Driving in, he weaved and bobbed. He felt only the killing desire to batter that gross body against the bulkhead, to drive him back, back, back!
Knocked sprawling to hands and knees, Dussel toppled forward, and Jim sprang up behind him. The big man was on his feet in an instant. But Jim whipped a short, wicked right hook into that rising pulpy face.
Like a brick landing in a pool, the big man's features seemed to splash. With a cry of mortal agony, Dussel sprang back, blood streaming from a fearful gash across his cheek.
Ponga Jim stared. The huge, hard body, seemingly so soft, was impregnable, almost beyond injury.
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