Karl’s throat ached. His tongue felt like a bloated wad of sandpaper. They still had water, but Jake had rationed it out so it would last until . . . well, until they died, Karl supposed. They didn’t know how far they’d traveled over the last two weeks. Land might be just over the horizon. Or the current might have taken them farther from the nearest shore. Any day, a friendly plane might fly over their position, and the pilot might radio to a nearby ship that he’d seen a raft full of survivors. Or they might die off, one by one, until the lifeboat was nothing but a vessel of corpses.
The Hillingdon had seen it before—lifeboats filled with men who were dead by the time they drifted into a convoy. The waves would play tricks on anyone watching, lifting the lifeboat up and down so that it looked like the occupants were waving to catch someone’s attention. But when one of the freighters or escorts slowed to investigate, they’d find no survivors. Just a delay that gave the U-boats an edge and made it likely that another lifeboat full of new, desperate castaways would soon be set adrift.
A little moan escaped Billy’s throat. Then he winced and looked embarrassed. Karl tried to strike up a tune, but his voice was raspy, and it hurt to sing, if one could call the noise he made singing. He gave it up after only two lines. A while later, Jake took up the next few lines, but he, too, lasted only a while. Singing had grown harder and harder as hope had grown thinner and throats had dried up like deserts after the rainy season is gone and the sun tightens its scorching grip.
Peaky’s arm was swollen and red, and it smelled of infection. They’d used all the cognac on it, and all the iodine from the first-aid kit. He’d developed a fever almost a week ago, and even with a double ration of water, he wasn’t improving. He hadn’t strung together a coherent sentence for at least three days.
Not that Karl or the others were speaking with eloquence or proper syntax either. They’d talked a lot those first few days, but then they’d run out of things to say. Stalled, just like their lifeboat that needed wind to fill its sail but could find scarcely a breeze.
Karl didn’t want to die, not like this. If he could just get back to Millie, he might be able to convince her to marry him. She hadn’t said no . . . so eventually, she might say yes. Or maybe the U-boat with the raven on its conning tower had proven that Millie was right to hesitate because war made everything, especially marriage, uncertain.
Please, God, Karl prayed. Not here. Not now.
If Karl died in the lifeboat, his family line could very well die with him. Their father had grown up with two brothers, but neither had survived the previous war. One had died fighting in the Battle of Caporetto. The other had died in a field hospital after falling ill with influenza. They’d left sweethearts to mourn them, but no children. Karl’s mother had been an only child, and if Karl had any distant cousins, he’d never met them. Anna was dead, so with the possible exception of Ingrid, he was the last Lang. Would this lifeboat see the end of all his father’s goodness and intelligence, all his mother’s kindness and faith? The end of Ingrid’s sharp tongue and unflinching bravery, of Anna’s sweetness and curiosity? It would all be lost from memory, and that would be like a second death for the family.
Karl had been so eager to fight the Nazis. But fighting and winning were two very different things. Thousands of seamen had fallen prey to the U-boats. Karl would be just another number in a desperate battle that seemed to be swinging in the enemy’s favor. If death at sea was to be his lot, he could face it, but not now. Please, God. Not yet. Don’t let my death be the end of my family.
The sun had blistered all their skin. They took shifts sitting in the shadow of the sail when the sun’s and the ship’s positions combined to make shade.
A bit of gray cloud appeared in the distance, something to look at other than the miserable expressions of the lifeboat’s other inhabitants.
“Peaky?” A raspy voice touched with alarm came from the other side of the lifeboat. Jake shook Peaky Hammond and slapped his sun-blistered face a few times, but Peaky didn’t respond.
Karl moved closer. Peaky’s swollen eyes stared out to sea, unblinking, unseeing. Neither Jake nor Karl said anything for a while. Eventually, the sun sank lower, and they stripped the body of most of its clothing and dumped it overboard.
Jake sat next to Karl as the sunset lit the sky in vibrant shades of orange and gold. “Maybe I should have given him more water.” Jake shook his head. “We’re going to run out in two days anyway.”
Two days of water. And no sign of help.
“You did what you thought wisest. You’ve had to make a lot of hard decisions,” Karl said.
Jake stared out at the waves. “Maybe Captain Blake had it easier. Him and everyone else who died when the depth charges hit. A quick blast and a sudden end. I think I prefer that to this drawn-out torture.”
“We might make it.”
Jake shook his head. “I’m having trouble believing that anymore.”
The men settled down in the darkness. Karl watched the stars come out, wishing he were seeing the show from anywhere else. Beauty was still beauty, but it seemed to be more valuable when one’s throat didn’t burn and shivers didn’t wrack the body with the sudden change from scalding sunlight to chilly night. Then even the stars disappeared, shrouded by an overcast sky, denying the condemned men even the pleasure of starlight.
Karl drifted off to sleep. Someone was crying. Cold, wet tears fell on Karl’s exposed face and on his arm where the blanket had fallen off. Maybe it was Ingrid, trapped and alone and desperate. Or maybe it was Millie, hearing that the Hillingdon was lost with all hands. She would cry for him, wouldn’t she? Tears of sorrow because they’d loved each other. And maybe tears of relief that she hadn’t rushed into a marriage that would have left her a widow when she was still a bride.
Karl blinked. A bit of water touched his lips. Salty, like tears or the sea. But it wasn’t sea spray or tears. It was rain, hitting his salt-crusted face and running into his mouth.
Rain. Rain could save them if they could collect it.
Karl shook Billy awake. “Help me with the sail.”
They held the cloth at an angle so it would catch the rain and channel it into a trickle of fresh water. Jake saw what they were doing and shook his head. “There’s too much salt on the sail.”
Karl tasted the rivulet of water and spat it out. Jake was right. Far too salty.
Billy sighed in defeat. “Sea spray. And all the salt stays even when the water dries.”
“Take the sail down,” Karl said. “We’ll wash it in the sea.”
It sounded counterintuitive, but the ocean wasn’t as salty as the sail. With cold and slick hands, they untied the rigging and pulled the sail down. Karl leaned over the side of the lifeboat and scrubbed the sail against the hull. Then he and Billy spread it out, forming a crease in the middle and tipping the material to create a new rivulet of water.
Jake rinsed a pail clean, then set it and anything else that might catch water out where it could collect the rain. But the waves were higher now, and too many of them sprayed the lifeboat, contaminating the collected rainwater.
Karl tested the stream coming off the sail. It might have been his imagination, but it didn’t seem quite as salty as before. “Keep holding, Billy. We’re getting closer.”
Billy maintained his hold, even though his teeth chattered. The storm had soaked Karl and left gooseflesh on his skin, but the joy of opening his mouth and having cool, fresh water soothe his swollen tongue and aching throat was worth the chill.
He tested the water again. “Jake, try this. I think we’ve run most of the salt off.”
Jake let the water rinse his hand, then he let the trickle fill his cupped palm and brought the water to his mouth. “That’ll do.” He moved across the boat to fetch their water containers to catch the runoff.
“Billy, go ahead and slake your thirst.” Karl switched his hold on the sail so the water ran toward Billy.
As Billy put his mouth by the dribble and guzzled as much water as he could, Karl closed his eyes and said a quick prayer of gratitude. The rainwater would keep them alive a few days more. The squall had saved them.
* * *
“How many days has it been?” Billy asked.
Karl couldn’t remember. “Around twenty, I think.” The weeks all ran together, a blur of days lit by harsh sun and nights of lonely starlight. They had eaten most of their tinned food and biscuits. Once, they’d caught a few fish and cooked them over wood from an extra oar. They’d kept the fire in one of the pails, and the flame’s black stains remained. They were rationing their water again. A few more days, and then they would need another rainstorm if they were to survive.
“Do you think they’ve reported us dead yet?” Everyone had sore, dry throats, so Karl couldn’t tell if dehydration or emotion had made Billy’s voice crack.
“First delayed, then missing. Probably not listed as dead quite yet.” Karl glanced at Jake, who sorted through their supplies again. Thus far, the process had yet to reveal anything new. Karl had a feeling that the alternative was loss of sanity, so he never said anything when Jake started sorting.
Karl took out the old compact he’d gotten from Millie and ran his fingers along the ends. He’d yet to snag his finger along the broken mirror inside, even though some days he’d been so bored that the thought of watching a few drops of blood dry in the sun sounded like a valuable option for amusement.
“Who will they report you missing to, Billy?” Karl asked.
“Me mum. And me stepdad, but I doubt he’ll care much.”
“Is he the one who gave you all those bruises I saw the first time you came aboard?”
Billy nodded.
“And did your mum lie about your age to get you on board, or did he do that too?”
Billy met Karl’s eyes for a moment, then looked away. “Mum. I told her I didn’t want to live there anymore, and she understood. He hits her too. So I escaped to sea, and I thought that maybe if I could earn enough, I could help her get away from him too.”
Neither of them spoke for a long time. Karl fingered the compact. Jake sorted the supplies again. Billy watched a group of dolphins until they swam out of view.
“The woman who gave you that.” Billy pointed to the compact. “Do you think she’ll cry when she hears you’re missin’?”
“I imagine so. But she’s lucky. Her family is strong. They’ll help her if she has a hard time shaking the sadness.” Grief was still grief, but she wouldn’t be alone.
“Me mum will have to grieve by herself.” Billy’s voice cracked, and this time, Karl suspected it was from pain of loss, not pain of condition.
Karl asked a question he’d wanted to ask the boy for a long time. “How old are you really?”
Billy shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know when you were born?”
“I know me birthday. August 15. I’ve just lost track of how many days we’ve been in this here lifeboat. I might be fourteen. Or I might still be thirteen.”
Thirteen. Maybe fourteen. Karl thought it was probably Billy’s birthday, but it might have been the day before. Or the day after. Karl had been begging God for more time, but maybe he’d been selfish. Billy was the one who needed more time. Enough time to reach his full height. Enough time to experience the wonder of falling in love. If Karl looked at his life from the right angle, he could see how blessed he’d been. He’d lost his family, yes, but before that, he’d had their unconditional love. To have that love, even just in memory, was something he would always treasure. And Millie . . . even if he never saw her again, even if he died in a few days when they ran out of water . . . he’d been loved by the most amazing woman he’d ever met. That was powerful, even if it had been far too brief.
“Who will they report that you’re missin’ to?” Billy asked.
“Maybe no one.” He had no next of kin listed in the company offices. Millie would wonder why it had been so long since his last letter, and then she would worry. Eventually, her letters would be returned to her, and she would write to the Torlin Line, inquiring after an ordinary seaman on the Hillingdon. She probably didn’t suspect anything was amiss yet because she hadn’t known his destination, could only now be hoping to receive a letter sent from whatever port he’d gone to.
“What about the woman who gave you that?”
Karl clasped his fingers around the compact. “I asked her to marry me, and she was going to think it over. Nothing was settled, and I don’t think the company tracks down girlfriends.”
Time and the heat stretched on. Another day with a few wispy clouds that gave Karl hope but that didn’t build into anything strong enough to give them shade, let alone rain.
The day after that, a shark stalked their boat, ramming into the hull. Jake tried to beat it with an oar, and he almost lost the oar for his trouble. Eventually, the shark gave up. Karl felt like it was almost time for him to do the same. If no one had found them after twenty-some days in the lifeboat, how could they hope that anyone ever would?
A glorious sunrise gave way to another stifling day without a breeze to cool their burned skin or fill their limp sail. What he wouldn’t give to send one final letter to Millie, one final letter to leave at the church in case Ingrid ever arrived.
Karl tried humming the Austrian National anthem. He wasn’t sure anyone would have recognized it because his voice was so scratchy, but it gave him something to do. He had told Papa that he would be red-white-red until he was dead. Red-white-red, the colors of the Austrian flag. An Austrian patriot, even if Austria no longer existed. Maybe the words of the song floating through his mind as his lips attempted to make music were his way of fulfilling that promise because death seemed to be circling the lifeboat, not unlike the sharks. He managed to voice the phrase that ended each verse. “Gott mit dir, mein Österreich!”
For better or worse, he sang it in his native tongue. Jake glanced at him but didn’t say anything. God with thee, my Austria. It was hard to see God’s hand when Karl’s country hadn’t been protected. Nor had Papa or Anna. Maybe not Ingrid either. And it was hard to feel blessed while sitting in a lifeboat running low on water and even lower on hope.
No, that wasn’t true. He’d had Millie, and that proved God still had a hand in Karl’s life because finding her, falling in love with her, that had been a miracle. Karl took her compact from his pocket. It wasn’t anywhere near as good as holding the woman, but it was as close as he could get.
He dozed in the early morning light, and memories of Millie, of his sisters, of his parents all swirled through his head. They ebbed and flowed with the swell of the waves. Karl wanted to find Ingrid, he wanted to return to Millie . . . but a desire to see Papa, Mama, and little Anna wound its way around his heart. Even while sleeping, he knew he couldn’t survive much longer. Death was coming, but reunion would be consolation for a life cut short.
It’s not yet time, Karl.
Karl jerked awake. Papa’s voice. Just a memory, no doubt, like that time he’d heard it after the Gracechurch was sunk. That statement—part plea, part promise. He had to cling to life a little longer, even though pain engulfed his throat and his body felt limp and his mind could barely focus.
As the sun rose higher, Karl shielded his eyes against the stark brightness. The glare of sunlight, direct and reflected, made a headache form just behind his forehead. Or maybe that was the lack of water. Regardless, his head hurt, and the small speck in the distance might be his imagination. Maybe a bird . . . and that could mean they were nearing land, though the ocean could easily pull them past the shoreline without revealing anything other than water.
Or maybe the speck, slightly larger now, was an airplane.
The ocean made a constant sound against the lifeboat, but it was an easy sound to ignore after being on ships for so long. Karl could hear it when he concentrated but could also tune it out when needed. He closed his eyes for an instant, hoping to hear the sound of a plane’s engine, but the speck, if it was a plane, was too far away.
Karl opened Millie’s broken mirror and used it to reflect the light, sending out a series of bright flashes. Given the right conditions, signals from a mirror could be seen ten miles away.
Jake put a hand over his eyes. “Will you cut that out?”
Karl pointed to the speck. “I think there’s something up there.”
Billy had been in a stupor most of yesterday and all of that morning, just lying in the bottom of the boat, staring at the lifeboat’s wooden frame, but he blinked and looked in the direction Karl had pointed.
The speck grew larger, and gradually, the sound of an engine grew audible, so soft at first that he couldn’t be sure if his ears or his imagination detected the purr. He kept up his signals, and when the plane drew close enough, they all waved their arms, making sure the pilot could see that living men occupied the boat below. Caution might have told them to wait until they knew if the plane was friend or foe, but few people on either side of the war would waste ammunition on men stranded in a lifeboat.
The pilot circled their lifeboat and wagged the flaps of his wings at them as he flew over, acknowledging that he’d seen them. The plane bore American markings, but the pilot would have no way of knowing which side of the war the men below were part of.
“Now what?” Billy asked.
“We hope he radios our position to someone who can help.” Karl swallowed. They had hope again, but being sighted didn’t guarantee rescue. Not every captain would risk his ship and his men for the chance of rescuing a few survivors. In the vast scheme of the war, three sailors mattered very little.
Time morphed into something different after the airplane. They still waited, but an urgency worked its way into each hour. Somewhere, someone was making a decision about whether or not the men in the unknown lifeboat were worth saving. The pilot would have counted. Billy might pass for a child from the air, especially since Karl and Jake both had beards now to contrast with his smooth face. Two men and a child. That might improve their odds.
Karl ran his fingers over the now-closed compact. How many miracles could he expect in a lifetime? He might have already used his quota, but still, he mumbled prayer after prayer. It was as good a way to pass the time as any other, and maybe God was listening. Maybe God would show him mercy for just a little longer. A chance to see Millie again. Maybe even a chance to marry her.