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Authors: Steven Wilson

BOOK: Between The Hunters And The Hunted
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“It seems that your Admiral Raeder,” she said, “is closer to . . . ‘retirement' than I anticipated.” She shook her head and repeated tsk, tsk, tsk, as if she were truly sorry to be the bearer of such news. “How difficult it must be to command at times such as these. There are so many casualties in war. And not all on the battlefield.”
Raeder's probable fate was apparent to Mahlberg and was well known in the service. The surface fleet had yet to demonstrate that they could meet and defeat the British.
Hood
had been their one great triumph but that at the cost of the supposedly invincible
Bismarck
.
“Doenitz,” she continued, “he is a rather short man, isn't he? I find short men distasteful. They appear always to be staring at my breasts and yet trying to appear as if they aren't. Goebbel's excepted of course. He is only interested in his wife's breasts.” She changed subjects. “Doenitz and the efforts of his U-boats are well received.”
“Vice Admiral Doenitz is a very capable man,” Mahlberg said. “I would not be surprised if he were to succeed Grand Admiral Raeder at the appropriate time.”
“But he is short,” Ingrid said. She downed the contents of the tumbler and winced. “Disgusting. Your name continues to be mentioned as a potential replacement for Admiral Raeder.” She examined the remnants of the glass and made a face. “Should circumstances require his retirement.”
“I am sure that the Fuehrer will choose the ideal candidate.”
She offered Mahlberg a look of mild disbelief. “Spoken like a loyal officer. Unfortunately loyalty is not the only ingredient needed to advance. Well, you have loyalty. That is in our favor.”
“Our favor?”
Ingrid ignored his comment. “That does not change the situation, however. Positions must be cultivated, nourished. You, Kapitan zur See Mahlberg, are marked for high command,” she said. She stood and moved closer to him. “I told you that I can help you. You need my help, in fact.”
He could smell her expensive perfume and he noticed that the top buttons of her blouse were unbuttoned, exposing the deep valley of her breasts. She wanted to advance at his side, silently, steadily, until she joined the sacred inner circle of Nazi officialdom. She would do it too, if she demanded it as her due. She would not stop until she was truly satisfied. He knew that—he had seen it firsthand. If she wasn't satisfied after making love with Mahlberg she would ring up one of her girlfriends to join in their unrestrained lovemaking. A bitch in heat, his wife had said of her, looking at him as if she knew every detail about his affair with Ingrid May. She probably did—Kriegsmarine wives were horrible gossips.
She was that, Mahlberg had thought as his wife eyed him accusingly, and dangerous as well.
Need. The word stuck in his mind.
Do I “need” you?
“You think that I cannot achieve what is rightfully mine on my own?”
She smiled. “Eventually, perhaps. But why postpone triumph? Especially since it need not be so. I have much to offer.”
“What do you expect in return, Ingrid?” Mahlberg said.
“Everything,” she said.
Anger swept over him but he did his best to control it.
She forgets herself
, he thought.
She forgets who is in command aboard this vessel and the power that I possess. She forgets that woman is subservient to man
. He forced his anger to dissipate.
The telephone on Mahlberg's desk rang urgently, its red light blinking. He picked up the receiver and pressed it to his ear as Ingrid placed his hand near her lips and began to kiss his fingers seductively.
“Kapitan.” It was Kadow. He had the bridge watch. “We're approximately eighteen kilometers from Kalvenes.” Kalvenes was where they were to meet the refueling vessel and pick up the destroyers.
Ingrid looked up at Mahlberg expectantly, rubbing her body against his.
“I'll be right up,” Mahlberg said, and replaced the receiver in its cradle. He gently pushed Ingrid back. “Duty calls,” he said evenly.
“You can't delay it,
Kapitan zur See
?”
He picked up her coat and draped it over her shoulders, guiding her to the door. “Unfortunately not,” he said.
“When can I see you again?” she said, expectation written on her face. “We have much to talk about.” She suddenly grew petulant. “And I'm lonely. It'll be such a long voyage.”
“Socially?” he said. “When we are again in port.”
“But—”
“I have but one mistress at sea and she demands all of my attention.”
“Don't be absurd,” she said. He could see that she didn't believe him.
“I am being quite honest, Ingrid,” Mahlberg said. “I have no time for frivolity and I will not undermine the morale of this ship by engaging in unprofessional activities.”
Need you? Do you really think that I need a whore to vouch for my capabilities? This voyage will decide who succeeds Raeder—not your disgusting talents.
“Who do you think you are?” she snapped. “You can't toss me aside. You had more than enough time before—”
“Before, I was not aboard ship.”
“You think that makes a difference? I can have any man I want. Now the great
Kapitan zur See
suddenly has developed morals. What was it? Did you remember that you had a wife? Is it the children?”
“In the future,” he said calmly, “you will be prohibited from entering all living quarters aboard ship. On any tour of the vessel you will be accompanied at all times by Korvettenkapitan Eich, our chief medical officer. He is short, fat, and has bad breath.”
“You arrogant—”
“Yes,” Mahlberg said. “I am. Now, if you will excuse me, I have duties to attend to.” He pushed her through the door and closed it behind her.
He donned his cap and overcoat, stopping in front of the full-length mirror to consider his appearance. He was pleased with the reflection. Of course he was arrogant—he had every right to be. He was also confident, professional, and the finest officer in the Kriegsmarine. His arrogance was well founded and entirely appropriate—he commanded
Sea Lion
. Ingrid May simply did not understand. Ashore he had time for their assignations, but aboard his vessel his time, his energy, his interests were reserved for his vessel. He removed an errant piece of dust from the shoulder of his deep blue coat. He was God on
Sea Lion
: unapproachable, unassailable, unmistakably a deity. He was, he knew deep in his heart as he stared into the blue eyes in the mirror, infallible.
Chapter 13
Aboard H.M.S.
Firedancer
, Scapa Flow
 
Hardy, in as foul a mood as Number One had ever seen him, gave the order: “Close all watertight doors and scuttles. Hands to station for leaving harbor.” Number One passed on the order to a chief bo'swain's mate, a three-badger with thirteen years of good service, who sounded the bugle over the intercom and announced: “Do you hear there? Do you hear there? The ship is under sailing orders. Special sea-duty men to their stations.”
Number One followed Hardy's cold gaze as
Prometheus
swung into the Flow, preparing to take her place along with her three destroyers:
Eskimo, Windsor
, and
Firedancer
. The majestic
Prince of Wales
was astern of them.
“Depth Charge at Cruising Stations, at the stern to set the depth charges with the special key and do any electrical work necessary,” the voice crackled over the speaker.
“Stand by, Engine Room, stand by, Wheelhouse,” Hardy said without emotion. “Ready, Number One? Half ahead port.”
“Half ahead port, yes, sir,” Number One repeated and then called the order into the engine room voice tube. “Half ahead port,” he confirmed to Hardy.
“Starboard twenty,” Hardy ordered.
“Starboard twenty, sir,” Number One said and passed on the course to the wheelhouse. They were pulling away from the buoy next to the filthy oiling jetty that they had sucked life from earlier that morning.
“Wheel amidships. Half ahead starboard,” Hardy ordered and walked from one side of the bridge to the other, noting
Firedancer
's station as they took position prior to entering Hoxa Sound.
Number One watched Hardy skillfully guide his ship to the entrance of the sound and wondered if he would ever have the ability to do the same. However querulous Hardy could be, and lately it seemed as if nothing were right enough for him, he was a superb sailor. But there were demons eating away at him, Number One decided, gnawing at his guts so that the only way he could find release was to unleash his anger on others.
 
 
Torps Baird waited with his party at the two TSDS Davits and three-ton winches that rose above
Firedancer
's stern on either side of the depth charge rack.
“All right, Engleman. What's it to be? Hoxa, Hoy, or Switha? Here's a chance to make a quid. Simple as that. Here. Here's three witnesses. Let the boy seaman hold the money until we're through.”
“Sod off.”
“Here now! You're as cold as charity, you are. Begrudge a mate the chance to make a bit. You'd stand a better chance with me than you would playing crown and anchor.”
“Hoy!” Blessing said excitedly. “I bet we're going through Hoy.”
“That's it, lad,” Baird said. “He's got the spirit of it.”
Engleman turned to Blessing in disgust. “It's Hoxa Sound, you daft child. Can't you see the channel markers?”
“Why, bless my soul,” Baird said. “So it is. Let that be a lesson to you, Boy Seaman,” he said to Blessing. “You'll thank me for showing you the evils of gambling when you hand over that quid.”
“Depth Charge Party, close up,” Sublieutenant Morrison ordered. “Man the TSDS Davits.”
Baird and his party took their stations, hooking the steel leads and cables into the eyes of the squat streaming paravanes—torpedolike devices that trailed the destroyer, snagging and cutting the suspension wires of anchored mines. Once cut, the mines would float to the surface and be detonated with gunfire.
The telephone rang shrilly, two rapid bursts, and Morrison pulled the receiver from its protective box.
Baird heard him say, “Yes, sir. Yes, sir.” He turned to Baird and ordered, “Draw up the paravanes.”
Baird nodded and a man on each winch cranked the handles quickly in a clockwise motion. The reduction gears spun rapidly and the paravanes, guided by other members of the crew, slowly rose and hung above the deck. Two men, one to each paravane, used cables to keep the paravanes from swinging with the motion of
Firedancer
. If they got away and fell over the side they could foul the ship's screws.
“Swing out the davits,” Morrison called, and the long arms swung gracefully over the port and starboard sides. When they were fully extended they were locked into place with a pinion rod. “Play out the paravanes.” They went slowly down into the water, fat fish with teeth and wings.
Firedancer
was not the only vessel sweeping the channel. The other two destroyers had been ordered to do so as well, and behind them, at a safe distance, steamed
Prometheus
and
Prince of Wales
. Once they proceeded down the swept channel, escorted by a dozen Royal Air Force fighters, they would sail into the North Atlantic and begin their voyage.
 
 
“Winston's on
Prince of Wales
,” Hardy said to Number One.
“Churchill?”
“He's with some American chap.”
“How do you—”
“My orders said nothing beyond the fact that Their Lordships direct
Firedancer
to accompany
Prince of Wales
and render any assistance necessary. We're a small service, Number One, even with the Hostilities Only forced upon us by current condition. No secret remains a secret for very long. We don't go blabbing it to the Germans, but that doesn't mean that we can't talk among ourselves.
Prometheus
knew beforehand, I'm sure of it, but his manner was always to ingratiate himself into Their Lordships' confidence.” It was a Royal Navy custom to call a captain by his ship's name, but Number One noted that Hardy said
Prometheus
as if it were distasteful to even form the word in his mouth.
“You'll know more when I relay the orders to the other officers. Until that time keep the information to yourself.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Damned waste of time,” Hardy said, watching the other destroyers in their synchronized movements to sweep the channel.
“Sir?”
“Bloody waste of ships,” Hardy said. “
Prince of Wales
can outrun anything on the sea, under the sea, or in the sky for that matter. We're just giving the enemy more targets, that's all. A flimsy Diddo and three destroyers alongside the most powerful ship afloat. What are we to do, I ask you?”
Number One knew better than to answer. Hardy was preaching his sermon. Nothing was right, everyone's decisions but his were flawed. Their Lordships were once again demonstrating their incompetence and if it wasn't obvious to anyone else, it was certainly obvious to Hardy.
Number One did not dare comment on how he felt: exhilarated, excited—marveling at this impressive flotilla as it made its way with professional grace toward the open sea. He enjoyed the majesty of it all—warships steaming in a precisely choreographed dance, Addis lights blinking rapidly, colorful signal flags streaming in the fierce Scottish wind, and above all of it, in a clear blue sky, racing clouds as gray and foreboding as the warships that filled the Flow. Even the green waters, subservient to the deadly vessels, parted in a white froth, cut in two by the bows of the ships as they sailed into the North Sea.
There could never be drama like this in the courtroom, Number One decided, no matter the results of great legal minds splitting points of law into razor-thin arguments. All paled before the ceremony of war, Number One decided—even the mundane duty of escorting vast herds of convoyed ships, countless dark shapes riding easily under the orange gaze of a newborn sun—even that was drama. Of course his mood would change when the fresh food was gone and what was served in the wardroom was a questionable mix of leftovers, or when he had been at action stations for so long that sleep was only a distant memory. Or when the sea battered
Firedancer
for days at a time or the unyielding cold stole every ounce of strength left to him. But now he enjoyed the view afforded him by the advent of danger, even if Hardy did not.
It might be a waste of time and ships, Number One thought. It might be as Hardy said: there was nothing out there to challenge
Prince of Wales
.

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