iron pirate (16 page)

She shrugged and winced; she had forgotten her injury. 'I was told. Everyone knew. They're very fond of their young captain, you know.'

He rested his hand on one of the door-clips. There are no secrets in a ship, no matter what they say,' He faced her again. 'Yes, I wanted to stay with her. Now she's gone.' He thought of the burning convoy.

They had had their revenge. He touched the girl's sound arm. Later, then.'

He opened the heavy door and stepped out into the damp air.
Liibeck
had been sacrificed. He quickened his pace to the first ladder, oblivious of the watchful gun crews.

It must not have been in vain.

Flotsam

I he South African naval base of Simonstown was packed to capacity with warships of every class and size. It w
⁷
as like a melting-pot, a division between two kinds of war made more apparent by the vessels themselves and their livery. The darker hues of grey and garish dazzle paint of the Atlantic, at odds w
⁷
ith t he paler hulls of ships from the Indian Ocean and beyond.

Powerful cruisers which had the capacity and range to cover the vast distances beyond the Cape of Good Hope seemed to make the greater contrast with a cluster of stubby Canadian corvettes which had fought their convoy all the way from New-foundland.

Freighters and oilers, ammunition vessels and troopers. There was even a cleanly painted hospital ship.

The largest cruiser in Simonstown on this particular afternoon lay alongside the jetty, her White Ensign hanging limply in the harsh sunlight.

She was HMS
Wiltshire,
a big, 10,000-ton vessel, typical of a i lass which had been constructed in accordance with the Washington Treaty in the late twenties. She was heavily armed with eight, eight-inch guns in four turrets, with many smaller weapons to back up her authority. An elderly W'alrus flying-boat perched sedately on the catapult amidships, and her three tall funnels gave the ship a deceptively outdated appearance. She stood very high from the oily water, and because of her comparatively light armour plating her living quarters were both airy and spacious when compared with other men-of-war.

Il was Sunday, and apart from duty watch and men under punishment
Wiltshire
was deserted. Officers and ratings alike took every opportunity to get ashore, to visit: Cape Town and enjoy the colourful sights, untouched by war.

In his day cabin Captain James Cook Hemrose, Distinguished Service Order, Royal Navy, sat beneath a deckhead fan and regarded his pink gin while he w
^r
ondered if it was prudent to take another. On one chair lay his best cap which he had worn for Divisions and prayers that morning. Beside another stood his golf clubs, a reminder of the match he had had to cancel.

He was a heavy man, and in his white shirt and Bermuda shorts looked ungainly. There were dark patches of sweat at each armpit despite the fans and he hated the oppressive heat.

He was in his late forties, but service life had been hard on him. He looked older, much older, and what was worse, he felt it.

The door opened and the ship's commander entered quietly.

Hemrose gestured heavily to the sideboard. 'Have a pink Plymouth, Toby. Do you good.'

The commander looked at the signals on the table and said, 'It's all true then, sir?'

'Pour me one while you're at it. Not too much bitters.'

The commander smiled. As if he did not know his ways. He had been with him over a year. The Atlantic, convoys round the Cape, Ceylon, India. It suited the commander. Routine, and often boring. But you could keep the Atlantic and Arctic runs. Let the glory boys do them if that was the war they wanted.

'Yes, it's true.' Hemrose's eyes were distant. 'The jerries have put one of their big cruisers to sea. They think it might be
Prinz Luitpold.'
His eyes hardened into focus. 'I hope to God it is.'

The commander sipped his gin. Just right. 'She won't get down here. Not at this stage of the war.' When Hemrose remained silent he added, 'I mean, it's just not on, sir.'

Hemrose sighed. The commander, Toby Godson, was a well-meaning fool. He ran a smart ship, and that was enough. Until the signal had arrived anyway.

Hemrose recalled his excitement, although he would die rather than display it. The war might indeed end soon, maybe even next year. Being captain of a big cruiser, a ship well known as any of her class, was some compensation. But he had seen himself, still in command when the war ended. Then what? Passed over for promotion again, or merely chucked on the beach like his father before him.

They had some saying about it. 'God and the Navy we adore, when danger threatens, but not before!'

He looked at the lengthy signal from the far-off Admiralty. As from today he was promoted to acting commodore, to take upon himself the command of a small squadron. To take all necessary stops to seek out and engage the German raider should she manage to penetrate the defences and come to the South Atlantic.

It was unlikely, as Godson had said. But it had given him a well-needed boost.
Acting commodore,
a temporary appointment at the best of times. But it was his chance. The all-important step to flag-rank. It was not unknown in this war. Harwood, who had commanded the little squadron which had run the raider G
raf Spee
to earth, had made flag-rank immediately afterwards.

It was something to think about.

One of his new squadron was already here in Simonstown. She was the small Leander class cruiser
Pallas
of the Royal New Zealand Navy. She looked like a destroyer compared with the
Wiltshire,
but her captain and her ship's company were well trained, and had been together since she had commissioned.

He heaved himself up and walked to one of the scuttles, one which faced away from the glare.

He thought vaguely of his home in Hampshire. His w'ife Beryl would be pleased when she heard. There were too many naval officers' wives who lived in the county whose husbands seemed to have been promoted ahead of him.

Acting commodore. He nodded. It sounded good. Old world; he liked that. He was distantly related to Captain James Cook and was proud of it, although it did not seem to have helped him over the years.

The commander asked carefully, I'd forgotten, sir. You crossed swords with
Prinz Luitpold
before. North Cape, wasn't it?'

I don't forget.' He stared through the scuttle. Two sailors in a dinghy were calling up to some black girls on the jetty. A bit of black velvet, as his father would have said.

The commander ignored the warning signs. 'They say that Rear-Admiral Leitner's in command.'

Hemrose glowered. 'I don't give a bloody damn about
him.
Her captain's the man - Hechler. He was in command at North Cape, when -'

The commander said, She's a miniature battle-cruiser, sir. Makes our armour plate look like cardboard.'

Hemrose ignored him. 'Came out of the snow like a cliff. It w
^r
as gun-for-gun.' He looked around the pleasant cabin, remembering it as it had been. 'This place was riddled, like a bloody pepper pot.'

The commander had lost his way. 'She made off anyway, sir.'

'Aye, she did that. Just as well. It was a right cock-up, I can tell you.' He saw the sailors paddling away. They had probably seen him looking at them. 'I hope it
is
Hechler in command. I'll get him this time.' He gave a rueful grin. 'Now he's like I was at North Cape.'

'How so, sir?'

Hemrose laughed out loud. 'He's got his fucking admiral breathing down his neck, that's why!'

The commander downed his gin. He was used to the captain's coarse speech and blunt manner. Perhaps his temporary promotion would mellow him. But it could not last. The fleet would catch the German raider before they got a look-in.

Hemrose rubbed his hands. 'Recall all the senior officers. I want 'em aboard by the dog watches.' He eyed his golf clubs. 'See how
they
like it.'

The commander nodded. I see

'You don't, Toby.' He became grave. 'I meant what I said. For the first time in my life their bloody lordships have given me a free hand, and by God I intend to use it.' He clapped him on the shoulder. 'Make a signal to
Pallas.
Captain repair on board.'

Godson said unhappily, 'He's playing cricket with the South Africans, sir.'

Hemrose beamed. 'Good. I want us out of harbour by this time tomorrow and I'll need you to form your own team to monitor all despatches and signals. Every damn thing. He slammed his fist into his palm. 'So get that Kiwi aboard,
chop
,
chop''
He bustled to the sideboard and groped for some ice, but it had all melted. He slopped another large gin into his glass.

'Liibeck
's gone to the bottom anyway. That's one less. Scuttled herself when our lot were almost up to her.' He frowned . I wonder if Hechler knows?' He turned. 'Somehow' I doubt it.'

But he was alone.

Kapitan zur See Dieter Hechler closed the conning-tower's steel door and pushed through the fireproof curtain.

Outside it was dusk, but in here it was like night, with only the chart-table lights and automatic pilot casting any glow on the thick armour plate.

Hechler could sense the tension as well as the controlled excite-merit. Gudegast was leaning on the vibrating table, his face in shadow, only his beard holding the light. His team stood around him, boys most of them, in various attitudes of attention as Hechler joined them.

Hchler looked at the chart, the neat calculations and pencilled fixes. Then at the plot-table which told him all the rest. Course, ,md speed, time and distance, variations, fed in by a dozen repeaters from radar, gyro and log.

'We're through.'

Gudegast nodded. Then he pointed his dividers to the chart where the course had crossed the Iceland-Faeroe Rise, where the seabed rose inexplicably like a hump. To U-boats and blockade-i tinners alike it was known as the
meat grinder.
Not a good place lor a submarine to run deep to avoid a depth-charge attack, and no scope for a surface vessel to manoeuvre.

And yet they had made it. This great ship had passed through I he 300-mile gap without opposition. Not a ship, not even a distant aircraft had been sighted.

I.uck, a miracle, or a direct result of von Hanke's decoy, it was impossible to tell.

The curtain swirled aside again and Leitner strode in with his aide behind him.

He stared unwinking at the chart and said, 'We did it. As planned.'

He looked at the darkened figures round him. Two days since the convoy, and now we are here!' He slapped the chart with unusual lervour. ‘The Atlantic, gentlemen! They said it could not be done.!'

Some of the men were shaking hands and grinning at each other; only Gudegast remained unmoved and grim-faced.

He said, 1 should like to alter course in fifteen minutes, sir

Hechler nodded. 1 shall come up.

A seaman called, 'From the bridge, sir.' He held out the telephone.

Hechler shook himself. Fatigue or anxiety, which was it? He had not heard it ring.

It was Froebe, who was in charge of the watch.

'Radar has reported a faint echo at Red one-oh, sir. About five miles.'

That was close. Too close. Hechler calmed himself. 'What is it, man?'

He could picture Froebe shrugging his gaunt shoulders. 'Very small, sir, barely registers.' Someone shouted in the background. 'It will be dark very soon;'

Hechler said, 'Alter course to intercept.' He felt Gudegast brush past him to adjust the chart.

Leitner muttered, 'Something small, eh? God damn them, it might have been a submarine's conning-tower. At five miles anything might happen!' Another flaw. The unseen observer.

Froebe spoke again, relieved. 'We've identified it, sir. It's a boat.'

Hechler hurried from the conning tower, not caring if Leitner was in agreement or not.

On the main bridge it was quite cold, and the clouds had thickened considerably.

He raised his glasses and felt the deck tilt very slightly as the helm went over.

Then he saw it and felt his taut muscles relax. There would be no attack from this lonely boat. It was a common enough sight on the Atlantic, but new to most of his company, he thought.

Theil had arrived on the bridge, panting hard as he snatched some binoculars from a messenger.

He said, A boat full of corpses.' He sounded angry, as if the drifting boat had wronged him in some way.

Hechler watched the boat. Would their journey ever end, he wondered?

'Slow ahead, all engines.'

Theil was peering at him with disbelief. 'You're not going to stop?'

Hechler said, 'Boatswain's mate, call away the accident boat.'

The boat would automatically have an experienced petty officer in charge. He glanced at young Jaeger. 'You go. Keep your wits about you.'

Theil said between his teeth, 'In the name of God, sir, we're a sitting target.'

Hechler said quietly, 'Keep your voice down, Viktor.'He gripped his glasses more tightly. A trick of the fading light, or had he seen a movement amongst the silent, patient figures in the listing boat?

'Stop engines!' He hurried to the side as the motorboat hit the water and veered away on the dying bow-wave. Jaeger had only just clawed his way aboard in time.

He remarked, 'Someone's alive out there.' When Theil said nothing he added coldly, 'Would you have me fire on the boat?'

He raised his glasses once more, sensing the rift between them. He saw the motorboat speeding across the swell, Jaeger looking astern at the cruiser and probably wondering what would happen

if there was an attack.

He knew Leitner was beside him, could smell his cologne. But he kept his eyes on the little drama as the motorboat hooked on and Jaeger with a petty officer scrambled over the gunwale. The petty officer was old Tripz. He was used to this kind of work. He saw Jaeger lean on the gunwale with a handkerchief to his mouth, Jaeger was not.