On the Edge of Darkness (Special Force Orca Book 1) (31 page)

*     *     *

“Half ahead both engines… Messenger tell the fo’c’s’le, top and quarterdeck to be ready with fenders… Officer of the Watch make sure that Number One and his D.C. team are on the quarterdeck ready with their gear and get the sea boat swung outboard, just in case.”

The
‘Nishga’ inched forward, steadily closing the gap between the two vessels. The M.F.V. was now less than a cable away, fine on the starboard bow and gradually drawing aft as the destroyer overhauled her.

“
Slow ahead both engines.”

The way dropped off the
‘Nishga’ and she began to roll. They drew level, from his vantage point on the wing of the bridge; he could look straight down onto the top of the fishing boat. White water swirled around her wooden deck in whirlpools, rhythmically emptying in a rush through her lee scuppers. The sea, squeezed between the two vessels, shot out astern like another wake. Every time the fishing boat rolled away to starboard he could see faces, white with fear, staring up through the bridge windows.

“
Stop both.” Only feet now separated the two as they rolled their way west. “Half astern both engines” The destroyer began to vibrate, astern a mound of water climbed into the air as the screws bit deep. “Slow ahead…revolutions for five knots.”

A big wave rolled
lazily in, lifting the two boats like toys it passed under them and they fell back in toward each other with tremendous force. The men positioned along the length of the warship, struggled frantically to keep their feet and to position the heavy basketwork fenders before the two collided. Then they came together, filling the air with the creaks and groans of the contorted basketwork.

“
Over you go lads,” yelled Barr, his voice was whipped away on the wind, but there was no mistaking his gesture. Men took running jumps, high over the dropped quarterdeck guardrails. Clear of the churning gap they landed on the sea-washed decks of the tiny fishing boat.

*     *     *

Lieutenant Grey landed squarely on the rolling deck, shouting for Petty Officer Stone, he made for the bridge.

The
‘Nishga’ was moving away already, like a slow train leaving its station. Clear of the smaller boat she listed heavily to starboard as, screws turning faster, she turned away to port.

Grey went quickly up the
three steps to the enclosed bridge. Drawing his revolver, he swung the door open. The tiny bridge was crowded with oilskin clad figures, thick with cigarette smoke and reeked of vomit. Petty Officer Stone squeezed in alongside him, pushing for room with the butt of his Lanchester. There were five people in the tiny space, seven with the two destroyer men.

“
Anyone speak English?” called Grey.

“
I speak a little,” the voice sounded young, northern European and came from the back.

“
Right lad, come through here where I can see you.”

The English speaking youngster
pushed through the throng tugging at the hood of an overlarge oilskin.

“
Now, who is in charge here?”

A
n unruly mop of blond hair had tumbled over the face and was pushed to one side with a decidedly graceful sweep of one hand.

“
God Lord, a woman!” exclaimed Grey.

The slight figure said something
in what sounded Norwegian to Grey’s untutored ears, whatever it was it brought a laugh from the others.

“
Keep quiet !” bawled Petty Office Stone.

T
hey might not have understood the English, but they understood the big Petty Officer’s tone and fell silent.

Stone spoke to the girl without taking his eyes off the four men
“Tell the man on the wheel to lash it amidships, and then the lot of you can get your hands on your heads….Beg your pardon, sir, but it’s better this way.”

“
Yes, of course,” acknowledged Grey.”

The girl repeated the order and placed her own hands
as requested.

“
Who is in charge?” the gravel in Stone’s voice made it a threat rather than an enquiry.

The girl answered,
“The captain was injured in a fall and is below with one other. This man is the only other seaman. She pointed to the man busy lashing the wheel amidships..

“
Can you watch these, sir? Just while I send a couple of the lads below to search the others out.”

Stone didn
’t bother to wait for a reply, but disappeared out onto the wind lashed upper deck.

Grey turned to the girl,
“Who are you people?”

“
We are all Norwegians.” said the girl, she spoke perfect English with hardly a trace of an accent. “My name …”

G
rey was becoming impatient with the girl’s casual attitude. “Never mind that now. What are you doing on board this vessel, you are obviously not fishermen?”

“
My name is Bendedikte Loevaas,” she said evenly and with a touch of deviance. We, all of us, are fleeing from the Nazis, we were part of a network of information gatherers, we were betrayed. We are headed for the Shetlands.”

“
Why the Shetlands?”

“
It is the nearest land that is free from the Nazis and most of us have family ties there, the islands once belonged to Norway you know.”

Grey ignored the remark,
“This network of agents, where were they based?”

“
We had no specific base, we covered the coastline reporting the movement of enemy ships, aircraft, troops, that sort of thing. The information was relayed to you British.”

“
What is the name of your leader.”

“
We only know our immediate contacts, the leader is known only as Olaf.”

Grey tried not to show surprise,
“A common enough name in your country, I understand. Did you ever meet this Olaf?”

Before the girl could reply t
he door banged back on its hinges and a blast of cold air roared in. “Right, Foster, on the wheel. The rest of yer, Take this lot below, one at a time, search them first.”

“
Does that include the girl, P.O.?” asked a lecherous voice from out on the deck.

The grim faced PO his head held enquiringly
to one side like a dog who hadn’t understood his master’s order.

“
Certainly not!” said Grey, “She stays on the bridge.”

The girl
’s mouth opened, “I object, you have no right to…”

Stone reared
up in front of her, “I suggest, Miss, you speak when you’re spoken to.”

*     *     *

Grey rubbed the condensation from bridge window, through the running curtain of water could just make out the ‘Nishga’. She was showing no lights and had taken up station to port and slightly ahead of them. From there it afforded them some protection from the wind and the waves.

Out on the deck, Petty Officer Stone was making his way aft pausing, legs astride, as
the larger waves lifted the boat. He reached the bridge door, swung it open and stood just inside. “What do you want the men to do now, sir?...sir?”

Grey turned
wearily round, Stone could tell instantly that he had been drinking again.

“
Yes?”

Stone looked down at his feet,
“Shall I carry on, sir?” Grey made no reply simply turning his back and resuming his vigil at the window.

Stone opened the door
and slammed it to behind him. Bloody fool! A fat lot of use he’s going to be. He shook his head slowly pursing his thin lips in though. He blamed himself, he should have done something about it after Boulogne, but, well, he couldn’t help thinking that but for the grace of God… He just wasn’t up to the job, but then, in Stone’s book, few officers were.

His men were only yards away, even so he had to cup his hands around his mouth and yell at the top of his lungs I order to get heard above the roar of the storm,
“Leading Hand!” Take one man, cut away the mast. Get the rest of them turned to dumping what they can from the upper deck. We’ve got to reduce the weight topside as much as we can, to lessen this loll. It’ll reduce the weight of the boat at the same time …which won’t be a bad thing. Make sure you dump the gear evenly.

“
What do you mean, P.O?”

“
If you dump gear from one side of the boat, dump something of equal weight from the other, anchors for instance.”

“
Got yer, what about the life rafts?”

Stone hesitated…N
o life rafts no means of getting off if she founders. “Chuck ‘em over, we will have to rely on our lifejackets. Anyway the ‘Nishga’ will be there for us if the worst comes to the worst, the ‘Nishga won’t be far off. I’m going below, if there’s gear you’re not sure about, I mean, gear you think we might need, stow it on the middle line and I’ll sort through it as soon as I get back.”

“
Got yer.”

“
Got yer, P.O.” reminded Stone.

He
made his way aft, hanging on to the bulkhead handrail, for dear life, as he went. The Stoker PO, a bearded Scotsman by the name of ‘Jock’ Sterling, was waiting by the engine room door. At his feet two stokers struggled with a heavy portable pump. A black hose ran from it to a ventilator.

“
There’s a foot of water in the engine room, she leaking like a bloody sieve from somewhere.”

Stone nodded,
“ Leave Warren here to deal with the water in the engine room: The leading stoker crouched by the pump looked up in surprise, a seaman who knew his name.

“
You come with me, Jock, we’ll take a shufty at the holds, see what state they’re in.”

The pump rattled into life with a cough and a
flying cloud of oily black smoke.

Sterling bent low, to make himself heard,
“Warren, lash that pump down securely and then get yourself below, take charge of that civy in the engine room. Leave Seymour to man the pump.” He turned back to Stone, “ Right, Rocky, ready when you are.”

*     *     *

The for’ard hold reeked of fish, Stone hung from a ladder rung and shone his powerful torch down into the gloom below. Only a few feet below him the rusty iron ladder disappeared into water, thick with oil. He looked for the light switch, found it and flicked it on with the corner of his torch, nothing.

“
First job, get the ‘Lecky’ to rig up a portable light down here…” He paused as his words were drowned out by the crash and rattle of the anchor cable leaping its way up the hawse pipe from the cable locker. The Leading hand was hard at work dumping the heavy anchors and their cables.

He shone his light around the darkened hold, the water was deeper here than in the engine room…two, maybe three feet.

“Aye, this is where the water’s coming from alright.” called Sterling from somewhere above him. It was as if he was reading his thoughts.

“
See that water-tight door, Jock.” Stone shone the beam onto a rusty steel door in a fore and aft bulkhead which divided the hold into two. “Get it closed right away it will reduce the width of the compartment, reduce the free surface area and hopefully this bloody loll. Then get the pump up here as soon as you’ve got the water down to a workable level in the engine room.”

“
I’ve enough hose to reach both places at the same time. That way, if we have to, we can quickly shift back to the engine room without the bind of moving the pump and its hose.”

“
Good, anything that will save time,” said Stone, climbing past the Stoker P.O. and out onto the deck. He leaned back over the open hatch and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Make sure you pump her out evenly, otherwise it’ll make matters worse.”

“
Spare me, Rocky, I’m no yer grandma. Teach her to suck eggs if you’ve a mind.”

*     *     *

“The pump’s no holding its own,” called Sterling, above the noise of wind and pump. “The level in the engine room’s up six inches since we started pumping from the hold. It’s up there too, but not by as much.”

“
All we can do is to keep pumping, Jock. I’ll see if Grey’s got any ideas.”

“
I’ve already tried that. You’ll be wasting yer time there, man. He’s as pissed as a bodger’s handcart; again. I just come from the bridge.”

“
Well he’s best kept out of it, then.”

“
You’ve no need to worry there. The lucky bastard’s out like a light. You’ll have to report him. You know that don’t yer.”

“
We’ll see,” Stone replied, turning towards the bridge.