Roses of Winter (29 page)

The appalling news destroyed whatever control Ida had been able to muster. She collapsed into tears.

Mary went to comfort Ida. “Jimmie, go see if yer faither has left for his work yet. If he has, go and get him and bring him hame.” She saw him look at his mother. “Ah’ll look efter her. Hurry.”
 

Jimmie hurried upstairs but found his house empty. He rushed down the stairs to the mouth of the close and looked both ways. Jimmie spotted his father waiting at the stop for a tramcar. In the same glance he saw the tram whistling up the street. He ran up to the stop just as his father was moving forward to board the car.

Hughie Gow turned when he heard his son call out. Jimmie saw his father’s expression of surprise turn to shock. He drew him aside and told him the news. Hughie’s face sagged and Jimmie was heartsick to see how old and beaten he looked in that instant.

“Does yer mother know?”

Jimmie nodded. “Ah jist this minute telt her. She’s at Mrs. Burns’ hoose. Ah wis coming oot tae find ye when ah saw ye getting on the tramcar.”
 

They hurried back to the close and ran up the stairs. Mary’s door was ajar, left open in Jimmie’s rush to find his father. They went in and found the two women sitting by the fire.

Ida was quiet now, staring at the fire and drinking tea. Seeing Hughie, Mary got up and he went to sit beside his wife. He gently took the tea from her and placed it by the fender before taking her in his arms. Mary motioned to Jimmie to leave them alone. After a few minutes they came out.

“Ah’m going tae take her tae oor hoose, Mary. Thank ye for yer kindness.”

“Ach, it’s the least ah could dae after aw these years.”

“Even so, it was good o’ you, he said.”

“Aye well, ah’ll be up later tae see how she is.”

The bombers came again that night. When the sirens sounded the Gows came down to sit through the raid with Mary and her family. Throughout that day, filled as it had been with their personal tragedy, news had come back to them of the carnage in Clydebank. The wail of the sirens took on a new and more sinister meaning. Before the night of March 13
^th
the warnings had been more of an annoyance and they had become complacent. Now, although they were a long way from the shipyards, they knew that the factories in Maryhill were likely targets. They could not expect to remain unscathed.
 

Mary had put her foot down when Ellen had come home from work and given signs she was planning to go out. The temporary respite to her worries about Ellen’s nightly whereabouts that she had enjoyed after Jim’s departure had come to an end. “You sit doon there, and don’t move yer arse off that chair,” Mary had insisted, her nerves sorely frayed by the events of the day. Ellen, shocked by her mother’s vehement command, sat down without any retort.
   

Jimmie sat staring into the fire. After bringing the news of Andy’s death to his parents he had gone in search of Ruby. Then he had sought out Pearl. She sat by him on the floor, resting her chin on his knee.
 
From time to time she would look up anxiously at Jimmie before settling back to join him in watching the flames dancing over the coal. Mary passed the time by making toast for them, spearing it on the long wire fork that she kept for this. She built a pile, carefully watching each slice of bread until it turned a golden brown.

In the skies overhead a German pilot looked down on the city trying to get his bearings. He was thankful for the bright moon just starting to wane but so close to full that it illuminated the city below like a searchlight. Ahead rose the glare of new fires in Clydebank. Below his aircraft slipped the silent neighborhood of Maryhill. A large cylindrical object dropped away. Clear of the aircraft it fell like a stone until at a pre-determined height its parachute opened with a loud crack. Its descent slowed now, the aerial mine drifted down over Maryhill until its existence ended in the midst of a huge detonation. Crushed by the blast the nearby row of tenements slid into rubble.
 

Chapter 9

Under Attack

In Arctic Waters, 1942

“Well it won’t be long now,” the captain predicted, watching the aircraft circle the convoy. With no hope of dark skies in these waters, he knew that each ship would be an easy target for planes and U-boats. There would be little sleep and plenty to keep their attention until they reached port, if they managed to survive.
 

Llewelyn would not have been happy to know that
Oberleutnant
Max-Martin Teichert, commander of
U-456
, was watching the convoy. His arms draped over the bars of the periscope, he swung its cross hairs across the convoy, counting the ships. Teichert abruptly stopped his sweep. A destroyer, bow on, raced towards his position. He screamed the order to dive and lowered the scope.
      

      
Hugh swung around at the sound of explosions. “Looks like
Arran
attacking, Captain. She must have picked up something.”

      
“Keep your eyes peeled, Hugh,” Tierney said. “Tell the lookouts to stay sharp. We can expect trouble at any moment.”

      
Hugh nodded and left the bridge. The captain picked up his binoculars and watched
HMS
Arran
come about for another attack.

      
“Aircraft bearing 165 degrees,” screamed the starboard bridge lookout.

      
Llewelyn swung his glasses around. Five, no six, dots he counted, growing steadily larger. They were heading for the right flank of the convoy. Hugh hurried back on the bridge to the shrill sound of the alarm bells.
 

The aircraft came on steadily, low over a gray sea. The
Izmir’s
Bofors gun and Oerlikons opened up on the attackers. Any ship in the convoy that had armament and could bring it to bear was firing. A Heinkel dropped its torpedo. Hugh watched it pass just yards in front of the
Izmir.
 
He raced to the other side of the bridge to follow its progress. The torpedo ploughed into a large freighter. Hugh was certain he heard its impact on the ship’s hull a second before it exploded.

An attacking plane swung within range of the
Izmir’s
gunners. Cannon fire raked the deck. A gunner flew off the midship gun mounting. Hugh and the captain ducked. Shells peppered the bridge. They heard the wheelhouse glass shatter. A shell from the Bofors gun struck the plane’s port wing. The gunners yelled in triumph.
 

The injured ship slowed to a dead stop. The
Izmir
turned towards the stricken vessel. “Bring us in closer, Hugh,” ordered the captain.

“Sir, I just want to remind you that she’s carrying ammunition.”

“I’m well aware of that, Mr. Leonard,” the captain replied. “We need to help those men."

“Aye, sir.” Men ran along the deck of the sinking freighter seeking an escape from the fires. Hugh ordered the rescue launch away. Donald was already on board and had the engine started. As the launch left the
Izmir
, it was rocked by a huge detonation. The burning ship disappeared in a dark, roiling cloud of fire and smoke.

Debris rained down. A loud, ringing crash made Hugh and the captain start. They looked around to see a smoking, misshapen hunk of metal sitting on the deck a few feet from where they stood. They looked at each other. The captain raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
 

Allan Ballantyne steered the launch towards the place where the ship had been only moments before. He had matured quickly in his role as rescue officer, albeit with the expert guidance of the experienced crews Hugh and the captain had provided. Allan had come to respect and rely on their judgment without reservation.
 
His drive to succeed and satisfy Llewelyn’s expectations had in some measure helped him to deal with the anxiety provoked by the hazards of the voyage.
 

They brought the launch through the floating debris, looking for survivors. There was little hope of finding many alive.

“Look there,” cried Davy Jones, a seaman who had taken a lot of kidding about his name over the years. Allan steered in the direction of his outstretched arm.
 
He slowed the boat beside a man who stared back uncomprehendingly. Davy grabbed hold of his life jacket. The men hauled the dazed survivor into the boat. Despite a careful search, they found only five men. Two appeared too badly injured to live for long.

When the launch came alongside the
Izmir
, willing hands brought the survivors aboard. The two most seriously wounded were immediately brought
 
below. Peter McNicol, ship’s surgeon, was standing by in the operating theater. Watching from the bridge, the captain shook his head. Five men rescued from a ship’s company of almost sixty.
 
And two of them were almost certain to die in the next few hours. He had little time to reflect, however.

“Aircraft bearing 160 degrees!”

Llewelyn looked to starboard.

“Get the launch aboard on the double and get us moving,” he ordered.
 

The attacking group was larger this time, at least twenty aircraft. The attackers were spread out along the starboard flank of the convoy. Coming in low and fast, they made difficult targets. The
Izmir’s
guns opened up as soon as the planes came into range. A Heinkel dropped its torpedo and swung away. Shells ripped into the plane. Flames and smoke blossomed from its port engine.

The plane shuddered and lost altitude. The starboard gunners kept up their fire until the plane roared overhead out of reach of their weapons. It barely cleared the masthead. Instinct made Hugh and the captain duck. The
Izmir’s
port side gunners were waiting. They opened up as soon as they could train their sights on the stricken Heinkel. More shells hit its wing and fuselage. Its port wing dipped sharply. The aircraft turned on its back and crashed into the sea. Hugh was surprised to hear a roar of triumph erupt from Llewelyn.

For Hugh, the events of that and other attacks on the convoy would remain a confused and chaotic memory. While he would clearly remember particular incidents like the end of the ammunition ship, he would be unable to string them together into a coherent story. Everything happened so quickly; there was barely time to react. In action, he was too busy, his mind too engaged, to feel scared. It was later, when he had time to think, that he found his body shaking.

On
HMS
Arran
they had not allowed the air attack to distract them from their efforts to find and destroy the U-boat. So critical was the need to destroy each of these silent killers that, once in contact, escorts would harry them without mercy for hours.

“Strong contact bearing 340 degrees,” the ASDIC operator called out. He turned his wheel from right to left slightly, trying to establish whether the underwater object was moving and in what direction. “Target turning right, speed four knots,” he reported.
 

On the bridge, Commander Stevens swore softly. “She’s heading under the convoy, Number One,” he growled in frustration. “They’re damaged, I’m pretty certain of that. They’ll try to slink away and lose us in the ship noise.”

After their last depth charge run, a lookout had reported seeing oil on the sea. As if to confirm the Commander’s fears, the ASDIC operator reported, “Lost contact, Sir.”

Stevens sighed. “Very well, try to reestablish contact.” He ordered the helmsman to bring the
Arran
around the rear of the convoy, to cut off the possibility of escape in that direction. “Send to all escorts, ‘Be on look out for enemy U-boat.’
 
Add its estimated position - get that off right away.”

On the
Izmir
, a lull in the air attack brought a brief respite. Incredibly, no ship had been hit. The captain’s theory was that the Germans had been thrown off their stride by the convoy’s fierce resistance. He had seen several planes break off their attack and flee. The few that had loosed their torpedoes had failed to strike a target.

Hugh was looking forward when he saw a gunner on the port midship gun mounting point at the sea. A long gray hull emerged from the waves. It hung at a sharp angle before settling. Hugh saw men emerge and run towards the submarine’s deck gun. The
Izmir’s
gun crews failed to react, mesmerized by their first close look at a German U-boat. The submarine’s deck gun was manned and beginning to swing in their direction.

“What the bloody hell are you waiting for,” Hugh screamed. “OPEN FIRE.”

The 20 mm cannons opened up, raking the U-boat’s deck with murderous effect. Hugh watched the shells destroy the German gun crew. He felt sickened by the carnage. The
Izmir’s
heavier armament opened up. Shells struck the conning tower and hull. More men emerged on deck, intent on escaping the heavily damaged submarine. One man poised to leap overboard disappeared in an explosion. His legs and upper body traced separate bloody arcs to splash into the waves.

Hugh felt great pity for these men. No matter that they were enemy who had only recently been intent on his destruction. They were being killed in such a cruel manner. He wanted the slaughter to stop, to wake and find that it was all just a hellish nightmare.