IT WAS ANOTHER grey morning, and the rain followed the ship along its course in long heavy squalls which moved across the sodden decks with playful force, bringing discomfort to the party of seamen who laboured at the small derricks and shifted the coal from one of the holds to the gaping mouth of a bunker. The Vulkan still faced the rolling mass of a head sea, and as she met each lazily curling crest, the high fo’c’sle seemed to hang for long seconds before the ship could stagger up the face of the steep water and then plunge headlong into the following trough. On either side the ranks of whitecaps surged past, giving the impression that the ship was moving at a tremendous pace. Only the feeble froth beneath her high counter showed the lie, and told of the sea’s immense resistance to the vessel’s bulk.
Lieutenant Heuss felt his feet grate on the wet coal-dust by the open bunker, and blinked vaguely at the scudding clouds. He allowed the needles of rain to cleanse his face and play around his aching eyes. He shook his head like a terrier and tried to clear away the tiredness and the fog left by the whisky. He wished now that he had gone for some breakfast, or coffee at least, but von Steiger’s summons to the bridge left him only time to clean himself and run the razor over his numbed cheeks.
He sighed, and began to climb the exposed ladder to the boatdeck. As he watched the pitching deck fall away beneath him, he tried to assemble his thoughts and prepare himself for whatever von Steiger wanted of him. Perhaps Kohler or one of the others had reported him for drinking to such an extent that it left him useless for duty. He had probably been worse than he could remember, although he could not be sure. He had awakened on the floor of Damrosch’s cabin with the rain lashing against the scuttle and a bruise on his head which he could not account for. He licked his dry lips and grimly continued his climb. The whisky had done one thing. Coupled with his complete exhaustion, it had given him the first real rest for days. Well, damn them all, he thought. Von Steiger took over my watch for that reason. If I choose to relax like that it’s my own affair. He grinned at his fuddled reasoning, and, panting, reached the wing of the bridge. He stared hard at the crouching lookouts with their powerful glasses. Night and day, watching. Waiting for the sea to surrender its victims to the prowling wolf. He banged open the door of the wheelhouse and stopped, instantly on the alert. It seemed to be full of people, waiting in uncomfortable silence, and yet filled with expectancy.
Damrosch, red-eyed and weary, stood stiffly by the helmsman, and flashed a quick glance of recognition and what seemed like relief as Heuss entered, and then turned back to his duties as second officer of the Forenoon Watch. Dehler stood restlessly beside Lieutenant Ebert, and on the other side of the wide bridge some petty officers and a bosun’s mate waited with obvious discomfort.
Von Steiger put down a china mug and nodded. ‘Ah, Heuss. I am sorry to call you to the bridge, but I have just had something unpleasant reported to me.’
Heuss steeled himself. It was worse than he feared. After all, the whisky might have made some of the others envious enough to make a serious charge against him. He kept his face impassive and met von Steiger’s cool eye.
‘Sir?’ He felt them all looking at him.
‘Yes. During the Middle Watch, when I relieved you, a man was lost overboard! And although it was not then your concern, I feel you should be informed of all that we discover, so that you can keep an eye on your own men in future.’
‘I see, sir.’ He did not see at all. It was a great pity for a man to be lost at sea, but it hardly warranted such a gathering on the bridge of a naval vessel on active service. He waited for the rest.
‘Right, I think we will start again, Dehler. Let us hear from the beginning what happened.’
Dehler, caught unaware, tore his small eyes from Heuss and cleared his throat. ‘Er, Petty Officer Elmke was in charge of the Morning Watch, and should have taken over the rounds of the ship from Petty Officer Brandt. Brandt did not hand over to him, and upon investigation could not be found in the ship at all!’
Heuss listened fixedly, aware of the tension in von Steiger’s gently tapping fingers as he watched Dehler ponderously making his report.
Elmke was speaking now. He was a portly, red-faced man, whose pouting lips gave him the appearance of an angry pig.
‘I waited to see what was happening, sir. Brandt wasn’t the sort to make a mistake, if you understand me, sir.’ He swallowed hard, aware of the Captain’s eyes. ‘And when I couldn’t find him I called the bridge. Then we searched the whole ship, sir, and found this!’ He held out a blue cap, still sodden with the rain and spray, and somehow pathetic in his beefy hand.
Von Steiger nodded with sudden impatience. ‘It was by the foremast, port side?’
‘Yes, sir. Nothing else at all!’ Elmke looked as if he could not imagine a man like Brandt being so unpunctual and careless.
Lieutenant Kohler appeared from behind the quartermaster, his face aggrieved. ‘I had every man searching, Captain. When we found the cap I guessed what had happened and made a note in the log. I did not call you, sir, because there was nothing that you could do!’
He watched von Steiger anxiously, but von Steiger stared instead at Petty Officer Bener, who, in his soiled white overalls and smelling of cooking fat, looked more out of place on the bridge than anyone else. He gestured with his hand, cutting across Dehler’s report. ‘Let us get to the point! Bener, what did you discover?’
The Vulkan’s senior cook frowned worriedly and wiped his hands in his apron. He was obviously regretting his discovery, but was committed to make the best of it. ‘Well, sir, I went down to get a case of biscuits this morning. We’re running a bit short, and I said to my assistant only yesterday that if we go on like this we shall run out of . . .’
‘Get on with it, man!’
‘Yes, sir. Well, I got the case, and when I was down in the lower store I noticed that the cold-storage room there was unlocked.’
Von Steiger waved him into silence. ‘Right, that is enough. Any useful comments from anybody?’
Dehler groped for a suggestion. As senior officer he felt that the others were looking to him to clear up this matter. He could not understand what had got into the Captain. It was a pity about Brandt, but he was not indispensable. ‘It seems to me that he was a bit careless, sir. And that’s about the bones of the matter.’
Von Steiger spoke as if he had not heard. ‘Now listen, we are all strained and tired. That cannot be helped. But the first hint of carelessness, and we could be done for.’ He dropped his voice so that the helmsman and lookouts could not hear, although they were obviously straining their ears. ‘Brandt is missing. Nobody saw him go, although he should have been visible from the bridge. Even if he was not, the deck is fairly sheltered there, and very little sea came aboard during the watch. I know, I was looking forward from the bridge the whole time.’
Heuss licked his lips. Thank God I was drunk, he thought. Had I been on watch this would have fallen on my shoulders. As it was, he could not follow the Captain’s mind.
‘Secondly,’ the voice cut cleanly, like a surgeon’s knife, ‘the key of the cold-storage room is carried by the duty petty officer—at that particular time, Brandt! For some reason he unlocked that room in the middle of the night, then went on deck and fell overboard! No, Dehler, the bones of this affair are not even showing yet!’
Slowly the realisation moved in on the small listening group, like an evil cloud of suspicion and fear.
Heuss was now fully awake. Brandt had been below, and had then been thrown overboard. Or he had been killed on deck, and his key taken so that the store could be robbed.
As if reading his mind, von Steiger added slowly: ‘Nothing is missing from the store. I have been down there with Bener. There are a few faint marks on the floor, like footmarks, but I am not sure.’ His eyes moved fleetingly along their faces. ‘I will say what is uppermost on my mind. I think Brandt was killed. At the moment I know nothing. But by treating this matter as settled, we might yet find the culprit or culprits. In the meantime, every officer and petty officer in this ship must be absolutely vigilant and on his guard!’ His eyes flashed with mounting anger. ‘Let this be a lesson to all of you!’
They all drew themselves up to attention as von Steiger moved briskly towards the open door. They waited until he had reached his usual position by the weather rail and then dismissed themselves from the bridge.
Von Steiger called suddenly to Heuss. He did not look round, and seemed to be staring fixedly at the blue-grey of the horizon.
‘Heuss, I want you to give the woman, Mrs. Brett, something to keep her occupied. We have a few sick men, and she might like to help in that direction. Ask her, anyway, and give her any assistance in the matter.’
‘I will, sir.’
‘Yes, I think it might be good for her.’ He was speaking half to himself, a slight frown between his eyes. ‘She must get very uneasy, and she has much on her mind. Her husband’s death, and other things.’ His voice seemed to hang on the last words, but he did not explain what he meant by them.
Heuss waited, the rain bouncing on the shoulders of his coat. Von Steiger seemed to want to talk to him, and yet was unwilling to drop his guard.
‘This other matter, sir. Petty Officer Brandt. It could have been an accident, I suppose?’
‘Unlikely, Heuss. He was a bad petty officer, and a harsh man. He could have had many enemies in a ship like this.’
He was leaning on the low rail, heedless of the rain throbbing across his bridge-coat, and Heuss could look down on his face from an unusual angle. From the side it looked strangely sensitive and youthful, and Heuss had to force himself to compare this man with the hard, aloof captain he usually saw. He had called Brandt harsh, and yet it was very unlikely that he would show any mercy for the culprit, if and when he was discovered.
‘You can never be sure, Heuss.’ His tone was matter-of-fact. ‘And to know that such passions are abroad in this ship is almost unnerving!’
‘In war many things seem justified, Captain.’
‘It is that sort of reasoning which can cause a mutiny, Heuss!’ The other captain had returned, and Heuss saw the life ripple through von Steiger’s shoulders as if he was reawakening. ‘And, Heuss, never drink too much at one time! It does not help minimise one’s worries. It merely distorts them!’
Heuss saluted gravely, and climbed wearily down the ladder once more. Pausing again by the bunker, he watched the labouring seamen with new eyes. Set, hard faces grimed with dirt and coal-dust. It might be one of them. He shivered, and tried to imagine Brandt falling into the ship’s creaming wake, or being sucked down into the churning propeller. He walked slowly along the deck, his head sunk deeply into his collar. The ship would seem different after this, he thought.
* * * * *
Caryl Brett paused by the tall funnel and looked upwards at the thin streamer of smoke as it peeled away into the wind. She could feel the warmth from the casing, and sensed the great power which coursed up through the hungry engine-room fans. It was cold and wet, and she could feel the rain soaking through the headscarf which she had tied across her hair. Yet she was unwilling to go below until ordered, unready to face the quiet loneliness of the cabin.
She thought of her husband, and tried to remember exactly how he had looked when she had last seen him. Repeatedly she had endeavoured to see him as he had once been in England, confident, determined, yet a little defenceless. Instead, the picture of him swimming away to safety and the lifeboat, while she stood alone on the sinking ship, came foremost in her thoughts.
A shoe squeaked on the wet planks behind her, and Gelb moved to the rail at her side. She stiffened, waiting for his casual touch, the insistent kindness of his tone. A strange, deep man. He had saved her from cracking completely in that slaughter of the lifeboats, she knew, and yet she was unable to feel at ease in his presence.
Gelb stood in silence, as if searching for thoughts also. At length he said softly, ‘I hear that they have asked you to work in the sick quarters?’
She turned towards him, her eyes wide. But his heavy profile looked quite unruffled at her surprise. ‘How did you know? They only asked me an hour ago!’
He shrugged, almost apologetically. ‘I hear a lot, my dear. It comes from being a good listener.’
‘Yes, they did ask me. Their complete indifference to my own feelings amazes me!’
‘I think you should accept their offer.’ His voice was still casual, yet she could detect a slight edge to his words. ‘After all, there are several British seamen to be looked after. You might be able to help them, eh?’
‘I suppose so.’ Her mind wandered off again to the officer, Heuss. He had tried to explain the idea to her almost as Gelb was doing. He had also suggested that it would pass the time until they could put her safely aboard another ship. So easy, so helpful. They all spoke as if nothing had happened. She turned back to Gelb. ‘What else have you discovered?’
‘A man was lost overboard last night. A petty officer.’ He smiled at some inner secret. ‘I believe there is more to it. You might be able to find something out, too!’
A bell chimed from the forward deck, and somewhere below a bosun’s pipe twittered urgently.
Gelb moved closer, so that she could feel his coat brushing her leg. ‘There is something else.’ He dropped his voice so that she could hardly understand him. ‘I should like you to make every effort to find out where we are meeting the collier again.’
She tried to pierce his impassive expression. ‘Why? What does it matter any more?’
‘I did not say this in front of the Germans, but I believe that there is a man aboard the collier that could help you. Your poor husband knew him, and I believe he alone knows who your husband was frightened of.’ He let the words sink in. ‘I have been talking to the collier’s captain, and he thinks that the Germans will get rid of his ship after they next meet it. They will get all the coal they want, and then maybe scuttle the ship.’
‘And the other prisoners on board the collier?’
‘I expect they will put them ashore somewhere. We may not see them again after that.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I feel that we would be doing something for your poor husband’s memory if we made the effort to discover his persecutor. A small thing, but it would help. I am sure that we would never forgive ourselves if we allowed his death to pass unmourned and with no effort to find the cause of his unnecessary end.’ He waited, hardly daring to breathe.
‘What can we do? You have seen what these Germans are like. We are so helpless in their hands!’
‘Not quite helpless! You try and discover the rendezvous, and I will try to contact that other prisoner, whoever he is. It will be something.’ He hurried on, aware of the girl’s quick breathing at his side. ‘The captain of the collier will be able to recognise the rendezvous if you give him a clue. Any little thing might help, an island perhaps, or even some sheltered bay, who knows? But we must try!’
She nodded slowly. ‘Very well. I shall tell the officer that I am willing to help with the sick. It is wrong, anyway, to keep thinking of myself when there are others worse off.’
His big hand closed across hers, and she felt something like relief. He has been wanting to do that since he came up here, she thought, I can almost feel the eagerness in his fingers. She removed her hand and brushed some hair from her eyes. She must try to like him. After all, he was doing his best to help her, whatever his motives.
A petty officer appeared at the top of the ladder and beckoned to Gelb impatiently.
‘I must go below now. The dogs are barking again!’ He walked slowly after his guard and left her alone once more with her thoughts.
She watched the surging water, and wondered where the ship had reached on its endless journey.
When I get back to England, what shall I do? Who will be interested in me now? Arthur would be missed by his friends, but his very life had excluded her in more than just the most important way, it had kept her quite apart from life itself. The completeness of her loneliness moved a step closer.
She was suddenly aware that someone was watching her, and she looked up towards the bridge. Von Steiger stared down at her, his features hidden by distance and by the heavy drizzle. She expected him to stay motionless, part of the ship, or to turn away, but instead he lifted his hand in a slow salute. She turned away and began to walk quickly along the boatdeck. She felt angry with herself, and yet strangely satisfied with the uncertain power she held over all these men. Gelb, who disguised his feelings for her with the sound of noble purpose. Heuss, who openly admired her, and even von Steiger seemed unsure of himself because of her. It was as if her presence disturbed the pattern of things, and had become a reminder and a link with another life, like a flaw in a piece of armour. She looked back briefly at the bridge, but he had gone. That is why he wants me to leave this ship. Because of himself, he is afraid of me.
She was almost running when she reached the cabin, and breathlessly she slammed the door behind her.
Her discovery had unnerved her, and she wanted time to think about it. It did not seem possible that such an impersonal, efficient machine as this ship of destruction could be weakened by human emotion, and yet, if it was, she knew that she would have to be doubly careful in future.
She spoke aloud to the cabin. ‘I should like to bring him down from his perch. This arrogant, so-confident German!’ It would be an achievement which might in part make up for all the suffering which she had seen and endured. But her words echoed back, unreal and meaningless.
* * * * *
The Vulkan’s sick-bay was situated below the boatdeck, and like the officers’ wardroom ran the whole breadth of the ship, but, although spacious, gave the impression of overcrowding, with its neat ranks of white metal cots suspended from the deckhead and swinging easily in time with the ship’s movement.
Caryl Brett paused momentarily in the entrance, her slim body silhouetted against the grey sky, and her cheeks glowing from the crisp morning air. Lieutenant Heuss closed the door behind her, and she was immediately aware of the complete isolation of this place from the ordered harshness of the rest of the ship. There was a mingled smell of disinfectant and soap, and the whole area gleamed with white paint, and neat racks of bottles and jars lined each bulkhead.
A tall, studious man in his middle thirties, dressed in a long white coat, stood alertly in the middle of the floor, his straight face and severe mouth betrayed by a pair of twinkling blue eyes. He waited respectfully as Heuss indicated the cots, six of which were occupied, and when at last Heuss beckoned him over he bobbed his head in a slight bow, and eyed the girl with approval.
‘This is Steuer. He is our sick-bay attendant, but is more like a doctor than the real thing!’ Heuss waved his hand around the large cabin. ‘He is actually Swiss, and keeps this place as neat as a cuckoo clock!’
Eduard Steuer chuckled. ‘Thank you, sir. You are very kind.’ To the girl he said: ‘It is very good of you to offer your help. Your presence here alone will do much for these poor fellows.’
‘Huh! If we are not careful we shall have all the ship’s company going sick now!’ Heuss grimaced.
‘Perhaps some of the officers, too?’ The Swiss raised his eyebrows. ‘But a good dose of my special tonic will clear them out again, in more senses than one!’
Heuss glanced at the bulkhead clock and frowned. ‘I must go and attend to my work, Frau Brett.’ The reluctance was obvious in his voice. ‘But please do not hesitate to send for me if you need anything.’
When the officer had left Steuer seemed to relax, and led the girl to a small alcove at the far end of the sick-bay.
‘There is a small cabin through there which you may use when I am doing the more unpleasant dressings, or at any other time. I have cleaned my patients up already, and they have been fed, so there is not much to do for the present.’
‘You speak excellent English.’
‘Most Swiss do.’ He grinned. ‘I would have made a good head waiter, eh?’
She coloured. ‘I did not mean that. It is just that I have got used to the German sailors gesticulating or waving their hands when they want to tell me something.’
‘That is true. The Germans are a bit like the English. They think that everyone should speak their language!’
She walked to the first cot, half afraid of what she might see. But the man was well hidden by his blanket, and from beneath a large head-bandage regarded her with dark, solemn eyes.
Steuer watched her across the cot. ‘This is Brown. An excellent fellow. One of the seamen from the Cardiff Maid.’
Her heart quickened. ‘How are you? Are you comfortable here?’
He watched her with fascinated eyes. Then his lips moved. ‘Yes, thank you, miss. Just a bit stiff, like. I got a bit punctured by a couple of shell-splinters when the Jerries sunk the old ship.’
‘Who removed them?’ All the old anger was rising within her. The man looked so small and lost in the cot that she wanted to cry. ‘Was it you?’ She looked at Steuer, who shrugged.
‘It was me. I am the only doctor here. I was a medical student and did all but qualify, so I manage quite well!’
‘I think it’s horrible! To let men suffer because they have not proper doctors! I know you are good at your job, but it’s all so unfair!’
He stared at her bright, rebuking eyes and spread his hands. ‘I know. But this war has taken every available doctor for more desperate things. On the battle fronts our men die like flies. They need all the help there.’
‘You say our men? How can you speak of the Germans as your own people?’
‘Serving with the Navy has made me look on them so, I suppose. I joined the German Navy because it was nearer than the British. I wanted to help the sick. I am little interested in national motives, and drum-beating!’
She smiled feeling suddenly humble. ‘I am sorry. I did not understand. My late husband felt much as you do.’ Even as she said it she tried to imagine Arthur risking his life to help the sick and wounded. But the picture eluded her.
She moved to the next cots, where two more bandaged sailors painfully played draughts on a small board, balanced between the swinging mattresses. They were also from the freighter Cardiff Maid, and had obtained their wounds in much the same way as the first man.
One, a hard-bitten seaman from Bristol, reached up and took the girl’s small hand in his large calloused one and grinned at her. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, miss! Wait till I tell the old woman about this! She’ll never trust me away from ’ome again!’
‘Garn, she’ll be glad to see the back of yer!’ The other man winked, and rattled the draught-board with his bandaged fist. Then in a quieter voice he said: ‘’Ere, say a good word to the bloke in the next bunk, will yer, miss? ’E’s ’avin’ a bad time.’
She moved softly to the still figure which occupied the cot the man had indicated, and stared down at the sunken white face which regarded her with fixed attention. It was young, yet already lined with suffering and experiences she could only guess at.
She smiled. ‘And who are you? Are you from the Cardiff Maid, too?’
The grey lips moved painfully. ‘Bitte? Ich—verstehe nicht, Fräulein.’
She shrank back as if she had been bitten. ‘He’s a German!’
The British seamen watched her over the edges of their cots. ‘’Course ’e is! Poor old Fritz is in a bad way!’
Steuer leaned over and wiped the man’s mouth with a piece of cloth. Without changing his expression he said: ‘But you did not know that until he spoke? Please, if you cannot bring yourself to help me, I would rather be left alone!’
She moved closer to the cot again. The man’s eyes were still fixed on her face; like a small, unwinking bird, she thought. At the sound of Steuer’s words she had felt once again like a child at school. She was only just beginning to understand the meaning of what Steuer had said earlier. This was not just a matter of right versus wrong. This was something else she had to learn. She had not really been shocked by the surprise of finding the man to be a German. It had been the casual acceptance of him by the British seamen. The very men that this wounded German and his comrades had tried to kill. It was crazy, and yet it was happening. She forced herself to smile and said softly, ‘What is wrong with him?’
Steuer’s eyes were distant. ‘Two bullet wounds. He may live. I am not sure.’
The wounded man watched her hand move down and adjust the blanket beneath his chin. A tiny tear moved from the corner of his eye. ‘Danke, fräulein. Danke sehr!’
The Bristol man called encouragingly: ‘That’s right, you bloody square-head! Start getting off with my girl friend, will you! You wait, mate!’ They laughed.
The other two cots were occupied by Germans also. Steuer guided her quickly by them, and shrugged apologetically. ‘Sores, I am afraid! Not very warlike, but just as painful. Too much salted meat and not enough fresh vegetables!’
‘What is in that other cabin?’ She pointed at a small door, half hidden by a curtain.
‘Isolation. We have one patient there, admitted yesterday.’ He frowned with sudden anger. ‘It made me sick to see him! It is a disgrace that he should be allowed in the Navy at all, let alone at sea!’ He saw her lips parted in a question and hurried on. ‘He was apparently blown up by a mine earlier in the war. He was found in a waterlogged lifeboat with eight dead companions. He was frozen to the tiller, and I am afraid he became unhinged by his terrible experiences.’ He became suddenly grave. ‘I should like you to see him. He often mentions you, if not by name, and I think he wishes to tell you not to be worried by your own terrible experiences.’
Her eyes widened. ‘But he does not know me. How does he understand?’
He shrugged. ‘It is hard to say. He can remember little at all of his own life, and yet hearing about your ordeal from his comrades seems to have made quite an impression on him. Don’t worry, he is harmless. I shall keep him here for a day or two, and then ask that he be put on light duties, if that is possible.’
He opened the door, and the girl received her second shock. Alder, the man who sat dejectedly on the edge of the narrow bunk, was the man who had seized her. A flood of compassion swept over her. It was all clear to her now, and even without seeing the deadness in the man’s eyes, she could understand his misery and his wish to save her from a similar fate.
Steuer spoke to the man quietly in German, his voice low yet compelling, and Alder nodded vaguely, muttering a reply in short staccato sentences.
‘That is queer. He wishes to see another seaman. He wants to tell him something.’
They moved from the cell-like cabin and closed the door.
‘Why is that strange?’
‘Because he never speaks to anyone as a rule, and because the man he wishes to speak to is a mere boy, named Pieck.’ He scratched his chin distantly. ‘Very odd. Pieck was also in here yesterday. I thought he had got pneumonia or something like it, but there seemed nothing really wrong with him, after all I put his condition down to being too long on watch in a cold wind. It is all rather strange. That was the night Petty Officer Brandt was lost overboard.’ He saw her perplexed expression and smiled with mock despair. ‘Forgive me! I am so long on my own that I think too much! Forget it, it is nothing!’
He watched her hair shine in the grey light from the scuttle, and pursed his lips with silent admiration. No wonder Lieutenant Heuss followed her around like a jealous suitor. She was beautiful indeed. Her very presence seemed to make the place brighter.
‘Perhaps you would help me clean these bottles? It will pass the time for us both, and you can tell me all about England, and why the English come to Switzerland for their holidays.’
* * * * *
Von Steiger leaned against the side of his sea cabin and watched the tumbling water beneath his scuttle. Beyond the thick glass it was silent and unreal, and but for Dehler’s voice it might have seemed like the world of the deaf.
‘I have made enquiries, Captain, and as yet have discovered nothing fresh about Brandt’s death.’
Von Steiger could hear the disbelief in the man’s voice. He thinks I am mistaken, that I am merely wasting time. What a pity I have to have a man like him as First Lieutenant. If only he was someone I could confide in. Heuss would be more suited. With him I could be open, without fear of losing his obedience. Aloud he said: ‘I see. Well keep on the lookout.’ He waited, but Dehler still stood there, his heavy face uneasy yet determined. ‘Well, is there something else?’
‘Yes, sir.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I have done a lot of thinking lately. And I consider that we might not be making best use of ourselves and the ship!’
Von Steiger tensed. He had been watching and waiting for something like this. Dehler had been brooding over his thoughts, and now they were coming into the open. ‘What is on your mind?’
Dehler looked away, and spoke quickly as if he were afraid of forgetting a carefully rehearsed speech. That wireless message you received, Captain. I have been doing a lot of thinking, and I believe that our orders were right! We should have stayed farther north, nearer the convoy routes!’
Von Steiger relaxed slightly. So that was it. Or was Dehler more afraid of the greater distance the raider was putting between herself and Germany?
‘That sort of warfare is done for, Dehler,’ he said simply. ‘To wait in the hopes of finding a straggler from a convoy is no threat to the enemy, but it is to us. Do you want to die without a fight?’
Dehler blanched. ‘I am not afraid to fight, Captain! But I am holding to my right as second in command to raise my objections, especially when your actions are in defiance of the High Command!’
‘You have not understood a word I have said.’ Von Steiger felt weary. ‘You have said yourself that mine is the ultimate responsibility, and that is so. It is also true that upon me rests not only the weight of this command, but the successful completion of this cruise. Under the circumstances I think I am the better judge. The High Command may see us as a coloured counter on their chart. I have to see this ship as much more than that.’ He turned away. ‘As a symbol of honour, and as flesh and blood!’
Dehler drew himself upright. ‘Nevertheless, Captain, I wish to register my protest!’
The door opened. Lieutenant Ebert watched the Captain, his face set and grim. ‘Masthead reports a warship, sir! Fine on the port bow!’ His words dropped like stones into a still pool.
Dehler blanched. ‘What? Is he sure?’ He opened and closed his big hands, and tried to realise what this could all mean.
‘Alter course one point to starboard, Lieutenant!’ Von Steiger reached for his cap, his mind clicking into orderly sections. For weeks he had considered this very encounter, toyed with it, imagined every conceivable angle. It had to happen, and he felt strangely calm. ‘Keep that warship on our port bow at all costs, and reduce speed to dead slow!’ He waited until Ebert had hurried away, his face etched with surprise at von Steiger’s orders, and then turned again to Dehler, who had not moved. ‘Sound Action Stations, and stand by to lower the starboard boat.’
‘But—but, Captain! We can’t fight this warship! We’ll not stand a chance!’
Von Steiger regarded him with sudden hatred. ‘We cannot run away, either! She could outdistance us, I expect, and if not could shadow us while she signalled every ship for miles to close in and finish the job!’ He smiled with sudden amusement. ‘You have your wish. We are no longer running away! Now, get that boat lowered and fill it with men!’
‘Men, sir?’ He sounded faint.
‘Yes, I want it to look like a lifeboat!’ An idea crossed his racing mind. ‘And put the woman prisoner in it, too!’
Even as the alarm bells died away the ship rolled uneasily in the troughs as the engine was reduced still more. Perplexed seamen swung out the starboard whaleboat and lowered it until it was level with the guardrail.
Von Steiger watched the feverish activity impassively. Only his bunched fists betrayed the impatience within him.
There was a sound of hurrying feet on the ladder, and Lieutenant Heuss ran breathlessly on to the bridge. Without saluting he gasped: ‘Sir! They are putting the woman in the boat! They said it was your order!’
Von Steiger lifted his megaphone as the girl was hustled into the swinging boat, her hair blowing in the wind. ‘Lower away!’ The falls squeaked and the boat dropped out of sight. ‘Tell the Coxswain to pull clear as quick as he can and then stop where he is!’
Damrosch reported, ‘Enemy warship bearing red one-five, sir!’
He nodded, and lifted his glasses. A mere patch, dark on the rim of the sea, betrayed by the rising white moustache of its high bow-wave. Destroyer, probably.
‘Stop engine,’ he said calmly.
Heuss said suddenly, ‘Did you hear what I said, sir?’
‘Get a grip on yourself, Heuss!’ He tore his eyes from the small boat as it bobbed away from the Vulkan, the oars moving with difficulty amongst the crowded seamen. He could see the girl quite clearly, her frail body making a splash of colour against the sombre blue uniforms. ‘Don’t worry about her. If we are sunk she will be safe.’
Heuss stared at him with amazement. ‘Is that why you did it, sir?’
‘I am afraid not, Heuss. The warship will think that we are picking up survivors from a sunken ship, at least I hope she does! The sight of a woman in the boat might help.’ Over his shoulder he rapped sharply: ‘Signalman, make this signal at once. “Can you help? Am picking up survivors.”’ He watched the man bend over his biggest signal-lamp and waited until the shutter had begun to stammer out his message. He was aware that Heuss still stood staring at him. ‘Well?’
Heuss shook his head. ‘Nothing, sir!’ He turned away to his position at the rear of the bridge, his eyes following the tiny tossing boat.
Petty Officer Heiser lifted his long telescope and steadied himself against the flag-locker. The tossing motion of the stationary vessel made his task difficult, and he tried not to contemplate the effect it would have upon the gunners. He examined the distant warship keenly through a practised eye. For many years he had stood on different bridges watching for the flashing lamp, the madly gyrating semaphore-arms, or the fluttering flags which were a meaningless jumble to anyone but a highly trained signalman. He had seen battlecruisers and British Dreadnoughts, Japanese cruisers and French gunboats. He knew them all, and gauged their signalling proficiency accordingly.
‘She’s an American, Captain! One of their new destroyers!’
Von Steiger nodded shortly. He did not have to ask the man if he was sure. An American. He lifted his glasses and watched the newcomer without speaking. Fast, powerful and very well handled. There was an air of watchful preparedness about the ship, and an appearance of dash and recklessness which one always found with destroyers. Nevertheless, for all her power and the threat she offered to their very existence, there was one tiny consolation. She was American, and the United States were not yet hardened to the ways of war. It was little enough, but it was something.
‘She’s signalling, sir.’ Heiser’s lips moved slowly as he read the light without using the telescope. ‘“What ship?”’
The light blinked back, ‘Janssens, Amsterdam to Kingston, Jamaica.’
The white froth at the warship’s raked stem died slightly and she began to sweep round in a wide semicircle, her narrow deck canting so that the Germans could see the torpedo-tubes and swivelled guns trained upon them. The stars and stripes streamed proudly from the gaff, and the ship’s clean lines and well-painted hull gave the impression of untried newness.
‘She’s turning towards the whaleboat, sir!’
But her guns are following us—von Steiger bit his lip as he followed the warship’s confident progress.
The lithe grey ship moved slowly across the raider’s plunging bows, so that it appeared as if she were balanced on the stem-head.
Damrosch sounded strained. ‘If she gets much nearer she’ll see our empty davits! She’ll guess what we’re up to!’
Von Steiger lifted the small speaking-tube. ‘Ebert, make sure of her wireless. She must not transmit! Stand by with the starboard battery!’ He waited, counting seconds. It was now or never. He pressed the small button at his side. The steel shutters fell heavily against the hull and hung unheeded as the gunners swung their training wheels with such speed that their hands were mere white blurs against the dull grey guns. On the poop the long twenty-two pounder swept round in a tight circle, even as the men tore with savage frenzy at the canvas screens.
‘Open fire!’
The ship rocked drunkenly as the two forward guns belched fire at the enemy and hurled their great shells at the fragile-looking destroyer. Damrosch ducked involuntarily as the twenty-two pounder fired at its most extreme angle from the poop and sent its shell screaming past the bridge, so that an acrid shock-wave tore through the wheelhouse door and stripped the chart from its table and flung it at von Steiger’s feet.
‘Full speed ahead! Hard a-port!’ The waiting engineers were quick to respond, as if aware of the closeness of possible death, and the ship shook madly to the unchecked thunder of the screw.
‘Missed!’ said Heiser irritably. ‘Too short by far.’
The guns cracked out again, but before they could see the fall of the shot the side of the destroyer rippled with orange flame.
The bridge shuddered, and von Steiger gripped the teak rail with both hands. They’ve hit us already. Good shooting. Too damned good. From the maindeck he heard the rush of feet and a distant voice calling for the fire parties. Dehler would be busy enough for a bit, he thought bitterly.
Like a bursting star, bright and blinding above the sullen water, a shell exploded on the destroyer’s maindeck. The foremast, black and slender, shuddered, and then with sad dignity plunged over the side, dragging a tangled web of wireless aerials, flags and rigging in its wake. Tiny, ant-like figures could be seen running with axes to cut away the wreckage.
Von Steiger drummed his fingers on the rail. Ebert had done his work. The enemy could sink them or be sunk. But she could not talk about it. He pulled in his stomach muscles as the ship leapt beneath him, and he felt the tearing crash of white-hot metal bursting and ricocheting around the boatdeck. Another hit. Thank God their guns were puny compared with the Vulkan’s. But the raider had tremendous vulnerability compared with the low-lying target presented by the destroyer, and she was hopelessly outmanceuvred.
‘She’s turning!’
The American put his ship about like a toy yacht and flung her almost on her beam ends.
Von Steiger could feel his breathing growing faster. This captain was determined, and fighting mad. ‘Hard a-starboard!’ He pounded the rail, waiting for the heavy bows to swing after the elusive destroyer. He saw puffs of smoke from her spray-washed metal deck, and flinched as the torpedoes leapt from their tubes and bit into the racing water. Come on, old lady! He banged the rail with fierce persistence until his knuckles were numb. With all his power he willed the ship to swing end on to those racing, silver torpedoes.
‘Torpedo running to port, sir!’
Another hoarse cry, ‘Second torpedo running fine on the port bow!’
‘Midships! Meet her!’ The Coxswain blinked the sweat from his staring eyes and twirled the varnished spokes in response to the Captain’s urgent voice.
Heuss looked across at Damrosch’s white face. ‘Missed, by God!’
The destroyer faltered, and seemed to shorten as she turned again to reduce the range. Ebert’s gunners, their eyes sore from cordite and smoke, spun their wheels and stared wildly at the shape which danced with contemptuous ease across their sights. But for the few short seconds she had taken to loose off the torpedoes, she had laid bare her full length, open and exposed to their pitching guns, and there was a sudden crazed cheer as the enemy’s quarterdeck erupted in a column of black smoke. Then she was round again and attacking like a terrier after a ponderous bullock.
* * * * *
Lieutenant Dehler ducked his head beneath the iron bulwark and cursed aloud as a column of water rose alongside and sent a great mass of spray plummeting across the afterdeck. He skidded across the streaming planking and continued to run after the fire party. The black hoses snaked across the holds and ended by a huddled group beneath the poop ladder. The poop gun cracked overhead so that he thought his eardrums would burst, and he saw the men cower wretchedly as the shadow of the gun-muzzle moved across the deck like an accusing finger.
‘Get under the poop, you stupid bastards! The blast will cut you down!’
He slithered to a halt behind the winch housing, pressing his wet hands over his ears, and waited until the gun had fired again. He felt the searing passage of the shell, and saw a dim figure wrench open the breech while a loader staggered forward with the next black shell, his face a mask dominated by a pair of terrified eyes.
He reached the shelter of the poop, and blinked at the long streamers of smoke which coursed rapidly through the heavy steel door which led to the main poop superstructure, from where they had laid the mines so long ago. He was breathing heavily, his brain numbed by the incessant roar of gunfire and the abandoned scream of shells overhead. The ship had been hit several times, and he had sent his damage-control parties running like madmen in search of the ragged holes.
Petty Officer Elmke, his face blackened by smoke, greeted him anxiously. ‘Bad fire in that compartment, sir! Listen to it!’
Dehler listened. The fire sounded like pressurised steam, and was burning with such fierce intensity that the escaping smoke seemed to be ejected through the small cracks in the door as if by a pump.
A shell must have hit the hull low down, he thought, and exploded in one of the small storerooms below the poop. He licked his lips, aware of a sudden terrible urgency. Fanned by the draught and sucked through the poop with growing power, it might flash back to the small magazine which fed the gun overhead.
He gestured with his fist. ‘Open the door! Every hose inside at once, and keep pouring it in!’
Elmke paled. ‘But the draught will only fan the fire, sir!’
‘And if it reaches the magazine we are all done for!’ Dehler snarled. ‘Now get moving!’
The seamen threw off the clips and pulled blindly at the heavy door. The flames had caused almost a vacuum inside so that they had to put all their weight on the handles. Then it was open, and the searing heat and hungry flames burst out on to the poop like savage beasts escaping from a cage. Two of the seamen screamed as the heat temporarily blinded them and a hose dropped unheeded on the deck. Another man whimpered and began to falter, whilst Elmke could only stare at the holocaust, which seemed to be burning away the very mounting which supported the gun above.
Dehler mopped his streaming eyes, and found that his Luger had somehow appeared in his hand.
‘Get in there, you swine! I’ll shoot the first man to fall back!’
They stared at his wild face and his teeth bared in a maniacal grin, and huddled together for support. Elmke seized a hose and turned it on the men around him. ‘Here, I’ll cover you! Get the other hoses up close!’
On the poopdeck the gun waited in sudden silence, its breech-block hanging open and the loader cursing with desperation at the delay.
Petty Officer Adolf Eucken, the gun-captain, banged the gunlayer on the shoulder. ‘Carry on tracking the target! Something’s gone wrong below!’
Hellwege blinked up at him, his red eyes uncomprehending. ‘Maybe the ammunition party is wiped out! I think the whole damned poop is afire!’
But Eucken had already gone, and was lying full length over the small oval hatch with its hand-operated lift. His face practically collided with that of Pieck who stood half stooped in the narrow confines of the hatchway. His eyes looked incredibly large in his round face, and he seemed to be dazed by the fact that the ammunition lift was empty.
‘What is the trouble, Pieck?’
Pieck blew down the voice-pipe at his side, but kept his eyes fixed on the petty officer. The cap and aggressive voice momentarily reminded him of Brandt, and he felt his senses reel.
Far below him, in the very bowels of the ship, a tinny voice called with sudden clarity: ‘The fire’s here, Willi! It’s right outside the magazine door!’ He swallowed hard, aware for the first time of the smoke which poured up over the gun in a dense brown curtain, of the shouted orders and the hiss of water against fire.
‘The magazine’s on fire!’ He saw the petty officer’s nostrils dilate like an animal scenting danger. ‘He says there’s a fire right outside the door!’
Eucken fell back. ‘Christ! Here, let me use that tube!’ He squeezed himself down the hatch, and Pieck could almost smell the fear mingled with his sweat.
‘That you, Schmidt?’ He tried to remember what the man looked like. ‘How bad is it?’
The voice came to him, even above the scream of shells. It was thin and terrified, part of another world. ‘Full of smoke! Great blisters coming up on the door!’
Eucken reached for the telephone which hung in its leather case, and cranked at the handle. This was very bad. The whole ship was coming apart.
‘Gunnery officer!’ Ebert’s harsh voice sounded calm and normal.
Eucken shouted above the roar of flames, his eyes fixed on Pieck’s white face. ‘Magazine’s in danger, sir! After flat well alight, and there could be a flashback!’
The smallest pause. ‘Very well, flood it at once!’
‘But, sir, I’ve three men down there! Can’t you give them time?’
‘I can see the fire from up here, Eucken! Do you want to die? Flood it!’
He felt the telephone fall dead in his hand. ‘Come with me, Pieck.’ He paused to look over the rim of the hatch. ‘Send for the spare ammunition party and broach the secondary magazine, Hellwege!’ He saw their expressionless faces. They knew what had to be done.
He reached the bottom of the ladder in one jump, and stared fascinated at the wide brass wheel, which almost filled the small space. He laid his hands on it and screamed, his cry filling the steel shaft with pain. He thrust his torn hands under his armpits, and called to Pieck through his clenched teeth. ‘Turn the wheel, boy! Hold it with some rags, anything! But in God’s name hurry!’
Pieck pulled off his jacket and laid it on the polished brass wheel. He stared as if mesmerised at the smoke which immediately rose from the folded cloth, and felt the searing heat through his hands. The wheel was stiff, and he was afraid his hands would blister before he could turn it. As it started to move he suddenly realised what he was doing. Eucken bit his lip with pain and nodded vigorously. ‘Turn it! Don’t think about it!’ They held each other’s eyes as the wheel squeaked round, and below their feet the sea-water surged in to flood the smouldering magazine and its three trapped inmates.
* * * * *
The destroyer had turned right round so that she was steaming on a parallel course with the German. Occasionally, she zigzagged so as to move closer, and then dart away to leave only a great torn mountain of cascading water where the Vulkan’s last salvo had fallen.
Heuss crouched behind the steel shutters near the wireless compartment and strained his eyes through the smoke. The four-inch guns of the destroyer cracked like whips, and she had hit the Vulkan repeatedly. So far none of the shots had gone below the waterline, and the fire on the poop seemed to be under control. The American had received only three hits and seemed little the worse for them. It seemed incredible that such a frail ship could resist three heavy shells and survive. Around him the voice-pipes hummed and squeaked. Asking instructions, reporting damage and casualties. The bridge was misty with gun-smoke, and all of its occupants were specked with flaked paint brought down by the incessant vibration. Heuss felt ice-cold, and wanted to retch. He knew that if he allowed himself to think he was done for.
A messenger reported, ‘After magazine flooded, sir!’
Von Steiger wiped the lenses of his glasses with a handkerchief, and cocked his head as the poop gun reopened fire. He saw Heuss watching him and smiled crookedly. ‘It’s hot work, Heuss!’
There was a bright flash behind the bridge, and the dummy funnel vanished in a single tongue of flame, leaving the wire stays dancing and humming like live things. There was a great shout from the deck below, and von Steiger lifted his glasses. Two of the destroyer’s four slender funnels had vanished, and in their place was a wide black crater from which came a sullen orange glow with surprisingly little smoke. He felt his heart tighten in his chest, and he knew that the worst was over.
‘She’s making a smoke-screen, Captain! She’s falling away!’
A strangled cheer rippled along the torn decks and was carried even to the men in the inferno of the boiler-rooms below.
Damrosch had to tear his eyes from the foremast to take in what the cheering meant. He had seen the long scarlet line running unchecked down the full length of the tall mast, to form a shining pool at the bottom, after a shell-splinter had passed through one side of the crow’s-nest and out the other. His glance fell on von Steiger, who had placed both his hands palms down on the ledge by the voice-pipes and was staring intently at nothing. His gold-flecked eyes were without expression and empty, and for an instant Damrosch thought he too was watching the blood on the mast.
Heuss rapped out fresh orders to the fire party below the bridge, and ran back into the wheelhouse. They were drawing away from the warship. Von Steiger was breaking off the action. Now there was one urgent task to be done. They must find that whaleboat. He collided with Damrosch and glared at his colourless lips.
‘What’s the matter, Max?’
Damrosch had difficulty in speaking, and his voice sounded brittle. ‘The Captain! He has been hit!’