Between The Hunters And The Hunted (28 page)

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Authors: Steven Wilson

BOOK: Between The Hunters And The Hunted
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“Yeah,” Cole said, making his way to Johnny. “Give me a minute.”
“Do you need a hand?”
Cole didn't answer. He had the rope looped under Johnny's arms and tightly knotted in a matter of seconds. He knew that he had to work quickly; he was losing the feeling in his hands from the icy water. Finally, he gave a thumbs-up and shouted: “Okay.”
Cole watched Johnny magically rise out of the water as the sailors pulled him up. He felt his rope grow taut and he walked up the side of the vessel as he was hoisted aboard. A dozen hands grasped him and lifted him over the cables and stays. When they set him down Cole was amazed to find how unsteady he was.
He looked over to find Johnny on a stretcher, unconscious, being examined by a sailor that Cole could only hope was a corpsman. “Is he okay?” he asked.
“Banged up a bit, I'm afraid,” the sailor said, examining Johnny. He pushed the gunner's damp hair off his forehead. “Nasty bump here. Broke his leg, I suspect. Don't you worry, sir. He's in good hands now. Wouldn't hurt a bit for you to get out of those wet clothes and get a spot of rum.”
“What is this ship?” Cole asked.
“H.M.S. Firedancer,” the pitifully young officer with the voice trumpet announced with dignity. “Captain George Hardy, commanding.”
“My compliments to Captain Hardy,” Cole said as a sailor threw a musty-smelling blanket over his shoulders. “My thanks as well.”
Cole was startled at the flat crack of a rifle. A seaman, his cap pushed back off his forehead, carefully aimed an Enfield over the side. Cole followed the line of the weapon and realized what the sailor was shooting at. The life raft. It could not be left floating about the ocean—it was decreed a hazard to navigation once it was abandoned. There was another report and a small column of water jumped into the air near the edge of the raft. It looked as if the man had completely missed his target, but it was only an illusion. Cole watched as the raft slowly lost form and seawater rushed into the interior over the deflating walls.
He felt a twinge of regret as the sea consumed the little craft that had given him life. It had been part of
N-for-Nancy
and now it too was going to disappear into the depths. He was alive, he remembered, and in war that was the ultimate triumph.
“Come along, sir,” the sailor said. “We'll have you fit in no time.”
Chapter 26
D.K.M.
Sea Lion
, Quadrant JK 54,
the North Atlantic
 
Mahlberg leaned over the chart, resting his hands on the chart table. He studied the calculations generated by his navigation officer—neatly written letters and numbers that nearly filled one page of the navigation log. He compared those to the course settings on the chart for
Sea Lion
and
Prince of Wales
while his officers waited.
The log was a history of the movements of the two ships, a record of a closely followed chess game in which each action was dutifully recorded. Time, speed, course; knight to bishop one, check . . . checkmate. Mahlberg straightened and accepted the numbers with a sharp nod.
“Just over three hours,” he confirmed, glancing at the navigation officer for a response. He wanted the officer to answer the statement. He wanted the calculations to be sure and without error and he wanted the navigation officer's answer to be strong and unhesitant.
“Yes, sir. Three hours.”
Mahlberg turned to Kadow, who had been watching the drama from the other end of the table. “Three hours and
Prince of Wales
is ours.”
“And the Home Fleet belongs to the submariners,” Kadow said.
“Cheer up, old friend,” Mahlberg said. “If we've done quickly with
Prince of Wales
we can turn and take on the Home Fleet as well.” He saw that the idea troubled Kadow. It was apparent that his first officer was uncertain if Mahlberg was jesting.
“Of course,” Kadow said, keeping his opinion to himself.
“You don't think it beyond us, do you? Pick up a load of fuel on the way to the party and show those U-boats what high-seas action really is.”
“We had not planned for that. We have no instructions regarding the Home Fleet.”
“Nor had we planned to encounter that British cruiser so early in the voyage. We did and we are still on schedule. We simply radio Group North with our intentions and location and have a tanker meet us.” He turned to his navigation officer. “There are two tankers, about here,” he said, tapping the chart. “Am I correct?”
The navigation officer nodded. “Yes, sir. At last reports, undetected. I can contact them and arrange a rendezvous if you so order, sir.”
“Don't be premature,” Kadow reprimanded the navigation officer.
Mahlberg smiled. “Don't tell me that you've grown cautious, Kadow. Between Frey's guns and
Sea Lion
's speed we can accomplish our mission and still give the Home Fleet a bloody nose.”
“I was not being cautious,” Kadow said, obviously stung by Mahlberg's comment.
“‘But'?” Mahlberg said, foreseeing Kadow's concern.
“I do not wish to see us overextended. If we sink
Prince of Wales
and kill the prime minister of England with his staff, we have accomplished a great victory for the Fatherland.”
“‘
Patriae inserviendo consumor
,'” Mahlberg said.
“‘I am consumed in the service of the Fatherland, '” a young
Leutnant zur See
said proudly. “ Von Bismarck.”
“And so it shall be,” Mahlberg said. “It does no harm to consider the other options that may be open to us. Especially if those options include dealing the British an even greater blow.”
“Yes, sir,” Kadow said.
Mahlberg smiled graciously and clapped his hands together with satisfaction. “Now, gentlemen, let us double the lookouts and put our best men on radar and hydrophones.”
“Kriegsmarschustand One, sir?” Kadow asked. The others in the chart room did not miss his formal tone.
“No,” Mahlberg said. “I think that we can remain at Battle Station Two for a while. Let's not excite the men just yet. There will be excitement enough to go around in a short time.”
All of the officers, except Kadow, chuckled at Mahlberg's joke.
“You may return to your stations, gentlemen,” Mahlberg said. “Kadow. Join me on deck, won't you?”
Kadow and Mahlberg walked along the narrow deck below the conning tower, a cool wind washing over them. They stopped near a quadruple 20mm mount. The ship was silent except for the soft blast of a wave disintegrating under her bow, and the rush of water against her gray hull.
“All my life I've dreamed of commanding such a ship,” Mahlberg said, looking out to sea. He turned to his executive officer, absentmindedly rubbing his left elbow with his right hand. It was a habit that he had had since he was a child. “To command a vessel such as this and to take her against the enemy. I despaired under the republic. We were allowed only ships of no consequence. I could not think of our great fleet scuttled under the nose of the British at Scapa Flow. Resting deep in the darkness of enemy waters. But now”—he looked around proudly—“here is the Fatherland's future. The power of the Kriegsmarine.” He waited for Kadow to speak but his executive officer merely listened. “You have reservations?” Mahlberg said. “About my intentions?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Kadow,” Mahlberg said kindly, “I have never denied you the opportunity to speak freely.”
“Yes, sir,” Kadow said. “I appreciate your confidence in me.”
“There is another one of your infernal ‘buts' hanging there. I could order you to speak, you know. If you were not so obstinate.”
“Kapitan,” Kadow began, “I sometimes have difficulty following your rationale. We have been fortunate. We have remained undetected since our encounter with the British cruiser. We are set to overtake and destroy
Prince of Wales
. I have every confidence that when she falls within range of our guns we will sink her. But . . .” Mahlberg saw Kadow troubled by his own use of the word. “But are you really planning to then turn and attack the Home Fleet?”
“Why not? Why settle for half a victory when we have complete victory within our grasp?”
“Because it may be beyond our reach.”
“Now we have stumbled into the realm of the philosophical, Kadow,” Mahlberg said. “We have the greatest warship ever built. The most powerful weapon on earth. I vowed to myself that I would undertake a voyage so amazing that nothing whatsoever could match it. From the moment I heard ‘
Muss I denn
' played at our departure, I knew that
Sea Lion
was indestructible.” He placed a fatherly hand on Kadow's shoulder. “We are warriors, old friend. Sailors in service to the Fatherland. Our nation has given us a wondrous vessel by which we can give her victories. Don't be reluctant. We must be bold. Cunning. When the British expect us there, we will be here. When Doenitz reports to Grand Admiral Raeder that his tiny boats have encountered the Home Fleet, Raeder can reply, yes, but it is
Sea Lion
who destroyed them.”
Kadow hesitated and finally answered, “Yes, sir.”
“We will triumph,” Mahlberg reassured his executive officer. “The British will encounter the unexpected on both sides of the North Atlantic. They will face
Sea Lion
.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Mahlberg said, clapping Kadow on the shoulder. “Good. Now have our famous
Kapitanleutnant
of engineering come to the bridge. I wish to speak to him. Our ship is fast but she is also thirsty. I will charge him to give us more speed with less fuel consumption.”
“Yes, sir,” Kadow said. He watched Mahlberg walk away. A single idea was gnawing at him, an elusive voice that whispered foreboding in his ear; doubt sitting on his shoulder. Mahlberg had placed it there with a phrase—encounter the unexpected.
Bismarck
had done so. A single torpedo striking her bow allowing tons of seawater to rush into her hull, fouling fuel and driving her down at the head. From that injury she is denied the fuel in her bow tanks, and that which leaks leaves an oily path—blood in the water for the hungry sharks to find her. Now her speed is reduced as the vengeful waves of the North Atlantic batter her, sensing that the great ship is wounded. But that is not the worst blow. Another aerial torpedo strikes her during an attack by flimsy enemy aircraft and her rudder is jammed. A one in a thousand chance that this could have happened. One in ten thousand. A hundred thousand. Now
Bismarck
is condemned to death because she cannot maneuver; with her rudders jammed she steams around in lazy circles, waiting for death. Waiting for the Home Fleet. They come, distant vessels across a gray plain.
Rodney
,
King George V
, others. Ninety minutes. In ninety minutes
Bismarck
is gone.
Kadow had been there when the band played “
Muss I denn
”; the song played as all capital ships of the Kriegsmarine prepared to set sail on extended voyages. He was moved as well by the music and the pageantry. One could not help but be moved by it.
See Lowe
,
Sea Lion
—a magnificent vessel of unimaginable abilities. He felt the pride in her, in the Kriegsmarine, in the valor of the crew that every man felt. But they had played “
Muss I denn
” for
Bismarck
as well and she was never coming home.
Encounter the unexpected
, Kadow thought.
How does one prepare for the unexpected?
 
 
H.M.S.
Firedancer
 
Cole was shown to the tiny bridge by a yeoman. It was no bigger and perhaps a bit smaller than the open bridge on the old flush-decker on which Cole had trained. He noted the location of the binnacle and the clump of brass voice tubes amidships and forward. Directly behind him was the wheelhouse, the pale face of the helmsman visible through one of the large portholes. In one corner of the bridge were thin stanchions to hold life vests and helmets and in the other corner was a mount for a pair of Lewis guns. The windscreen was down and the man that Cole supposed to be the captain, a short stocky man with a bull neck, stood to port, eyes pressed to binoculars. There was another officer, younger, thinner, taller, reading a message just handed to him by a seaman.
The younger man looked up and smiled. “Cole, is it?”
“Yes, sir,” Cole said.
“Captain,” the younger man said to the stocky figure, “here is our visitor.”
“Well,” the man said. “None the worse for wear, I trust. Came as quick as we could. Bit of luck finding you right off. George Hardy, captain, Royal Navy. This is my number one, executive officer to you chaps. Land.”
Cole saluted. “Jordan Cole, lieutenant J.G., United States Naval Reserve.”
Hardy waved off the compliment. “Let's do away with all of that saluting nonsense. Doubt if I'd recognize one aboard old
Firedancer
if I saw it. Not likely to get one, eh, Number One?”
“On the contrary, sir. The officers and men respect you deeply.”
“Bullocks, Number One. The officers are insolent and the crew can barely tolerate me. But let's not air our dirty laundry in front of Cole. Do you know what you've dropped into, young man? What we're about?”
“No, sir,” Cole said. “We assumed that you were part of a convoy.”
“Never assume, Cole,” Hardy said. “Makes an ass of you and me. Understand? Ass-u-me? Ever heard that one before, Cole?”
“No, sir,” Cole said, but no one on the bridge missed the trace of sarcasm in his reply. Except Hardy.
“Well, we're bound for home. We're rejoining two other destroyers and a cruiser and have set our course for Scapa Flow. You were out here looking for that commerce raider then? Not that I believe it's a commerce raider. This one's a capital ship, eh, Land?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It's a battleship,” Cole said. “I'd bet my bottom dollar that you're going to be in the hunt as well, sir.”
“So you know all about her? I suppose, as soon as someone takes the bloody time to let us know what's going on, we'll be after her. We were escorting another vessel, so I'll give you half a point for your guess about the convoy, but we got pulled off that. For your information the enemy ship's name is
Sea Lion
. We got that over the W.T.”
“Have they told you anything about her, sir?” Cole asked.
“She sank poor
Nottingham
so she's a bloody threat, isn't she?”
“What do you know, Cole?” Land asked.
“She's over sixty thousand tons with a speed in excess of thirty knots, sir. Her main armament is twelve sixteen-inch guns and maybe twenty five-or six-inch guns.”
“How the bloody hell do you know—” Hardy began.
“I'm with Photo Ops. We picked up intelligence about the vessel and her class. She's an H-class, Captain Hardy.”

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