Ship of Force (18 page)

Smith was prepared to bet the hatch was not locked. The guard would not be happy with it locked with the prospect of a shell smashing out of the night, and why should it be? He had them under his rifle and Smith was sure he would use it. He looked a solid, determined man. A respectable husband and father and kindly, but at this moment he was guarding his enemies…They had been excited on deck, startled, curious — but not triumphant. There had been no expressions of hatred…An attack on this man would fail but…

Feet thumped on the deck, the hatch opened to admit grey light and a hoarse voice, the skipper’s, called down to the guard. Then the hatch slammed down but the guard relaxed slightly, settled himself more comfortably.

So it was light enough now for the skipper to see there was no British ship in sight. That would be the reason for the grin. What had happened to
Sparrow
? But this was the time, if ever.

It was worth a try. They
had
to try.

He said quietly, “Eleanor. Shiver.”

She looked up at him, then shuddered. He started to tug off his jacket, talking to her, but he said, “Don’t any of you look at me. I’m supposed to be talking to the lady.” The glances shifted away. “Buckley. Get ready.”

The guard was suspicious now. Smith was not looking at him but at the edge of his vision he saw him once again push away from the bulkhead. But a respectable, decent man…Smith said, “Take off the blouse.” It was no longer sodden but it still clung to her. She was still a moment, seeing the men’s eyes turn away. Then she started to unfasten the buttons, peeled the blouse away from her as Smith held out the jacket.

The guard averted his eyes. A decent man.

Smith had no time to be sorry. He slashed the jacket across the man’s face and threw his weight into him, hurling him at Buckley. “Get the rifle!”

Buckley grabbed at the man, wrapped arms around him and grasped the rifle. It fired, once, the shot smashed into the deck-head then the others were piling on to the guard who went down under them kicking and fighting and bellowing in panic.

Smith was already on the companion, thrusting open the hatch and bursting out on to the deck. The light seemed bright in those first seconds and for one of them he hesitated. Then the skipper came hurrying aft around the wheelhouse and the man with the second rifle came running from the bow. He was shouting, lifting the rifle and Smith threw himself at the skipper. They wrestled clumsily, the skipper taken off guard and no more than trying to fend Smith off. Smith had to keep his feet and hold on to the skipper, hold him between the rifle and himself. The skipper’s eyes squinted at him and his mouth gaped as he panted, breath smelling of tobacco in Smith’s face. Beyond him, over the skipper’s broad shoulder, Smith could see the man with the rifle. He was stopped short of them, the muzzle of the rifle a yard or so away, weaving as he tried to get in a shot. He edged to one side, shouting, but Smith heaved the skipper over, stopping his attempt to break free, stopping the rifle from firing. But the skipper was setting his feet now, seeing the object of Smith’s wrestling and Smith could see the knowledge on his face. Where the
hell
were…

He saw Buckley suddenly straighten from the hatch and step up behind the man with the rifle.

Buckley also had a rifle.

The man was still. He twisted his head to look over his shoulder at the rifle Buckley had rammed into his back and stood so to let McGraw step up and twist away his weapon. Smith thrust the skipper towards Buckley then pointed a finger at McGraw. “Engines. Watch ’em. Make ’em see they do as they’re told or else!” McGraw ran for the engine-room hatch. Smith threw at Buckley, “Get ’em all below and put a guard on them.”

The cook was out of his galley, mechanically wiping fat hands on his apron as a pair of
Sparrow
’s men hustled him below to the saloon. The man from the wheelhouse followed him similarly escorted Smith finished, “And make sure they don’t get out!”

“That they won’t, sir.” Buckley was grimly determined on that. He jerked the rifle at the skipper and his other prisoners.

“’Ere, you! Get below! Sharpish!”

Smith swung himself up into the wheelhouse and found Finlay at the wheel. Smith had watched him stand a trick at the wheel aboard
Sparrow
.

“Course, sir?” asked Finlay.

Course? Smith stared at the morning, grey, clouded, a fine drizzle falling, trying to catch his breath. He rubbed at the rain and sweat on his face as he took in the scene. They had seized the chance of escape only just in time — if in time. The sun was not up, but Ostende stood vague a bare mile away off the port bow. If this ship had not stopped and turned to pick up Smith and his men she would have reached Ostende at first light or before.

He ordered, “Starboard ten! Steer two-six-oh!” They were not going to Ostende. Not if he could help it. There were shore batteries that could sink them easily but this ship flew German colours. They might wonder at her change of course but they would know her because this was unlikely to be her first trip. They would not fire. There was a guard ship, what looked like one of the old torpedo-boats, patrolling slowly between the ship and Ostende. They were showing no interest. He stuck his head out of the wheelhouse and looked up at the yard at the hoist of flags there. Probably the skipper had run them up just before the escape and they were the identification. The coaster’s bow had swung away from the port and now pointed out to sea. He bent to the voice pipe.

“McGraw!”

“Sir!”

“Full speed ahead!” He found Eleanor Hurst beside him, tucking in the blouse, pushing at a tendril of hair. She suggested, “
Schnell
.”

He said, “Tell ’em
schnell
!”

“
Schnell
! Aye, aye, sir.” Smith heard him bellow, “
Schnell
! D’ye hear?
Schnell! Schnell
!” There came the scrape and clang of a shovel.

Smith straightened. Lorimer stood at the wheelhouse door, red in the face and panting with excitement, brandishing a cook’s carving-knife like a cutlass. “We’ve searched the ship, sir. Nobody aboard.” Smith had seen them at it, scurrying like terriers.

Buckley appeared. “All secure under guard, sir. An’ the cook had a pot o’ coffee going and there’s bread an’ sausage. Foreign stuff o’ course, but it smells good. Come to that, anything would.” He was not looking at Smith. Now he said, “That torpedo-boat sir. Reckon she’s signalling to us?”

Smith grunted. He had no doubt of it. She lay astern of them now and she would be curious as they steamed away out to sea. “Run up a hoist.” And as Buckley looked at him questioningly, “Any flags. Doesn’t matter what it means, if anything. They’ll think the skipper’s got his signal-book upside down and try us again.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The engines were thumping away at a faster beat now and the coaster was slowly increasing speed. This was not
Sparrow
, though
she
was no ocean greyhound. This ship that had been toddling along at five or six knots might now slowly increase to eight. They were nowhere near running. But they were gaining time, gaining distance. The torpedo-boat still patrolled and was being left further and further astern.

“Sir!” Lorimer’s voice was urgent. “Ship of some sort! Starboard bow!”

Smith swung around to stare out over the bow and saw her, about three miles away. A ship? It could be a ship, bows on but it was not
Sparrow
. There was no smoke and she was not big enough, smaller even than little
Sparrow
. His eyes searched the wheelhouse and then found the telescope in its clips above the wheel. He snatched it down and levelled it, searching again for the black object, the ship. It came up in the lens, the image blurred and dancing but he focused the telescope and steadied himself against the motion of the ship so the image came clear and full in the lens. He watched for several seconds then lowered the telescope. He said, “It’s a U-boat. Heading for Ostende.”

He stared at the U-boat, thinking, while the others watched him and looked at each other uneasily. He thought it was cruel luck. A little more time and they would have been beyond pursuit by the old torpedo-boat but the U-boat was on an opposite course to their own, running down on them. She was probably on the surface because she would make better speed. She might have sustained damage that prevented her submerging but that was a minimal possibility. The reason did not matter, anyway. The fact was she was running on the surface and making better speed than this old coaster ever could; she could make eleven or twelve knots if she had to. And she carried a four-inch gun forward, he could see, it and it was manned. That was enough to deal with the coaster and their two rifles. More than enough. One round from that gun landing in the deck cargo forward would make of the ship a furnace. If
Sparrow
was here or
Marshall Marmont
with her big guns, cranky engines or no — Cranky engines? His thoughts checked an instant then raced on.

Buckley said urgently, “Torpedo-boat’s made his mind up, sir. He’s turned an’ he’s coming after us an’ cracking on speed.”

Smith swung to stare out over the stern at the torpedo-boat, a white bone in her teeth now and showing a narrow silhouette as she surged after them. She had a gun forward too, a sixpounder it would be but she wouldn’t fire, not with the U-boat coming down into range. He turned back to the U-boat. The combined speeds of coaster and U-boat had halved the distance between them. With the telescope he could see the men moving about the gun and the heads and shoulders of the little group in the conning-tower. There was a spark of light then. Someone in the conning-tower was using glasses. Inspecting the coaster. Seeing her colours but also noting her course and wondering. There was no chance of passing with a wave of the hand.

He jammed the telescope back in its clips and bellowed, “All hands!”

Buckley took up the yell and they came running, all but McGraw in the engine-room and the sentry below in the saloon. Smith told them what he wanted.

Lorimer looked around, then at Smith. “I’m the lightest, sir.”

There was no doubt of that. Smith nodded and they scattered. To Eleanor Hurst he said, “I want you to wait aft of the wheelhouse, get down on the deck and under a tarpaulin or a blanket. Find a lifebelt and put it on or get hold of a lifebuoy.”

“What are you going to do?”

He told her, not looking at her, head turning from the distant torpedo-boat to the nearer, now very near, U-boat. He finished, “So be ready to jump. I don’t have to explain in detail?”

“No.” She hesitated, then looked up at him. “It — it doesn’t sound to have much of a chance.”

He thought that was being optimistic. He said simply, “It’s the only one we’ve got.”

“You could surrender. You would surrender if it wasn’t for me.”

He tore his eyes away from the U-boat, looked seriously at her and shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, I couldn’t. If you weren’t here I’d do the same.” And he thought he probably would. Hoped he would. And was surprised at himself and the determination in his voice.

But Buckley was running aft with a coil of rope. Smith pushed her away. “Do as I said.”

She watched him as he went to meet Buckley, watched him as she backed away, and only took her eyes from him to look briefly at the U-boat as she stepped behind the wheelhouse.

Smith swung himself up into the wheelhouse to stand by Finlay. A glance aft showed him that Buckley and his party were ready, Lorimer among them with the rope around him in a bowline on a bight. Smith faced forward, faced the U-boat drawing steadily down on them and ordered, “Hard aport!”

Finlay turned the wheel rapidly then gripped the spokes. “Helm’s hard aport, sir.”

The coaster’s bow swung away from the U-boat and kept on swinging. Helm hard over she turned around through sixteen points and kept on turning through a full circle. As she swung broadside to the U-boat once more Smith glanced aft and saw little Lorimer had gone, knew he now dangled at the end of the rope, armed with a boat-hook and stabbing at some pretended obstruction of the rudder. The men in the U-boat would see the pantomime as Smith could see them in the conning-tower now, leaning out of the wheelhouse as the coaster churned again around the circle at juddering full speed.

Finlay said, “Just like the auld
Wildfire
the other day.”

Smith said absently, “That’s right.”

He watched the U-boat as they swept around in the circle and was sure her speed was falling away. Her bow wave looked less; he reckoned she had reduced to less than eight knots as she kept her course towards the circling coaster. He looked back across the sea that separated them from the torpedo-boat. She was closer but still a fair distance off. He swung back again to stare at the U-boat. She was large in his vision now as they closed the third circle, the coaster still curving round to port, the U-boat still well off the port bow but the bow inching towards her.

Soon.

The bow was nearly — was pointing at the U-boat’s stern and edging up her length as the coaster still turned but now the U-boat was turning. He fumbled for the telescope and through it saw the men on the conning-tower, faces filling the lens. He saw one of them was laughing, the others grinning, close as if he could hear that laughter. She was turning to run alongside the coaster as the latter went down around the circle again. In seconds the U-boat would be running alongside them and less than a cable’s length away…

“Hard astarboard!”

The wheel spun again, stopped, and the coaster swung out of the circle, swung further.

“Meet her! — Steady!”

The coaster ran straight, the U-boat rushing up at them. They would pass astern of her. “Port five!” She was turning towards them, trying to edge aside. He could see their faces now without the telescope, see a mouth wide, bellowing. Her gun forward of the conning-tower flashed and slammed and the shell ripped over the wheelhouse.

Smith shouted aft, “Hold on!” He saw Lorimer dragged aboard by Buckley and shouted again, “
Hold on
!” He looked back to the U-boat and braced himself. That last correction of course had been enough. They were charging down on the U boat. The gun’s crew leapt desperately around the weapon, her commander shouted, she still turned but now there was nothing he could do, or Smith, or anyone to avert the inevitable collision. The coaster rammed her right aft. Smith thought he was braced for it but he was torn loose and hurled into Finlay who clung to the wheel. Smith hung on to him and saw through watery eyes the bow crashing into and on to the U-boat, riding down on her, rolling her over. He could see the conning-tower but whoever was in it must have rolled to the deck. A man lay on the steeplytilted deck behind the gun, clinging on. Others were already in the sea.