iron pirate (37 page)

Theil, megaphone in hand, watched the lines being fired across, the engineering party ready and waiting to sway the huge fuel hoses inboard and connect them to the bunkers.

He kept seeing Hechler's face, the sadness he had shown when he had confronted him about Britta.

Nothing seemed to matter any more. If they reached home I here was nobody waiting for him. Anyway, Leitner would make certain he would climb no further in the navy. If they met with the enemy, he might at least save the ship.

He waved his megaphone to the boatswain's party at the guy-ropes and tackles. Either way, only Leitner could win. He stared so hard at the swaying wires and ropes between the two ill-matched hulls that his vision became blurred. Leitner had known all about Britta. He could have made a signal when they were still in safe waters, if he had wanted to help.

Theil was suddenly quite calm. He knew what he was going to do.

The pilot of the
Wiltshire's
twin-winged Walrus was a young Wavy Navy lieutenant. Despite what other Fleet Air Arm officers said about his antiquated flying-boat he had grown extremely fond of it.

He was singing silently, his voice lost in the throaty roar of the Pegasus radial engine which hung above the cockpit like, some ungainly cradle, and watching patches of blue cutting through I he cloud layer, like a sea on a beach.

The three other members of his crew were peering down at the ocean, where occasionally their inelegant shadow preceded them as they tacked back and forth over a forty mile line.

Rumours had spawned in the cruiser's wardroom at a mounting rate. Ever since it had been announced that the German's presence at St Jorge had been a clever ruse, and then that the Admiralty was ordering Hemrose to withdraw and join up with Force M. A new buzz had spread through the ship before the old one had been found true or false.

How vast the ocean looked from here, he thought. Nothing, not even a hint of land. It was a vast grey-blue desert, broken here and there by tiny white ridges, and dark troughs which from the sky seemed quite motionless.

A great ocean, with nothing ahead but the winding coastline of South America. He chuckled. And that was 500 miles away. Hemrose would have to give in soon, he thought. He had pushed his luck too far with the Admiralty this time. Old Godson would be pleased. He was scared of his own shadow.

His observer and navigator climbed up beside him and switched on his intercom.

'Time to turn in five minutes, Bob. Then one more sweep to the south and back to Father.' He peered at the endless terrain of water.

'The Old Man's not going to like it.'

The pilot eased the controls and glanced quickly at the compass. The news from Europe was amazing, advances everywhere. Only the coming of winter would slow things down now. He had been at school when the war had started, and the navy, temporary or not, was all he knew. It would probably carry on in Japan afterwards, he thought.

It was strange, but he had never dropped a bomb or fired one of their elderly Vickers machine-guns in anger. Just up and down lines of convoyed ships, or scouting like this ahead of the cruiser.

It would have been a nice thing to remember. 'What d'you reckon, Tim?'

His companion grinned. 'No chance. The Old Man's dropped a right clanger this time!'

They both laughed into their mouthpieces and then the pilot looked again and gasped, 'Christ, Tim!
It's her!

The old Walrus leaned over, the engine protesting shakily as he thrust the stick hard against his knee.

It was not a silhouette like the ones in their charts and manuals. It was a flaw in the sea's face, a hint of shadow, solid and somehow frightening.

'Quick! Back to Father!' They clung on as the Walrus tacked into a low bank of cloud with as much dignity as it could manage.

There was so much the pilot wanted to know and to recognise. He could have risked flak and worse by going nearer, but he knew what Hemrose would say if he disobeyed orders.

He felt his friend punching his shoulder and stared at him, his eyes suddenly bright with understanding pride as he shouted, Never mind the bloody fleet, Bob! Just remember this day!
We found the bastard!

Had the Germans seen them? It no longer mattered. They had indeed done what everyone else had failed to do. In all this ocean, it was a bloody miracle!

They both fell about laughing when they realised that neither of the other crew members as yet knew what had happened.

Aboard their ship Hemrose sat nodding in the moon sunlight, his cap tilted over his reddened face.

The Chief Yeoman of signals steadied his telescope and said, 'Signal from
Pallas,
sir.
In contact with your Walrus.
Message reads.' The yeoman licked his dried lips.
'Enemy in sight!'

Hemrose slid from the chair, feeling their eyes on him. As if he had just parted the Red Sea.

Make to squadron, Yeo.
Increase to full speed.'
He saw the yeoman watching him too, his eyes asking a question. They had been together a long time and Hemrose did not disappoint him.

Hoist battle ensigns!'

Last Command

Hechler stood on the bridge wing and watched the huge submarine manoeuvring abeam. The sea seemed to flood between them, as if both vessels were stationary. Hechler knew differently, could sense the group of junior officers who had been summoned by Froebe to the bridge to study the formidable art of ship-handling. The supply-submarine had all her work cut out to maintain proper buoyancy and trim as the big hoses began to quiver like oily snakes, and the first of the precious fuel was pumped across.

Theil was with the boatswain on the maindeck, his megaphone or one hand slicing the air to control the seamen at the guy-ropes and wires.

'Revolutions seven-zero.' Hechler heard the order repeated behind him and pictured the intent group far below his feet in the armour-plated wheelhouse.

'Stop starboardVHe
watched narrowly as the bows straightened up again, and the channel between the hulls became even.

'Slow ahead all engines.' He gripped the safety rail and leaned right over, the rain slashing across his oilskin, although he barely noticed it.

He loved to feel the might and power of the ship beneath him, as if he was holding her, as a rider will control a wilful mount. He saw a lamp blink from the conning tower and resisted the urge to smile. He knew already what the brief signal would ask.

'Signal, sir.
Request send boat with passengers.'

'Negative. Tell the commander to break out a rubber dinghy.' It would be a lively crossing between the cruiser and the submarine even when controlled by hand-lines and tackles. He knew the camera team was already mustered by the guardrail, their cans of film safely protected in heavy bags. If he had one of their own boats lowered, the submarine might be tempted to break away and dive at the first suggestion of danger. Her commander would know this of course, but it was always worth a try.

He craned still further across the rail and saw one of the camera girls clinging to Meile, the supply officer, in a tearful embrace. Some of the sailors were grinning at them, and one hidden soul gave an ironic cheer.

Whatever happened from now on, it would be done without the benefit of a filmed record, he thought.

He said, 'Tell the wheelhouse to allow for the drag. Ease to port. Hold her there!'

The big submarine would not have a smooth passage home, he thought. All the long haul up to Iceland and around through the Denmark Strait before the ice came down. Then over to Norway, following the coastline to the narrows which guarded the way into the Baltic. What would they find when they finally reached Kiel, he wondered? It would be a prime target for the Allied air forces, and all the flak in the world could not hold out against such odds. He could picture his last visit there without effort . . . He called sharply,'
Half astern starboard
!' He counted the seconds as the drag of one screw took effect. 'Slow ahead starboard!' He wondered if the fledgling one-stripers had noticed that his attention had drifted for those few vital seconds. He saw Theil peer up at the bridge; he of all people would know how simple it was to veer too close and grind into the supply-boat. Or to drag away, snapping lines and hoses and covering the sea with fuel.

He heard Froebe lecturing to the young officers. Hechler took a deep breath. Close thing.

A messenger called, 'Half completed, sir.' He had the engine-room handset pressed to one ear. 'Another thirty minutes.'

Hechler waved his hand without turning. There were no hoses immediately below the bridge, and he pictured the luckless petty officer, the one they called Mad Rudi, locked in his steel prison. It was still not clear how he had got there, or why, and communication between him and the working party outside was limited to a series of frustrating exchanges with hammer-taps on the heavy door.

Leitner's order to blow it open was absurd. The compartment was next to the forward flak switch-room, while beyond that was one of the great bunkers, still full and untapped.

The right gun, then the left in Turret Bruno lifted a few degrees, and the whole structure gave a drawn-out groan, as if steel were grating on steel. The turret remained motionless. Only one shell had found its mark, but the effects showed no sign of improving. Kroll was fuming with anxiety and impatience and had every artificer from his department hard at work to clear the training mechanism. No, even a controlled charge to open Hammer's prison would be courting disaster. Like a man tossing a lighted cigarette into a barrel of gunpowder.

Leitner had not thought fit to discuss this further setback, but had sent Theissen, his aide, to enquire about progress.

The man obviously knew nothing of his admiral's original intention. To offload his mysterious boxes into the submarine, perhaps? If so, why bring them this far?

He heard Gudegast rumbling away in the background, pointing out the behaviour of wind and sea and their effect on two tethered hulls.

He recalled Gudegast's outburst over the old AMC. It added to the man in some way, as if he had always managed to keep his real self hidden in the past.

The boatswain walked towards the forecastle, his arm gesturing to some men with heaving lines. Brezinka knew just about everything that happened in the ship. He would certainly know the truth about Hammer.

Hechler tried not to think of the girl, how she had looked when he had blurted out his true feelings for her. He knew he would never forget. He screwed up his eyes and concentrated on the taut or slackening wires, the way that the sea was breaking over the submarine's nearest saddle-tank.

He had to see her again. Was it so hopeless that it must remain just an incident, like so many thousands in wartime?

And what of Theil? Fretting, hating, nursing his despair, which was as deep as any wound. Which would last? His love for the ship, or the inner madness that would in time destroy him?

'Radar - bridge!' The speaker made the young officers peer up with alarm.

Hechler seized the handset. 'Captain speaking.'

'Aircraft at Green one-five-oh! Moving left to right, extreme range.'

A dozen pairs of powerful glasses swivelled round and a man exclaimed, 'I saw a flash, sir!'

Hechler kept his eyes on the submarine. 'Keep watching!' He dared not hand the con to one of the others.

Froebe said, 'It's gone into some clouds, sir.' He sounded interested but nothing more. 'Dead astern now. Target moving very slowly.' He swore silently. 'Lost it again.'

The speaker intoned. 'Secondary armament stand by!'

Hechler wanted to turn, but snapped, 'Cancel that order!'

Gudegast joined him and together they stared down at the supply-boat's great whale back. The dinghy had been warped alongside and he saw one of the women being guided or dragged to the open forehatch. The sooner the passengers were safely below and the hatch slammed shut, the happier the commander would be.

Gudegast said, 'Maybe it didn't see us, sir?' He sounded doubtful.

Hechler considered it. A small aircraft, over 500 miles from land - it had to be hostile. Everyone had reported it as being very slow. He felt the dampness of sweat beneath his cap. Had it been from a carrier, it would have been swift, and soon to be joined by others.

He replied, 'It saw us all right. Might be a neutral.' He shook his head, dismissing his own assessment. 'My guess is that it's a (loat-plane of some kind.' He felt Gudegast sigh and added, 'I intend to assume it's from a warship, but not a carrier.'

Gudegast gave a chuckled. 'That's something, I suppose.'

Theissen appeared on the bridge companion ladder. 'I have been sent to enquire about

Hechler said bluntly, 'An aircraft, presumed hostile. If the Admiral wishes to know why I ordered the gun crews to stand down, please tell him that I would prefer that the enemy thinks we did
not
see him.' He watched the hoses throbbing across the lively wash of trapped water. 'I intend to complete oiling.'

As the man hurried away Gudegast asked quietly, 'What then, sir?'

Hechler was picturing the immediate chart in his mind. Soon the submarine would vanish. The ocean would be a desert again.

Warn the first Arado to prepare for launching.' He waited for the big navigator to pass the order. 'My guess is that an enemy ship,' he hesitated, 'or
ships,
are close by. I'd say one hundred miles maximum. That plane will be going to its superior officer with the haste of hell. No radio, in case we pick him up - he'll be depending on surprise.'

Gudegast murmured, 'You saw all this in a few seconds, sir. I admire that very much. Gunnery patrol would have had every weapon with that range banging away in one more moment!'

Hechler smiled. 'You used to carry timber as you have often told me. I have always done this, since I was a boy. It is my life.'

'Arado ready, sir.'

Hechler said, ‘See the pilot and give him a course. I want him to find the enemy and report back to me.'