iron pirate (13 page)

Tripz looked up and squinted at him questioningly. He had a round, crumpled face, as if that too had been carved from old ship's timber.

You're a bit off-course, young Hans?'

Stoecker sat on a steel chest and eyed him awkwardly. Of all the people he knew he probably trusted the old petty officer the most. It had been due to his patience and private coaching that he had risen this far, with the hope of confirmation to petty officer in the near future.

With Tripz it was not learning. It was more like listening to well-told history.

'A job for the gunnery officer.'

Tripz wrinkled his nose. 'Oh, him.'

they both glanced up as the sea, muffled but ever-present, boomed along the outer hull. Thick steel and one of the great fuel bunkers separated them from it, but they both knew it was not enough to withstand a torpedo.

Tripz asked casually, 'Bit bothered, are you?'

Stoecker shrugged. Straight to the point. As always. This rough, outspoken man was respecter] by almost everyone, even if some of the young recruits made fun of him behind his back. God help them if his wintry eyes saw through them.

It's the first time I've been in a battle with other warships.'

Huh. Maybe it won't come to that. The Tommies might have other ideas.'

'When I heard the captain explain what we're going to do, I -'

Tripz grinned slowly. 'The Old Man knows more than w
e
do,

Hans.'

Stoecker bit his lip. It was usless to go on like this. He could barely sleep even when he got the chance, and he had been off his food since that day at Vejle.

Suppose he was wrong? Tripz might go straight to his divisional officer He had been known to pass the time of day even with the captain, the Old Man as he called him, though Stoecker guessed that Tripz was old enough to be his father.

But he couldn't go on. He would certainly fail his exams and let down his parents unless - he made up his mind.

'I found a letter.' He hesitated as the petty officer's faded eyes settled on his. 'Somebody told me that -'

'Show it to me.' He held out one calloused hand. He saw the lingering hesitation. I'll make it an order, if you'd prefer it?'

Stoecker passed it across and momentarily the prospect of action, even death, faded into the background.

Tripz prised open the much-folded envelope and scanned the letter with great care.

He said, 'It's in Danish. But then you'd know that, right?' He did not look up to see Stoecker nod. 'One of those prisoners.'

'Yes.' He was surprised the admission came out so easily. 'Just before he was killed.'

Tripz eyed him grimly. 'Before the explosion.'

Yes.'

'Told anyone else?'

Stoecker shook his head and thought of the others he had almost confided in. Even the young one-striper Jaeger. Until he had discovered about him and Sophie. That moment still gnawed at his insides like teeth.

'Good.' He folded the letter with great care. 'This is hot stuff.'

Stoecker found himself blurting out about the SS officer, then the ravaged shop.

Tripz grunted. 'Jews, eh.' He added vaguely, 'Well, they started it all, you know.'

Stoecker waited; at any moment Tripz might put him under arrest, take him to Korvettenkapitan Kroll. He could face detention barracks or much worse.

Tripz said, 'Best leave it with me.' He looked at him strangely. 'Just between us.'

'But I don't even know . .

'Better that way, my son.' Tripz placed the letter inside an oilskin pouch and buttoned it in his tunic.

He added, 'It could get both of us shot. Do I make myself clear?'

Stoecker nodded, glad to have shared his secret, moved by Tripz's confidence in him.

'When I've fathomed it out, I'll tell you.' His battered face split into a grin. 'Feel better?'

Stoecker gave a shaky smile. 'Much. I - I'm just sorry I got you mixed up in it.'

Tripz looked up quickly at the deckhead as if he had heard something. It was like an inbuilt sixth sense for at that moment the air cringed to the strident clamour of alarm bells.

Tripz was thickset, even ungainly, but he was through the steel door and on the rungs of a ladder before Stoecker had grasped fully what was happening.

Tripz peered down at him. 'Move it, boy! No time to hang about! You'll get a wooden cross, not an iron one, if you do! Remember what I once told you, one hand for the Fuhrer, but keep one for yourself!' Then he was gone and would doubtless be in his turret before the bells had fallen silent.

Stoecker ran after him; he had further to climb than anyone. And yet despite the crash of steel doors he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him.

Ship at action stations, sir!'

Hechler returned Korvettenkapitan Froebe's salute and glanced briefly around the bridge. In war what a short time it look to know their faces, to forget them after they had gone.

Everyone stiffened as Leitner entered the bridge and strode unhurriedly to the gratings.

Hechler watched him curiously. The whole scheme might go badly wrong from the outset. There had been plenty of examples like
Graf Spee
and
Bismarck,
he thought. But Leitner looked very much at ease, even theatrical with a pure white silk scarf tossed casually around his throat, his rear-admiral's cap set at a rakish •ingle.

Leitner remarked, 'The stage is set, eh?'

Hechler could picture his men throughout the ship, as he had when he had told them their mission. Theil as second-in-command was down in the damage-control section, as far from the bridge as possible. Not too many eggs in one basket, as his father would have said. Did he ever hope a shell might fall on the bridge and give him the command he craved so desperately?

I assume the engine-room is warned for full revolutions?'

Hechler nodded. It was almost amusing if you knew Wolfgang Stuck, the taciturn senior engineer. He had been like a midwife to the
Prinz,
had been with her within weeks of her keel being laid, had watched over every tube and wire, valve and pump until her birth, when she had slid confidently into salt water at Hamburg.

So many miles steamed, thousands of gallons of oil, and a million day-to-day details. Stuck would need no reminding. They got along well, allowing for the unspannable gap between bridge and engine-room, he thought.

Leitner was saying, 'Looking back, it all seems worthwile now. Remember breaking the ice on those buckets with your head aboard the training ship before you could wash in the morning, eh? It would make some of these mother's boys puke!' His eyes were almost dreamy. 'And the electric shock treatment to test your reaction under stress at Flensburg Naval Academy. I'll bet we know more than those old has-beens ever did!'

Hechler raised his glasses and studied the nearest destroyer.

'Signal the first subdivision to take station ahead.' He glanced at Leitner.
'Now.'

A lamp clattered and Hechler saw a young signalman staring at the admiral with something like awe. He had probably never been so close to a god before.

Hechler asked sharply, 'What are those people doing here?'

Leitner smiled. 'My orders, Captain.'

The camera team huddled by a flag-Iocker, the two women looking ill-at-ease in their steel helmets.

Leitner added smoothly, 'A record. We must all take risks in war.'

Hechler watched the camera being mounted, the way Leitner was adjusting his scarf. But he thought of the battered streets in Kiel, the faces of his men who had lost their relatives and their homes.

The flag-lieutenant hurried across the bridge and handed Leitner his signal pad.

He took his time while the camera purred into life and all eyes watched as the scene was recorded.

Hechler thought for an instant it was an act, but Leitner said briskly, 'The attack on the convoy was a success. The one escort carrier was hit by torpedoes. She is out of the fight.' He returned the pad to his aide. Two U-boats were destroyed, but they carried out their orders. Brave men, all of them.'

Hechler tried to shut him from his thoughts. Voice-pipes and telephones kept up their muted chatter and he saw the two forward turrets turn slightly, the four big guns lifting and lifting until they appeared to be trying to strain themselves from their mountings.

The first subdivision of destroyers were tearing ahead and heeling over in a great welter of spray as they formed into line abreast. well ahead of their big consorts. The others were on either beam, with one solitary vessel lifting and plunging across
Liibeck's
wake as she followed like a spectator. To sniff out any submarine, to pick up survivors, to stay out of trouble.

Leitner had made his name in destroyers; he was probably remembering it right now,

Froebe, the executive officer, tall and ungainly, his huge hands gripped around his binoculars, stood in Gudegast's place by the gyro-repeater. The navigator and his small team were up there in the armoured conning-tower, waiting to plot every manoeuvre and change of course, to advise, to take command even, if the main bridge was demolished.

Hechler could feel the youngster Jaeger standing as close as he dared to the steel chair. His action station was here too, and unlike the other junior officers he was privileged to hear and see everything. He was also more likely to be hit if the Tommies got loo near.

I lechler thought suddenly of their sister-ship the
Admiral

Hipper.
She too had carried out a raiding cruise in the Atlantic, and after a successful attack on a convoy and other ships had returned in triumph to her Norwegian lair.

But that had been in 1941. Things were different now,

Hechler examined his feelings again. What were their chances?

His ship was the best there was anywhere. If skill and audacity counted they stood every chance of success.

It was strange to realise that
Hipper,
powerful though she was, had been rammed and severely damaged by the little destroyer HMS
Glow-worm.
A brave, hopeless gesture which had cost her captain his ship and most of his men. He smiled to himself as he thought of Theil's expression when he had mentioned Nelson. It was exactly what the little admiral would have done had he lived in this century.

The flag-lieutenant returned with his pad and Leitner said quietly, The British are concentrating on the eastbound convoy,

Dieter. Von Hanke is a shrewd old devil. They have a battleship and two heavy cruisers as a covering force, but well to the north as expected.'

Hechler pul one hand in his pocket and felt the familiar shape of his favourite pipe. It was somehow' comforting, and he would have dearly liked to smoke it. It reminded him of Inger again. She had wanted him to give it up, change to cigars. Like Leitner who usually appeared in press photographs with a jaunty cheroot, although he had never seen him actually smoking one. Just for the record.

He walked to the rear of the bridge and peered aft past the funnel. The new Arado looked bright and incongruous beside one of the camouflaged ones. Was she really going to fly it as Leitner had vaguely outlined? He never gave the whole story about anything. Again, that was exactly how he had been as a junior lieutenant. A touch of mystery. He thought of the photographs Leitner had shown him prior to weighing anchor. The fjord at Bodo, shot from several thousand metres up. Even the camouflaged nets had looked the same. It could have been
Prinz Luitpold
lying there. But Leitner had explained, two old supply ships had been preparing for weeks. After this sortie they would be moored together in s?sch a way that any reconnaissance aircraft would imagine the
Prinz
had returned to her anchorage. It was so simple, it was almost ridiculous. But if it worked it might give them the extra hours they needed.

Ahlmann, the lieutenant in charge of bridge communications, handed him a telephone.

'Gunnery officer, sir.'

Even the telephone could not disguise the satisfaction in Kroll's voice.

'Enemy in sight, sir. Bearing Green one-oh. Range two-one-five.'

Hechler wanted to turn and look up at the fire control station. The unseen eye reached beyond the empty horizon so that Kroll could already watch the enemy formation at a range of over 21,000 metres.

Leitner jabbed his sleeve. 'I am going to my bridge.' He grinned. This is a great day!' He brushed past the bridge party and Jeager said, 'They are almost within range. '

Froebe watched him over the gyro-repeater and muttered, 'So will we be soon,'

Hechler raised his glasses and stared past the leading destroyers. Even their wakes were salmon-pink, their shining hulls like coloured glass.

Intelligence had reported a dozen merchantmen in the convoy. Probably twice that number had originally set out for Murmansk, he thought. Fiomeward bound, and with all the heavy support groups to the north of them waiting for an attack on the other precious array of supply ships. He listened to the regular ranges and bearings coming over the bridge gunnery intercom and pictured t he two converging formations in his mind as he had studied it on the chart and had planned for such i moment. As Leitner had said, all that training was bearing fruit now.
Observation, method, conclusion, attack.

The forward guns shifted slightly, the muzzles high-angled for the first salvo. Astern,
Liibeck'
s gun crews would be ready too, but they would have to be patient a while longer.

He wanted to glance at his watch, but knew such a move might be mistaken for doubt, anxiety.

Above the whirr of fans and the surge of water against the hull lie heard the dull thud of an explosion. Far away, like someone beating an old drum. Another torpedo hit, one more ship gone to the bottom. Leitner did not seem to care about the cost in

U boats. To him nothing mattered but this moment.

Ahlmann asked, 'Permission to open fire, sir?'

'Denied.' He pictured the convoy again. Liberty ships for the most part. It would be a fast one, probably about fifteen knots.