The Collectors Book Five (The Collectors Series 5) (6 page)

              “The Chief and his stokers are having a shower. Can we let them have ten-minutes?”

              Klinger looked at him. “If this was a destroyer I’d scream abuse at the mere suggestion, but it’s not and I can bend the rules.” Tiredness he knew was another of his enemies. It forced good men to make stupid mistakes. We sail in two hours.”

              “Thank you, sir.”

              As Bruno left the cabin, a German Brigadier General, his eyes fatigued and his right arm in a sling, strutted into the cabin. “Are you the captain of this vessel?”

              Surprised, Klinger stood. “I am, sir.”

              “Sit. The islanders know the war is over. My troops are disillusioned, as am I. How many of my men can you take?”

              “I could take five hundred but have barely enough provisions for my small crew. This vessel is on a mission that has every chance of failure. You and your men are better staying where they are and when the British arrive, surrender.” 

              “A hospital ship with no crew and little food?”

              Klinger leaned back in his chair. “It’s not what you think. I’m ordered to make the passage to Germany. Those in command believe if this old boat appears to be a hospital ship there’s a chance.”

              “And what do you believe, Captain?”

              “What I believe is of no consequence. Like you, General, I do as I’m ordered and want to see my family.”

              The general let his eyes wander around the sparse cabin. “You are correct. Better to surrender than drown.”

              Klinger walked with him back out and into the sunlight, his mind wondering if he should sail and continue the war or give up. He saluted as the general left.

              “Good luck, Captain. You will need it and pray it’s dark when you sail close to Malta.”

              Klinger saw Bruno wiping the sweat from his face, waiting. “Problems?”

              “No, sir. The Chief tells me he’s ready.”

              “Get the crew and the SS soldiers into the officers’ mess. I want to talk to them.”

              Klinger entered the mess where his crew of fifteen and the soldiers waited. He sensed their unease. “Make yourselves comfortable and relax. I need your help. The war is going badly for the Fatherland and my orders are to take this vessel and its cargo to any port in Germany. On the island, the army are waiting for the British to arrive and they will surrender. You may wonder what’s the point in continuing this voyage when we can remain safe and in harbour. I can see the sense in staying. We can relax, become prisoners of war and at some time in the future go home. It’s against any regulation I know of but I leave the decision to you. If it is a draw I’ll cast the deciding vote.” He glanced at the men’s faces.

              Bruno took charge. “Those for staying, hands in the air.”

              Not one hand moved.

              “I’d better get you home,” said Klinger.

              One by one, the men left the room. Each smiled and nodded to Klinger.

              “Let’s go, Bruno. It’s time.”

***

Klinger tossed his cap into a corner of the bridge and stepped out onto the port bridge wing.

              “Helmsman. Ring on stand-by.”

              He turned to Bruno. “Cast off forward.”

              “All clear forward, sir.”

              “Slow ahead port. Slow astern starboard. Rudder amidships. Let go aft.”

              “All clear aft, sir.”

              Klinger peered forward and aft. “Slow ahead starboard. Rudder fifteen degrees to starboard.”

              He watched as the aged vessel turned towards the open sea. “Wheel amidships. Half ahead both. Steer two- seven-zero.”

             
Gradisca
nosed her way through the unmanned submarine boom that stretched from one side of the bay to the other, into the open sea.

              The sun was getting low as he raised his binoculars and scanned the sea to port and starboard. It appeared empty, his ship the lone resident of the infinite expanse of sea. “Bruno have one of the men bring me a cup of coffee and then get some sleep. Relieve me at midnight.”

              “Yes, sir.”

              “Helmsman. Keep your eyes open and your course straight.”

              Sunset arrived, followed by the dark, and the Royal Navy patrolled elsewhere.

***

At dawn, Klinger strolled onto the bridge and swung his binoculars across the sharp horizon. He grinned after finding it clear. “The war’s elsewhere, well at least for now.”

              “I’ll believe in miracles when we dock in Hamburg,” said Bruno.

              “In time this war will find us.”

              “If you say so, sir. Permission to leave the bridge.”

              “I’ll have a coffee and toast,” said Klinger.

              “On its way, sir.”

              As the day progressed, watches changed and men grabbed sleep. At any other time a passage through the Mediterranean in October might have been welcomed. The weather was perfect and they had not sighted another vessel. The elderly ship steamed at eight and a half knots into another night across the calm sea leaving a straight wake.

              The dawn arrived as Klinger and Bruno repeated the same words as they had the morning before.

              Klinger scanned the sea praying it remained empty and safe. “Not a vessel in sight.”

              “Long may it stay that way, sir.”

              “What the...” But the blip on the horizon vanished. “I saw something. I know I did.”

              “On the horizon. Smoke. Red, one zero, sir,” the helmsman shouted.

              Klinger searched the position. “Shit.” One puff of smoke. A ship directly ahead on the same course. “Bruno, have your breakfast but make sure the army readies those guns for action and make my coffee strong.”

              Klinger scrutinized the sea ahead, left and right in a constant motion. On each occasion he stopped it was to place a dead reckoning position on the chart. Hour after hour and the sea appeared to have been swept clean.

              “Ship. Green, four- five, sir.”

              Klinger examined the vessel and flipped the pages of his recognition book to confirm. “Destroyer CA class. More guns than a porcupine has needles and they never operate alone.”

              “Ship. Red, two- zero, sir. Lead ship is flashing.”

              Klinger grabbed the wheel. “Go. Wake the First Mate.”

              The lead ship constantly signalled by flashing light as Klinger steered a straight course.

              “Captain,” said Bruno.

              The helmsman took the wheel.

              Klinger ran to the bridge wing and flashed, ‘Wait. Wait. Wait.’ When he was ready, he signalled. ‘SS
Gradisca
on passage for Algiers.”

                            “Bruno, fall aft with the soldiers and be ready to open fire on my command.”

              “I gather we go down fighting,” said Bruno.

              “We might win,” said Klinger. He gave a wild laugh.

              A flash from the destroyer’s forward 4.5 inch gun. The shell fell short. A waterspout shot up, its spray drenching the bow.

              He contacted the engine room. “Chief.”

              “I hear you, sir.”

              “We’ve reached the end of the road. Open the throttles wide and get out of there and don’t bother to close the hatches.”

              The decks vibrated as the speed increased.

              The signal lamp on the destroyer flashed. “Stop and stand by to receive boarding party.”

              “Helmsman, steer towards the first destroyer. They won’t expect that.” He wandered onto the port bridge wing and waved to Bruno.

              The white painted structure collapsed and one gun fired. A brilliant flash lit up the side of the destroyer. The second shot found the bridge.

              The vessel veered away to port as its aft guns fired and straddled
Gradisca
. The next salvo struck like a giant hammer. The bridge superstructure buckled sending lethal splinters through the air.

              “Zig zag,” said Klinger as two more shells burst near. “Sixty seconds and change. Why make it easy?”

              The second destroyer fired each of its four guns. Shells exploded, damaging more of the superstructure.

              “Torpedoes, sir.”

              “Hard to port.”

              “Rudder not responding, sir.”

              Klinger lifted the lid on a steel box secured to the front of the bridge, and pressed the button. Four explosions blasted through the hull, shredding metal. The sea flooded the holds pressurising the air under the hatch covers until they burst. Two torpedoes added to the destruction. He flashed a message to the destroyer. ‘I am abandoning ship.’

              “Into the boat, helmsman.” He sounded the ship’s steam whistle six times before retreating to his cabin. From his desk he withdrew a bottle of Schnapps, filled a glass, sat in his chair and downed it in one gulp.             

              With the glass refilled, he returned to the bridge. Waves rolled across the forward deck.

              “Captain,” shouted Bruno. “We’re waiting.”

              Klinger turned. “I have my orders and cannot leave. Good luck. The British will look after you, even if you did singe their paintwork.”

              The ship shuddered.

              “Give my love to Hamburg. Now go before you join me.”

              Bruno hesitated, ran to his captain and hugged him.

              “Good bye, sir.” He turned and fled to the lifeboat.

              An intense pain surged through his left shoulder, blood drained down his arm.

              In ten minutes, the sea covered the decks from forward to aft. He stepped out and with his good arm waved, as the lifeboat with his crew drew away towards the waiting destroyer.

             
Gradisca
listed to port. Klinger leant against the bridge bulkhead and sipped his drink.

              On the lifeboat, Bruno stared as she rolled into the sea and disappeared beneath average swells in a flurry of foam.

              Those in the lifeboat waited for one of the destroyers to drag them alongside a scrabbling net.

              “Your war is over,” shouted a sailor as he helped Bruno inboard.

              He placed his right hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’ll be pleased when this stupid war ends. Take me to your captain.”

              The pale-faced sub-lieutenant standing close said, “Sir, this man is an officer and has asked to see the boss.”

              “Sir,” said the sub, “My German is poor.” He beckoned. “Come, follow me.”

              “My English has a Manchester twang,” said Bruno. “Before this damned war, I studied at the university for five years.”

Chapter Eigh
t

November 15
th
1944

Aware food would be difficult to find, Talos Dallaras placed a fishing line and spare hooks into the pouch on the front of his rucksack. Three candles along with half a box of matches in a sealed tin in another pouch. A round tin with a tight top contained his firelighters, cotton strips soaked in olive oil. To the top, he secured an oiled canvas sheet and one coarse blanket. Fastened to his leather belt, a neat canvas pouch containing an old map and compass, two water canisters and a sharp bayonet. With no car Talos and Kiki, his wife, carried one rucksack apiece, as they began their journey from their village to Thessalonica.