Flight by Night

The Germans were adamant: until he raised $475,000 to pay repair and service bills, Shipowner Hasim Mardin's precious tanker would not be allowed to leave Bremen harbor. For half a year the ship bobbed idly at the dockside. Finally Shipowner Mardin's patience wore as thin as his bank roll.

Last week he slipped into Bremen from Istanbul and in waterfront bars rounded up the 40 Turkish crewmen of the Raman, an aged (1917), U.S.-built tanker of 7,800 tons which had found its way into Mardin's small merchant fleet. Five of the Turks sidled on to a German tugboat lashed alongside the Raman, and kept the tug's nightwatchman busy with a merry prattle in Turkish and gifts of Turkish cigarettes. The rest boarded the Raman and fired up her wheezy engines. Within minutes, the tanker edged away from the dock, dragging the tug with her. "Achtung!" shouted the fuddled watchman. "Take it easy, old man," bawled a Turk. "There is nothing you can do."

Full Speed Ahead. Her lights blacked out, the Raman scraped a pier, narrowly missed ramming a smaller vessel, and set off down the River Weser with the tightly lashed tugboat still bumping at her side. At a sharp bend in the channel, the Raman neatly dropped anchor in the darkness, pirouetted about the anchor chain, then hoisted anchor and headed for the open sea, 50 miles downstream. The five crewmen scrambled up from the tugboat and cut it adrift. Belching black smoke, the Raman gathered speed while her captain, Rifat Onder, turned a cold. Nelson-like eye to every signal to halt. From the docks a police message flashed to Bremerhaven at the Weser's mouth: "Stop darkened tanker heading for open sea."

Stop the Ship. Water Police Sergeant Ernst Mangold, a former U-boat skipper, was first into action. His nippy little launch slid alongside the Raman. "Halt," ordered Mangold, but the Raman plowed on. The cops fired a volley of Very flares and turned their searchlight on the tanker's bridge. Still no response from the Raman. Mangold and his men swarmed up the Raman's sides, only to be deluged by an avalanche of cold water from the tanker's sea hoses. Sergeant Mangold finally made it aboard and stomped to the tanker's bridge. "I didn't know if they understood German," he explained afterward. "But there was one language they did understand." He jabbed a pistol into Mardin's back and snapped, "Stop the ship!"

The Raman hove to--and the perfect escape was over. Next day she was back in Bremen, where police took the precaution of disabling her engines. Then they threw at Owner Mardin just about every charge in the maritime code book: speeding, dangerous passing, scraping a dock, steaming without lights, failing to give signals or obey traffic regulations, cutting a tug adrift and violating Germany's customs, passport, currency and ship clearance regulations. For all that, the police inspector could not down his admiration. "I must offer my highest praise for your brilliant navigational maneuvers," said he handsomely. Replied Hasim Mardin, with a bow: "I must return the compliment. Your officials did a magnificent piece of work in boarding my ship."

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