by Dudley Pope
The Snowflake was swinging on the parachute and dropping fast. It was dimmer, too, and the magnesium was dripping, as though weeping red tears.
‘Bloody things,’ Jenkins swore. ‘They’ve only got two launchers: I’ve argued time and time again to get two more fitted. That’s the last – Christ!’
The Marynal’s stem hit the U-boat just abaft the conning tower. The ship seemed to stop for a few moments, the bow reared up a fraction and then she ploughed on, having cut the U-boat in half, and in the dying light of the flare Yorke saw the U-boat’s forward section point up in the air and then vanish, looking like a Christmas cracker torn in half and thrown away. Then the flare died and the Echo’s searchlight came back on as the frigate approached from astern, looking for survivors.
‘Reynolds,’ Yorke said, ‘get on the phone to the engine room and tell Mills what your captain has just done to that U-boat.’
‘He deserves a medal,’ Reynolds said jubilantly as he headed for the wheelhouse.
‘He’ll get one, I expect – once they’ve repaired the Marynal’s bow.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Johnny Gower leaned back in one of the two metal-framed chairs in his cabin and reached up into a black, lacy brassiere swinging over his desk to take a round tin of fifty Players out of one cup, and a box of matches and an ashtray from the other. As he lit a cigarette he said to Yorke: ‘So you are certain this chap Pahlen is a German?’
‘Yes, regular German Navy I should think. And I’m sure Ohlson is German too, even though he claims he’s a Swede. More likely to be a reserve officer – probably served his time in the German mercantile marine and has a master’s ticket. Just the man to put in command of the Penta.’
‘Wouldn’t the Swedish owners insist on a Swedish captain?’
‘That depends on the terms of the charter. Probably a bare-boat agreement – just the hull and machinery, with the charterer responsible for maintenance, crew, insurance, and so on. And you can bet your life,’ Yorke added, ‘there’s a clause saying the owners aren’t in any way responsible for anything done by the charterers.’
‘What the hell do they think the Germans are going to do, then?’ Johnny demanded. ‘Use it for those “Strength Through Joy” cruises they were running before the war begun?’
‘Blockade running, probably. Though if the crew really are Swedes, I suppose the Swedish owners would know what she’s being used for. If they’re German, then I’d be prepared to believe they didn’t. But the Swedes chartering the ship to the Teds shows they’d sooner be on the Spree than on the Thames.’
‘On the spree?’ Johnny asked. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘The Spree is the river on which Berlin stands.’
‘Oh yes. Thanks for trying. Well, the Swedes are more Jerry than anything else; most of their trade is with Jerrylanders. I suppose they think they’re backing the winning side.’
Johnny reached up to put the cigarette tin and matches back in the brassiere cup. Noting Yorke’s amused glance he explained, ‘A gimballed smoking kit. Swings back and forth and summons up brief memories. More important, if you leave a tin of cigarettes on the desk you can be sure it’ll roll over when we heel. The lid comes off and you have forty-nine cigarettes strewn across the cabin. Anyway, I like the nostalgia. Captured and unstuffed in Rio.’
So Johnny had recovered his interest in women again. His former wife had been described to Yorke as fitting perfectly the strictest specifications for a wife for Johnny Gower. She was a good tennis player, loved classical music and was a good violinist, had a private income, was striking to look at rather than beautiful and had copper-coloured hair. She could twist misogynist admirals round her little finger and had ordinary seamen offering to mow the lawn. And she had loved Johnny so deeply that she had had a nervous breakdown because of the eternal wait for him to come back alive. She had left him for a man in a safe job. She had stayed sane – but some people reckoned Johnny had gone round the bend: he just stayed at sea and hunted U-boats.
‘You’d better write me a full report,’ Johnny said. ‘That starts it off “through channels”. I’ll cover the Echo’s side in another report. We’ll have one from that wild man in the Marynal, Hobson. And another from you describing the interrogation of Pahlen and Ohlson.’
‘I’d like to finish off the interrogation – they should be ready in the wardroom by now.’
‘I’ll come too,’ Johnny said. ‘You’d better have a witness who’ll say you didn’t use violence.’
‘I’ve already shot one of the bastards in the foot, don’t forget.’
‘He was trying to escape.’
‘Oh no,’ Yorke said. ‘I shot him in the foot because he wouldn’t talk, and his silence could have cost us one hundred and fifty lives. I’m all ready for the court martial on that one.’
The wardroom had been specially prepared: even though it was broad daylight outside, the ports were closed with deadlights. A seaman complete with boots and webbing gaiters, a revolver in a webbing holster at his waist, stood on guard just inside the door. Pahlen, his foot heavily bandaged, sat side by side with Ohlson on the settee, which was a miserable piece of furniture notable for its broken springs and the fact that it was made several inches too low. Sitting on a straight-backed chair in front of them was the Echo’s master-at-arms, a broken-nosed former boxing champion who was holding a golf club – his favourite weapon for breaking up fights in shore bars.
As the two men were being transferred from the Penta to the Echo last night, Yorke had been startled to discover that they had not understood what had happened to the U-boat: the solid mahogany door to the chartroom had prevented all the excited shouts of young Reynolds and the rest of the men from reaching the prisoners: all they knew was that the Penta had suddenly gone astern on one engine for a few moments and that there had been depth-charging and a lot of shooting. And that was all.
The sentry at the door sprang to attention and the master-at-arms came to his feet as though his limbs were springs and, to Yorke’s surprise, looked as smart as a Marine drill instructor as he stood to attention with the golf club held like a sawn-off lance.
‘At ease,’ Johnny murmured, and said to Yorke, ‘Perhaps you should introduce me?’
Pahlen and Ohlson both looked up for the first time.
Yorke made an off-hand gesture towards Pahlen. ‘This fellow with the bandaged foot is Oberleutnant Pahlen – that may not be his real name – of the German Navy, and the other one’s name I don’t know, except that it’s not Ohlson.’ Yorke watched him carefully. ‘He’s a naval reserve officer from the German mercantile marine.’
Ohlson’s eyes flickered and his shoulders seemed to slump; he had the appearance of a man who had played his last ace and seen it trumped by a three of clubs.
‘This gentleman commands the frigate,’ Yorke told them.
‘This gentleman,’ Johnny said casually, ‘had a sister who was a nurse killed in the City of Salisbury…’
Both Pahlen and Ohlson went white; they stared down at Johnny’s feet, and Yorke saw beads of perspiration beginning to form on Pahlen’s upper lip and brow.
‘You’ve heard of the City of Salisbury?’ Johnny asked Pahlen, who nodded without raising his eyes.
‘It was a mistake,’ Ohlson whispered.
‘Big red crosses painted on a white hull, bright sunshine, the Swiss government gave you her exact route and the times she’d pass along it…yes, I can just imagine how easy it would be to make a “mistake”.’
‘I was not involved in it,’ Pahlen said suddenly, still not looking up, and Johnny swung round and stared at him.
‘We’ll find out about that,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘Our intelligence people now know the number of the U-boat and the names of her officers. There’s a file in our Admiralty. We check every German naval off
icer we capture,’ he added, ‘just in case…’
Both Yorke and Johnny sat down in armchairs and stared across at the two Germans without speaking. The master-at-arms saw a gesture by Johnny and sat down in his chair again, the golf club across his knees. The man had one of the more extraordinary broken noses Yorke had ever seen; once clear of his eyes it dropped vertically like the edge of a cliff.
After a good two minutes’ silence Yorke, who was carrying a small pad, took a pen from his pocket and unscrewed the cap. He scribbled a few words and then looked up at Pahlen. ‘I have a report to write and I find there are some gaps so I have more questions to ask.’
‘I’ve nothing to say.’
Yorke nodded to the master-at-arms, who rapped Pahlen across the unwounded shin with the golf club. ‘A prisoner of war is required to give his name, number and unit.’
Pahlen shook his head.
‘Very well,’ said Yorke, ‘no one knows you’ve been taken prisoner, so we can lose you over the side whenever we want. Your naval friends are all dead, by the way.’
‘My naval friends?’
‘The U-boat underneath the Penta. She was sunk last night.’
‘Those depth charges…that gunfire?’ Pahlen whispered, obviously badly hit by the news.
Yorke shrugged his shoulders. ‘Depth charges, ramming, gunfire… Once we knew what you people were doing, it wasn’t too hard to stop it. There will be no more insider attacks on British convoys. You had the honour of taking part in the last one. The twelfth.’
‘Yes, twelve,’ Pahlen sneered, recovering himself. ‘It took you long enough to find out…’
‘It didn’t actually,’ Johnny Gower said. ‘This officer was given the job of finding out what was going on. He read all the papers concerning the previous eleven attacks. And here you are, caught on the twelfth.’
‘Tell me,’ Yorke said, ‘are the ship’s company of the Penta all German? Or are some Swedish?’
‘Ask them,’ Pahlen said.
‘There’s no problem – just that we don’t have any Swedish translators in the convoy.’
‘So you eventually sank the Penta,’ Ohlson said regretfully. ‘She was a good ship.’
‘She still is,’ Yorke said. ‘She is just ahead of us, towing a damaged merchantman and carrying her original crew under a heavy guard.’
‘Where are we bound, then? To Freetown?’
‘Not now. This frigate is escorting the Penta and her tow back to Liverpool, or perhaps the Clyde. Now Pahlen, and you, Ohlson, the questions. First, which…’
‘I’m not answering any questions,’ Pahlen said sharply.
Yorke stood up slowly, almost casually, and walked over, steadying himself against the Echo’s roll, until he was looking down at the two men.
‘Those buttons on your uniform,’ he said conversationally, ‘what are they?’
‘The buttons of the shipping company, of course; the Eskjo Shipping Company.’
‘The same as your cap badges?’
‘Yes,’ Ohlson said, almost eagerly, as if pleased to be able to supply information. ‘You see–’ he reached down for his cap, ‘it is a map of Sweden surrounded by laurels.’
‘And your papers, of course, your identity cards and passports, describe you as Swedish nationals; the master and the chief officer of the Penta.’
‘Well, yes,’ Ohlson said. ‘Of course. We needed them when we visited Britain and other countries.’
‘So your uniforms and papers are of Swedish mercantile marine officers – I expect the uniforms are even tailored in Stockholm.’
Ohlson grinned. ‘The Swedish have good tailors – and good cloth. No war there, making shortages. Socks, shirts and shoes, too.’
‘I wish I could visit Stockholm,’ Yorke said enviously. ‘It’s impossible to get decent cloth in London now, and you can see what’s happening to this uniform.’ He pointed to stains down the front. ‘Now, to get back to these questions. I…’
‘You said yourself that we need give only name, number and unit,’ Pahlen said.
‘Name and rank, I imagine, since you are both officers,’ Yorke said.
‘Very well,’ Ohlson said, ‘I give mine: Hans Lauterwasser, Oberleutnant, German Navy Reserve.’
Yorke looked questioningly at Pahlen.
‘All right,’ the man said grudgingly, ‘Heinrich Pahlen, Kapitänleutnant, German Navy.’
Yorke nodded and smiled. ‘Thank you. The witnesses to what you have just said are Lieutenant Commander Jonathan Gower, Royal Navy, myself Lieutenant Edward Yorke, Royal Navy, and these two men, the master-at-arms and a leading seaman, whose names I will give you in a moment.’
‘Why all this formality?’ Pahlen demanded suspiciously.
‘You have just confessed to being spies,’ Yorke said evenly, ‘and spies are hanged – after a proper trial, of course.’
‘Spies?’ Pahlen exclaimed, sitting bolt upright, his foot wound forgotten. ‘But we’ve just told you our names and ranks in the German Navy!’
‘And you’ve just admitted you are wearing Swedish mercantile marine uniforms and badges and you were carrying papers “proving” you are Swedish officers.’
Pahlen was the first to recover and, eyes narrowed, wiping the perspiration from his face with his sleeve, he said angrily: ‘I’m warning you, Yorke: you’ll have to answer for this when we’ve occupied England! We have long lists of names; we know who our friends are, and who are our enemies.’
Yorke nodded affably. ‘When Germany has occupied Britain the four of us will give ourselves up. We’ll go to the Admiralty and ask for you. Except of course, whether or not Britain is invaded, you’ll be dead. Hanged as a spy, if we decide to hand you over to the authorities. Drowned by us if we don’t. Now; about these questions…’
With that he sat down again, the notebook open on his knee. He looked directly at Pahlen. ‘How many Swedish ships are chartered to the German Navy, and what are their names?’
Pahlen looked round at Ohlson who, his hair damp with perspiration so that he looked like a wet Siamese cat, nodded vigorously. ‘Tell him, or I will.’
Pahlen gave eight names, which Yorke wrote down, asking for two to be spelled out.
‘How does the U-boat rendezvous with the convoy and find the right ship?’
‘The Swedish ship informs the Swedish Embassy when the convoy is due to sail. That is quite routine; the Embassy does not know it is being used. It informs the Swedish owners through the Swedish Foreign Office. U-boat Headquarters knows almost at once, works out when the convoy will be out of range of British air cover, and sends a U-boat to rendezvous.’
‘And finding the Swedish ship?’
‘There is no trouble about that – you saw for yourself, the ship pretends to have engine trouble and drops back to bring the U-boat into the convoy.’
‘And just one U-boat is assigned to a particular convoy – another does not take over when the first runs out of torpedoes?’
‘No – by the time we’ve sunk twelve ships or more in a convoy there’s not much of any value left.’
‘Why did the Swedish ships not supply extra torpedoes and fuel?’
‘The same reason – after a U-boat has sunk a dozen ships, the survivors are usually carrying cargoes of little importance… And it was too risky for a neutral ship to be carrying the German electric torpedoes, apart from the problem of transferring them in bad weather.’
‘What other neutral countries are chartering ships to you people?’
‘None. Only Sweden.’
‘Why not Spain?’
‘The Spanish government will not take the risk.’
‘The Penta’s crew – let’s go back to that question. Are they Swedish or German?’
Pahlen shrugged his shoulders.
‘You want me to convict them as spies, but I suppose you will question and trap them. They are Germans but they speak Swedish as well. Usually they come from mixed marriages, like Ohlson and me. We have hundreds of such young men in Germany. In Sweden we can pass for Swedish, in Germany we are German.’
‘The pure Nordic type,’ Yorke said.
‘Ah – yes,’ Pahlen said, not detecting the sarcasm in Yorke’s voice. ‘Perfect specimens.’
From the bridge of the Echo Yorke and Gower watched the Penta towing the Marynal, the long curving cable occasionally straightening like a bar when the heavily laden British ship was momentarily slowed down as she butted into a swell wave. Gower read the message from Captain Hobson, just received by Aldis lamp and written on a signal pad, and passed it to Yorke.
‘Detailed survey shows bow damage confined to flooded deep tank,’ the message said. ‘Consider speed can safely be increased by two knots.’
When Yorke handed back the pad, Johnny tore off the page and wrote a short signal. ‘Make that to the Penta,’ he said to the signalman, explaining to Yorke: ‘If Hobson’s happy making another couple of knots, that suits me. The sooner we get back inside the range of Coastal Command the better.’
The Echo’s first lieutenant, Fenwick, said: ‘It doesn’t do to think about them being hit. An extra 360 survivors and prisoners in the two ships.’
‘Think of it another way,’ Johnny said. ‘The Penta has three sets of deck officers and three of engineers, quite apart from seamen. You stand a four-hour watch and then take a day and a night off. A luxury cruise.’
‘I suppose that technically the Penta is a prize,’ Yorke said. ‘Probably the first ship captured by DEMS gunners and merchant seamen!’
‘An interesting legal point,’ Johnny commented. ‘A neutral ship chartered to one belligerent is captured by another belligerent. Does the charter party, or whatever the document is called, give her temporarily the nationality of the charterer?’
Fenwick said: ‘If we chartered a Spanish ship and she was captured by the Germans, I reckon we’d compensate the Spaniards.’