Between The Hunters And The Hunted (34 page)

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Authors: Steven Wilson

BOOK: Between The Hunters And The Hunted
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Chapter 30
D.K.M.
Sea Lion
, Quadrant XC 38
 
“Hits on the cruiser!” an excited
Oberleutnant zur See
called out.
Kadow hung up the telephone. “Foremast reports several hits from the secondary battery on the destroyers. Frey confirms at least one hit on the cruiser from the main battery, somewhere forward of the bridge.”
“Where are your concerns now, Kadow?” Mahlberg said.
“Perhaps they were unfounded,” Kadow replied, certain that the concerns were still valid.
“Kapitan?” a
Kapitanleutnant
said. “Radar room reports possible target bearing two-five-four, distance eighty kilometers.”
Mahlberg turned. “
Prince of Wales
?”
“He can't be sure, Kapitan. The radar equipment is being shaken about by the gunfire. At this range, lookouts can't make out anything in the haze.”
Mahlberg grinned triumphantly at Kadow. “It's her. It has to be her. We have her now, Kadow.
Prince of Wales
. Winston Churchill and lesser dignitaries. Contact hydrophones and see what they can tell me. I want confirmation immediately. Tell radar that they are not to lose contact with the target. Order them to maintain contact. I won't be denied my victory.
Sea Lion
's victory.”
 
 
H.M.S.
Firedancer
 
Cole pulled himself up the bridge ladder to find Land ordering another group of lookouts and signalmen into position and Hardy giving sharp orders into the voice tubes. He was taking
Firedancer
in a wild, twisting race through the sea, and frantically trying to stay out of reach of
Sea Lion
's guns.
“Captain?” Cole said. “Number One Torpedo Station is ready with three tubes. Maybe we can get four. Number Two Torpedo Station is damaged, sir. We're repairing it now.”
“Oh, are we?” Hardy said in a blustery manner that Cole had gotten used to. “Well, we are still in shit up to our necks, Mr. Cole, torpedoes or not.
Eskimo
and
Prometheus
just took a hard knocking from
Sea Lion
and I can't see a damned thing for all of this smoke. I can't hear much of anything as well. Can you fire those bloody bastards when I tell you?”
“Yes, sir,” Cole said.
“Good.
Sea Lion
's change in course gave us a chance to get ahead of her a bit, so perhaps we can reposition ourselves for another go at her. Considering that we didn't get the first go.”
“Signal from
Prometheus
, sir,” a lookout called. “‘Severe damage forward. Many dead, wounded.
Eskimo
reports damage. Can you make smoke? Will turn away in preparation.'”
“‘In preparation'?” Hardy said. “What the hell is he talking about? Preparation of what?”
“Message continues, sir,” the lookout said. He dropped his glasses with a puzzled look on his face.
“Well,” Hardy said. “What is it, man?”
“I'm sorry, sir,” the lookout said, peering through his glasses again. “I don't think I got it right the first time—”
“What the bloody hell was it?” Hardy exploded.
“Sir,” the lookout said, “it is ‘Remember the Athenians. ' I'm sorry, sir. I must have read it wrong.”
Cole saw shock on Hardy's face.
Land stepped forward in concern and said: “Sir?”
Hardy came to. “Signalman,” he said sharply, “make to
Prometheus
, ‘Message received and confirmed. Here's one for Old Amoss.' End message. Number One, you will have the engine room give me all the power and smoke they can when I call for it. They mustn't keep back an ounce of either, do you understand?”
“No, sir,” Land said, “but I'll do as you order.”
“Good,” Hardy said. “Signalman, make to
Eskimo
. They will make a hard turn to port and commence making smoke immediately to cover
Prometheus
. Mr. Cole, you may return to your station and prepare to engage the enemy. I'll signal from the bridge whether it's to be port or starboard, but that's all that I can do.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” Cole said and hurried down the bridge ladder.
“Helmsman, Bridge,” Hardy called into the voice tube. “Take us hard to starboard, Quartermaster. Lay us on our beam.”
Land steadied himself as the ship veered sharply to starboard and hoved over. That was as close to a ninety-degree course change as he had ever experienced.
“All right, Number One,” Hardy said. “Both engines full ahead emergency. Make smoke from the engines and the smoke generators.”
“Yes, sir.” Land passed the information on. “Sir . . . ?”
“We're preparing a stage, Number One,” Hardy said in response. “We'll have the curtain ready in no time for
Prometheus
. It will be her last performance, God rest her soul.”
 
 
Cole arrived at number-one torpedo station to see the last of the debris cleared away. Baird and two other seamen, including Blessing, were struggling to get the hose connections securely tightened to the compressed-air tanks on the port side.
“Is the old man trying to stand the poor girl on her head, sir?” Baird said. “I almost fell ass over teakettle off the bleeding ship.”
“He's trying to keep us alive,” Cole said. “What do we have?”
“Three here and three on Number Two. We can get old Number One loaded again from the torpedo shed, but it'll take just over ten minutes to do it, sir. The bloody supply party's got me stores for Number Two blocked, so she gets one shot at it.”
“We've got to get to those stores,” Cole said.
“They can't throw that mess over the side, sir,” Engleman said. “Afraid they'll foul the propellers and rudder.”
“Wouldn't that be lovely?” Baird said. “Here it is then, sir. Engleman's got the stores and hoist. Blessing's got the compressed-air tanks and I'll take the cockpit. I can crank her into position in twenty-two seconds. You stand by to pitch in wherever you're needed, sir.”
“Okay.”
“When we fire off this lot, sir, Blessing and I go to Number Two and you and Engleman load us again.”
“Got a taste of power, have you, Torps?” Engleman said sourly. “Ordering an officer about. Even if he is only a Yank.”
“You just do what Torps tells you,” Baird said, “or you'll be right after those MK IXs.”
 
 
D.K.M.
Sea Lion
 
Kadow noticed the maneuvers first. “The two remaining destroyers are changing course. Crossing our bow.” He adjusted the focus. “They're making smoke.”
“The cruiser's trying to get away from us, Kadow,” Mahlberg said confidently. “Our guns surely dealt her a hard blow.”
“Radar confirms it, sir,” a
Kapitanleutnant
said. “The British cruiser is moving away at high speed. Hydrophone can't read anything because of the gunfire and constant movement of the other ships.”
“Well,” Mahlberg said, tossing a glance of satisfaction to Kadow, “send a message to Oberkommando der Kriegsmarine, ‘Defeated
Prince of Wales
escort. Sank one destroyer. Damaged a cruiser and two destroyers.' No, make that, ‘heavily damaged a cruiser and two destroyers. Proceeding to engage
Prince of Wales
.' Sign it, Mahlberg.”
“Those two British destroyers will pass close to one another just off our port bow,” Kadow said, still tracking them through his binoculars.
“Get me Frey,” Mahlberg ordered. An
Oberbootsmann
handed him the telephone. “Frey? What are you going to do about those destroyers? I am pleased that you are tracking them. However, I would be more pleased if they were destroyed. Don't worry about the cruiser, we shall sink her on the way to
Prince of Wales
.”
 
 
H.M.S.
Firedancer
 
Cole and the other members of number-one torpedo station helped Engleman hoist the ready torpedoes into position at the edge of the torpedo shack. It was dangerous having them exposed on deck, but the shack walls offered so little protection from the splinters of the High Explosive shells that it seemed ridiculous to consider any location on
Firedancer
less dangerous than another.
Firedancer
bore heavily into the waves, running at top speed. Spray whipped over her foc'sle and fell like ice-cold rain as far back as her forward tunnel. Cole could feel the ship throb with excitement, her engines beating a mad rhythm that vibrated throughout the ship. Black, oily smoke poured from her stacks, creating a vast dark cloud that hung close to the surface of the ocean.
He and the others took hold of the thick lines fed through the squealing pulleys and eased the sleeping torpedoes up from the depths of the little destroyer. They did it by count and Cole felt the strain on his shoulders and in his arms as Baird cursed them on.
“Get them up,” Baird shouted. “Get them in place where I can get to them, you lubbers.” He looked at Cole apologetically. “Present company excluded, sir.”
All Cole could do was smile in return. His arms burned and his back hurt and for once in his life he had no glib response.
“All right,” Engleman called. “Tie them off and get to your stations.” There might have been more for him to say, perhaps something stirring and meaningful, but more likely profane, when they heard the shells.
The men scrambled to their stations when the shells began landing around them. There was the roar of the raging sea as it sent columns high above
Firedancer
. Splinters shot through the air, slicing through cables, cutting through deck housing, and ricocheting with wild screams across the water. Finally came the malevolent hiss as the water descended with serpentlike satisfaction back into its home.
Cole found himself on the deck—he didn't remember how he got there, but as he looked around he was glad to see that none of the number-one torpedo station crew was injured. Blessing was game enough to give him a thumbs-up, even if his hand was trembling so violently he had to hold it still with the other hand.
The ship's whistle screamed twice, its high-pitched wail piercing Cole's heart. Train the tubes to starboard. He waited for the telltale rumble as the gears rotated the PR MK II mount into position. But he heard nothing.
“Mr. Cole? Mr. Cole, sir?” It was Baird.
Cole scrambled over the edge of the mount and ran along the edge of the tube to the cockpit. Baird was out of his seat, straining to turn the training wheel.
“Of all of the bloody times for this pile of shit to let me down,” Baird said. “Take the other handle, sir. Take the other handle. I'll crank clockwise, you crank counterclockwise. We've got to hurry or we won't have a shot. Put your back into it, sir.”
Cole leaned against the handle that was attached to the training wheel. It wouldn't budge. The gears were jammed. He locked his feet against the restraining bands on the tube, gripped the handle, and using his body weight, pushed against the frozen wheel.
It moved, slowly, each movement a protesting jerk.
“That's it! That's it,” Baird said. “Put your back into it, sir.”
Another salvo of enemy shells straddled
Firedancer
, drenching the vessel with tons of water and soaking everyone topside. Cole's foot slipped and he fell unevenly, banging his chin on the cockpit spray shield. He tasted blood as he repositioned his foot and continued to crank. His eyes stung from the coarse smoke that whipped past them and a stream of tears rolled down both cheeks. The muscles of his arms burned in protest and his hands began to cramp on the handle.
Somehow the noise of the exploding shells and the force of the torrents of water assaulting
Firedancer
and her crew drove all feeling from Cole's body. He was numb and removed from everything except turning the training wheel. They were making progress, the blunt snouts of the tubes nearly extended over the side of the vessel.
“That's it, sir,” Baird shouted over the turmoil. “Give us some more. Just a bit more and she's ready. Almost there.”
Suddenly
Eskimo
filled their vision, racing with a roar in the opposite direction, her hull just feet from
Firedancer
's, trailing a cloud of smoke. Baird cried out in surprise and lost his footing. The two destroyers roared past each other with a thin river of water separating their hulls, weaving a thick curtain of smoke behind them.

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