The Gracechurch shuddered, and Karl barely kept his footing, despite his grip on the rails. The ship felt as if it had been lifted and dropped back into the ocean. He inhaled fear and tried to swallow back panic.
Some of his crewmates ran toward the stern, and Karl joined them. Smoke wafted through the air. The Gracechurch’s speed was bleeding away. Given the location of the torpedo strike, he guessed the ship’s screw was damaged, maybe destroyed.
One of his Jamaican crewmates worked the pump for the fire hose. “Take it back,” he told Karl.
Karl grabbed the hose and ran. An uncontrolled fire brought extra danger to a ship at sea, but the Gracechurch carried grain and general cargo, nothing overly volatile, not like the convoy’s tankers and ships loaded with munitions; those were assigned to columns closer to the central, more protected areas of the group. Water pressure filled the hose as Karl reached the flames that licked at the deck and danced along one of the lifeboats.
He aimed the stream of water at the lifeboat. If they had to abandon ship because the U-boat wanted to finish off its kill, the crew would need the lifeboats. A pair of them were stored at the stern, with another pair amidships. Each boat could fit twenty, so losing one wouldn’t doom anyone in their thirty-seven-man crew to go down with the ship, but Karl still wanted to save it.
The flames turned to smoke and steam on the lifeboat but continued burning on the deck. Karl aimed the water there next, going as close as the length of the hose would allow, but the fire went deeper than the surface, threatening more than one level of the ship. Another crewman with a hose joined his efforts.
Smoke choked Karl’s throat and scratched at his eyes. But eventually there were no more flames to douse. Karl waved a hand in front of his face. Normally, the ship would sail through a cloud of smoke, but it hung above the deck, barely moving, because the Gracechurch sat dead in the water.
Captain Tremblay rushed through the embers to check the damage. The man’s hair was red, like his son’s, but softened with gray along the temples, and several dozen scars marred his face. His arm rested in a sling—it hadn’t been that way only a few hours before. “The boiler is still working. We should be moving.” The captain looked over the aft railing, but Karl doubted he would see anything in the dark. He frowned and turned back to the charred deck. “I need a damage report.”
One of the engine room’s greasers spoke up. “Four men dead below. The torpedo must have jammed the screw, because we can’t get it moving.”
As the greaser gave the captain details of the destruction in the engine room, Karl inspected the lifeboat he’d been trying to save. Fire had singed the paint on the bow but gone far deeper at the stern. She was no longer seaworthy.
When he looked up, another light shone on the horizon. “What’s that?” he asked one of the other men.
“The Bilderdijk,” he said. “She was hit just after us.”
Three ships in their column torpedoed? The U-boats were treating the convoy like a shooting gallery. It seemed all the destroyers, corvettes, and anti-sub trawlers had done convoy HX-79 little good. “Where are the escorts?”
The man pointed out a few lighter spots on the horizon. “I doubt we’re the only three ships taking on water right now.”
Karl glanced over the railings to verify what the man had said. The Gracechurch sat low in the water. Too low.
“Prepare to abandon ship,” Captain Tremblay ordered.
Karl had hoped he would never hear that phrase, but the captain’s words spurred Karl to action. He rushed to one of the forward ladders and climbed down to the crew’s quarters. Several men followed him, and others came from the opposite direction, having already retrieved their life jackets and their abandon-ship bundles.
When Karl reached his bunk, he tore off his coat and put his life jacket on. Then he replaced the coat and grabbed the waterproof panic bag. He wouldn’t bother putting on the extra layers now. He could see to that in the lifeboat.
The ship creaked and groaned, causing a surge of panic to tighten Karl’s abdomen. He exhaled, then inhaled. He needed to stay calm, no matter what sounds the ship made as it died.
Jake ran into the room and grabbed his own bundle, then followed Karl up the ladder to the deck. As they approached an amidships lifeboat, Mr. Blake helped one of the injured men aboard. The cloth he held to his forehead was slowly turning red. The Gracechurch carried no doctor, no pharmacist’s mate, but Mr. Blake had patched up men before. He opened the first-aid kit and began reinforcing the bandage.
Karl and Jake climbed on board after the wounded. They stowed their bundles, and Karl tried to adjust the collar of his coat. It wouldn’t lie right with the life jacket under it. Others in the crew manned the davits that would lower the boat to the surface of the ocean.
Captain Tremblay crossed the deck from the starboard lifeboat to the port lifeboat, where Karl sat. He counted and frowned. “We’re a man short.”
“Where’s Sparks?” Mr. Blake asked.
“He’s no doubt still manning the wireless. I’ll fetch him.” The captain turned, but another shudder violently shook the ship, sending the captain crashing to the deck, where he landed on his injured arm. A groan escaped him.
Jake jumped from the lifeboat to help his father.
“I’m all right,” the captain said. But when he tried to put weight on his ankle, he winced and swayed.
Karl climbed from the lifeboat. “I’ll find Sparks.” Wireless operators, almost universally nicknamed Sparks, were to man the radio until the last possible moment, but surely he’d sent out the distress signal a dozen times over by now. Headphones might prevent Mr. Langley from hearing the sounds of a sinking ship or the call to abandon it, but no one on board could have missed the tremors.
Karl ran to the wireless cabin near the navigating bridge. Footsteps followed him, and he turned to see Jake. Odd. One man was sufficient to tell the wireless operator that it was time to abandon ship, but Karl saved his breath. He pulled open the door to reveal Mr. Langley hunched over his instruments. He was the best-dressed man on the ship, in a proper uniform because he was employed not by the Torlin Line, owners of the Gracechurch, but by the Marconi International Marine Radio Company. Karl put a hand on the man’s shoulder to get his attention. “Time to abandon ship.”
Langley pulled one side of his headphones back. “What’s that?”
“The ship’s taking on water and can’t be saved. Time to find your lifeboat.”
Langley plucked a stack of documents from his desk and handed the pile to Karl. “These are to go overboard in the event we abandon ship.”
“Surely we won’t be boarded.” Karl hated the Nazis, but he wouldn’t underestimate their intelligence. If a ship’s own crew had seen fit to abandon the vessel, the enemy would know that boarding her was madness.
“Not likely, but ships have been known to take their time dying. Wouldn’t do for a curious enemy to find these papers or demand them from us should the U-boat surface near our lifeboat.”
Langley pulled open a drawer and yanked out another stack of papers and manuals.
“Codebooks?” Karl asked.
“Aye,” Langley said.
Something snapped, deep and grinding. The vibrations carried through Karl’s shoes and up his legs, and then the deck tilted, listing to starboard. Karl kept on his feet, but he stumbled toward the nearest bulkhead, and his stomach lurched with the sudden motion and a spike of dread. Objects from the desk rolled and slid onto the deck. Mr. Langley’s chair—with Mr. Langley still seated—scooted away from the desk and overturned.
Langley grunted. He grabbed his cap and the spilled papers, then stood. “I suppose that means I haven’t time to run to my cabin for my panic bag.”
“I suggest we head to the lifeboats at once.” An urgent sensation told Karl to get off the Gracechurch immediately, but he tried to keep his voice as level as Mr. Langley’s.
Mr. Langley led the way. Karl ran to the rails and threw the papers into the ocean, then made for the lifeboat.
“Where’s Jake?” the captain asked. “He was fetching papers from the bridge.”
Karl glanced at the lifeboat, where he wanted to be, and then toward the bridge. He could get to Jake faster than any of the men already seated. “I’ll go after him.”
Mr. Blake’s voice sounded, deep and loud. “If she lists any farther, we won’t be able to lower the lifeboat.”
The captain thought for a moment. The ship’s master was traditionally the last man off, but he was injured. He would slow the evacuation for everyone if he left the lifeboat to go limping about the deck in search of his son, and his first officer was needed to tend the wounded. Captain Tremblay turned to Karl. “You and Jake will have to use the starboard lifeboat. Lower away, Mr. Blake, while we still can.”
Karl nodded and ran off, quickly reaching the ladder to the bridge. It resembled stairs more than a ladder, but ships didn’t have stairs or floors or walls. They had ladders and decks and bulkheads.
Karl wrenched open the door to the bridge. “Jake?”
The bridge was coated in shadows. The skipper normally insisted it stay spotless, but scattered papers crunched beneath Karl’s feet, and instruments and tea mugs bumped against his shoes. Pale moonlight made it past a cloud to reveal a limp form in the corner near the starboard end.
Karl half stumbled, half slid to Jake’s side. Something dark marred Jake’s forehead. Blood? Karl shook Jake’s shoulder, not hard because he didn’t want to make an injury worse. Jake groaned and glanced around. “What happened?”
“The ship listed suddenly. I imagine you hit your head.”
Jake grabbed at his forehead and drew his hand back in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected to feel something wet and sticky.
“Come on.” Karl offered Jake a hand up. “I’m not sure how much longer the Gracechurch will stay afloat.”
Jake ignored Karl’s hand and foraged through the papers. “First, I have to get the manifest and ship’s log.”
Karl crouched in the dark and searched with his hands as much as with his eyes. A worn leather texture met his skin, and he grasped a bound book. “Here’s the logbook.”
The ship lurched again, tilting even farther to the starboard. Karl and Jake slid into the bulkhead.
“I hope the lifeboats have already launched.” Jake pushed himself up. “If not, they’ll have a hard time of it now.”
“They were lowering the port side amidships one when I came to find you. The starboard aft one was damaged in the fire. Don’t know about the others.” Karl took a step toward the nearest door, but his feet slipped on the smooth, slanted deck. The list had grown steeper, and the ship swayed with each wave.
Desperate to leave the bridge, he tried crawling, but that didn’t work either, and Jake was having no better luck. The angle was simply too sharp, and the smooth deck made it impossible to get a foothold.
Jake grabbed something from the pile of debris and broke the pane of one of the wide glass portholes. He poked at the edges to knock out the remaining fragments. “We’ll have to go out this way.”
That, too, involved climbing, but gravity didn’t work against them so fully here. Jake went first. Karl handed him the logbook and then clambered through himself. The ship lurched and creaked. The tilt was dramatic enough that the walkway outside the bridge hung out over the water. Karl glanced astern. He couldn’t see the lifeboat, and even if he could, they were as likely to fall as to make it that far back, especially if the roll of the ship increased.
“I think we’ll have to jump.” Karl didn’t want to jump into the frigid waters of the North Atlantic, but if the ship turned, it could trap them. Better to leap and have a chance at life than delay and face certain death.
Jake nodded. “You remember how?”
Karl glanced around. It was preferable to climb into the water rather than jump into the water, but there weren’t any ropes or hoses handy for that. “Cross your arms in front of your chest and hold your life jacket down. Your vest isn’t cork, is it?” Those sometimes snapped the necks of the men wearing them if a long jump was involved.
“No. Neither is yours.”
“Good. Go left. I’ll go right.”
Jake nodded. Then he jumped.
Karl pushed from the deck only a moment later. The chill air rushed past him, and the sensation of falling lasted one count, then two, then three. Time stretched out, and then the cold, dark ocean swallowed him.