"But we never shoot anyone," Sudema said.
"It could happen," the adjutant said, "if we had something to shoot with. It's simple enough. All you have to do is pull a trigger. What happens afterward may be beyond all hope."
Sudema closed his eyes, considering possibilities.
"It happened to me once," the adjutant said. "Long ago, but still… In Korea. I'll never forget. We had eight hundred men out there, and ten military policemen. We mostly directed traffic. I was in charge of a crossing. I was short-tempered then. Nobody ignored my orders. We were near the front line, and a carload of Koreans came at me. I motioned to them to stop. The stop sign is international, everybody is supposed to know it, but that vehicle kept coming. Some sort of jeep, of Russian manufacture, and the soldiers in it were from the north. By chance-there's always chance, you know-an American soldier stood next to me and was carrying a bazooka, complete with a rocket in the tube, but he wasn't doing anything, for I was in charge of the position. I took that bazooka and fired it at the jeep."
"A hit?" de Gier asked.
"Not much distance, and a big rocket. Hard to miss, Sergeant. It happened that I'd been trying out a bazooka the day before, so I knew what to do."
"North Koreans were the enemy?" de Gier asked.
"Let's go," Private Sudema said.
The bus drove off, the young private at the wheel. "The adjutant is still as short-tempered as ever," Sudema said, "but that time he got a medal."
The trip didn't take long. The ship was waiting in the port of Harlingen. It seemed in excellent order, sixty feet long, painted blue and white, a clean new flag on the after deck.
"Nice," de Gier said.
The skipper welcomed his passengers. "You like my boat? I do too, but she's obsolete, I'm told. There'll be a new vessel next month. Cost as much as a jet fighter, and this one will be sold for scrap."
"A sturdy craft," de Gier said.
The skipper caressed the railing. "She'll take you to the end of the oceans, provided you stick to the channels. She's really too deep for here." The boat, with the help of two soldiers, detached herself from the quay. The skipper showed off the engine room. "Nothing ever breaks down," he said. "Pity, really, I do like repairs. Every two weeks the boys and I take everything apart and fit it back together again, but the material is outdated, couldn't break it if we tried."
"Look here," the skipper said. "Every part is made out of copper. Nice to polish. We do that a lot."
"Stolen copper?" de Gier asked.
"What's that?" the skipper asked. "Are you here because of theft? You're a detective, aren't you? I won't have thieves on board, ever. Couldn't stand it. What's this copper that was stolen?"
"Not on your boat," de Gier said. "I heard that copper was stolen on the island-maybe a rumor. You mentioned copper, and I thought of what I heard."
"On Ameland they like to steal," the skipper said. "Have you heard their song?" He sang to the beat of his wrench, tapping on a tube:
"Three good men from this isle
Without forethought or guile
Lifted three beams from a house
As quiet as a mouse
The house fell apart
Now wasn't that smart?"
De Gier and Sudema applauded, for the skipper had a good voice. They climbed to the bridge, where a soldier handled the wheel. Sudema lit a pipe. The skipper began to cough. "Does the smoke bother you?" Private Sudema asked.
"The old chest, you know. Should be in bed, but it's a bit boring at home. Better to be here."
Sudema looked for an ashtray. "Knock it outside," the skipper said. "Portside."
"Where?"
"Left. That side. Where the wind isn't coming from."
De Gier observed the sea that stretched away beyond the merry bow wave, deep blue to the horizon. The flag behind him snapped in the breeze. Seagulls planed effortlessly above the thumping ship as it began to ease itself into the waves. "Lots of thieves in Ameland?" de Gier asked.
"All residents of islands are thieves," the skipper said. "I'm from an island myself. The sea brings gifts and you pick them up, and before you know it you're picking up everything in sight. A good habit, in a way, as long as you can keep mum about it. The people of Ameland like to talk too much. They even show their thievery in their flag. You know the Ameland flag? Three beams on a blue field, and the moon in it too. Because they like to steal at night. They put in a crown as well, to make things all right again."
"What did they want with the three beams?"
"Sell them to a builder," the skipper said. "On the mainland. All landlubbers are fences. They leave the adventurous part to us."
Sudema came back to the bridge. "Can I smoke down there?"
"As long as you keep portside," the skipper said. "That's left."
De Gier followed Private Sudema.
"Your uncle mentioned copper," de Gier said. "Would the deserter have been lifting copper? There must be a connection to Scherjoen. Did Scherjoen like copper?"
"Uncle Sjurd was really drunk?" Sudema asked.
"Sorry," de Gier said. "I shouldn't have said I got the tip from a drunk."
"Uncle Sjurd can be as drunk as he likes," Sudema said. "But he helps to run the church, and I've always seen him slam the cork after he's had two drinks."
"Not this time," de Gier said. "Let him be drunk for once, and tell me about the copper."
Sudema watched the sea. De Gier watched the sea too.
"Aunt Gyske," Sudema said dreamily. "You met her, did you?"
"Yes."
"If I ever get married," Private Sudema said, "she'll have to look like Aunt Gyske."
"She came out better," de Gier said, "because of your pure Frisian soil. Tell me about this copper."
Sudema sighed. "The copper was used to manufacture cartridge casing for the guns of the Air Force. The jets drop them above the islands, when they exercise on their range. Copper is expensive and the Air Force wants it back, so the Air Force soldiers pick them up, in their own time, at a quarter a casing. Because we patrol around here, we take the soldiers along, or they can hitch a ride with the Water Police or the Navy. Water Inspection will take them too. The Air Force lets us ride their planes at times, if we can think of an excuse. It helps to relieve stress."
"Do the pickers-up of Air Force cartridge casings make a lot of dough?"
"It all adds up," Private Sudema said. "But it takes a while before they get it, because we're all military and nothing ever comes at once. The casings are stored in shacks, and the shacks are emptied only once in so many months. Then they get their pay. The Air Force sends a vessel for the casings."
"An Air Force vessel?" de Gier asked.
"No, Marines. They ride their armored vehicles on the islands' beaches, and one of their ferries will be lent to the Air Force, but the ferry is really Army."
"The Wet Engineers?"
"The Dry Engineers," Private Sudema said. "The ferries are built to transport tanks, and tanks are dry, but the Dry Engineers don't have boats, so they borrow them from the Wet Engineers and run them temporarily-but that can take forever-for the Air Force."
'The ferry picks up the cartridge casings?"
"If things go right. Last time things went wrong." Private Sudema made his pipe gurgle. "All the shacks were empty."
The vessel cut through mirror-images of clouds. The sign reading ROYAL MILITARY POLICE reflected a thick ray of bright sunlight and became a blue and white symbol of joyful energy above the gray engine room's powerful hum. Fishing vessels heading for the mainland greeted authority by blowing their horns briefly. Sudema saluted stiffly to acknowledge their respect. The ship followed the channel indicated by buoys and by branches, most of them still with their leaves, stuck into the water at the edge of mudbanks. "A service tendered by Water Inspection," Sudema said, "or rather by Forestry. They have their own boat too, but registered in the name of Water Inspection." Sudema's pipe erupted in sparks. "No, let's see now, maybe the Pilot Service plants those branches, in a boat that belongs to the Port."