iron pirate (22 page)

The Truth Can Wait

Hechler joined Gudegast at the compass platform. It was going well, but any sudden cross-wind might bring the unmatched vessels too close together.

Alter course to two-two-zero degrees. Signal the submarine's commander yourself.' He touched the big man's arm. 'Don't want oil spilled all over the ocean.'

He walked back to the gratings and imagined he could feel the fuel coming through those long, pulsating hoses.

His ship was the best of her class for performance, and with the additional bunkers she had been given last year could cruise over 7,000 miles unless she was called to offer full speed for long periods.

He thought of the girl in her brightly painted plane. It worried him more than he cared to admit to have her aboard. At the same time he knew he would miss her when she was ordered to leave. Maybe she did not have a genuine mission? Perhaps after all she was only a piece of Leitner's public relations puzzle.

Theil lowered his glasses. 'The Arado's a long time, sir.' He eyed him worriedly. 'Completely lost sight of it.'

Hechler peered over the rear of the bridge wing. One of the regular float-planes in its dappled camouflage was already standing on the catapult, the handling party lounging around with nothing to do.

Hechler contained his sudden impatience. One thing at a time. It was the only way. The collection of charts with their plotted rendezvous marks were all in the future. Nobody could say how much future they still had.

Leitner strode on to the bridge, his mouth set in a tight line. 'Where the
bloody hell
is that woman?' He moved this way and that, almost blindly, so that men on watch had to jump out of his path.

Theil suggested, 'Perhaps we should send up another aircraft,

sir?' his legs braced behind him as if he was taking the whole weight of the ship.

'Aircraft in sight again, sir. Closing. Shift bearing to Red six-oh!'

Hechler gripped the rail as the deck seemed to rise and then surge forward beneath him.

'Line's parted, sir!'

‘Open fire!'

The three twin turrets along the port side opened up instantly, their sharper explosions making men grope for ear-plugs, others crouch down away from their savage back-blast.

Theil called, 'Supply boat's diving, sir!' He sounded breathless.

Great fountains of spray shot from the milch-cow's saddle tanks as water thundered into them, and her wash indicated a frantic increase in speed.

Hechler tore his eyes from the Arado as it reeled over the ship and then appeared to level off on an invisible wire. Not before he had seen the bright, starlike holes in the paintwork, some of which appeared to cross the cockpit itself.

‘Port twenty!' He wrapped his arms around the voice-pipes with such force that the pain seemed to steady his mind, the ache which that last sight had given him.

She had drawn enemy fire. There was no other possible reason but to warn the ship.

He felt the deck going over. Like a destroyer.
'Steady!
Hold her!'

Voices yelled on every side and then the secondary armament recoiled in their mountings yet again, their shells flinging up thin waterspouts against the horizon where the enemy lay hidden in the swell.

'Shoot!'
Again the urgent cry, and again the sharp, earprobing crashes.

'Torpedoes running to port!'

Theil jumped to the voice-pipe but Hechler snapped, 'As she goes!'

He looked quickly at the supply-boat. Her bows were already under water, her squat conning-tower deserted as she prepared to run deep and head away. She would not even be a spectator, let alone wait around to pick up survivors.

The explosion was like one great thunderclap which rendered men blind and deaf in a few seconds, as if shocked from every known sense.

Dense black smoke billowed across the water, so thick it seemed solid, then it rolled over the decks and through the superstructure and masts, and for a while longer it was like the dead of night. Through it all the intercom kept up its continual babble.

'Short!' Then, 'A straddle! Got the bastards!'

Hechler groped to the forepart of the bridge and almost fell over a young signalman. He could barely remember the boy's name as he was their newest addition. Logged as seventeen years old, Hechler guessed he was a good deal less.

He dragged him to his feet by the scruff of his tunic and shouted, 'Hold on, Heimrath!' He could hear his gasping and retching in the foul stench and dense smoke. 'It's not us this time!'

The torpedoes must have hit the big submarine just as she made to lift her tail and dive. There could be nothing left. Fuel, ammunition, spare torpedoes, they had all gone up together, scattering  fragments for half a mile, while some had clattered across
Prinz Luitpold’s
forecastle and maindeck.

Target is diving, sir.'

Diving or sinking, it made no difference now. That last salvo would put her out of the fight. It was far more likely that she was tailing slowly into the depths, blacker than any death pall, until the weight of water crushed her and her crew into a steel pulp.

'Slow ahead.' Hechler dabbed his mouth with his sleeve. The smoke was streaming over and around them, and men were peering for one another, dazed and with eyes running while they sought out their friends.

Hechler gripped the rail with both hands. 'Tell the accident boat to stand by.' He saw Theil's disbelief, his eyes bulging in his smeared face. 'Lower to the waterline. Now!'

Reluctantly almost, training and discipline reasserted themselves. Like a great beast, rising and shaking itself before it had lime to consider the fate which had taken one and spared another.

Leitner wiped his binoculars and glared through the fading smoke.

'Another minute and we'd have shared the same end, Dieter.'

Hechler steadied his glasses as the Arado's bright paintwork gleamed through the smoke. It was settled on the water, and rocking like a wild thing in the powerful rollers.

He said, Stop engines. Slip the boat!'

He raised his glasses once more, thought held at bay while he searched for the aircraft, made himself ready for w'hat he might find.

A voice murmured on the intercom, 'Sounds of ship breaking up, sir.'

It must be the enemy submarine. There was not enough of the milch-cow to disturb their sonar.

He flinched as he saw the horrific face in the rear of the cockpit. Eyes of blood, hands in raised fists behind the slumped figure at the controls.

'Get the doctor on deck!' There was a new harshness in his tone.

Jaeger looked up from the voice-pipes. 'He's already there, sir.'

The motorboat ploughed into view across the lens, familiar faces he knew and respected leaping past his vision.

Leitner seemed to speak from miles away. It's afloat anyway. Good thing.'

Another voice said, The boat will tow it to the hoisting gear, sir.'

Was that all Leitner cared? Was it perhaps unimportant to him when so many men had died horribly just moments ago?

He gripped the binoculars harder as the motorboat's bowman clambered on to one of the plane's floats and hauled himself on to the fuselage. He wrenched open the cockpit and faltered. It must be a hundred times worse close to, Hechler thought despairingly.

Then he saw the man turn and signal. One dead.

She was alive.
Alive.

He lowered his glasses to his chest and made himself walk slowly to the chart-table.

Around him, smoke-grimed and dazed by the cruel swiftness of destruction, the watchkeepers watched him dully.

Hechler said, 'As soon as the boat is hoisted inboard, get under way and alter course as prearranged.' He saw Gudegast nod. 'I want a complete inspection of hull and upper deck. We could have sustained some minor damage.' He touched the rail again. Even as he said it, he sensed that the
Prinz
would be unscathed.

He looked at Theil. Take over.' He half-turned to the rear-admiral. 'With your permission of course, sir?'

Leitner looked away. 'Granted.'

Bells jangled softly and the ship gathered way again.

Hechler hesitated at the top of the ladder to watch as the Arado was swung over the guardrails on its special derrick. The doctor and his assistant were there, and some men with stretchers. He hesitated again and looked into the bridge. His world. Now he was sharing it. Hopeless? Perhaps it was. But she was alive. Because of what she had done, they had all survived. He glanced at the admiral's stiff shoulders. He had made an enemy there, but it no longer mattered.

He nodded to Theil and then hurried down the ladder. This world could wait. The
Prinz Luitpold's
spacious wardroom was almost deserted. It was halfway through the first watch, and the officers who would be called to stand the middle watch were snatching all the sleep they could. Then the hand on the shoulder, the unfeeling voice of boatswain's mate or messenger, a mug of stale coffee if you were lucky, and off you went to the wretched middle watch.

A few officers sat in deep armchairs, dozing but unwilling to leave their companions, or quietly discussing the explosion which had destroyed the supply submarine and everyone aboard. One man suggested it was lucky they had pumped off most of the fuel. Otherwise both ships might have been engulfed in the same inferno. But most of them, especially the older ones, were thinking of the miles which were hourly streaming away astern. The ship had made a violent turn and was now heading south-east, further and still further from home. If they continued like this, even at their economical speed of fifteen knots, they would cross the Equator in two days' time, and into the South Atlantic.

Viktor Theil as the senior officer in the mess stood with his back to the bar, a glass of lemon juice in his hand. He was conscious of his seniority, the need to set an example at all times in a wardroom where the average age was so low. His immediate subordinate, Korvettenkapitan Werner Froebe, tall, ungainly, and unusually solemn, clutched a tankard of something in one of his huge hands and asked, 'Do you think it went well today?'

Theil eyed him warily. An innocent enough question, but the delay in casting-off from the doomed milch-cow had been his responsibility. It could have been a criticism.

He replied. 'We saved the new plane anyway. Only superficial damage. Pity about the observer.'

Froebe grimaced. 'And the woman. Caught a splinter, I'm told.'

Theil swirled the juice around his glass. 'Could have been much worse.'

He looked at the red-painted bell on the bulkhead. Like an unblinking eye. As if it was watching them, waiting for them to relax, lose their vigilance even for a minute. Then the clamour would scream out here and in every watertight compartment throughout the hull. You never really got used to it.

Even in bis bed at home, sometimes in the night - he gritted his teeth. He must not think about it. It would all solve itself. He tightened his jaw. But Britta would have to come to him. She had been in the wrong. He could see it. In the end he would forgive her. They would be reunited as never before.

Froebe watched him dubiously. 'I just hope they know what they're doing.'

'Who?' Theil wanted to finish it but something in Froebe's tone made him ask.

'I don't know. The staff, the high command, OKM, everybody who doesn’t have to pick up the bloody pieces!'

Two of the very junior officers hovered closer and one said, 'At home, our people will know about us, and of
Lubeck
's great sacrifice!'

Theil smiled. 'Of course. We are honoured to serve in this way.'

A figure moved heavily into the light. It was the doctor, jacket unbuttoned, his tie crooked.

He looked at them each in turn, his eyes tired. To Theil he said, 'There are ten casualties below. All doing well.'

Theil nodded. They were the men who had been cut or injured by falling debris on the upper deck after the explosion.

The same young officer exclaimed, 'They are lucky to be free of standing their watch!'

The doctor looked past him. 'The
Liibeck
didn't go down gallantly with guns blazing, by the way.' He returned his gaze to Theil. 'She was scuttled.'

Theil felt as if his collar had suddenly become too tight. Figures in nearby chairs were stirring and turning towards the small group by the bar. From torpor between watches the air had become electric.

Theil exploded, 'What are you saying? How dare you tell such lies in this mess!'

Stroheim gave him a sad smile. I was in the W/T office. One of the operators broke a finger when he lost his balance as the supply boat blew up. They were monitoring an English-speaking broadcast, from Bermuda it may have been. But that was what I hoy said.' His voice hardened and he leaned forward, his eyes on Theil's outraged face. 'And something else to fill your pipe with.

the Tommies and their allies are up to the Rhine,
do you hear me?'
He swayed and glared around the wardroom at large. Ivan is coming at us from the East, and
they're
up to the Rhine!' He looked at Theil again. 'Don't you see, man? We're on the bloody run!'

Theil snapped, 'Keep your voice down! How dare you spread

Stroheim made a sweeping gesture. 'What is the matter with everyone? It was the W/T office! What are they in there, a separate navy, or something?'

Froebe interrupted unhappily, ‘Easy, Doctor - this won't help!'

Stroheim removed his glasses and massaged his eyes savagely. I hen what will, eh?' He stared at the sideboard at the end of the bar, Adolf Hitler's profile in silver upon it with the ship-builder's crest and launch-date underneath.

All lies. Raised on them, led by them, and now going to hell because of them!'

Theil said sharply, 'I must ask you to come with me.' He could feel his grip returning, although his anger was matched by a sense of alarm.

The doctor laughed, a bitter sound. 'Follow you? Of course,
sir.
Does the truth disturb you that much?