Grey Wolves (8 page)

He shouted desperately to Henderson up in the E-boat’s bridge.

Jarhope grabbed a life preserver with rope attached and threw it across. Marc caught hold, but it was heavier than expected and bent his fingers back painfully. The coal under
Madeline
’s rear deck was now ablaze, and it sounded like a shoot-out as the heat set off bullets in the ammunition store.

Marc fed his arms through the life preserver, as Jarhope knotted the rope to the E-boat’s deck rail for extra safety. Marc balanced on
Madeline
’s bow ready to jump, while at the rear of the E-boat Troy hastily untied the smouldering rope linking the two boats together.

Jarhope braced against the deck rail as Marc jumped. But the boy’s weight was too much to hold. As Marc plunged into the gloomy space between the two hulls, the ropes pulled through Jarhope’s hands, burning off layers of skin.

Marc was strong, and started pulling himself up the rope, but
Madeline
’s hull was close and he’d be crushed if the boats came together. He could feel heat and hear crackling as the paint on
Madeline
’s hull blistered.

‘I need a hand,’ Marc shouted.

Jarhope was clutching his burned hands, in no condition to grab anything, so Boo had to run the length of the boat and reach over the side to grab the life preserver.

Henderson was on the bridge working out the E-boat’s blood-spattered controls. He was worried that the fire would spread from
Madeline
, and the instant Marc was over the deck rail he pushed the throttle forward. The big diesel engines rumbled and the boat cruised twenty metres clear before he cut them off.

‘We’ve got to keep our guard up,’ Henderson said, as he grabbed his machine gun and jumped down out of the bridge. ‘I reckon there’s still half a dozen Krauts hiding below deck. Let’s flush ’em out.’

Note

  
²
 
E-Boat – a small, high-speed German warship designed mainly for coastal patrol duty and mine laying.

As
Madeline
’s wooden frame burned thirty metres astern, Henderson told everyone to quiet down, hoping to hear some sign of the Germans trapped below decks. He pointed at Troy and whispered.

‘Take Rufus’ Sten and cover the rear hatch. Give them a couple of seconds to surrender, but don’t take chances if you see a weapon. Marc, I want you covering my back down below. Only shoot if you have to. These boats are built for speed not strength, and we won’t get far if we’re shot full of holes.’

Henderson grabbed a docking pole off the deck. While Boo held the rear door of the bridge open, Henderson used the hooked pole to flip the deck hatch, half expecting someone to start shooting up at him.

‘Looks empty,’ Henderson said, as he peered down cautiously. Then he shouted in German. ‘Come out now with your hands up.’

He didn’t get an answer, but Jarhope had pushed past Marc into the bridge. ‘Commander, I know this is your show, but don’t you think I’d be better than the boy?’

Henderson turned impatiently. ‘Jarhope, you can barely hold a gun with the state your hands are in. Marc’s one of the best marksmen I’ve ever seen. If you want a job, start searching Kraut bodies for anything interesting. Then throw ’em over the side before we’re all sloshing about in blood.’

Marc joined Henderson at the edge of the hatch. Looking down beyond the ladder he saw the ship’s radio, a dropped pistol and a table with a chest of nautical charts beneath.

‘In for a penny,’ Henderson said, as he swung over the side of the hole and dropped below.

Marc followed, thumping down on his injured ankle as Henderson tucked the German pistol into his jacket. There were metal bulkhead doors at either end of the room. The one going towards the bow was open, the one going aft was shut.

‘Bet you ten shillings they’re behind the locked door, but we’ll check the front out first. I counted ten dead, but I’ve no idea how many crew these boats.’

Henderson covered as Marc ripped open the forward bulkhead. He stepped through into a corridor barely wider than his shoulders and crept up to a green curtain before swishing it back. Behind it were the captain’s quarters, with a narrow bunk and a wardrobe with a flap that folded down to make a writing desk.

‘Nobody home,’ Marc said, as he backed out and moved forwards towards the next bunker.

‘Even if you kill us you’ll never get up on deck,’ Henderson shouted. ‘Surrender and you’ll be well treated.’

Marc stepped through the next bulkhead and jumped down a metre into the crew compartment. There were three triple bunks crammed in a space that pinched in towards the ship’s bow. Marc almost gagged on cigarette smoke and BO as he ripped off stained bedclothes, making sure nobody was hiding.

There was one final compartment in the bow itself. As Marc moved in its tiny door flew open. A scrawny German burst out, swinging wildly with a cleaver. Henderson shoved Marc out of the way and kicked the German in the stomach. As the cleaver hit the floor, Henderson grabbed the small man by his shirt collar and smacked him head first into a metal bunk frame, before jamming a gun against his temple.

‘One lie and I’ll kill you,’ Henderson growled. ‘How many men crew this boat? How many are left down here?’

‘I don’t know,’ the sailor replied.

‘The hell you don’t,’ Henderson shouted, pulling the sailor’s head back, then smashing his nose against a bedpost.

Henderson could be utterly ruthless, and Marc felt uneasy as he glanced into the compartment where the German had been hiding. The ceiling was low, with a tiny sink and toilet. This was clogged with torn paper, which the German had tried to flush, and then set on fire when it failed.

‘Looks like code books and stuff,’ Marc shouted. ‘Bagsy I’m not the one who has to fish ’em out.’

But Henderson didn’t hear because he was giving the German a good belting. ‘How many in the crew?’

‘Geneva convention!’ the German replied. ‘I am a prisoner of war, I have rights.’

‘Got a complaint?’ Henderson scoffed. ‘Write a letter to the League of Nations. Let’s walk.’

Henderson shoved the German towards the steps and led him back the way they’d come. Boo had climbed below and was looking at the damaged radio.

‘Think you can get a signal out to our people?’

‘Very much hope so, Commander,’ Boo said, wincing as she saw the German’s profusely bleeding head and flattened nose.

‘Open the bulkhead,’ Henderson ordered.

The German looked back nervously. ‘I can’t.’

‘What’s in there?’ Henderson shouted, punching the sailor hard in the ribs.

‘The crew is sixteen, but only fifteen aboard because one is sick,’ the German blurted desperately. ‘There’s one officer in there, a real fanatic, plus a rating and two engineers. He ordered me to flush our code books and destroy the radio. He’ll shoot me dead for cooperating with you.’

‘What weapons do they have?’ Henderson growled.

‘Just a pistol I think.’

‘Well hopefully he’ll only shoot you once then,’ Henderson said. ‘Boo, open that bulkhead on three. Marc, there’s gonna be engines and fuel tanks back there, so we don’t want bullets flying around. How are your knife-throwing skills?

‘I’ll manage,’ Marc said, as he slung his rifle over his shoulder and took his knife out of its sheath.

Henderson thumped on the bulkhead. ‘We’re coming in on three,’ he shouted in German. ‘This is your last chance to surrender. One … Two … Three.’

Boo opened the bulkhead door with a metal clank and jumped out of the way. Henderson shoved the bleeding sailor through the opening and gave him an almighty kick up the arse. There was a pistol blast as the sailor tripped on the ledge of the bulkhead. His body spun as the German officer shot his own man in the shoulder.

Marc glimpsed the shooter, but couldn’t aim his knife before he ducked behind a huge diesel engine.

The German sailor thrashed about in agony as Henderson peered warily through the bulkhead. Simultaneously a huge man in a greasy singlet and trousers jumped across the narrow channel that ran between two diesel engines, towards the hiding gunman. Henderson took aim at his trailing leg, but was all too aware of the fuel tank directly behind.

But the big man hadn’t rushed across to help the officer, he was squashing the life out of him.

‘Treason,’ the officer shouted, as the other engineer and the rating emerged from behind a third engine further down the boat with hands raised in surrender.

Henderson rushed between the two engines, stepping over the sailor, as the engineer choked his superior officer.

‘Don’t shoot!’ he shouted, raising his hands. ‘A bullet in those tanks will blow us all sky high.’

‘Is there anyone else apart from you lot?’ Henderson shouted.

‘We’re all that’s left,’ the engineer shouted. ‘You can shoot me in the head if that’s not the truth.’

Henderson lowered his gun and nodded appreciatively to the big man, before waving the three surrendered Germans forwards. ‘Get up on deck, no sudden moves.’

Then he shouted in English. ‘Jarhope, you’ve got prisoners coming up. Do you hear me?’

‘Ready and willing,’ Jarhope shouted back.

Henderson looked at Marc. ‘Tie up that officer before he comes round, then find a medical kit and see what you can do for the bullet in the sailor’s shoulder. Boo, your
absolute
priority is to get that radio working. Try and get a signal out to a Royal Navy ship. We need an escort or we’ll end up being blown out of the sea by our own people.’

Marc looked down at the skinny, battered sailor. Trails of blood stretched from his head down to his boots and his right arm practically hung off at the shoulder. Marc had done basic first aid training, but this was beyond him.

‘Can’t you help?’ Marc said, aghast.

‘Whatever you can manage,’ Henderson ordered. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can, but if they sent off a distress signal while they were under attack, we could have half their fleet on our backs if we stick around.’

Henderson swept past Boo as she studied the controls of the German transmitter, then charged up the ladder into the bridge. Rufus had captained
Madeline
, but was laid out on deck, with blistered legs from the steam and arms embedded with glass. It wasn’t pretty, but he’d live.

Jarhope had three prisoners to look after and was no sailor, so Henderson called Troy to the bridge. ‘I know you can sail, but how about engines?’

‘Never tried anything this big,’ Troy said, as he studied the bloody controls. ‘But it’s a throttle and a wheel like my dad’s old fishing boat.’

‘Right,’ Henderson nodded. ‘I’m coordinating ten different things, so I want you to take the helm. Head north by north-north-west and keep an eye out for any other boats. I’ll chart a proper course as soon as I can, but that’s close enough for now.

‘Once you’ve got a feel for how she handles, take her up to twenty-two knots for a quarter of an hour, then slow her down to ten. It’s a long way back to Britain; I don’t know our fuel status but I’ll bet those big diesel engines have a thirst when you’re moving fast.’

‘Aye, Commander,’ Troy said, proud to be in charge of a powerful thirty-five-metre boat, but a little scared too.

As Troy gently nudged the throttle, Henderson looked around for
Madeline
. ‘Did the old girl go down?’

Troy nodded. ‘Just after you went below deck. She was blazing – you must have been able to see the smoke over a wide area – so I told Jarhope to take the main gun and shoot her below the waterline.’

Henderson looked shocked. ‘On your own initiative, without asking me?’

Troy shifted uneasily. ‘Was that wrong, sir? You were below decks, I thought it was critical.’

‘You were
absolutely
bloody right,’ Henderson said, giving Troy a friendly slap on the back. ‘Good stuff.’

Troy was getting a feel for the E-boat and pushed the throttle further forwards. ‘If we get this boat back to Britain in one piece we can name her
Madeline II
.’

‘Not a bad idea,’ Henderson laughed as the boat picked up speed. ‘Feel free to turn a little, start getting a feel for the rudder. You’ll need to know what she can do if we run into trouble.’

‘Right,’ Troy nodded.

‘Give me a shout if you need me,’ Henderson said, as he moved towards the ladder. ‘I’m going below to help Marc.’

‘No problem,’ Troy nodded. ‘Oh, and congratulations on the baby, sir.’

Henderson shot back up the ladder. ‘Pardon me?’

Troy gasped. ‘Sir, I thought Boo already told you. I guess with everyone being so exhausted it slipped her mind.’

‘Told me what?’ Henderson said. ‘Spit it out, boy.’

‘It came through in our routine signal yesterday afternoon. McAfferty thought you’d want to know immediately. You have a son, sir; he was only five pounds two ounces, but he’s in good health and so is your wife.’

‘Well
bugger
me,’ Henderson said.

Saturday 17 May 1941

Lightning flashed as a small truck crawled towards the top of a hill, getting slower and slower. The wiper blades squealed but fourteen-year-old Rosie Clarke still couldn’t see more than fifty metres through the pelting rain.

‘You need to change down, doll,’ her boyfriend PT told her. ‘You’ll stall it.’

Rosie floored the clutch and put the truck in neutral, then after waiting for a second for the spinning gears to slow down she put the box into what she thought was second. The truck lurched, cogs in the gearbox sheared against one another and the engine died.

‘That was first gear,’ PT said. ‘You need to throw the stick over for second.’

The truck started to roll backwards. Rosie hit the brake pedal and turned the key to restart the engine, but the truck just stalled.

‘You’ve got to put the clutch down,’ PT said.

‘Shut
up
,’ Rosie shouted, as she pounded the steering wheel in frustration. ‘I can’t concentrate with you constantly babbling. Just look at the map and tell me which way to go. And stop calling me doll. I’m not your pet, your doll, your lady or any other stupid American name.’