Submariner (2008) (22 page)

Might confuse him by
starting
the rush westward and going silent while turning south at the height of it?

‘Course north, sir.’

Looking at Fraser though – Smithers’ report overlapping
one from him about HE on the port quarter, movement right to left. Drawing a breath before putting the standard, vital question
but saved the trouble of doing so by a shake of the HSD’s head: no, no contact. ‘Transmitting, but –’

‘All right.’ Eyes on the deckhead: focusing on sound, translating that into visual imagery – churn of screws still right to
left, Wops intent on their asdic search, continuous probing when they’d have done better just to be listening, using their
sets as hydrophones. Even at slow grouped down on one motor
Ursa
wasn’t
entirely
silent. Not silent enough by half: even with the sea-state more or less on her side. In the stillness and quiet down here
one tended to overlook
that
factor.

So give it a go …

‘Port ten.’

Premature, maybe. Passing the order in little more than a whisper: Smithers murmuring acknowledgement, the brass wheel glittering
as he span it, Mike adding just as quietly, ‘Steer three hundred degrees.’

‘Three-oh-oh, sir …’

Danvers whispering that course to himself as he ran his parallel rule from the compass rose to
Ursa
’s pencilled track on a plotting diagram. Distances by speed and stopwatch timing, since the log was switched off as part
of the silent-running.
Ursa
running northwestward now, Italians holding on eastward still, please God. Mike querying this in a glance at Fraser, getting
what might have been a qualified affirmative.

Touch wood – edge of the chart table – Danvers shifting to give him room and a sight of the plotting diagram if he wanted
it. Mike thinking, two hours on this course now, if we can get away with it, get well out there in the open, then come round
to – oh, 220, say. After
one
hour in fact might speed up a little. Four knots, say, through the rest of the daylight hours. Two-thirty now, so six hours,
six and a half. But give it just
half
an hour, then half ahead together instead
of slow on just one. Surface about nine and be getting the box up while paddling around Marettimo. And a signal to old Shrimp
of course, soon as we’re up. He reached for a pencil and the signal-pad, roughed it out for enciphering:
To S.10 – etc. – from
Ursa
. Returning by outward route, only one torpedo remaining. ETA
– but Danvers could fill that in. Then,
German tank-carrier
Sassnitz
sunk in position
– Danvers again, co-ordinates and time –
after leaving Castellammare northbound in ballast with destroyer escort
. Then – as always – time of origin, zone time and date. He slid the pad along: ‘Fix that up, Pilot, have Lazenby bung it out
when we surface.’

‘Aye, sir …’

His slightly surprised, pleased look was reflected in other faces. The more or less casual reference to surfacing would be
one heartening ingredient, and the intention of returning right away to Malta another. He’d mentioned having only one fish
left as the reason for that unilateral decision. Well – proposal – Shrimp would stop you in your tracks if starting back immediately
raised problems. If
Swordsman
for instance might be passing through the mines at anything like the same time, or some other boat making the passage eastward.
But to stay on patrol with only one fish wouldn’t make much sense: he’d only saved that one, using three instead of four on
the
Sassnitz
: this way you weren’t completely toothless, were still capable of drawing blood if that was how things went.

He asked Fraser: ‘Well?’

‘Same, sir. Fading on green one-five-five.’

‘Fading.
Isn’t
that nice.’ General agreement, laughter masking relief – and an easing of cramped positions. Another answer he might have
given Ann that afternoon in Falkirk, he thought, would have been ‘We do our best
not
to have charges dropped on us, you see.’

Lazaretto then, a few days later, Mike facing Shrimp across the desk in his newly tunnelled-out office, half an hour after
parking
Ursa
out there in the creek between mooring-buoys. He’d surfaced and announced himself to the signal station within minutes of
the time Danvers had given as their ETA – not all
that
astounding an achievement, in point of fact, but satisfying in its way – at any rate to Danvers. And of course Shrimp had
been there to welcome them, making a somewhat hazardous transit of the floating brow before the boat was properly secured,
boarding athletically to shake Mike’s hand and congratulate him and all the rest of them, admire the now even more crowded
Jolly Roger – which Maltese in
dghaisas
and on a harbour ferry had already cheered.
Ursa
then with her casing party lined up fore and aft, White Ensign as well as Roger flying, motoring in past the head of Sliema
Creek and Fort Manoel with the mid-afternoon sun already lowering itself a little over Floriana. The Malts’ fierce enthusiasm
was always heartening: Shrimp’s approbation of course rather more so.

Even a sad Shrimp’s – as he was now.
Ultra
having failed to respond to her recall from patrol. Jimmy Ruck’s billet had been in the southern approaches to Messina; on
his third day he’d reported having sunk an Italian submarine, and since then nothing, no acknowledgement of the twice-repeated
call. Shrimp growling to Mike on their way ashore over the floating walkway, ‘One of the best.’ Stony-faced: anger in it as
much as sadness. ‘Or say
more
of the best.’

But at his desk now, eyes narrowed against the smoke of his cigarette, and swiftly totting up figures on a sheet of signal-pad.
Immaculate in his whites – Mike somewhat less so in seagoing khaki – cocking an eyebrow as he underscored his total. ‘Looks
like 63,750, Michael.’

Mike had got the same result in a spasm of instant calculation four days ago, within minutes of sinking the
Sassnitz
. Which, Shrimp had reminded them all, in the course of his visit on board, had been the only transport capable of embarking
and discharging Tiger battle-tanks that the enemy had possessed, since the mining of her sister-ship the
Ankara
; the Wops would have been sweating blood to get her out of that dockyard and back into service. He’d asked Mike a minute
ago whether he realised what
Ursa
’s score was now – ‘score’ meaning tonnage sunk, and Mike looking vague, or trying to …

‘Must be getting on for – well, crikey –’

‘It was 40,750 when you sailed. Add 14,000 for the
Alessandria
and nine for the
Sassnitz
?’

‘Be damned …’

‘Puts you top of the heap, Michael.’

Long breath. Then: ‘If Jimmy Ruck hadn’t bought it –’

‘He’d still have been marginally ahead. Yes. But – fact remains, a highly effective patrol – despite nothing coming your way
from the convoy operation.’ Stubbing out the remains of that cigarette: he was more or less chain-smoking,
Mike had noticed. ‘Except the cruiser you made a present of to your friend Melhuish, eh?’

Friend
…

Slightly over the top – in all the circumstances. But hardly explainable or contestable: so go with it, at least let it go
– if that was the impression Charles had given, which presumably it had been. He shrugged, admitted, ‘I ballsed that up, all
right. Stroke of luck you had him there as longstop.’

‘Disappointing for you at the time, obviously, but hardly a balls-up. More of a toss-up. As it was for us here, of course.
And a cracking good start for Melhuish. I’ve sent him to have a go at railway tunnels in the vicinity of Taormina, by the
way.
Unsung
like
Unbroken
being blessed with a three-inch gun with proper sights on it – let him get his eye in on
that
– and an inshore reconnaissance of Cape Molini on his way back. But – on the subject of this recent convoy operation, Michael
– you’ll have heard a few broadcasts –’

‘Very little, except –’

‘We lost nine merchantmen out of fourteen. Also a carrier –
Eagle
– and two cruisers – sunk, that is. Brought in four freighters and a tanker – the
Ohio
, who did bloody marvellously to get through – well, they
all
did. I’m not sure you’d have realised – but you must have, Gravy wasn’t exactly keeping it to himself, was he – how close
to the edge we were? We’d darn near had it – food stocks for a week or thereabouts – and thanks to the five who made it we’re
good for a month now – huh?’

‘But nine cargoes lost, as well as –’

‘– as well as an aircraft carrier and two cruisers sunk, two others torpedoed, a destroyer sunk.’ Shrimp’s look and tone were
grim.‘
Eagle
was hit by all four of one salvo of torpedoes, sank in eight minutes.
Victorious
was hit – bomb, big one – but her armoured flight-deck saved her, and
Indomitable
had
her
flight-deck so ploughed up her aircraft had to land on
Victorious
.
Furious
had flown her load of Spitfires off to join us here – twenty-nine arrived, I think out of thirty-six. The convoy had very
little air-cover left to them by the time they were changing formation for the Skerki Channel, and of course the bastards
made a meal of it. E-boats in it too then – from Pantellaria, I’d guess – cruisers
Cairo
and
Nigeria
hit by U-boats – those were the convoy’s fighter-direction ships, what’s more – and E-boats or Mas-boats got
Manchester
– she had to be sunk next day – and E-boats got another four or five of the merchantmen. Others at about that stage in highly
co-ordinated air attacks – 88s, Stukas, Savoias –’

‘The lot.’

Shrimp nodded. ‘But late in the day, from their point of view. Hence the size of that effort, Michael.
Frantic
effort, might call it. If they’d kept up the pressure back in April – or been
allowed
to –
and
invaded, used their fleet –’

‘I remember you were sure they would.’

‘Damn fools not to. As by this time they must realise. Anyway – in the Narrows, about the height of it – well, the
Ohio
got a real pasting, but kept going – and a few more were sunk. I think apart from the
Ohio
only the
Brisbane Star
survived that stage.
Kenya
was hit – torpedoed, but held on …’ Shrimp’s hands moved: ‘Only bits and pieces this, as I’ve picked it up, but it gives
you the broad picture. The
Ohio
must have come in for it again – stopped, dead-in-the-water for a while – the
Rochester Castle
set on fire and the
Dorset
stopped – so down to three then, and they had the good fortune to find some of our short-range Spits over them by midday
or thereabouts. Those being – oh, the
Port Chalmers
,
Melbourne Star
, and the burning
Rochester Castle
. The
Ohio
damn near foundering, but under way again – under tow, nursed in by the destroyers
Penn
and
Robust
and two sweepers. And the
Brisbane Star
got in on her own a few hours later. Just those five, out of your fourteen starters.’

‘Without any surface-ship intervention at all, all that.’

‘None. Consequently this flotilla didn’t get a look in. Except through just
being
here, which may have been something of a deterrent. I had nine boats out there, and not a sausage – except that cruiser.
Don’t like to risk their own ships if they can help it, do they. Plain fact though, Michael, getting those five in has saved
us. If they hadn’t made it we’d have been done for, starved into surrender of the island, lost our base – and thanks to them
we haven’t. All right, there’ll have to be another convoy pretty soon; not out of the woods yet, only seeing daylight through
the trees – at long last.’

‘“Pedestal”’s rated a success, meanwhile.’

‘As it bloody well
should
be. Just
some
of ’em getting through makes it so. Huge cost, sure – that’s simply to be expected, accepted. As it always has been, if you
think about it.’ Glancing at his watch, the second time in a minute. Mike put in, ‘Changing the subject slightly, if I may
–’

‘Long as it’s quick. I’ve two boats sailing this evening. Dean’s and Grogan’s.’ Pushing his chair back, Mike asking as he
followed suit, ‘Torpedo situation, sir – only wondering how that is now.’

‘Better than it was, thank God. Mark VIIIs, too. Yes, that
is
looking better. During “Pedestal” we had no less than three deliveries –
Otus
,
Rorqual
and
Clyde
. Torpedoes, ammunition and high octane in their ballast tanks. One thing “Pedestal” confirmed, incidentally, was aviation
spirit
can’t
be brought through in surface ships.
Ohio
only made it by the skin of her teeth, and she’s scrap-iron now. But as for
Ursa
’s future now, Michael – barring emergencies you can expect a week or ten days’ rest. Only had about ten minutes in last time,
didn’t you. Then
probably
– for your private info at this stage – a special operation, which to be frank I don’t much care for, stunt dreamt up by
the Staff in Alex. I’m not what you’d call consulted, only told to lay it on.’ One hand on the door,
but holding it shut while adding quietly, ‘Commando jaunt. Not our own gang either, the intention’s to fly in a bunch from
Ismailia. As usual, a bugger’s rush – on the face of it with good reason, but – look, we’ll talk tomorrow. More than just
that to talk about, as it happens.’

Heading for the wardroom, to pick up whatever mail there might be, with this lingering image of old Shrimp mastering a sadness
to which by this time he was no stranger. He’d said to Mike once, in the course of an evening about half a year ago that had
had something in common with a wake, ‘Times like these, mine’s a foul job. Best chaps ever left the womb – and all of us knowing
the bloody odds …’ Shake of the head – dog coming out of water, shaking it off – ‘Had one too many, Michael, getting bloody
maudlin …’ But thinking also about this Special Op – landing commandos, and not the 10th Flotilla’s, Shrimp’s private army
of one officer and however many other ranks it consisted of now, who most of the time were kept kicking their heels with damn-all
to do except help in reconstruction, bomb damage etc., and naturally didn’t look with much favour on others being sent in
to do jobs
they
were here for. Which had happened a few times because there was a commando training establishment at Ismailia – down-Canal
from Port Said, and first right – turning out canoeists and other cut-throats briefed in the latest tactics and equipment;
Staff planners liked to employ them, rather than the old hands one had here.