Go In and Sink! (37 page)

‘Fourteen metres, sir.’

When he made a quick search through the periscope Marshall was pleased to see that the sky had clouded over since his last inspection. The motion was unsteady, and he thought briefly of Captain Hart’s seasickness. One more slow examination. A few whitecaps, very large in the lens. Here and there a solitary star between the cloud banks.

He said, ‘Open the lower hatch. Surface.’ He stood back as the periscope slithered down and then said, ‘Try not to let the general fall in the drink. It would be a bad start.’

The responding laughter was lost in the roar of air into the tanks, and Marshall was up the ladder and spinning the locking wheel almost before he realised he had moved. Automatic. A machine. The night air struck him in the face like a wet towel, and he had to grip the streaming metal to stop himself from falling.

Blythe struggled up beside him and opened the voicepipes.
‘Blowing
a bit, sir. Gawd, this place can certainly change its mind!’

Marshall steadied his hip against the wet steel and moved his night-glasses across the screen. He could see the uneven banks of short, vicious waves, the spray cutting past the stem in thin streamers.

‘Control room to bridge.’ Gerrard sounded calm. Too calm. ‘Midnight now, sir.’

‘Very good.’

He shifted the glasses again, wondering how good the agents’ report had been about this Italian general. Then he saw a small stab of light, very low down, almost lost in spray.

Blythe called, ‘It’s the right signal.’

‘Good. Acknowledge. Then get that Captain Hart up here.’

He heard the quick splutter of an engine and guessed the general’s boat had been lying motionless until the arranged moment. Rolling about in these troughs could not have made it too comfortable. He knew Hart had joined him on the bridge. He could hear his stomach rumbling even above the sounds of sea and spray.

‘The boat’s coming towards the port side, sir.’ Blythe sounded doubtful. ‘It’ll pound itself to bits if they’re not careful.’

‘Yes. Get P.O. Cain and his casing party on deck. They’ll need some fenders. See to it.’ He looked at Hart’s outline against the pitching bridge. ‘You all right?’

The soldier nodded. ‘I feel better in the open. A bit.’

‘Good. You’ll need to interpret for me.’

Marshall saw the other craft lifting and rolling on a cautious diagonal approach. A launch of some sort. With smooth Italian lines which told of a good turn of speed.

Someone was shouting through a megaphone, and Hart said angrily, ‘The general won’t come over to us, sir. He wants us to go aboard the launch.’

Marshall trained his glasses on the boat. ‘Ask him why, for God’s sake.’

Again the lilting voice, pausing every so often to await Hart’s replies.

‘He says there are two patrol boats to the north of this area, sir. From the mainland. They’ve been poking about for two days.’

Marshall nodded. He could hardly blame the general for not wanting to be left in a submerged enemy submarine while his own launch was caught in the open.

He waited impatiently for Cain’s seamen to scramble through the hatch and then said, ‘Yeoman, go below and tell Captain Browning what’s happening.’

Blythe stared at him. ‘
Me, sir
?’

Marshall smiled. ‘Unless you want to stay up here and run things?’

He turned to watch a heaving line being thrown across, and a dark cluster of figures on the saddle tank with heavy rope fenders to take the first impact.

As the launch surged and groaned into the fenders Marshall saw the helmsman glowing faintly in a compass light as he swung the wheel hard over. There were several figures, but not many. The general was taking no chances.

‘Browning here.’ Marshall heard his voice in the pipe by his elbow. ‘Seems to me I’ll have to go over. I’m taking Travis and Hart with me, right?’

Marshall replied, ‘I think it’s the only way, sir.’

Hart said thickly, ‘Oh God! I’ve got to go on
that
thing now!’

Browning reached the bridge, panting fiercely.

‘I’m ready.’

Marshall said, ‘I’ll have an armed party sent with you, sir.’

‘You won’t.’ Browning tugged his cap firmly over his eyes. ‘I’m not even taking Simeon. It takes long enough to get out of trouble without having half the bloody Navy in the launch!’

Marshall guided him to the ladder. It made sense of course. And in any case the launch was now firmly lashed alongside. They could sink it with a couple of grenades if they turned nasty. It was just that he disliked the idea of Browning going with only Hart and Travis for company.

Browning lifted his leg over the coaming and muttered, ‘In any case, I’ve got my revolver with me.’ His face loomed against the creaming water like a big fruit. ‘And thanks, my boy. You know what for.’ Then he was gone.

Marshall held his breath as the three men were half carried, half pushed across the thin, treacherous pattern of spray between the hulls. He thought Browning waved to him before vanishing into the small wheelhouse, or it could have been Hart.

He heard Simeon on the voicepipe. ‘Permission to come to the bridge.’

Marshall managed to smile. Remembering the last time.

‘Granted.’

Simeon was hatless, and wore an oilskin with the collar turned up to his ears.

‘Gone, has he?’ He sounded bitter.

‘Yes.’ He watched Simeon peer down at the pitching launch.

‘Bloody waste of time.’ He seemed to expect an argument. When Marshall stayed silent he snapped, ‘But he wouldn’t listen to me!’

‘Control room to bridge. Fast H.E. to the north of us, sir. But it’s very faint, and we’re getting a lot of interference.’ A pause. ‘Nothing to worry about yet.’

Blythe, who had returned to the bridge, walked aft and cupped his hands around his ears for several seconds.

‘Probably those patrol boats, sir.’

Simeon said irritably, ‘Well, they’re not likely to come this way, are they? More likely to sweep as far as Ustica Island. They’ve done it before.’

Marshall said, ‘The yeoman was offering his opinion, sir.’

Simeon said more calmly, ‘If you say so.’

Marshall thought of the far off vessels which the Asdic had detected. Fast and probably small. It was unlikely they would have any long-range detection gear, and in the choppy seas, with the land so near, it was safe enough for the present.

It was probable the enemy had aircraft fitted with radar like the R.A.F. were using. It had spelled disaster to many a U-boat caught on the surface in total darkness. If they had, it was equally likely they would keep them in southern Italy, or nearer the scene of anticipated operations.

A lookout said, ‘I can just hear ’em, sir.’

They all turned, Marshall cupped his hands behind his ears and then said, ‘A long way off.’ It was like the combined buzzing of a hive of bees. He had heard the sound often enough when British M.T.B.s had swept out of harbour for nightly raids along the enemy coasts.

Simeon said, ‘What are they doing, I wonder?’

Nobody answered.

Gerrard’s voice came again. ‘H.E. moving from east to west, sir. Fading.’

‘Thank you.’

Simeon had guessed the truth. The patrol boats were keeping a set course. Going through the motions. They would meet trouble if it came. But they were not looking for it especially.

Simeon was peering down at the launch. ‘I’ll bet they’re nattering about old times together.’ He could not hide his resentment. ‘I wish I could get my hands on that bloody general!’

‘Control room to bridge.’

‘Yes.’ Marshall trained his glasses across the screen towards one unbroken crest of white foam.

‘Torpedo officer wants to come up, sir.’

‘Trouble?’

Gerrard hesitated. ‘I’d rather he told you, sir.’

‘Very well.’

Buck pounded up the ladder and almost fell headlong on the wet grating.

‘Very pistol, sir. Missing from the wardroom.’ He was breathing fast. ‘It was just a thought, something that’s been bothering me.’

Simeon snapped, ‘For God’s sake, Buck, can’t you do your stores returns in bloody harbour!’

Buck replied harshly, ‘We’re never in
bloody
harbour, sir!’

The port lookout yelled, ‘Sir! They’re fighting aboard the launch!’

Marshall pushed the others aside and climbed up to the screen. He saw several figures reeling about in the wheelhouse, while someone else was hammering on the door from the outside. A tinkle of breaking glass, distorted shouting, and then a man burst from the opposite side and ran drunkenly aft waving his arm in the air.

There was a dull crack, and seconds later a flare burst
high
in the air, painting the clouds’ bellies in bright silver like a moonscape.

‘Travis!’ Marshall yelled his name. ‘For God’s sake, Cain, shoot that bastard down!’

More figures tumbled out on the narrow deck, and Marshall saw Browning’s bald head shining in the glare as he groped his way towards the figure in the stern.

Travis was bent double, reloading the Very pistol, his hair blowing wildly in the wind.

Cain yelled, ‘Can’t shoot, sir! The others are in the way!’

Marshall watched as Browning paused to steady himself against a ventilator, dragging the revolver from his pocket. Travis was shouting at him, though amidst all the other sounds it was impossible to make sense of it. He raised the pistol once more, his teeth bared as if he was laughing, or screaming.

‘Control room to bridge! H.E. at oh-one-oh. Closing!’

Blythe said desperately, ‘They’d be blind to miss that bleedin’ flare!’

Travis pulled his trigger even as Browning dropped on one knee and fired.

It was like a terrible two-part tableau. Crouching figures caught in their various attitudes of fear and anger, and then as Browning’s bullet smashed the other man down the second Very light exploded into the rear of the small wheelhouse in a searing ball of fire.

In the next instant the whole of the launch’s deck seemed to be on fire. Blazing petrol ran down the scuppers in liquid fire, and Marshall saw two men leap into the sea, their bodies like torches, their screams rising above the growing crackle of woodwork.

Gerrard was yelling, ‘H.E. closing fast, sir!
We must get out of it!
’

Marshall watched helplessly as Cain and some seamen slithered across the saddle tank, only to be driven back by the spurting flames.

He heard the wheelhouse glass shattering in the heat, saw the helmsman flailing round like a dervish, his agony too terrible to watch.

There was a small explosion and more petrol burst into flames, the fire darting along the deck and licking towards the submarine until the mooring lines caught ablaze and parted like cotton.

Blythe gasped, ‘The cap’n’s had it, sir!’

He pointed wildly as Browning lurched to his feet, hesitated, and then toppled backwards into the flames. He must have fallen through a hole blasted in the deck by an exploding fuel tank. He vanished in an instant, with not even a cry.

The wind and sea were already carrying the burning launch clear, the hull tilting into the water, hiding the last horror in a curtain of steam. One figure was trapped in the bows by the advancing flames, and somehow Marshall knew it was Hart. Then he too was taken, and consumed, as with a great spluttering gasp the launch dived under the surface.

Marshall heard himself say, ‘Casing party below. Clear the bridge.’

He swung round as Simeon shouted into his ear, ‘Why did he do it?’ He was almost screaming. ‘
Why?
’

Marshall propelled him towards the hatch. ‘Probably because you triggered him off,
sir
! Now get below!’

Men dashed past him, too numbed by the terrible spectacle even to speak.

Marshall stared abeam, where a patch of steam still showed faintly against the dark sea beyond.

Then he listened to the distant roar of engines and shouted into the voicepipe, ‘Dive, dive, dive!’

He snapped the cock shut and ran to the hatch. But in his mind he could still see Browning falling into the flames.

His boots thudded on to the control room deck, and he said flatly, ‘One hundred and eighty metres. Bring her round to two-eight-zero.’

He saw Starkie’s narrow shoulders tense as he put the wheel over. The hull gave a sharp creak while the boat continued in her dive. Down, down, the depth needles crept round remorselessly.

‘Course two-eight-zero, sir.’

‘Shut off for depth-charging.’

He listened to the regular Asdic reports but ignored them. He could feel those fast moving engines even though he could not hear them.

‘One hundred and eighty metres, sir.’

Marshall looked at Gerrard for the first time. ‘Group down. Slow ahead both motors.’

He stared at the shining side of the control room. Between the packed dials and instruments to the actual skin of their existence. Out there, following their dive, Browning was still with them. He clenched his fists, fighting back the anger and the sense of loss.

‘H.E. still closing, sir. Two vessels. Probably F.P.B.s.’

‘Yes.’ Marshall watched the expressionless gyro compass. ‘They’ll be slowing down soon. They won’t want to drown their Asdic with their own noise.’ He found that he could say it without emotion.

He looked again at Gerrard. His face was in profile, shining slightly in the reflected light bulbs. He was thinking hard at this moment. It was not the last job after all.
Marshall
listened to the faint mutter of engines. Not unless.…

He turned as Simeon said thickly, ‘For Christ’s sake!’

‘Sir?’ He watched him coldly. ‘Do you want something?’

Devereaux said, ‘You can sit over here, sir. By the chart table.’

Simeon looked through him. ‘Shut up! I don’t need to be told!’

Marshall gripped the periscope support and stared at him.
You do need to be told. And if we get out of this, I’ll tell you, right enough!

Three minutes later the first depth-charges exploded.

MARSHALL FELT THE
hull buck in protest as the first charges exploded. He saw several seamen exchanging glances, heard someone taking long deep breaths. But he kept his eyes on the depth needles. She was still going down, deeper, deeper. More than she had ever done before in his hands.