iron pirate (32 page)

The thought of sitting through dinner with them made Hemrose feel slightly sick. Chantril was all right, a real professional, but tonight was not the time. He had a letter to write to Beryl, and a report to complete for the Admiralty. After that, he could almost feel the carpet being dragged from under him. Perhaps they would both accept an excuse, go back to their ships instead -

He looked up, angry and startled, as if he had spoken aloud,

'Well, what is it now?'

The commander nodded to the seated officers and then handed a signal pad to his superior.

Hemrose had to read it twice, his face shining with sweat, as if he had been running.

He said slowly, 'From Admiralty, gentlemen. Thirty minutes ago a signal was received from the Cable and Wireless station on St Jorge.' He could tell from Duffield's expression he hadn't a clue where that was. 'It reads Am
under attack by German cruiser.'
He lowered the pad and eyed them grimly. 'There was no further transmission. We may draw our own conclusions.'

Chantril exclaimed. 'I know the place! Christ, it's nor'-east of Ascension. What the hell is he -'

Duffield said, 'And all the time -'

Hemrose remained grave and under control even though he wanted to yell out loud. It was like having a great orchestra or band pounding into your ears, shutting out all else but those vital words.

He said, 'Yes, all the time we thought the German was destroyed.' He could not resist it. 'Some of us, anyway.'

Chantril stood up and knocked over a glass without even seeing it.

'What is he trying to do?'

Hemrose smiled gently. 'Do? Who really cares? He probably intended to carry out a last attack before running to some friendly South American bolthole,
Graf Spee
all over again.
Kapitan Hechler
he spat out the name will know that heavy forces are to the north of him.' He nodded. He will head south after this, then scuttle, whether
he
likes it or not.'

'Can we rely on that signal, sir?'

Hemrose looked at him and beamed. 'What? Can you doubt your
backroom boys
at the Admiralty? Tch, tch!' It was like a tonic.

Commander Godson shifted from one foot to the other. The signal had knocked the breath out of him. It was like opening a door and expecting to meet an old friend, only to be confronted by a maniac.

Hemrose looked at him, but saw his own expression as it would be remembered after this day. Grave and confident.

'Make a signal to Admiralty, Toby.
The squadron is leaving without delay.'
Thank God he had insisted on fuelling from lighters; it would have taken another hour to clear the port otherwise. He took his time to look at the gold wristwatch which Beryl had given him.

Pipe special sea dutymen to their stations in one hour.' He looked at the others as poor Godson fled from the cabin. 'Another drink, eh?' He grinned.
'Afore ye go,
as the man said.'

He watched their faces, each man thinking of his own ship's readiness for sea. Hemrose added gently, 'Call up your ships from here.' He recalled the
Rhodesia's
great display of speed and swank when she had joined the squadron. 'I don't want to leave here alone!'

Later he said, 'It must be fate. I knew we were destined to meet. Right from the beginning, I always knew.' He glanced round the cabin affectionately. 'Settle the score.'

At the prescribed time, as watertight doors were slammed shut and men bustled to their stations for leaving harbour, Hemrose mounted the
Wiltshire's
bridge and looked towards the lights of I he shore. The raider had not allowed for anyone making a last desperate signal, any more than they would expect three British cruisers to be ready, and in the right place.

In his mind he could see the chart, south-west. Close the trap which the German had sprung on himself .

He touched his cap to Godson as he reported the ship ready to proceed.

It was no longer just a remote possibility. There soon would be (wo lines of oak leaves around his peak.

It was a proud moment. There should be a band playing.

He turned and looked at the chief yeoman of signals.

He said, 'Make to squadron, Yeo.
Weigh anchor and follow father.'

The sort of signal they always remembered. He could not stop grinning. The fact that Duffield would hate it, was a bonus.

Hechler came out of his dream like a drowning man fighting up lor a gasp of air.

Even as he propped himself on one elbow and jammed the telephone to his ear he knew what it was. The only surprise was that he had been able to sleep at all.

It was Froebe. 'W/T office has reported the signal, sir.' He sounded cheerful. 'Right on time.'

Hechler stared around the tiny sea-cabin, his things ready to snatch up, the place in total disorder.

'Thank you. You know what to do.' He thought of the wild dream which had been driven away by the telephone's shrill call. Her nakedness, her desire, the way she had writhed beneath him as if to postpone the conquest.

He said, 'I'll be up shortly.' He hung the phone on its cradle above the bunk and wondered what she was doing now. Thinking, but not regretting? Hoping, but not allowing it to reach out too far. He slid from the bunk and suddenly craved a shower. Even that was already too late.

He thought of the senior operator, Genscher, he had left on the islet. He had obeyed orders, no matter what he thought about the need or the futility of it.

Even now the signal would be flashing around the world. The raider had been verified and slotted into one section of this great ocean. Brains would be working overtime as staff officers rearranged their thinking and defences, like drawing the strings of a huge bag. Except that the
Prinz
was nowhere near the small islet, and was speeding in the opposite direction.

Hechler deliberately stripped himself to the waist. The narrow door opened slightly and he saw the faithful Pirk peering in at him with a steaming bowl of water for his shave. He had understood. But Pirk always had. Ice, sunshine, bombardments or dodging enemy aircraft, Pirk's world ran on quite different lines.

The telephone rang again and Pirk handed it to him.

Hechler said, 'Captain?'

This time it was Theil. 'Exercise action stations, sir?'

Not yet.' He thought surprisingly of Nelson. 'Let them have one more good meal. It may be the last for some time.'

Theil grunted. 'Dawn attack, sir?'

'Yes. As planned, Viktor. Let me know when the admiral is on his bridge.'

He turned to the mirror and touched his face. As she had done. 'It's going to be a very long night, old friend.' But Pirk had left. He lathered his cheeks with care and though of each last detail. The Arados would have to be prepared well before dawn. Every station and gun-mounting checked and visited by a senior officer. The last meal for some time. Forever, if things went badly wrong. He searched through his mind for flaws. His landing party had played their part. Now it was up to them. He grimaced at his image in the mirror. At one time he had nursed doubts. He had imagined then that the enemy had some secret strategy which neither he nor Operations had recognised.

Now he knew differently. There was no secret plan. Once again, the
Prinz Luitpold
's luck had won through.

Shortly after midnight Hechler made his way into the bridge. That last cat-nap had driven the tiredness away. Or was it the prospect of action?

In the darkness figures moved towards him, or held motionless at their positions. As if they had never shifted. It was a beautiful night, bright stars, and a deep, unbroken swell again. Gudegast had already reported that there might be rain with a southeasterly wind. He never sounded as if he trusted the signalled broadcasts as much as his own intuition.

Leitner's pale outline glided through the watchkeepers, and Hechler could smell his cologne as he groped his way to the forward part of the bridge.

'A good beginning he said calmly. 'They'll not forget this day.'

Hechler was glad when the admiral had departed for his quarters. To prepare himself, or to share the last hours with his aide, he did not know or care.

As the time dragged on, the weather began to change. It grew much colder, and the steep swell became visible on either beam as a rising wind broke the crests into ragged, white lines. The
Prinz
was built for this kind of weather, and as she dipped her forecastle until spray burst over the stem or spouted through the hawsepipes she seemed almost contemptuous.

More signals came in a steady stream. It must be strange for those far-off operators, Hechler had thought many times, to send off their instructions and messages, while the recipient had no way of risking an acknowledgement.

Operations Division sent one signal about a small British cr uiser squadron leaving Simonstown. Agents there must have started a chain of messages almost as soon as the Tommies had hoisted their anchors.

It was hardly surprising, he thought. Germany had many friends in South Africa. When the Kaiser had been forced to surrender in the Great W'ar, it was said that black flags had been raised over Johannesburg to show where their true feelings had lain.

Hechler said, 'Action stations in ten minutes.' He felt his pockets in case he had forgotten anything. He remembered as he had left the sea-cabin how he had seen Inger's familiar picture in the drawer. He had looked at it for the first time without feeling, even bitterness.

'Tell the supply officer to keep the galley on stand-by. I want soup and coffee sent around every section until the last moment.'

A winch clattered loudly and he knew the aircraft handling party were at work with the first Arado preparing for launching. If the launch misfired, the plane would be left to fend for itself. He thought of the girl's own aircraft, dismantled and folded into its nest. A last display for the cameras? Or did Leitner have some other scheme in mind?

Gudegast stood beside his chair. Time to increase to full speed in twenty minutes, sir.' He sounded calm enough.

'Good.' Hechler peered at his Doxa watch. 'Sound off.'

The alarm bells clamoured throughout the ship, followed by a few thuds as the last of the heavy doors were clipped home. Voice-pipes and handsets muttered around the bridge, an unseen army.

'Anton, Bruno, Caesar and Dora turrets closed up, sir!'

'Secondary and anti-aircraft armament closed up, sir!'

From every gun, torpedo and magazine the reports came in.

Hechler pictured his men within the armoured hull. Down in the sick-bay, Stroheim and his assistants would be waiting, their glittering instruments laid out, waiting for the pain and the pleading.

As it must have been at Coronel and Falklands, at Dogger Bank and Jutland. Hechler jammed his pipe between his teeth and smiled. Trafalgar too probably.

He heard himself ask, 'What about Damage Control?'

Froebe replied, 'Closed up, sir. Some delay over a lighting fault.'

Theil was there entrusted with saving the ship if the worst happened. Or taking command if the bridge was wiped out.

'The admiral, sir.'

Hechler took the handset. 'Sir?'

Leitner said, 'I want another flag hoisted today. See to it, eh?'

He meant another rear-admiral's flag.

Hechler said, 'Ship at action stations, sir.'

'I shall come up presently.' The line went dead.

Hechler said to the bridge at large, 'I'm going to the plot.' He walked to the ladder as Gudegast picked up a chart and followed him. He could visualise it clearly in his mind. Training, experience, skill. He heard Froebe telling a signalman to fetch another flag and take it aft. He wondered if the camera would record that too.

While their captain climbed to the conning tower, the men throughout the ship went grimly about their preparations. Ready-use ammunition in place, magazine lifts sliding smoothly up and down their shafts, gun crews testing training and elevation gear, the gleaming breeches open like hungry mouths.

Above them all, Kroll the gunnery officer sat in his small steel chair and adjusted his sights while he studied the radar repeater.

His team, hung about with stop-watches, earphones and the tools ol their trade, watched him, keyed up like athletes under the starter's gun.

The most junior member of the fire-control team, Acting Petty Officer Hans Stoecker, stared at his empty log, one hand wrapped around his telephone.

They had all worked together so long that there were no hitches, nothing to bring Kroll's wrath down on them.

It was like a small self-contained world. Essential to the ship's fire power, but entirely separate, so that when the heavy guns roared out, they too seemed like something apart.

He tried not to think of Rudi Hammer's mild features just as the bells had sent them all racing to their action stations.

He had smiled almost shyly and said, 'A very good time for our little plan, yes? Everybody minding his own business!'

They would be found out.
Stoecker gripped the telephone with both hands, his eyes misty as he stared at the log book. It was madness, a lunacy which would cost them their lives.

The speaker intoned, 'Main armament, semi-armour piercing shell,
load!

Stoecker felt his seat tilt under him as the helm went over. The ship was increasing speed. Sometimes it felt as if their steel pod would tear itself away from the bridge superstructure as every strut and rivet shook violently in protest.

Kroll twisted round in his chair and glanced at the intent figures below him, lastly to Kapitanleutnant Georg Emmler, the assistant gunnery officer. Together they held the reins. Beyond here, quarters officers, gun captains, and even individual sailors strapped in their rapid-fire automatic weapons, waited for the word.
Bearing, range, target.

Kroll bit his lip. Another convoy. One day he would get his chance to pit his skills against a powerful enemy warship.

'Loaded, sir.'

Kroll scowled. Ten seconds too long. He thrust the watch into his pocket. He would soon put that right.