Wreckers Must Breathe (20 page)

I passed on the information to Logan. But I did not hear his comment for there was a sudden swirl of water in the dock and a large wave slid quietly along it, overflowing on to the dockside and thoroughly wetting our feet. There was much seething of water in the main cave, then the slam of metal against metal, followed by prolonged cheers. The first of the two U-boats had arrived.

The diminutive diesel-engined tug fussed noisily about the main cave and in a few minutes the bows of the U-boat appeared opposite No. 3 dock. A rope was tossed on to the dockside and we passed it from hand to hand. As soon as it was fully manned the order was given to heave and we dug our heels into the uneven rock floor and strained at the rope. Slowly the boat slid into the dock, the ratings that lined her decks fending her off from the sides with boat-hooks.

You seldom realize how wide a submarine is below the surface until you see one manoeuvred into a confined space. Empty, the dock presented quite a wide surface of water, oily and glinting in the electric light. But the U-boat filled it from side to side, and her conning tower almost touched the roof of the cave. I could not help feeling then how entirely insulated this base was from the outside world. It was, in fact, a world of its own. And after a fortnight there it seemed to me quite possible that no other world existed, that my memories of green fields, of huddles of white cottages among the Cornish cliffs, of Piccadilly, of factories and ships were all a dream, and that this was the only reality. And now here was this U-boat come from that other world with probably Kiel as its last port of call.

As soon as the boat had been made fast the crew were assembled and marched off to their quarters. Normally we should have then been taken back to our cells. But on this occasion we were taken to the next dock, No. 4, where the U 21 lay. Men were required to assist in moving the for'ard six-inch gun from the electric trolley on which it had been taken to the foundry, back on to the deck of the submarine. Repairs to the gun had been completed.

There was ten minutes' back-breaking work as it was lifted on pulleys attached to the steel derrick and swung, largely by brute force, into position. It was while this was happening that a slight accident occurred which had a wholly disproportionate influence on what happened later. The commander of U 21 had come down to welcome the Number One of the boat that had just come in, U 27, who was apparently a particular friend. And having seen him to his quarters, he came down to see how the engineers were getting on with his own boat. He was smoking a cigarette. This was strictly against regulations, but no one seemed inclined to point that out to him. There came a moment in the hoisting of the gun when every man was required to strain his utmost to keep the mountings from swinging against the side of the submarine. The commander did not hesitate, but threw his weight in with the rest. It reminded me of a scrum down. We were all pushing against each other with our heads down until at last the mounting was clear of the deck and was allowed to swing slowly inwards.

We were just straightening our aching backs and getting our breath back when suddenly somebody said: ‘There's something burning.' The acrid smell of smouldering rags seemed all around us. Then something flared up by one of the legs of the derrick. For a split second every one stood motionless and my mind recorded a vivid impression as though I were looking at a still from a film. Then one of the engineers dived at the flames and began stamping them out with his feet. What had happened was that the commander had thrown the stub of his cigarette away before helping with the gun, and it had set fire to a mass of oil-sodden rags. Probably they were impregnated with petrol as well. Before the engineer could muffle them the flames had caught at his overalls and the oil in them was burning.

The U-boat commander ripped off his jacket and flung it round the man's burning legs. For a second every one seemed to forget about the fire itself, which was now flaring noisily and causing some to move back on account of the heat of it. Moreover, the dockside itself, impregnated with oil, was alight in places. Having settled the engineer's trousers, the commander flung his jacket on to the flames and stamped them under with his feet.

By this time we were all coughing with the smoke, which was very heavy now that the flames themselves were muffled. As he stamped with his feet the commander kept coughing. I could see the sweat gathering in beads on his forehead. Then suddenly his knees seemed to sag under him and he collapsed. One man pulled him clear of the smouldering pile of rags, while two others finished the job of extinguishing the fire.

The doctor was sent for, but it was some time before the commander came round and every one who had been standing near the fire seemed to be feeling queer. One man actually fainted, but recovered as soon as he had been laid out a little farther down the dock. I myself found difficulty in breathing and my head reeled as though I were a little drunk. Logan, too, complained of feeling peculiar.

Then the order was given to get over to No. 1 dock as the second submarine was coming in. It was shouted by the officer in charge of the fatigue from the end of the dock. Some men obeyed, but the majority were too busy getting their breath back or arguing as to the cause of the trouble. The order was repeated. But instead of obeying it Logan swung himself on to U 21 and joined the engineers in their struggle to lower the gun into its correct position. I followed him. We had lost touch with our guards. The gun was eased into its mountings. The operation took about three minutes and gave us ample opportunity to look around. But the result was most discouraging. Even ready-use ammunition was stowed below deck and it was quite impossible to get at the armoured ammunition truck.

Our guard then re-established contact with us. As we climbed down on to the dockside I saw that the commander was now on his feet again, looking very white and his clothes in a filthy state. He still seemed a bit short of breath. The doctor said something about asphyxiation, but I couldn't hear the whole sentence. We were marched down to No. 1 dock. The fatigue party had already manned the hawser and I could see the dark pointed bows of the submarine nosing into the dock. As we took our place, Logan said: ‘What was the matter with him?'

‘Asphyxiation of some sort,' I said.

‘Yes, but why did we all suffer from it? What caused it?'

I said I didn't know, but presumed it was something to do with the burning waste. Our conversation was interrupted by the order to heave. As soon as the submarine had been made fast, the fatigue party was dismissed and we were taken back to our cell.

When the door was closed Logan said: ‘This is a helluva mess. Your idea of manning the after gun of U 21 is quite hopeless.'

‘You mean we can't get hold of the ammunition?' I said.

‘Not only that. There's the guard. It wasn't until I saw the one on the bridge that I remembered they mount two guards on every submarine in the base day and night. The other was in the bows.'

I nodded. I was feeling very despondent. When I had discovered that Logan was as alive as I was to the situation, I had for some reason felt that success was assured. His great bulk gave one confidence where it was a question of action.

Not only were the guns out of the question, but we had only twenty-four hours in which to carry out any plan. And throughout that time the base would be a hive of activity. It was, as Logan put it—a hell of a mess. Failure would mean the loss of hundreds of British lives. Moreover, it would mean a severe blow to British prestige, and might as a result seriously affect the course of the war, for neutral opinion was a vital factor in the initial stages. I had a sudden picture of those four great ships of the Atlantic squadron wallowing up the Channel, of periscopes cutting the water inside the screening destroyers, of sudden explosions and the sterns of those proud ships lifting as they sank. It was not to be thought of. Something had to be done.

‘Well?' Logan said.

I began removing my wet shoes and socks. ‘Looks as though we make a desperate attack on the guard,' I said.

‘When?' he asked. ‘Tonight?' His tone was sarcastic. He had taken off his dungarees and was climbing into bed. ‘I'm going to sleep on it,' he announced.

‘But, good God, man,' I said, ‘this is the last full night we've got in which to do something.'

‘And the base full of men repairing things. Did you see No. 3 dock after we had berthed that last submarine? The stores department were already at work replenishing the supplies. They'll be at it all night—food, water, munitions. U 21 has got to be finished by tomorrow afternoon. You told me so yourself. And every other boat in the base will have to be ready for sea by then. We'll have to wait. If we left this cell now every one we met would wonder what we were up to. But if we left it in the day-time—say, when we were having tea—no one would pay any attention to us. They'd just think we were on fatigue. They're used to seeing us around the base in the day-time.'

‘I see your point,' I said, and put the light out and climbed into bed. He was right, of course, but at the same time it made it a rather last-minute job. The truth was that now zero-hour had been definitely fixed my whole soul revolted against it. It is extraordinary how powerful the will to live is in the average human being. If it had been a question of immediate action, I could have faced it. Subconsciously, I suppose, I had keyed myself to expect action that night. I had felt that it was tonight or never as soon as I knew for certain that the boats were going out the following night. And I honestly believe that if it had been a question of instantaneous action, I would have walked out of that cell and blown the whole place up quite calmly. But to plan such an action sixteen hours in advance somehow revolted me.

Sleep was out of the question. I simply lay in the darkness and thought and thought till plans went round in my head without meaning. And as I became more and more mentally tired, my plans gained in phantasy until they had no relation to reality whatsoever. Schemes for blasting a way out through the cliff by firing a six-inch gun like a machine-gun, for escaping through the main entrance in diving suits, for constructing all sorts of Heath Robinson contrivances to blow the base up without killing myself rattled round my brain. I even remembered the strata of limestone I had discovered and thought of drilling through that to the main shaft of the mine or burning piles of oil-impregnated cotton waste in order to asphyxiate Fulke.

And then for some reason I was awake. It did not take me long to discover the reason. My subconscious schemes were still clear in my head and I realized that my mind had connected the limestone strata and the burning waste and I was back in my schooldays listening to a rather portly man with a mortarboard and horn-rimmed spectacles initiating myself and about fifteen others into the mysteries of chemistry.

I leant over and shook Big Logan. Instantly it seemed he was wide awake. I heard him sit up in his bed. ‘What is it?' he asked.

‘Listen!' I said. I was excited. ‘Do you know what happens to limestone when it's heated? It gives off carbon dioxide and leaves calcium oxide, which is quick lime. If I remember rightly the equation is—CaCo
₃
= CaO + CO
₂
.'

‘How does that help?' he asked.

‘Well, don't you see? Carbon dioxide is poisonous when it replaces air—lack of oxygen causes suffocation. That's what happened to the commander of U 21 tonight. There's a strata of limestone running down No. 4 dock and across into the storage cave opposite, and it broadens out to a width of about five feet at the entrance to the store. That burning waste was lying on this strata of limestone and was giving off CO
₂
. The commander passed out through lack of oxygen and we were all affected slightly. Now, suppose we could get a really big fire going on the limestone.'

‘And then ask the commander of the base to hold a scouts' jamboree round it,' suggested Logan.

‘I'm serious,' I said.

‘I know you are,' he said. ‘You've been lying awake thinking up all sorts of impossible schemes to avoid being killed yourself.'

It was a direct accusation of cowardice and I resented it, largely because I knew it to be true. ‘I was only trying to think out a scheme that had a chance,' I said. ‘I'm not afraid of dying.'

‘Well, I am, if it's unnecessary,' he replied.

‘Then think up something better,' I said, and turned over.

He did not reply, and when I had recovered from my resentment at his attitude, I began to consider the scheme in detail. Certainly the bald outline I had given did not sound particularly convincing. Several questions immediately leapt to my mind. First, how were we to make the necessary fire without it being put out before it had got to work on the limestone? Second, how were we to immunize ourselves? Third, what about Maureen and her companions? And fourth, was the ventilation system so good that it would be impossible to get sufficient CO
₂
into the base to render every one unconscious?

I began to consider these questions one by one. The first, of course, depended upon circumstances. It was a matter for action when the opportunity offered. Tanks of oil and petrol were often being trundled round the base when a submarine was being refuelled. I had a box of matches in the pocket of my dungarees. A drum would have to be broached and some of its contents poured over the limestone strata. The flames would then have to be fed. A mixture of oil and petrol would be best. Then we should want picks and shovels to break up the limestone and build it round the flames. Moreover, the flames must not be allowed to spread—there was a good deal of oil on the docksides and in the dock gallery. What we really ought to do was to build a little circle of broken limestone and pour petrol and oil into the centre. Then there was the question of our own immunization. I began to see the reason for Logan's sarcasm.