Killing Ground (43 page)

He heard the murmur of commands over the intercom and guessed that Finlay was preparing his main armament. Just in case.

“Target seems to have stopped, sir.”

Howard looked at the radar again. Nothing. To the bridge at large he said, “He's either shamming or damaged.” He took the intercom from Rooke and spoke briefly to the other captains. “I'm going in. Widen your sweep for number two.” He put it down and blinked as a shaft of watery light clouded the caked salt on the glass screen. “Captain Vickers would love this!”

He heard the snap of clips, as the yeoman bent the black flag on to the halliards.

“Come back to me, Number One.” He felt the deck shivering. Like a beast smelling something injured. “Make to Admiralty, repeated C-in-C Western Approaches.
Am in firm contact with
submarine in position whatever …
” He saw Rooke scribbling on a signal pad.
“Am attacking.”

A great shadow passed overhead, the engines' roar seeming to reach them long afterwards. If the second U-Boat was still hanging about it was unlikely it would risk coming to periscope depth. It was a great comfort. Treherne was back, his eyes on the compass as
Gladiator
followed Howard's instructions.

“Steady on zero-five-zero, sir.”

“Asdic—Bridge. Target stationary, sir. Same bearing.”

Howard snapped, “He's going to fire blind.” He leaned forward. “Full ahead together! Stand by depth-charges and mortars!”

Up, forward, and down deep, into each rearing trough, so that the ship shook violently from truck to keel as if she were ploughing over sandbars.

“Continuous echo, sir!”

Seconds later the sea erupted astern and on either beam, and torrents of water thundered down again even as
Gladiator
made a sweeping turn to loose off her Squid mortars. More violent explosions which cracked against the bilges like shellfire. Howard bent over the compass again.
“Second attack!”

Bizley said, “Depth-charge party not yet reported, sir.”

Even amidst this uncertainty and danger Howard wondered why Bizley had bothered to mention it. They had not yet completed their turn, and Ayres had the best team anyone could ask for. It was probably to suggest that the young sub-lieutenant did not have the skill Bizley himself had displayed when he had been in charge down aft.

Howard put his eye to the ticking compass and gritted his teeth.
I must be getting like Number One where Bizley's concerned!

“Steady on two-two-oh, sir!”

“Very well. Half ahead together.” He glanced through the screen in time to see
Belleisle
's murky outline heading away, or so it appeared, as they lined up on the new course.

He saw Treherne glance at him. “What is it, Number One?”

Treherne coughed. “I thought I heard you say
softly, softly?
” Howard smiled. “Did I?” He tensed as the Asdic reported that the target was on the move again but still at reduced speed.

“Make to
Blackwall!
Attack!”

The other destroyer was thrusting over the waves, smoke trailing from her twin funnels as her revolutions mounted.

Her depth-charges seemed muffled, but Howard saw the sea churned up into tall pillars, as once again the surface seethed with the impact of the explosions.

“Stand by, Guns!”

“Asdic—Bridge. Bad interference—target's probably surfacing!”

“A- and B-guns, semi-armour-piercing, load, load, load!”

Treherne was on tip-toe even though he was the tallest man in the bridge. “Where
is
the bastard?”

The aircraft, a twin-engined Hudson bomber, roared throatily above the masthead, waggling its wings, glad to be making it a combined operation.

“U-Boat surfacing! Starboard bow!”

Howard flung up his glasses as the submarine's raked stem began to rise above the crests. “Oh no, you bloody don't!” He reached for the handset.
“Open fire!”

The two forward guns recoiled instantly, one shell exploding directly alongside the hull, the other throwing up a sheet of spray far abeam.

“Layer on! Trainer on!
Shoot!”

The U-Boat had floundered to the surface and through his glasses Howard could see the deep scars on the conning-tower, some broken plates where a depth-charge had made its mark.

Treherne yelled,
“Got him!”

Howard settled his glasses on the boat's conning-tower and felt a chill run through him. The grinning shark emblem in its horned helmet seemed to be staring directly at him. Almost to himself he said, “That's Otto Schneider's boat, Gordon. My God, we've done for one of their aces!”

Two more shells exploded against the slime-covered hull, and it gave a violent lurch and began to settle down by the bows, the cigar-shaped stern section rising from the sea to reveal the motionless screws. Nobody had appeared on the conning-tower, and when the sea reached the foot of the narrow structure which had been witness to so many sinkings, Howard saw the long columns of trophies, the one at the end being that of a corvette. Somehow he knew it was Marrack's.

He heard Treherne say thickly, “That was the bastard who machine-gunned the lifeboats. I'd forgotten it. One of the survivors told me about the shark on the conning-tower. Sorry, sir, I just—forgot.”

“You were busy at the time.” Howard tested his own reactions but he felt neither elation nor pity. There was smoke now, probably from an electrical fire deep inside the hull. From a deadly weapon, something feared and hated, it had become a rigid coffin for Schneider and all his men.

Oily bubbles, obscene and horrific, surrounded the angled hull. The stern rose higher and higher, until it seemed to stand upright like some kind of marker, a memorial perhaps to all those this thing had killed and maimed.

Howard leaned over the voicepipe.
“Stop engines!”
He sensed the sudden confusion as the others dragged their eyes from the dying U-Boat to stare at him.

Treherne knew; or thought he did. “Sir?”

The Hudson bomber was streaking back along its original course, a signal lamp blinking so rapidly even the yeoman could barely read it.

“Torpedo approaching to starboard!”

The U-Boat was about to make the final dive when the torpedo struck it and blasted the hull into great fragments, some of which were hurled high into the air by the force of the explosion.

Treherne watched the spreading arena of oil, the bubbles and the drifting pall of smoke. Far away he heard the old Hudson dropping her own charges where the other U-Boat must have
been, while
Belleisle
increased speed to join in the search.

“You knew, didn't you, sir? Like that other time?”

Howard looked at him, suddenly drained when before he had felt nothing but the driving urge to find and kill the enemy.

“It was too far away. So it
had
to be an acoustic torpedo. I stopped our engines so it had nothing to home on to. Schneider's boat was the nearest thing.” He shrugged and even that made his shoulders ache. “Someone up there likes us quite a lot, Number One.” He turned as the
Blackwall
split the morning apart with her shrill whistle. “Slow ahead together. Signal the others to take station as before.”

Treherne gripped his hand. “I'd never have believed it if anyone had told me!”

Howard watched Rooke laying off a new course, his fingers deftly working with ruler and pencil, but his mind still ringing to that last moment of triumph. He had probably not even thought of how near they had all been to joining Schneider's coffin on the bottom.

Schneider had been one of a few U-Boat commanders who had risen above their secret, faceless existence. Theirs was a dangerous war, and many more would pay with their lives for trying to reach just one target too many. But Schneider's reputation had been more than that of courage and success. It had created fear. He had even put down neutral ships, when there had been any neutrals left in this war, and was said to be dedicated, as if it was some private mission.

Howard walked to the rear of the bridge and stared down at the narrow shining deck, where Ayres and his men were all laughing and slapping each other on the back while they reloaded their racks. As well they might, he thought with sudden pride. Schoolboys and tradesmen against one of Hitler's crack commanders.

Treherne watched him light his pipe, saw the way his fingers were quite firm as he tamped down the tobacco and watched the smoke streaming over the bridge ladder.

“Fall out action stations, Number One. Our old Hudson will be sniffing around until it's relieved … I don't think even that bloody kraut will risk another attack.”

“You think it was the same one that almost got us before, don't you, sir?”

“Maybe.” He rubbed his eyes. “See if you can rustle up some sandwiches, will you?”

He thought of Treherne's question and knew he had deliberately avoided it. Such things did not happen in wartime. He thought suddenly of Marrack and his little ship.

He said quietly, “It was just for you,
Number One.”

In spite of all the buzzes and informed sources, HM Destroyer
Gladiator
did not return to Liverpool in time for Christmas; nor did she remain in Gladstone Dock long enough to welcome the New Year. But not to celebrate their brief return and all they had achieved was out of the question, so a wardroom party was hastily arranged to fall somewhere in between.

Howard had no idea just how many people had been invited, nor did he expect
Gladiator's
wardroom to be able to cope. A mass of figures, some from the other ships in the group, friends from Western Approaches HQ, and many more who had worked on their behalf in the bitter months and years of the same endless battle.

The boss did not come himself although he had sent for Howard personally to congratulate him on his success as Vickers's second-in-command, and particularly his attack on Schneider's U-Boat and its destruction. Max Horton made no secret of the fact that it was a perfect example of his own strategy, the true cooperation between air and sea forces, something which had once been virtually unknown. Howard had learned that the salvage tug had finally reached her objective and, with air cover from the carrier
Seeker,
had got the big oil tanker safely into harbour.

Howard pushed his way through the throng, shaking hands, seeing faces he knew well, others he knew not at all. Captain
Vickers towered above everybody, and was seen to place each empty glass on the overhead vent trunking. It was to be hoped that Vallance took them down before the ship left harbour again.

Then at long last he saw Celia by the door, Ayres pointing towards him to show her the way.

She gasped, “Sorry I'm late. Last minute flap.” She removed her hat and shook out her curls. “What a scrum! ‘Auntie' will be along later!” She took a glass from a messman's tray and looked at him, her eyes very green. For a few seconds the place was empty but for them, the din around the wardroom no more of an intrusion than the normal sounds of the sea.

She said, “You look wonderful. I'm selfish—I want you to myself.” She glanced at the nearest guests. “They like you a lot, David. Auntie's chaps think you're the greatest!” She laughed and held his arm. “When your signal arrived I just sat there and prayed. I'm so
proud
of you. Of everything about you.” She touched the two ribbons on his jacket. “I love you so much it hurts!”

She saw Treherne pushing through the crowd with a pretty-looking girl in a brightly coloured dress.

Howard waved to them. “That's Joyce. They're getting spliced quite soon.”

“Oh, David.” She dropped her eyes. “I went down to Hampshire while you were away—it was official but I made a detour to see your—” She hesitated, then faced him again. “Our house. Your friend Mister Mills is doing a fine job with the builders.” He felt her grip tighten on his arm as she whispered against his ear, “We shall make love there!”

He led her across the wardroom until they had reached Vickers.

“Here she is, sir.”

Vickers swooped down and kissed her cheek. “Lucky devil, David!”

He glanced at Howard's DSO ribbon and said, “I gather that the official presentation is to be made in the New Year, by HM
the K no less.”

The girl said, “Will you take me, David?”

“Of course he will!” Vickers signalled to Vallance with a glass, mostly to avoid coming eye-to-eye with Lieutenant Bizley. What a bloody difference, he thought. He had been discussing Bizley earlier with his friend, the assistant to the chief of staff. It would be interesting to hear his views when he arrived for the party and saw the lieutenant for himself. Bizley was looking a bit the worse for wear, he thought. His face was red and shining, and Vickers guessed he had been drinking more than he should.

Captain Naish had told him the bones of the Special Branch report on the matter. They had run the other survivor from Bizley's motor gunboat to earth; he had been given a Mention-in-Despatches for his part in the affair. Just as Vickers had suggested when it had first been raised, the man had stuck to his guns, and had backed up Bizley's own account of the sinking, and the deaths of her small company. But he had made one thing very clear. He had been obeying Bizley's orders, and had been too busy lowering the float to see what had happened on the bridge. “So there's an end to the bloody matter, Ernle. I'm only sorry it took so long!”

Naish had stared at him with amazement when he had retorted, “Why not ask Bizley himself? I really don't see why we have to build a battleship to sink a ruddy dinghy!”

Vickers said abruptly, “Maybe Captain Naish can't come, David. Would you like to say your piece before all your guests are awash? A bit of grub might do wonders then!”