Coffin Corner Chunk: North Atlantic

Coffin Corner Chunk: North Atlantic!

It's another Captain Billy Chunk Adventure!

Get ready to keep your bunk light on well into the off watch as you read along!

Cast off all lines fore and aft! Here we go!

CHAPTER ONE: Hair of the Black Dog that Bit Them!

There was a chill in the air on a blustery October night. The freight train had arrived at the end of it's run at a town somewhere on the Eastern Seaboard. Broken clouds scudded across the sky. The lonely face of the full moon made a cameo appearance as if woken up by the commotion . It's light briefly illuminated the freight train pulling into the switching yard down by the docks.

The train slowly rolled to the end of line. There was the last squealing of brakes accompanied by a clanking of couplers that shuddered up and down the length of the train as it made a full stop. The big main line steam locomotive disconnected and trundled away to it's next assignment. The show was over. The full moon pulled a blanket cloud over it's face and went back to sleep.

The train was entirely flatcars laden with large tarpaulin covered objects. The canvas failed to disguise the nature of this cargo of infernal machinery . It required little imagination to recognize the cloaked shapes of artillery and armored vehicles. All of it was destined to be shipped across the ocean. Final point of delivery was "Over there!". After all, there was a wicked war a raging.

From beneath one of the tarps a dark shape emerged. Some sort of critter, more shadow than light. Just for a moment the full moon stirred in it's slumber and shined a little light on the subject. All cats are gray at night, however it was a small black dog. It paused for a moment and sniffed the cold night air and surveyed the surroundings. It then nimbly leapt off the flatcar and slipped away into the night.

Captain Billy Chunk had spent the evening belting drinks in a waterfront dive. "Time!" announced the barkeep. Captain Billy stood up and swayed just a little which he attributed to not having his land legs, after all it couldn't possibly be the booze he rationalized to himself. He donned his high pressure hat and greatcoat headed out the door.

He was now making way and restricted in his ability to maneuver as he staggered back to his ship. Away from his ship he felt like a hermit crab without a shell. A very large and drunk hermit crab at that, he mused to himself. Being three sheets to the wind, Captain Billy's walking resembled a windjammer on a tacking course.

The drinks Captain Billy had belted down in the bar had dulled his mind but whetted his appetite. He was in luck and was able land a catch of fish n' chips from a fry shop that was just closing up for the night. The warm greasy mass was wrapped in newspaper. He shoved it into the pocket of his greatcoat and staggered off to find a quiet spot to chow down.

Like sharks homing in on the scent of fresh blood in the open sea, Captain Billy was trailed by two men after he left the bar. When they first observed him at bar they had correctly surmised that their potential victim was a ship's officer. Perhaps a crew member of one of the many moored freighters waiting to form up a convoy and cross the North Atlantic. His mufti of a high pressure cap and great coat was the vital tell. They stalked him waiting for the just the right moment of vulnerability to pounce. It was not money they wanted, but rather shipping information about the Allied war effort. These men were Nazi spies and had cruel and efficient methods to extract information. Very cruel indeed.

Captain Billy Chunk plopped down on packing crate in an alleyway that he knew was a shortcut back to his ship. After all, he navigated for a living. He pulled his now tepid repast from his pocket and peeled back the newspaper and began to stuff his gob. As he ate the soggy chips and greasy fish, some sort of creature appeared before his rheumy eyes. It was scruffy looking black dog, and not very big one.

The little black dog began to show it skills as a practiced beggar. It began to walk on it's hind legs and then hopping about like a kangaroo to Captain's Billy amazement. Drinks, dinner and a show! He thought, how wonderful! The black dog began to do back flips and twirled about. As reward for this performance he tossed the black dog more and more hunks of his fishy meal which the pup swiftly scarfed down.

There was noise from the entrance to alleyway and Captain Billy looked up to see the cause of the the distraction. The silhouette of two large sinister looking figures both wearing black leather trench coats and slouch fedoras. He looked back towards the black dog for corroboration of their appearance. The little black dog had vanished. Fair weather friend indeed, thought Captain Billy.

The pair of evildoers thought how considerate it was of their victim to choose the perfect isolated spot for the scene of his interrogation to be followed by his demise. Even the schwarz waschbar looking animal had fled it's Kapitan!

They joked to each other in a low guttural German tone. So much better! No witness! Not even the washing bear! They had gleaned for their eavesdropping at the tavern that this was a ship's Kapitan. He would have a wealth of information about the ship convoy now forming up in port that would sail across the North Atlantic.

One spoke in amused tone, "Herr Kapitan, may we have word, Yah?" In each of their right hands a switchblade knife snicked open as if in punctuation of their request. In a choreographed coordination they moved menacingly toward their prey.

Captain Billy Chunk slowly got to his feet and shed his hat and greatcoat at the same time. He was a big man an assumed a buffalo stance. His largeness was usually enough to bluff away any threat. For it was an occupational hazard for sailors to get rolled when uptown. How ever, Captain Billy knew the ropes of an alley brawl.

No stranger to a good bout of fisticuffs, Captain Billy had bested all past challengers in the Skid Roads of waterfront cities from Seattle to Sydney and all places in between and beyond. He sensed these knife carrying thugs were of a worse ilk than he was used to. A knife fight, then? Then a knife fight it shall be!

" A sailor always carries a knife. Keeps it sharp. He may never use it, but it may save his life some day!". This old chestnut from the Sea Scout Manual ran through Captain Billy's head. Perchance this was the someday as mentioned. He reached in to his pocket and pulled out a butter knife. He realized his error in his brandishing this choice of cutlery . At this moment he recalled with clarity where he had misplaced his "good" knife several months ago. It was back on the ship in his stateroom, stashed in a drawer and hidden underneath his socks to prevent it's theft.

Well, then, Captain Billy commenced his second plan of action. Run away just as fast as you can!

Captain Billy turned and ran down the alley towards the waterfront and his ship and sanctuary. The two thugs were in hot pursuit. Just as he was hitting his full stride the little black dog shot out of the shadows and ran between his feet and adroitly tripped up Captain Billy. An Aussie Rules footballer could not have improved on the pup's technique. Captain Billy face planted on the stone pavement of the alley like a pole axed ox dropped on the slaughterhouse floor. He landed an audible oomph and passed out.

The two thugs stopped their chase and burst out laughing. "Guter Hund!" they then said in praise of this helpful little beast. The reached out their hands in gratitude to pet their new partner in crime.

In motions faster than it seemed a human eye follow the little black dog attacked the two thugs.

It was quite the bloody display of acrobatic feats put on by the little black dog. The pup went on the offense like a solo Amazonian piranha. Employing a razor sharp set of choppers it went in a full berzerker mode that an Old Norse Viking would had envied. Ears, noses, fingers, and all manner of body parts belonging to the two thugs were lacerated and some parts even eviscerated. In less time than it takes to soft boil an egg they were both a bleeding mess. Out of the alley they ran, dripping a copious blood trail that would have made Jackson Pollock envious.

Captain Billy who had passed out from a combination of the wind being knocked out him by the hard fall plus the amount of alcohol in his system. He awoke a few minutes later to the comforting sensation of a warm wash cloth being applied to his face. For the briefest of moments he thought he was a small child again and that his dear sweet Momma was washing his face with a warm wash cloth. Instead, he realized that it was the little black dog licking his face.

He sat up and tried to gather his wits. His brain had sailed into a dense fog bank of short term memory loss. He got on his feet and went back to get his hat and great coat that he vaguely recalled leaving on the packing crate. As he donned his hat and great coat he looked down on the pavement of the alley and saw two rather nice knives laying on the ground. Souvenirs of this evening's shenanigans he thought, but of what had taken place he wasn't quite sure. He picked up the knives and put them in his coat pocket next to his butter knife. Captain Billy then headed back to his ship.

The little black dog took up station astern and trotted along behind Captain Billy.