Go In and Sink! (9 page)

‘It’s a ship. Motionless.’

He clicked the lens to full power and held his breath. It was a medium sized freighter, listing badly, with a gash in her hull you could drive a bus through.

The petty officer who was recording the bearings on the periscope ring called, ‘Ship bears Green three-five, range——’

Marshall interrupted him. ‘She’s sinking. There are two boats in the water alongside.’

He held the small drama in his eyes, unable to let it go. The heaving grey sea, the tiny scrambling figures sliding down falls and nets into those two pitiful boats. A straggler from a convoy, her crew must have given up the fight to save her. He thought of all the miles before they could reach help or safety. It looked like the beginnings of snow or sleet across the lens. He stood back.

‘Take a look, Number One.’

She was a British ship. Old and worn out. Probably dropped from an eastbound convoy to effect repairs. Then, out of the blue, a torpedo.

He heard himself say, ‘That H.E. you heard, Speke. Most likely the U-boat. She must have been hanging around just in case another ship came to help.’ He looked at Gerrard’s bowed shoulders. ‘Two for the price of one.’

Gerrard asked thickly, ‘What’ll you do? About
them
?’

‘The U-boat may still intend to stay in this area. If we surfaced she’d be on to us in a flash.’ He said in a quieter tone, ‘It’s no go, Bob.’

There was a sudden silence, and even Starkie turned on his chair to look at him. As if they had all been frozen by his words.

Devereaux exclaimed, ‘You’re not going to leave them sir?’

Marshall took the periscope handles and made a quick all-round search of sea and sky. Cold, bleak and empty, When he looked again at the ship he saw her rusty stern
was
already lifting clear of the sea, as if being raised by invisible hawsers.

He slapped the handles inwards. ‘Down periscope.’ He crossed to the chart. ‘Take her down to twenty metres again and alter course to two-four-zero. We’ll increase speed in an hour and make up what we’ve lost by this alteration.’ He listened to his own words. Cold, flat, without feeling. How could he do it when every fibre was screaming to surface and drag those poor frightened wretches aboard.

Devereaux began, ‘But, sir, if——’

He swung on him. ‘No
ifs
or
buts
, Pilot! D’you imagine I’m enjoying any of it?
Think
, man, before you start playing the bloody hero!’

The gauges turned slowly. ‘Twenty metres, sir. Course two-four-zero.’

A rumble sighed against the hull. It was followed by a drawn out scraping sound which seemed to go on and on forever. A ship breaking up as it took the last plunge.

Gerrard’s eyes met his. He understood. Better than any of them. It was all there in his eyes. Sadness and shame. Pity and awareness that no one else could take the responsibility.

‘Fall out diving stations.’ He walked past them, the silence following him like a cloak.

MARSHALL ENTERED THE
wardroom and pulled the curtain across the doorway behind him.

‘All right, make yourselves comfortable.’

He waited for the four officers to seat themselves and for Warwick to weight down the corners of the chart which he had laid on the table. Beneath the solitary deck-head lamp their faces looked strained and tense, their movements lethargic.

Beyond the gently vibrating curtain he could hear Buck’s sharp tones as he reprimanded one of the planesmen, but otherwise the boat was completely silent, and with her motors reduced to an economical four knots could have been hanging motionless in the water.

He glanced round at their faces again, trying to gauge their feelings. Their doubts.

Twenty-nine days
. He could see where each one had left its mark in their guarded expressions. The excitement of leaving the loch and following the armed-yacht to the open sea. The tension of the first dive, even the sick horror of having to leave the sinking freighter to its own pitiful resources had dulled and merged into an overall frustration and disappointment. It was like being completely severed from the rest of the world, shut off from reality.

Whenever they had gone to periscope depth or had cruised on the surface they had listened to the constant flow of signals, Allied, enemy or neutral, yet felt no part
of
any of them. Distress calls from merchant ships under attack, homing instructions from the German submarine headquarters to wolf packs deep in the Atlantic, and garbled snatches of counter-measures from warships and aircraft. It never stopped, but as day followed day Marshall found himself wondering if his own role had already been over-reached. Perhaps the German High Command had somehow changed its plans for refuelling U-boats at sea, or had discovered that there was an enemy in their midst. If the latter were true, there might even now be extra U-boats hunting for them, changing their role to that of victim.

The air throughout the boat was stale and dank, so that clothes clung to their skins like dirty rags, adding to the general depression, the uncertainty of waiting for something to happen.

He looked down at the chart. The submarine was steering in a south-westerly direction, her present position some two hundred miles south of the Bermuda Islands, a thousand miles east of the Florida coast. It was hard to reconcile their appearance and listless movements with that other picture he had seen an hour earlier when they had gone up to periscope depth. The sea’s face had been unbroken by any wave, had stretched away on every bearing in a glistening panorama of pale green, catching the sunlight and lancing through the periscope like a million bright diamonds. There had been a low mist too, betraying the heat and nourishment that everyone aboard so desperately needed. But for nearly three days they had stayed submerged, listening and watching as mile by mile the boat had made her way across the rendezvous area. And it was their second attempt so far. The first time had found them two hundred miles to the south where after
a
careful search they had revealed nothing. Reports had been picked up of a heavy enemy attack on a convoy to the east, and Marshall guessed that the
milch-cow
, if indeed she was still in the area, had taken herself to a position where she would be more greatly needed. To
this
area, he had thought. Now, he was no longer so optimistic.

He said, ‘I’ve called this conference to put you all in the picture.’ He watched Gerrard’s fingers as they tapped soundlessly against the chart. ‘To hear your views.’

Devereaux glanced up at him. ‘It looks as if we’ve missed this one, sir.’ He picked up a pencil and laid the point on the opposite side of the Atlantic. ‘Now, according to our information, the second supply boat is operating here. Off Freetown.’ His eyes flickered to Marshall again. ‘Why not go for him? Better than losing both, surely?’

Gerrard said swiftly, ‘It’s not that easy. We’ve been a month at sea. If we cross to the other side to hunt for the other boat and fail to make contact we’ll barely have enough fuel to reach home, let alone run back for another rendezvous with this bugger.’

Devereaux smiled gently. ‘I realise that, Number One. I do the navigating, remember?’

Marshall said, ‘Nevetheless, I agree with you, Number One. We could be dragging from one end of the Atlantic to the other chasing shadows. If we remain in this area we still have a chance of making a strike.’

Frenzel, who had so far remained slumped against the bulkhead, leaned forward and placed both hands on the table.

‘I’m not happy about this enforced diving sir. We need to ventilate the boat and charge batteries. Later, if we run into trouble, we’ll need all the power we can get.’ He looked bleakly at the solitary lamp. ‘I’ve shut down
all
the heaters, lights and fans I can without driving our lads berserk. I can’t do much more.’

‘Yes.’

Marshall straightened his back and tried to think clearly. It was his responsibility. But to do what? Had they been engaged in actual operations things would have been very different. But this was enough to crack even a hardened submariner’s reserve.

A week back they had sighted a neutral, and to break the boredom he had carried out a mock attack on her. It had been during the night, and as he had studied the ship through the periscope he had marvelled at the other captain’s confidence. The big Swedish flag painted on the hull had been well lit, and her upper decks and cabins aglow with glittering lights. Was it possible for people to move without fear like that? Even as he listened to his men going through the motions of an attack he had sensed something else, too. A sort of wildness which he could even feel in himself. Had he pressed home a real attack and ordered Buck to fire his torpedoes, he felt they would have done so. In war it was hard to stop acting in the manner which had become your daily life.

He said, ‘We’ll surface tonight, Chief. It’s the best I can do. I know we’re pretty safe from Allied patrols out here, but I daren’t risk surfacing anywhere in the rendezvous area until I’m sure of a contact with the supply boat. If we get entangled with another U-boat or worse with a whole bloody pack of them, we’d be hard put to explain our intentions.’

Surprisingly, Warwick grinned. He said, ‘We could say we were lost, sir!’

Marshall smiled. Warwick at least seemed able to keep his good-humour.

He looked at his watch. Nearly noon. The supply boat would make her briefhoming signal then at short-range. Just enough for the rendezvous, not sufficient to be detected and fixed by the powerful beacons on the American mainland. Always provided she was actually in the area and that her captain was satisfied about his own safety. It could be no joke to cruise about the ocean in what amounted to one giant bomb.

He heard Devereaux ask, ‘Look, Sub, are you quite sure you’ve checked your log of signals? The W/T office does a good job, but in the end it all falls on your plate.’ It sounded like an accusation.

Warwick replied quietly, ‘I’ve treble-checked. If the Germans are using a different system I can’t find it.’

Gerrard added, ‘Leave him alone, Pilot. None of
us
could do it, so there’s no point in rattling him.’

Marshall tensed. There it was again. The rift.

He snapped, ‘If we
all
do our jobs and——’

Buck’s voice cut through the tension like a saw. ‘Captain in the control room!’

With the others close on his heels Marshall thrust through the curtain and ran for the one brightly lit compartment in the whole hull.

Buck said crisply, ‘Asdic reports faint H.E. at two-five-o, sir.’

Marshall kept his face impassive and strode to the shielded compartment where the operator was crouching over his controls.

‘Well?’ He watched the man’s face gauging his assessment. It was Speke again. The senior operator.

The leading seaman shrugged but kept his eyes on the dial by his fingers. ‘Very faint, sir. Single screw. Diesel.’

Marshall said, ‘Keep listening.’

He tried to hide his disappointment. Whatever it was, certainly not the big supply submarine.

Behind him he heard Warwick say uncertainly, ‘Damaged U-boat. I’ll bet it’s one from that convoy attack. Coming to another for help.’

Marshall swung round and stared at him, seeing the youth fall back under his gaze.

‘What did you say?’

Warwick swallowed hard, suddenly pale as the others watched him like strangers.

‘I only thought——’

Marshall reached out and touched his arm. ‘You’re young, Sub. Young and fresh.’ In a calmer tone he continued, ‘And you could just be right.’

Warwick flushed and shifted his boots on the steel deck. ‘Gosh!’

Marshall looked at Buck. ‘Bring her round to intercept. Then sound the alarm. Complete silence throughout the boat after that.’ He held up one hand to restrain him. ‘But remember this. All of you. If this is a damaged U-boat and she is making a rendezvous, it’ll mean we will have to act all the faster. Neither of them can be allowed to break W/T silence.’ He looked at Buck. ‘So the attack team must be perfect.’

Buck nodded, his sharp features mellowed slightly by the beginning of a beard. ‘Right.’

‘Steady on two-five-zero, sir.’ The helmsman sounded hoarse.

‘Very well. Klaxon, please.’

As the men came running through the bulkhead doors, their faces still heavy with sleep, from trying to relax in the unmoving stale air, Marshall could feel his own weariness falling away like a feverish dream.

Gerrard reported, ‘All closed up, sir.’

Marshall looked at the control room clock. Five minutes to noon.

‘Periscope depth, Number One. Easy does it.’

He saw a brief smile on Gerrard’s lips. Perhaps like himself he was recalling all those other times. The same pattern but all different.

Then he forgot him and crouched beside the periscope well, testing his own reactions, the steadiness of his breathing, the even beating of his heart.

‘Fourteen metres, sir.’

‘Up periscope.’ He glanced at the stoker. ‘Slowly.’

He bent double, his forehead pressed against the rubber pad, watching the sunlight probing down towards him, the swirl of silver bubbles, the sudden blinding flash as the lens broke the surface.

‘Hold it there!’

Easy now. Take your time
. He edged round the well, watching the misty sunlight playing across a long shallow swell, turning into living green glass. He could almost feel the warmth across his face, taste the clean salt air on his lips.

Without removing his eye from the lens he asked, ‘How is the bearing now?’

‘As before, sir. But still very faint.’ Speke sounded unruffled. Which was just as well.

‘Full extent.’

He straightened his body as the periscope slid smoothly from its well. A quick glance above. It was unlikely there would be any aircraft. They were needed elsewhere, and the long haul from the American mainland made any danger of attack remote. But you had to be sure. There might be a carrier, or some seaplane off a heavy
escort
. He brought the periscope to full power and steadied it towards the hidden bows. But the haze was too thick. Like steam playing across the gently heaving swell.