iron pirate (35 page)

Jaeger waited for Leitner to rush to the opposite side and stammered, 'W/T office has picked up a signal from the radio station, sir.'

Hechler eyed him calmly, although his nerves were screaming.

'Well?'

'They are not sure, sir. But it seems as if another operator has disclaimed the first signal. Now there is only silence.'

'Steady on two-three-zero, sir. All engines half-speed ahead.'

Leitner was suddenly facing him, his face streaming with rain.

'What was that? Am I to be told nothing by these idiots?'

Hechler replied, 'The information will doubtless have been sent to your bridge, sir.' He tried to contain his patience, when all he wanted to do was discover how badly the
Prinz
was damaged.

'It means that somebody on St Jorge took over the transmitter.

Had it been any earlier we would have had to abandon the whole convoy. I

Leitner thrust his face so close he could smell the brandy. I don't want your snivelling excuses! I'll have those men court-martialled and shot, and I'll personally break the officer responsible for the landing party!'

Hechler stood back, sickened. 'It was a risk. We knew it. It might have been worse.'

'Worse?
WorseT
Leitner waved his arms at the bridge. I don't see that! A relic of a merchant ship stood against
Prinz Luitpold,
and because of someone's incompetence we had to withdraw! By God, Hechler, I'll not be a laughing-stock because of it! Do you know what I call it?'

Hechler pressed his hands to his sides. He wanted to hit Leitner, to keep on hitting him. A laughing-stock, was that all he saw in it? Men killed, and this fine ship isolated and at bay because of his haphazard orders.

'I call it cowardice! In the face of the enemy - what do you think of
thatT

'I can only disagree, sir.'

'Can you indeed.' He stared around the bridge. 'There are some who will live long enough to regret this day!' He stormed off the bridge and Froebe hissed, 'I'm no coward, damn him!'

Hechler ignored him. 'Recall the Arado. Tell W/T to monitor every signal. We have roused a hornets' nest.'

He looked round, surprised, as sunlight broke through the dull clouds. 'And I want the navigating officer here at once.'

There was no point in wondering about the hand on the transmitter. It was probably as dead as the men trapped below when the shell had exploded amongst them.

A messenger handed him a telephone. Leitner's voice was quite controlled again. It could have been someone else entirely.

'We will rendezvous at the
second
grid-point. It will be safer than heading north right away.'

'Very well, sir.'
Why don't I argue with him? Tell him that we are wasting sea miles and precious time. Steer north and take the risk.
It would be 900 miles closer to home. But even as he thought it, Hechler knew it was fruitless. Leitner was unstable in his present mood. All he could think of was their failure to destroy the whole convoy, the effect it might have on his own reputation. He had made it quite clear that he would see that all blame would rest elsewhere. On the captain's shoulders, no doubt, Hechler was quietly surprised that the realisation did not touch him.

What they had achieved this tar, they had done well. The courage and sacrifice of that one old liner had shifted the balance,

I rom offensive to the need for survival. That was war. It was also luck.

He heard Gudegast's seaboots crunching over the glass and turned to face him.

You've heard about St Jorge?'

Gudegast met his gaze, troubled and wary. 'Yes, sir. The whole ship has.' He seemed to expect anger, even dismissal,

Hechler said quietly, 'You were right, Josef. She
was
a fine old lady.'

Gudegast's bearded features softened. 'No, I was a fool to question your actions. It was not my place to speak as I did.'

Hechler looked up at the rain. A man had died here, another had been blinded, just feet away.
It could have been me.

He said, 'My guess is that the Tommies are on their way to St Jorge, or were until that last signal was sent. It will give us some sea-room, I think. Maybe our admiral is right to head for the second rendezvous. It will keep us out of the air patrols, and I think that the hunters will be expecting us to head for the North Atlantic without further delay.'

Gudegast shrugged. 'Home then, sir.'

'Yes. But we'll not reach Germany again without a fight.'

Theil entered the bridge and eyed them grimly. 'I have done my rounds, sir.'

Hechler nodded. 'Tell me the worst, Viktor.'

Theil looked at the broken screen. He had heard the blinded man screaming before he had been silenced by Stroheim's staff.

One of my petty officers, Hammer, is trapped in the empty, ready-use room, sir. The mechanism was broken in the explosion.'

Gudegast said, 'But he should not have been in there surely?'

He saw the petty officer in his mind, a mild man, yet one who always seemed to be against authority in his mad desire to keep stocks of glass in any vacant space.

Hechler said, 'I have the key in my safe, Viktor.'

Theil faced him. 'Yes. And the admiral had the other. I am fully aware of the security arrangements in this ship. I -' He seemed to check himself with a real effort.

'Well, he's trapped inside. With the admiral's boxes.'

It would have to be solved, but against what had happened it seemed trivial.

He would go round the ship as soon as the Arado had been hoisted inboard. With more and more enemy ships being homed either towards the broken convoy or the silent radio station, they would need all their eyes to avoid discovery.

'See what you can do.' Hechler looked at each of them in turn. 'And thank you.'

He felt utterly drained. Yet he must inspect the immobilised turret, see his heads of department, and bury their dead.

He thought of the girl's face so close to his own, the need to see her. It might be the last time.

He thought too of the unknown hand on the transmitter key, and the captain of the old ocean liner as she had charged to the attack. His men could and would fight like that. He pictured Leitner's insane fury and felt a sudden anxiety.

The legend and the luck were no longer enough.

No Hiding Place

Ac ting Commodore Hemrose moved restlessly to the starboard side of the
Wiltshire's
bridge and fastened his duffle coat more lightly. The rain was getting heavier, he thought irritably. They could do without it.

He peered through a clearview screen and watched the long arrowhead of the cruiser's forecastle begin to shine through the darkness. Dawn soon. He felt like rubbing his hands but it was loo wet for that. Since leaving Simonstown the three ships had maintained almost their full speed, and each had been closed up at action stations since midnight. Exciting, exhilarating, it was much more than either, Hemrose thought. Gone was the boredom and the nagging suspicion that the German raider was cocking a snook at them. For two days they had pounded through the heavy ocean swell, gun crews exercising without all I he usual moans. This time it was in earnest.

Hemrose could picture his ships clearly despite the darkness. The
Rhodesia
was half a mile astern, while the light cruiser
Pallas
was way ahead in the van. If the German's radar was as good as the experts had implied, it was better to have the smallest ship in the lead. The
Prinz Luitpold
was a powerful and formidable opponent, but they would dart in to close the range, singly, while the others maintained covering fire to halve the enemy's resources. Hemrose thought of their old Walrus flying boat, the Shagbat as it was affectionately known in the navy. One engine, a
pusher
at that, with a ridiculous maximum speed of 130 odd miles per hour. But it only needed one sighting report, and the ancient Walrus could do that just as efficiently as any first-rate bomber.

Flemrose glanced at his bridge staff. The first lieutenant and officer-of-the-watch, the navigating officer, two junior subbies, and the usual handful of experts, signalmen and the like. As good a ship's company as you could find anywhere, he decided.

He licked his lips and tasted that last mug of cocoa,
pusser's kye
. It had been laced with rum, his chief steward had seen to that. Just the thing to meet the dawn.

He heard the OOW answering one of the voice-pipes, then turned as he said, 'W/T office. Chief telegraphist requests permission to come up, sir.'

‘What?
Hemrose dug his hands into his damp pockets. 'Oh, very well.'

The chief telegraphist was a proper old sweat. Not the kind to make fruitless requests when at any moment they might make contact with the enemy.

The man arrived on the bridge and paused only to nod to his messmate, the Chief Yeoman of Signals.

'What is it?'

The man had a signal pad in his hand but did not seem to need it.

He said, 'From Admiralty, sir, repeated Rear-Admiral commanding Force M.' He swallowed hard. 'The signal from St Jorge was a fake, sir. The northbound tanker convoy is under attack by the raider. HMS
Tasmania
is engaging.'

Some of the others had heard what the chief petty officer had said and were watching Hemrose, waiting for him to explode. Hemrose was surprised that he should feel so calm. And yet he had never expected this to happen. Not in a thousand years.

The chief telegraphist added, Also, there was one further transmission from that radio station, sir. Someone there was apparently trying to warn us.'

Hemrose looked up sharply as the first lieutenant murmured, 'Brave bastard!'

'Get the commander up here.' He had to think, but all he could see was the convoy, the shells ploughing amongst those heavily laden oil tankers. 'Call up the squadron. Remain on course. Reduce to cruising speed.' He hated to add, 'Fall out action stations. I'll speak to our people presently.'

'More kye, sir.' His chief steward had appeared by his side.

Thanks.' He tried to grin, but his face felt rigid. 'I bloody need it.'

Godson clattered up the ladder and exclaimed, 'I just heard, sir. Bad show.'

Is that what you really think?
Aloud Hemrose said, 'We'll be getting our marching orders soon, hence the signal repeated to Force M.'

Godson remained silent. Force M was one of the fleet's powerful independent groups, a battle-cruiser, a big carrier, with all the support and escorts they needed. It would be the end of Hemrose's little squadron. He would become a small fish in a much grander pool. Godson hated himself for being pleased about it. But it would be a whole lot safer.

The navigating officer murmured, 'When it's convenient, sir -' He hesitated as Hemrose turned towards him.

Hemrose said, 'We shall maintain this course for the moment, Pilot

Godson offered, 'Someone will have to lie off St Jorge and pick up the Germans if there are any.’

Hemrose said harshly, 'Well, not me. Leave that to some errand-boy!'

His sudden anger seemed to tire him. He said, 'I shall be in my sea-cabin. Call me if -' He did not finish it.

Alone in his cabin abaft the bridge he lay fully clothed, staring into the darkness.

When the telephone rang he snatched it up and snapped, Well?'

It was Godson. 'Signal from Admiralty, sir.' He cleared his throat as he always did when he was about to face something bad. The Armed Merchant Cruiser
Tasmania
has been sunk. One escort reported seeing a shell-burst on the raider. Most of the convoy has survived. We are to await further instructions.'

Hemrose slumped down again. Poor old
Tasmania.
It must have been the last thing her captain had expected too. He clenched his fists with sudden despair and anger. What was it he had learned when he had been a cadet at Dartmouth?
God and the Navy we adore, when danger threatens but not before.
How bloody true it had been proved over and over again in this war. Pleasure boats and paddle steamers used for mine-sweeping, Great War destroyers fighting the Atlantic and anything the krauts could fling their way. And it would be the same in any future conflict. Spend nothing, but expect a bloody miracle, that was John Citizen's battle cry.

He heaved himself up and stared at the luminous clock. What was the matter with him? Was he so overwhelmed by the German's trick that he had missed something so obvious? No ship as good as
Prinz Luitpold
would be deterred by the second signal from St Jorge. Not at that stage, with helpless tankers falling to her broadsides. The old AMC had scored one hit, they said. Well, it might only take one. It must have been bad enough to make Hechler break off the action.

He seized the telephone and heard the OOW reply, 'Bridge, sir?'

'Get me the commander.'

Godson sounded alarmed. 'Something wrong, sir?'

‘Tasmania
hit the raider, Toby. The
Prinz Luitpold
must be in trouble.'

Godson stammered, 'One shell, sir - well, that is, we don't know

'Shut up and listen. I want the attack team mustered in the chart room in ten minutes.'

There was no comment and he snapped, 'Are you still there?'

Godson replied weakly, 'Are you going after the raider again, sir?'

Hemrose touched his face. He would shave, and meet his little team looking refreshed and confident.

He said, 'We needed a bit of luck, Toby. That poor, clapped-out AMC may have given us just that.'

Godson persisted, The Admiralty will probably decline to -'

'Don't be such a bloody old woman.' He slammed down the phone.

It was so obvious he wanted to shout it at the top of his voice. The US submarine had been damaged, but had fired at the raider because her skipper had never seen such a target. But his torpedoes must have hit something else, hence the remains of German corpses and a massive oil-slick. The so-called experts had acted like a ship's lookout who saw only what he expected to see. It must have been another submarine. He wanted to laugh, when he recalled it was the poor chaplain who had first put the doubts about the raider's fuel supply in his mind.