The Good Shepherd (12 page)

“George to escort. Keep your stations. Open fire when within range.”

Then back to the helmsman.

“Meet her! Steady as you go.”

Keeling
was on a fresh zigzag. While he was speaking on the T.B.S. he must not forget that a U-boat was manoeuvring for a shot at him.

“Steady on course zero-nine-four, sir.”

“Very well.”

The T.B.S. was conveying the escort’s acknowledgments of his orders.

“Good luck, you fellows,” he said.

In the face of those numbers he could not send the escort forward to the attack. It would open too many gaps in a screen already far too weak.

Rudel, the electrical officer, was awaiting his attention; an electrician’s mate and his striker stood behind him. A glance showed the discs were still not spinning.

“Haven’t you got them working yet?” demanded Krause.

Rudel saluted.

“It’s not an electrical failure, sir. They’re frozen.”

“The spray’s freezing all over the glass, sir,” supplemented Nystrom. It was growing almost impossible to see out of the pilot-house.

“Then get to work on it,” snapped Krause.

He debated within himself; that was not an easy assignment for Nystrom. And Nystrom was not a brilliant officer.

“Put two men to work with buckets and swabs,” said Krause. “Warm water. Not boiling. Yes, and have that water salty--as salty as you can get it.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Very well, Mr Rudel.”

He returned Rudel’s salute, looking round him as he did so, forward at the distant convoy, to port at
Cadena,
to starboard where--perhaps--a U-boat was looking at him. The glass front of the pilot-house was already too spotted with ice to afford reasonable visibility, and he went out on to the starboard wing of the bridge.

“Left standard rudder!“ he ordered, and watched the ship come round.

“Meet her! Steady as you go! “

It was essential to keep
Keeling
zigzagging, and quite irregularly.

“Steady on course zero-eight-zero, sir.”

“Very well.”

He was converging now slightly on
Cadena.
The hands he laid upon the rail in front of him were numb, almost without sensation, but not quite numb enough for something different to be called to his notice. The forward curve of the rail was slick and smooth with a thin coating of ice. That and the wind which blew round him decided him to send for his additional clothing. Until then he had literally not had a moment in which to do so. Now this was an interval of leisure; leisure with a U-boat within torpedo range of him

“Messenger!”

Wink. Wink. Wink. Far ahead in the convoy a message was being flashed back, just visible in the gathering gloom. The Commodore, most likely--for certain.

“Yes, sir.” It was the bridge messenger; in those few seconds he had forgotten him.

“Go down to my cabin. I want the fur gloves you’ll see there. And I want the sweater and scarf. Wait. I want the hood, too. You’ll have to look for it in the second drawer down. Gloves, sweater, scarf, hood.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

The rattle of the lamp-shutters above him told him the signalmen were acknowledging the Commodore’s signal. He looked over at
Cadena;
he was drawing ahead of her and was well on her bow. The messenger from the signal bridge came clattering down.

COMCONVOY TO COMESCORT. NUMEROUS FOREIGN LANGUAGE TRANSMISSIONS TEN TO ONE-FIVE MILES AHEAD VARIOUS BEARINGS.

“Very well.”

The U-boats out ahead were talking to each other, setting their plans. Or perhaps they were reporting to Lorient where--what was that name? Doenitz--where Doenitz would co-ordinate their efforts. He was cold.

“T.B.S., sir!“ said Nystrom. “Eagle.”

As he went in to speak he decided that it would be better to order a new course now rather than wait until his conversation was finished.

“Alter course ten degrees to starboard, Mr Nystrom.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“George to Eagle. Go ahead.”

“Pips are all on the move sir. Three to port, bearing oh-eight-five for two of them and oh-eight-one. Range constant at one-oh miles. Two to starboard, bearing oh-nine-eight and one-oh-four. Range one-one miles. They’re keeping their distance ahead of us. And they’re transmitting, sir. Signals all the time. And we think we got another pip, too, sir. Five minutes ago. Dead ahead range five miles. It faded out almost as soon as we saw it, but we’re pretty certain of it.”

“What’s your visibility there?”

“Just about five miles, sir. Look-outs saw nothing.”

“Very well. Retain your stations. Over.”

U-boats ahead making no attempt at concealment.

“Steady on course one-zero-four, sir,” reported Nystrom.

“Very well.”

And one--one at least--closer in, below the surface. An ambush, posted there ready for action whether the escort advanced to the attack or plodded forward in the screen. A momentary appearance, perhaps to transmit a message or perhaps involuntary, breaking surface while rising to periscope depth. It occurred to him to give a warning to
Viktor,
but he discarded the idea. No need to tell those Polish fellows to keep alert. Those U-boats on the surface must be waiting for darkness to attack. The pestilence that walketh in darkness. Here was Charlie Cole, saluting.

“Ship’s icing up, sir. I’ve been round. Footing’s bad aft by the tubes.”

“Depth-charges free?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve given orders for the steam-hoses.”

Trust Charlie to attend to these matters. With depth-charges frozen to the racks and unable to roll--it had been known to happen--
Keeling
would lose nine-tenths of her usefulness as an escort.

“Thank you,” said Krause.

“Thank you, sir,” said Charlie, saluting again with his usual exactness.

The messenger was standing by with his arms full of clothes.

“Fine!“ said Krause. He began to unbutton the sheepskin coat. That was the moment for the voice-tube from the chart-house below to call him. The bell was still vibrating as Krause sprang to the tube.

“Pip bearing two-zero-seven. Range eleven thousand.”

That was well abaft the starboard beam. It must be the U-boat from which he had been screening
Cadena.
Finding herself being left behind she had surfaced. A second or two more for thought in this new situation. Turn end on and attack? Could he be sure it was not a ruse to draw him away? Yes. There had so far been no pips on this sector. If there were two U-boats they could not have concerted any plan.

“Right standard rudder. Steer course two-zero-seven.”

“Right standard rudder. Steer course two-zero-seven.”

“Captain to gunnery control. ‘Prepare to open fire on radar direction.’ “

The talker repeated the order. “Gunnery control answers ‘Aye aye, sir.’ “

“Steady on course two-zero-seven.”

“Very well.”

“Target bearing two-zero-eight. Range approximately one-oh-five-double oh.”

That was Charlie Cole’s voice. He must have dashed down below the moment he heard the pip reported. It was a comfort to know he had taken charge down there.

“What do you mean by ‘approximately,’ Charlie?”

“Screen’s fuzzy, sir, and it’s jumping a little.”

This accursed Sugar Charlie radar!

“Lieutenant Rudel to report to the chartroom immediately,” said Krause to the bosun’s mate at the loudspeaker. Perhaps Rudel could persuade the thing to give a little more definition.

“Bearing’s changing, sir. Two-zero-nine. Two-one-zero, approximately, sir. And I think the range is closing now. Range one-oh-four-double oh.”

Krause’s mind, accustomed to dealing with problems of vessels on all sorts of bearings, plotted out the present situation. The U-boat on the surface was hightailing it from
Cadena’s
starboard quarter round to her port quarter, doing an “end around.” With this sea running she could not do more than twelve knots, most likely. Fourteen, possibly. No, not very possibly. She was six miles almost astern of
Cadena
who was going at eleven and a half She was ten miles astern of the convoy. She was out of harm’s way, then, for two, three, perhaps four hours. He could make that interval longer still at small cost.

“Right ten degrees rudder. Steer course two-two-zero,” he ordered, and then addressed himself to Charlie again. “I'm leading him.”

As the hunter aims his gun at a point ahead of the flying duck, so he was aiming
Keeling
at a point ahead of the moving U-boat.

“Steady on course two-two-zero,” said the quartermaster.

“Very well.”

“Bearing approximately two-one-two,” said Charlie. “Range one-oh-three-double oh as near as I can make it out.”

The morning's problem was presenting itself again; the U-boat was within easy range of K
eeling's
five-inch. But was it worthwhile opening fire on an invisible foe located merely by a dancing spot on a radar screen? Not with a better opportunity possible in the near future.

“I think the bearing's staying constant, sir,” said Charlie. “Two-one-two. Yes, and the range is closing. One-oh-two-double oh. One-oh-one-double oh.”

Keeling
and U-boat were approaching each other on converging courses, a hundred yards nearer at every minute.

“Range ten thousand,” said Charlie.

Ten thousand yards; six miles. Visibility in this darkening afternoon was--he stared at the horizon--five miles? Four miles? Whether he opened fire with radar direction or with the U-boat in sight he would only be granted the short time it would take the U-boat to submerge in which to score a hit. Direct observation was far surer.

“Range nine-eight-double oh,” said Charlie. “Bearing two-one-two.”

“Captain to gunnery control. 'Hold fire until target is in sight.' “

The messenger with his arms full of clothes was still standing by.

“Spread those on the radiator,” said Krause with a gesture. He was so cold now that he could yearn to be warm even with a surfaced U-boat on a converging course.

“Bearing’s changing, sir,” said Charlie. “Changing fast. Two-zero-five. Two-zero-three. Range nine-three-double oh. Nine-two-double oh.”

The U-boat had altered course to starboard. She must have decided that she had gone far enough with her “end around’’ and that now she had the opportunity to close in on
Cadena.

“Left standard rudder. Steer course one-eight-zero,” said Krause.

He was turning to meet her in full career. The U-boat had been long submerged before she had come up to the surface and was--it was a heartening thought to a man encompassed by enemies--far more ignorant of the situation than he was.

“Bearing changing,” said Charlie. “Range nine thousand--no, eight-eight-double oh.”

Not long before they would sight each other then.

“Steady on course one-eight-zero,” said the quartermaster.

“Very well.”

“Target bears two-zero-one. Range eight-six-double oh. Eight-five-double oh.”

The guns were training round to starboard. At any moment now the U-boat might appear out of the murk on the starboard bow.

“Bearing two-zero-two. Range eight-three-double oh.”

Much less than five miles. Then it happened. A yell from a look-out. Krause had his glasses in his numbed hands, on the point of raising them. Wang-o, wang-o, wang-o went the guns. He did not have the glasses trained in quite the right direction; it was the splashes of the shells that guided him. Then he saw it, the square grey silhouette of a U-boat’s bridge tiny in the distance, pillars of water a little to one side of it; the pillars moved in on it--wang-o, wang-o, wang-o. The pillars of water were all about it, hiding it; not for more than a second or two did he have it in sight. Then the ear-shattering din ended and there was nothing to be seen as the grey water rose into the field of his binoculars and sank again with the heave of the ship. All over. He had achieved his surprise. He had seen his shells beating all about his astonished enemy, but not once had he seen--he compelled himself to be realistic about it--had he seen the flash and the momentary glow that would mark a hit.

“Gunnery control to captain. ‘Fire opened on target bearing one-nine-nine,’ “ said the talker. “ ‘Range eight thousand. Twenty-seven rounds fired. No hits observed.’ “

No hits.

“Very well.”

Another decision to be made, with every second valuable, whether it was a question of dealing with one enemy four miles away in one direction or half a dozen twenty miles away in the other.

“Left standard rudder,” he ordered. “Steer course one-zero-zero.”

He was turning away from the enemy. He could see a glance or two exchanged among those in the pilot-house who could realize the implications of the order. He was tempted, by the use of a cutting phrase or two, captain to subordinates, to make them wipe that look off their faces, but of course he did nothing of the sort. He would not use his rank for such a purpose. He would not attempt to justify himself, either.

He could have run down towards where the U-boat had disappeared. In a quarter of an hour he would have been in the vicinity, conducting a sonar search. He might have made a contact, but it was ten to one, fifty to one, against it, with the convoy drawing away from him all the time that he would be conducting an hour-long search. And ahead of the convoy his three other ships were about to go into battle against heavy odds. He must hasten to their aid without wasting a moment. The U-boat he had fired upon had gone under. It might well be a long time before she would venture to surface again after this experience with an enemy who had dashed so unexpectedly out of the haze with guns firing. The U-boat was far astern of the convoy already; she would be farther astern still by the time she surfaced. Even with exact knowledge of the convoy’s position and speed and course it would take her the best part of the approaching night to overtake. He had forced her into uselessness for some hours. Better to head at once for certain action than to linger here trying to wring some unlikely further success out of a situation now unpromising. Even if--even if his shells had scored an unobserved hit. A U-boat’s superstructure was both tough and capable of receiving damage without crippling her underwater performance. It was the slimmest, the most unlikely of chances that she would be just under the surface, unable to dive deeper, perhaps leaking oil to reveal her position. It was not worth taking into account; he had made the right decision.