Inishtrahull and Kintyre vanished into the mist astern and dawn was just breaking over the mountains of Argyllshire as Feudal led the convoy into the Clyde. The channel opened in front of them, with the silent pinnacle of Ailsa Craig, the jagged summit of Arran and, beyond, the softer outline of Bute. Strung along the shore were the coastal resorts of Ayrshire and Dumbarton, then they passed the Cloch light into Greenock. To the north the tawny and purple mountains lifted, and finally the coast crumbled into a rubbish heap of ugly tenements and warehouses.
Mail came aboard, mostly bills, but there was a letter from Hugh to inform Kelly he hoped to see him shortly. He had joined the Fleet Air Arm before the war was a fortnight old and he was now finishing his training on Sea Gladiators. He’d not swerved in his belief in air power, but it had pleased Kelly that he’d chosen the Navy.
Below decks, the sailors were still swearing to the Customs men that the nylons they’d bought in New York were personal gear, and a furious stoker was drinking himself silly on bourbon rather than let the government officials have it, when the Rear-Admiral (D)’s barge was seen approaching from the pier.
‘Hello,’ the Sub said. ‘Something in the wind!’
The Admiral was in a hurry and not inclined to mince words. The prevailing mood as they’d tied up to the buoy had been light. They were due for a boiler-clean and a boiler-clean meant leave, and the feeling of relief had been clear throughout the ship. The first lieutenant had had his little joke with the coxswain and the cook with Jack Dusty, and somehow they were all together. But now suddenly, the sky had clouded over, because an admiral didn’t appear alongside a ship at full speed and scramble over the side just to inform them that a boiler-clean was all right with him. There was something unpleasant in the offing, and in a moment, the light-hearted jokes became bitter, and the word ‘bastard’, which had been a term of affection up to that moment, suddenly had a sharper edge.
The Admiral pulled no punches. ‘You’ll have to put off your boiler-clean,’ he said. ‘It’s hard, I know, but there it is. We’re short of ships. Between ‘em, the politicals have just about done for us and I don’t know which I detest most – the ancient glittering eyes of the reactionaries or the joyless dogma of the left wing intellectuals.’
Rumbelo passed over a drink and, as the Admiral swallowed it, Kelly probed gently. ‘What’s the job, sir?’
The Admiral grunted. ‘We suspect the Germans are up to something in the North. Max Horton stationed his submarines down the Norwegian coast weeks ago and they were in a position to stop the Germans, but those asses in Westminster wouldn’t have it and they’ve been withdrawn.’
‘And us, sir?’
‘We’re making up a new flotilla. You’ll lose Sappho and Sanderling but you’re getting Freelance. They’re sneaking ore ships down the Inner Leads and we think there’s going to be trouble because we have reports of capital ships moving in Kiel and Wilhelmshaven. You’re to take station off Narvik and keep watch. And while you’re there, you’re to keep a look out for Kölndom. She’s an old freighter but she’s believed to be carrying German naval and military experts from the Argentine. They’ve been there ever since we got Graf Spee in December, and some of them are important. She’s probably even armed and we think she’s making for home, because she was reported up near the Denmark Strait, heading for Bergen. Admiral Whitworth’s up there with Renown and four destroyers and the Twentieth Destroyer Flotilla’s been ordered to join him. You’ll be attached for orders.’
‘When do we leave, sir?’
‘At once. Freelance will join you from Scapa en route.’
The nylons remained on board as the Customs men were shooed off at full speed and the stoker who’d polished off the bourbon was heard complaining drunkenly that he’d sunk his bloody booze at the rush for nothing. On the whole, though, they took it quietly, almost too quietly, because so long as the lower deck had a drip on the Navy was all right. There was a minor brush forward when the chief buffer ticked someone off for leaving his dhobying about, and when the officer of the day went to attend to it, an unidentified voice from the back shouted ‘You can chew my starboard nipple!’
In the end Kelly cleared lower deck and explained the situation, talking quietly and avoiding resounding phrases. They accepted it in good spirit. He’d once considered he was no good with any words but swear-words, but he’d since learned he was considered an excellent speaker. He tried it man to man on them and insisted that he’d get them leave as soon as he could, but for the moment it was felt that the Germans were on the move and they had a job to do. As he turned away, the ship was as still as a church, but within half an hour from his cabin he heard a raucous voice singing. ‘Officers don’t worry me – not much–!’
He smiled. It was going to be all right.
They slipped the buoy at nightfall and steamed south for Kildonan, Sanda and the Mull of Kyntyre, the very route they’d just covered in the opposite direction. But then, instead of turning south-west, they turned north and headed towards Islay and Tiree. The next morning, Freelance joined them off Cape Wrath and they headed north round the Shetlands.
As they headed into the North Sea, the flotilla signals officer handed Kelly a signal.
‘KÖLNDOM PASSED NORTH OF ICELAND AND FAEROES. NOW BELIEVED OFF NARVIK MOVING SOUTH INSIDE NORWEGIAN TERRITORIAL WATERS.’
‘Let’s just hope that by the time we arrive,’ Kelly said, ‘she’s outside Norwegian territorial waters.’
Making their landfall off Trondheim, the four destroyers swept north in line astern. What they might expect, Kelly had no idea. He didn’t think Kölndom would cause much trouble, but German destroyers were said to be operating off the coast of Norway to protect German ships carrying Swedish iron from Narvik. And the German destroyers were bigger than the British, while with two converted V/W class ships, his flotilla could hardly be called a strong one.
It was bitterly cold, because spring hadn’t yet shown any signs of arriving in these northern latitudes and the land – towering walls of black rock and snow, with patches of green and the darker verdure of pine trees – was faintly depressing. There were also large coils of thick mist that made visibility uncertain and worried him in case he missed his quarry. There was a lot of traffic in the Leads and, with the mist growing thicker, the lookouts were warned to be doubly alert.
‘We’d look fine if we ran into her,’ the first lieutenant said.
‘There’s nothing like a collision,’ Kelly agreed, ‘to ruin your entire day.’
Nobody knew what Kölndom looked like but someone found an old copy of The Times in the wardroom which showed her alongside Graf Spee in the harbour of Montevideo. It wasn’t a good picture because she was half obscured, but she seemed more modern than they’d expected, about eight thousand tons with a high bow and a flaring billet-head. She didn’t look desperately fast but Kelly was under no delusion that even if she didn’t carry a gun there would be arms on board.
It was as dusk approached on the second day that the navigator spotted her making south, a grey-hulled ship hard to see against the misty background of the land. As they closed, it was possible to pick out the German ensign and finally the name on her stern.
‘There are two torpedo boats with her, sir,’ the officer of the watch called out, his binoculars to his eyes. ‘Norwegian, I think.’
‘Signal her to stop.’
As they drew closer, the Norwegian vessels ranged themselves alongside Kölndom, preventing the destroyers from going close, and abreast Sebring Fjord, she swung abruptly to port, increased speed and vanished through the narrow entrance, with the Norwegians close behind, blocking the channel.
Kelly beat softly on the bridge coaming with his gloved fist. ‘Bloody Norwegians,’ he muttered. ‘Their idea of neutrality seems to be curiously weighted in favour of Hitler.’
Feudal lay off the entrance to the fjord, with Freelance, Wrestler and Vandyke further out to sea watching the escape route. They had reached an impasse. The naval and military experts on board Kölndom made her a legitimate target, but so far they were only suspected, and if they were not on board Feudal had no right to interfere. But what if they were on board?
Kelly was just wondering what to do when the signals officer handed him a signal.
‘Home Fleet’s out, sir,’ he announced. ‘They must be expecting a break-out of German capital ships, because we’ve got two battleships, a battle cruiser, four cruisers and twenty-one destroyers at sea.
Kelly grunted. ‘Last time the Home Fleet went looking for the Germans twenty-two years ago,’ he said, ‘it mustered thirty-five battleships and battlecruisers, twenty-six cruisers and eighty-five destroyers.’
He frowned, wondering if the breakout of German capital ships made it possible to push the matter of Kölndom a stage further. He was just considering the possibilities when one of the Volunteer Reserve officers by the name of Harstatt appeared on the bridge. ‘Sir,’ he announced. ‘My father was a Norwegian who became a naturalised Englishman. I speak fluent German and Norwegian. Can I help?’
‘I’m damn sure you can,’ Kelly said, making up his mind at once. ‘My German’s very dubious and I have no Norwegian at all. Hail the Norwegians and invite the senior officer on board.’
The Norwegian commanding officer, a big man with hair as red as Kelly’s own, was clearly unhappy at the situation but stiff with pride. ‘Norway is not at war with Germany,’ he insisted, ‘any more than she is with Britain. My orders are to ensure our rights over our own waters.’
‘Germany shows scant regard for your rights,’ Kelly argued. ‘I have reason to believe Kölndom has German naval and military experts aboard.’
The Norwegian shook his head. ‘She has twice been examined since her entry into Norwegian waters and there are only German merchant sailors aboard. My instructions are to resist entry by force. My torpedo tubes are already trained on your ship.’
It appeared to be a deadlock and, as the Norwegian returned to his command, Kelly retired to his cabin with the flotilla signals officer and Harstatt.
‘I dare bet the bugger never examined her,’ he snapped.
‘They’re scared stiff of upsetting the Germans. What’s your opinion, Harstatt?’
‘I’m inclined to agree, sir.’
‘Right. Then let’s make a signal to the Admiralty asking for instructions. This seems to be a case for the Foreign Office, because any hurried action on our part might push Norway into the arms of the Nazis and nobody wants that.’
Taking the ship beyond the entrance to the fjord, they waited for the reply. Close under the bleak shoreline with its high steep mountains and hidden inlets, it was bitterly cold and, as the early darkness came, the men on deck shivered, flapping their arms against the wintry weather. It was late in the evening and pitch dark when the reply came. Its text seemed to suggest that Churchill himself had had a hand in it.
‘UNLESS NORWEGIANS WILLING TO ESCORT KÖLNDOM TO BERGEN WITH JOINT ANGLO-NORWEGIAN GUARD ON BOARD YOU SHOULD TAKE POSSESSION PENDING FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. SUGGEST YOU WARN NORWEGIANS HONOUR COULD BE SERVED BY SUBMITTING TO SUPERIOR FORCE.’
It seemed to cover everything and, closing the Norwegian torpedo boats from where Feudal could rake their decks without their torpedoes being able to reply the sense of the signal was made clear.
There was a long wait, with them all grey-faced and red-nosed with the cold, then eventually the first lieutenant appeared at the door of Kelly’s cabin, grinning.
‘The Norwegians appear to have decided honour is satisfied, sir,’ he announced. ‘They’re withdrawing.’
‘Good.’ Kelly reached for his cap and made for the bridge. The men by the guns and torpedo tubes looked expectantly at him, their faces pale in the shadows.
‘Half ahead both. Navigator, keep your eye on that chart. Let’s have the look-outs alerted.’
Slowly they picked their way into the dark fjord. It was faintly awe-inspiring in its silence and loneliness, with only the low hum of the turbines and the wash of the oily water alongside. Rounding a bend, they saw Kölndom, her bows facing shorewards, her hull black against the snow.
‘Is she aground?’
‘No, sir, up against the ice so that if they have to, their “guests” can escape across it.’
Kelly nodded. ‘We’ll board. Harstatt had better do it since he speaks German.’
The first lieutenant drew attention to packing cases lashed on Kölndom’s deck. ‘She’s supposed to have hidden six-inchers, sir. Could they be behind the cases?’
Kelly grunted. ‘If they are, we’ll just have to see who shoots faster. Have the guns trained on them and at the slightest movement from them, they’re to fire.’
As he turned, he bumped into Rumbelo, waiting by the ladder. He was clad in gaiters and steel helmet and was armed with a revolver.
‘Where the hell are you going?’ Kelly demanded.
‘Reporting for the boarding party, sir.’
Kelly grinned. ‘Take ’em off, Albert,’ he said. ‘Tin hats always did look like tits on mountains on you.’
‘Aren’t we going aboard her, sir?’
‘No, we’re not. War’s a young man’s game and you and I are too bloody old these days.’
Rumbelo looked hurt, then he grinned. ‘I thought I might as well try, sir.’
Clearly the only way to handle the business was to go alongside Kölndom as fast as possible. Her captain had trained his searchlight on Feudal’s bridge in the hope of blinding her officers and, as they approached, she suddenly went astern at full speed in the hope of ramming.
‘Full astern, both!’ The navigator spoke calmly into the engine room voice pipe. ‘Hard-a-starboard!’
Kölndom’s blunt stern scraped Feudal’s bow and, as they slid alongside, Harstatt leapt like a stag for Kölndom’s deck. The petty officer who followed him missed by a yard and fell into the icy water from which he was only rescued by a hastily thrown rope. As the rest of the party scrambled across, there was a hurried scuffle then a shot crashed across the silent fjord and Kölndom slid slowly ahead, her bows crunching into the ice, until she was brought up sharp with a jerk, her nose aground. Another flurry of shots came and one of the boarding party fell, then the German crew began to scramble over the side.
‘You all right, Harstatt?’
Kelly’s breath hung frostily in the air as he shouted. Harstatt appeared from below and waved. ‘Yes, sir. One of the Jerries attempted to move the ship’s telegraph. We have the experts, sir, two of them naval captains. There’s also a German general as well, to say nothing of reams of documents and instruments that look as if they’ve come off Graf Spee. I had one man wounded as the crew got ashore.’
The Germans who had escaped ashore were sniping at Feudal’s crew now but, easy targets against the snow, they were quickly silenced. Kelly made up his mind quickly.
‘We’ll tow you off,’ he shouted. ‘And put a prize crew aboard. See that your prisoners are shoved below hatches. You’ll be sailing her back to England.’
They had just seen Kölndom off to the west with her secrets, when the signals officer appeared with a long signal.
‘Intercepted message from Glowworm, sir,’ he announced. ‘She appears to have sighted German heavy ships. Repulse is going to her assistance with four destroyers. We’re ordered to join Renown.’
Half an hour later, as they turned west, the signals officer was back. ‘Glowworm’s stopped signalling, sir. It looks as if she’s run into the enemy and been sunk.’
Kelly frowned. If Glowworm had indeed run into German heavies, the contest must have been short and sharp, and there would be little chance for her ship’s company in the icy northern waters in the blackness of the night.
Outside the fjord a wind had got up from the north-west and as it increased they had to reduce speed. A signal arrived to indicate German ships were entering Oslo Fjord and approaching Bergen, Stavanger and Trondheim, and Kelly swore.
‘This isn’t a break-out! ‘he said. ‘It’s a bloody invasion!’
Their speed further reduced by the increasingly bad weather, they continued to head north and the following morning they learned that Renown had met and engaged the German battlecruisers, Gneisenau and Scharnhorst, and that Admiral Forbes’ group had been attacked by bombers and the destroyer, Gurkha, sunk. Half-way to their rendezvous, another signal ordered them to Narvik to support the Second Destroyer Flotilla. As they crashed northwards, the signals officer brought an intercepted signal from the Second Destroyer Flotilla itself.
‘NORWEGIANS REPORT GERMANS HOLDING NARVIK IN FORCE. SIX DESTROYERS AND ONE SUBMARINE. CHANNEL POSSIBLY MINED. INTEND ATTACKING AT DAWN HIGH WATER.’
‘Full revolutions,’ Kelly ordered. ‘I want to be there, too.’
With Vandyck and Wrestler trailing behind in the heavy seas, Feudal and Freelance arrived off the fjord in the early hours of the next day. As the revolutions dropped and the crashing of the water diminished, they could distinctly hear the sound of gunfire from deep inside the fjord.
‘Second Flotilla seems to have found the Germans,’ Kelly commented. ‘Make to Admiralty, C-in-C, Home Fleet, and the Second Destroyer Flotilla: “Am going in, in support.” Warn Wrestler to wait in the entrance as guard ship. Freelance and Vandyke to follow Feudal. They will operate independently.’
Through the mist, near the pilot station at Tranöy they caught sight of a large freighter heading north-east and a glimpse of the German flag at her stern, then the mist closed again and she was gone.
‘Leave her,’ Kelly ordered. ‘We can pick her up on the way out.’
They passed the entrance to Tjeldsundetfjord, picking their way carefully through the swirling tendrils of smoky vapour, catching brief glimpses of the land as they went. It wasn’t hard to guess that the Second Flotilla had done a lot of damage and was now on its way out. Hamnesholm, Tjellebotn and Djupvik slid past to starboard, the high hills covered with fir trees that were black against the snow, then, as they rounded the corner to where the narrow waters of Ofotfjord opened out, they saw a running fight approaching them, British destroyers retiring at full speed, followed by the bigger German vessels, which appeared to be coming from Herjangsfjord and Ballangenfjord opposite. The retiring destroyers seemed to have been caught between two forces, and one of the British ships was already disabled and drifting towards the shore near Virek, another was sinking and a third appeared to be out of control. Narvik harbour behind, in front of Framnes, was a shamble of sinking ships, the houses obscured by rolling clouds of black and yellow smoke where fires were burning, and through the confusion the Germans seemed to be firing with light field guns.
One of the fleeing destroyers was laying a smoke screen and it seemed a good idea to add to it.
‘Full ahead both,’ Kelly said. ‘Make smoke. Hoist battle ensign.’
They were flying through the water now. Inside the fjord there seemed to be no wind, but the water was turbulent with the washes of swiftly-moving ships, so that Feudal kept lurching savagely, thumping into each small wave as if it were made of concrete, and they could hear the crash and rattle of crockery and tinware below. In the engine room, a red light had glowed on the bulkhead and valves were being adjusted to admit just too much oil and shut off just too much air to allow complete combustion. As the black coils began to pour from the funnels the first lieutenant looked up.
‘Greasy hydrocarbons,’ he said. ‘Known as smoke.’
Kelly clung to his bridge stool as it bucked beneath him, unaware of the motion as the reflexes of years adjusted to enable him to keep his seat. With three minutes of smoke, they could lay a bank a mile long for the retreating ships, and the Germans weren’t going to be in a hurry to plunge through it after them without knowing what was on the other side. As they crossed the paths of the oncoming ships at full speed, he turned to the voice pipe.
‘Guns, I’m turning to starboard in a moment. We shall then be going through the smoke and you’ll find the Germans just about red five as we come out. It’ll take us just about two minutes. Open fire when you’re ready.’
As they came round on to their own wake, they saw the British destroyers emerge from the smoke, tearing it into wisps with the speed of their passage, and a light flashed a message of thanks.
‘Now for the Germans!’
‘They have five-inchers against our four-point-sevens, sir,’ the first lieutenant pointed out, not nervously but matter-of-factly.
‘With a projectile twice as heavy,’ Kelly agreed. ‘Thank you, Number One. I expect we’ll manage.’
What little wind there was carried the smoke to port and, as they resumed course, they plunged into a darkness that stank of unburnt fuel oil. It filled their nostrils and lungs and made them cough and the ship became silent with the silence of alertness.
For a while they endured the smoke, their eyes smarting, trying to hold their breath, then they were leaping clear of it into the daylight again just opposite Bogen Bay. Directly ahead was a large merchantman wearing the German flag. Her decks were crowded with soldiers and, as Feudal swung, her torpedoes plunged into the stirred water like swimmers in a racing dive. As they came round they saw a flash that completely obscured the German ship, then a second later there was a shattering crash that echoed and re-echoed among the surrounding hills.
A sheet of flame ran along the German’s decks, flinging out scarlet tendrils as it went, then a coil of black smoke began to lift and swell, its centre filled with brilliant light. From the smoke, huge dark objects lifted up, whirring outwards to splash into the water, and momentarily Kelly saw the clear shape of a man, arms and legs flailing as he was flung high into the air. A colossal mushroom of brown smoke climbed upwards, spilling flaming debris. Beyond it the German ship had vanished, and beneath the pall the sea seemed to swirl under a shower of burning cordite, splintered lifeboats, wood, mess-stools, hammocks, oil-drums, even a funnel gyrating in the sky, and unidentifiable fragments that could have been clothes or men. The German ship had gone like a burst bubble in a single instant.
There was a stunned silence then the first lieutenant spoke. ‘Ammunition,’ he said.
The German ship had been torn apart and, as the smoke cleared they saw it had split in two, with the two halves, surrounded by swimming men, standing on end and sinking lower in the water as they passed them.
‘Good old Ginger,’ someone said with deep satisfaction just below the bridge. ‘That’s stopped the buggers coughing in church.’
As they swept through the smoke, they almost collided with Freelance, coming round from the other side. A light flickered from the other ship’s bridge, and the yeoman of signals called out.
‘Freelance signalling. “Do you come here often?”’
Kelly’s mouth moved in a taut smile. There wasn’t much wrong with morale when hard-pressed men could make signals like that. Resisting the impulse to reply in the same vein, he gave himself wholeheartedly to the job in hand. Beyond the sinking wreck of the ammunition ship, three German destroyers were just turning and they took them from the quarter. One of them reeled away, her after-deck smothered in flame; then, one behind the other, their guns blazing at point-blank range, Feudal, Freelance and Vandyke burst through the line. As Feudal swung again, however, leaning to the turn, the first lieutenant pointed and, swinging round, Kelly saw three more Germans coming from Bogen Bay on their own quarter, not more than two miles away. They had been lying at anchor behind the large island that filled the western half of the bay, and they were coming down now at full speed. Caught up against the islands of Lilandsgrund, Feudal had been trapped exactly as they had trapped the Germans, and she caught the full force of their vengeful fury.
It was a fierce encounter as they tried to hit back, conducted at lightning speed and with scant regard for science because they were too close. There was only time for the voice of the director-layer to reach the sweating guns’ crews, then shells were bursting on either side of Feudal, the near misses rocking her, the stench of explosives sweeping down on her with the falling spray, the fragments clattering against the hull.
The guns were roaring furiously, their crews, unmoved by the tumult, aiming at the first enemy they saw in the murk of smoke, spray and mist. Another German reeled aside trailing smoke and flames as the guns recoiled, brass cylinders smoking, and the breeches clanged shut again. Two more hits sparked along the enemy hull, followed by a cheer that was drowned by an explosion abaft the bridge that hit home like a hammer and set Feudal staggering from the fight in her turn.
Another shell struck, then another, cutting off all communications systems and wrecking the electrics. A fourth smashed into her boiler room and she lost way at once, shuddering, and came to a stop, her nose bowing to the water, escaping steam roaring from her bowels, a shower of soot from the funnels coming down across the deck.
The ship was a shambles, gaping holes fringed by jagged edges of shining metal that lifted like the petals of a steel flower round her wounds. Among the debris were the scorched bodies of men, their blood draining into the scuppers. A blaze was roaring abaft the bridge, where cordite charges had caught fire, a shrieking white flame lifting up towards the masthead, its glow reflected on the dark water. The damage control party was already running forward with hoses, however, flinging the debris overboard and dragging the bodies aside, and badly wounded men were being placed in a row near the bridge ladder.
The Germans had vanished into the smoke and the guns had fallen silent, the guns’ crews clearing the deck of the shell cases. One of them vomited over the side and, as the smoke cleared, propped up against the bulkhead in the glare of the flames, Kelly saw the remains of one of the torpedo-men minus arms and legs and with his inside spilling out. Straightening up, the nauseated gunner began to yell hysterically but he was immediately grabbed by his friends and quietened. As the magazine parties emerged, grimy and puffy-eyed from the stinking darkness, the engineer lieutenant appeared to report, his face streaked with someone else’s blood.
‘What’s it like?’ Kelly asked.
‘Pretty rough, sir. I’ve lost a lot of men. Given half an hour, though, I think I can get her moving.’
Kelly turned to glance towards the smoke. Second Flotilla had vanished seawards, accompanied by Vandyke, which appeared to be on fire aft, and Freelance, chased down the fjord by two of the German ships.
‘I don’t think we’ve got half an hour,’ he said, and as he spoke, one of the Germans re-emerged from the smoke, her guns blazing. The torpedo gunner tried to hit her but, stopped as they were, he had neither swing nor spread and against the fast-moving target it was a vain hope.
The guns’ crews tried to hit back, each gunlayer having to judge his own range and fall of shot, but the German ship had been joined now by two more from further up the fjord and A gun was the first to go. Then a fire broke out under B gun and it was clear Feudal had not much time left to live. The searchlight platform went and a fire started aft, stopping the supply of ammunition. The engineer lieutenant reappeared, sweating and faintly apologetic.
‘I’m afraid it’s no use, sir,’ he reported. ‘The water’s gaining.’
The Germans had moved further up the fjord now to the help of their own shattered ships. It was quite clear Feudal was not going to move and, with a last salvo into her, they vanished into the smoke. As the shells struck, Kelly heard the clatter of metallic objects crashing to the deck, and saw the water stirred alongside as fragments whipped into it. The whole centre section of the ship was ablaze now and the smoke was so thick it was hardly possible to see. From the dark coils, he could hear men yelling, but even now there was no panic and the men emerging from below were all dragging wounded shipmates with them. Alongside, some of the men in the sea had become silent, floating with their heads fallen back, but torpedo-men and engine room ratings were still struggling to lower a Carley raft and one of the leading seamen appeared on the bridge.
‘Depth charges rendered safe, sir.’
Kelly looked at him with admiration, wondering at his calmness. ‘Thank you. I’m glad to hear it.’
The ship’s list was pronounced now. It didn’t seem to be quite real. Rafts were drifting round the hull and more wounded men were being brought from amidships. The ship hadn’t much longer to live and, with the Germans gone, Kelly was frantically searching his mind for something that would enable them all to escape. He’d been a prisoner in the last war and the idea of another spell didn’t appeal. He glanced to the deck below him and saw Rumbelo there. His face was quite calm as he waited with Kelly’s life jacket, and Kelly wondered what he was thinking and whether he were wishing he were back at Thakeham with Biddy.
The men on the deck were shivering as they stripped off their clothes. The water was so cold he knew that a lot of them wouldn’t survive long, and with the shoreline covered with deep snow, even if they made it they’d freeze to death there.
He had almost resigned himself to a German prison when, through the smoke, he saw the shape of another destroyer approaching.
‘Here we go again,’ the navigator said in a flat resigned voice, and they were bracing themselves for the coup de grace when Rumbelo spoke.
‘That’s Wrestler, sir,’ he announced quietly.
As Wrestler emerged, it was possible to recognise her by the four-incher that had been removed to make room for more depth charges. She was coming down the fjord fast and, as she swung to come up astern, Kelly saw Latimer on the bridge giving orders.
He laid Wrestler alongside Feudal as neatly as if she were a ferry at the cross-channel berth at Dover, and men began to jump the gap.
‘Go on, Rumbelo,’ Kelly said. ‘Get cracking.’
Rumbelo looked stubborn. ‘I’ll go when you go,’ he said.
Wrestler had her outer scrambling nets down and on her quarter Feudal’s sole remaining boat was moving alongside. As the survivors clawed their way up her hull, the boat moved away again among the bobbing heads in the water, picking up swimming men. By this time there appeared to be no sign of life near Feudal’s bridge and the upper deck was deserted except for the huddled figures of the dead. The list had increased and she was well down by the bows.
‘I think we won this bit of the war, sir,’ Latimer called across. ‘Vandyke took a hit but she’s making her own way home.’
Suddenly the fjord was very silent except for the splashing and the shouts of men in the water. Somewhere guns were still firing but they sounded muted now.
‘Better come now, sir,’ Rumbelo said as calmly as if he were suggesting that they crossed the road.
Kelly nodded and stepped across the gap between the two ships. Rumbelo waited until he was safe aboard before following himself. Willing hands grasped them. By this time, most of the men in the water had reached the nets and were being dragged aboard.
‘Look slippy,’ Latimer shouted.
As Wrestler went astern, they heard Feudal’s death rattle, a violent convulsion that ran through her slender hull, then a swirl of water spread from her bows and she began to plunge. For a moment, as her stern rose steeply, she seemed to hang, half-alive and half-dead, her bow deep in the water, her propellers silhouetted against the white sky. Then, with what sounded like a tired sigh, she slipped below, going swiftly, the angle of her descent steep. The last they saw of her was her stern still sticking out of the water and the tip of her mainmast with the white ensign still at the gaff.