Between The Hunters And The Hunted

by Steven Wilson

  “Righto,” Pinky said, anxious to get out of work. He jumped in his lorry and pulled up next to Cole. “Jump in, sir. Have you there in two shakes.”

  Cole thanked the sergeant and climbed in beside Pinky, who gunned the engine and took off.

  “American, sir?”

  “Yes,” Cole said, wondering how Pinky could see in the deep gloom even with the help of the blackout lights.

  “Wouldn’t know any movie stars, would you, sir?”

  “You don’t meet many movie stars in Columbus, Ohio,” Cole said.

  “How far is that from Hollywood, sir?”

  “About fifteen hundred miles and two centuries.”

  The lorry’s brakes squealed in protest as they stopped in front of N-for-Nancy. Cole recognized the crew suiting up, nearly undistinguishable forms in the darkness. He thanked Pinky and stepped out of the lorry. It shot off before he had a chance to close the door.

  “King?” It felt good to Cole to hear Bunny’s voice.

  “Made it,” Cole said, joining the group.

  “None too soon,” Bunny said, shaking his hand. “We’re all set to go. You remember the other chaps, don’t you? Let me bring you up to speed. It seems the navy has a mystery on its hands. One of their ships had a set-to with the Germans. The Germans are supposed to have a battleship just out of the Denmark Strait. Going where, no one knows. Coastal Command has been ordered to get everything aloft and find this battleship. Yours, I believe.”

  “The H-class ship.”

  “Nobody’s given it a name yet and they haven’t given it a course, which makes our job doubly hard. They’re afraid it’s a commerce raider that’ll get among the convoys and annoy them.”

  “We’ve got to be going,” Prentice said.

  “Right,” Bunny said. “Get into your flight suit, King. It’ll be a long flight and a cold one.”

  “Were are we headed?” Cole said, taking a bulky flying suit from Johnny.

  “We fly on a course north-northwest, turn south, and then come home.”

  “Simple enough,” Cole said, zipping up his suit. He sat on the hardstand, pulled off his shoes, and slipped his feet into the fur-lined flying boots.

  “Bloody simple,” Bunny said. “We’re flying over the North Atlantic, King. Not a little puddle like the Kattegat.”

  Cole smiled and held up his hand for Bunny to help him to his feet. “But I’ve got all the confidence in the world in you, Bunny.”

  “A comedian,” Peter said as he climbed in through the door.

  Johnny and Prentice followed him, and Bunny motioned Cole next. Cole had one foot on the short ladder and was just about to pull himself up when he looked over his shoulder at Bunny. “You did bring that good luck rabbit of yours, didn’t you?”

  Bunny patted his chest. “Safe and sound close to my heart, King. Let’s hope that we won’t need any of her luck.”

  “Yeah,” Cole said, pulling himself into the aircraft. “Let’s hope.”

  Chapter 20

  H.M.S. Firedancer, the North Sea

  Chief Yeoman of Signals Dove, at his station on the starboard rail of Firedancer’s crowded bridge, called out: “Flagship signals to Prometheus, sir.”

  Hardy and Land turned around at the announcement. Land could see Dove’s mouth moving, translating the message that he saw through his binoculars. Dove had damned good eyesight and it was said aboard Firedancer that he did just as well without binoculars as he did with them.

  Hardy moved alongside Land. “Gentlemen shouldn’t read other gentlemen’s mail,” he said. “But I’ll not let Prometheus steal a march on me. Well, Dove?”

  “Prometheus’s pennant. ‘You are instructed to break off and return with all speed to Scapa. Accompanied…’” Dove was straining to read the message. A wisp of smoke from Prince of Wales’s funnels might have momentarily covered the flags. “‘Accompanied by …’” Dove looked at Hardy. “Other ship’s pennants, sir.”

  “Go on, man, read them,” Hardy barked. He whispered in a ragged tone to Land, “Watch it be Firedancer. Send off with that officious bag of wind. I’ll wager it’s Firedancer. We get every rotten duty in the Royal Navy.”

  “‘ Windsor … ’”

  “Watch them, Number One, the bloody hypocrites. Get us out this far and have a turnaround, shepherding Prometheus as if we don’t do enough of that with convoys.”

  “‘Eskimo …’”

  “I’ve had to follow Whittlesey on every turn. It wasn’t enough that he was one jump ahead of me in commands. His family, you know. Filthy rich. Well bred and well bedded. It’ll be Firedancer all right and he’ll have us riding his wake.”

  Dove dropped the binoculars. “It’s Firedancer, sir.”

  Hardy gave Land a knowing, bitter glance, hooked his hands behind his back, and made his way to the edge of the bridge.

  “Keep a close eye on Prometheus, Dove. She’ll be sending something our way.” He joined Hardy. It was a moment before the captain spoke and he kept his voice low.

  “Number One, you might as well know it. I can’t stand the man. He goes about his business without a care and I …”

  Land knew what Hardy was thinking. It was the night that he had run through those sailors. The Second Night.

  “And I am forced to live with decisions that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I taste bile in my mouth every time that I think of the wretch and now he sails in Prometheus.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hardy turned on him. “Don’t be condescending to me, Number One. I won’t have it. If you must say anything, say nothing.”

  “I wasn’t being condescending, sir.”

  “Your tone, Number One. That said it all.”

  Land glanced over his shoulder and saw the bridge party making every effort not to hear them.

  “Sir, the men are listening.”

  “We’ll let them listen,” Hardy whispered hotly. “They’ll learn something about how the Royal Navy works. How favorites rise in rank and how we that do our duty are merely tolerated. You can’t see that because of your arrogance, Number One. Barrister or no barrister or whatever you were before coming into service, you’ll go home and have a lovely life after the war while we Active Service types continue to make do.”

  Land thought briefly before answering. He was a barrister in civilian life, in his life before the war so long ago, and he understood how men under stress could do and say strange things. He knew, despite what Hardy said and how viciously that he attacked Whittlesey, that the stress for Hardy did not come from unrealized ambition; it came because one night he had made a perfectly logical decision—like a hundred that he had made before—and had run his ship through a patch of screaming men. It should not have happened, but Firedancer was trapped between two freighters and she had been called to move with all speed to the head of the convoy. Hardy gave the order, an unremarkable order like a hundred that he had given before … like a hundred that he had given before. Except fate had placed an obstacle in his way; fate in its own twisted, perverted game now called on Hardy and Firedancer to do the unspeakable—kill their own countrymen. This was Hardy’s burden, Land knew, and not Whittlesey and Prometheus or the slights, imagined or real, he had suffered as a poor man among aristocrats.

  “Captain Hardy,” Land said, keeping his voice calm but making sure that his eyes were locked on Hardy’s and that Hardy could read the emotion in them. “I was on the bridge that night as well. I saw the men and I heard their screams. You don’t have a monopoly on that, sir.” Land moved closer so that no one could overhear him. “Look here, sir. You asked me if I thought a man’s life was defined by a single moment. I was taken aback when you asked me that, because if there was ever a man who did not let events define his life it is you.”

  “Don’t try to curry favor, Number One. It doesn’t become you.”

  “I say that, Captain Hardy, only because you seem to have forgotten it,” Land said, ignoring Hardy’s sarcasm. “A man’s life is defi
ned by a single event only if he allows it.”

  “Pleading a case, barrister? You’re some distance from the Old Bailey, so I doubt your arguments have much merit out here.”

  “You can live your life in the shadow of the awful night,” Land said. “If you choose. Or you can acknowledge it for what it was, one of the horrors of war that we are forced to encounter all too often. It will not be a single event, sir. It will be a series of events, perhaps each one worse than the last. Your choice is a simple one, sir. Choose to survive the horrors, or let them destroy you.”

  Land watched as the fire went out of Hardy and he leaned against the windshield. He was a proud man and a good man, if decidedly eccentric at times, but he held shame close to his heart for what he had done.

  “True enough, Number One,” Hardy said softly. “But you weren’t the one who gave the order, were you? That shall remain with me until the day I die. And perhaps beyond. We are all judged, aren’t we, Land? Each of us goes before his Maker to state his case.”

  “The Almighty isn’t blind, sir. When you appear before him you will be judged for all actions collectively, for what you could control. Not what was beyond your power.”

  “You’re a philosopher as well, Number One?” Hardy said with a faint smile.

  “Firedancer’s pennant from Prometheus,” Dove called out.

  “Read the message,” Hardy said, walking back to the clump of brass voice tubes. He leaned over them, spent by his conversation with Land.

  “‘Prometheus to Firedancer. You will kindly take position two points off my port quarter at a reasonable distance. I am turning to port now.’ End of message.”

  “Acknowledge,” Hardy said. “Number One, bring us about after Prometheus passes and place us fifteen hundred yards two points off her port quarter… .”

  “Another message, sir. Aldis lamp,” Dove said. “‘Prometheus to squadron. Flagship reports communication from Scapa.’”

  Hardy realized that it was straight-out Morse code; the message was in the clear with no attempt to encode it. Something strange was going on.

  “‘German commerce raider in the Denmark Strait. Believe to have sunk Nottingham. Course and location undetermined. Stand by for additional orders.’ That’s all, sir.”

  “A commerce raider?” Hardy said to Land. “Surely they aren’t talking about a Q ship, are they? Nothing like that could have sunk Nottingham. This is nonsense. Was there anything else to that message, Dove?”

  “No, sir. Nothing.”

  “Nonsense. Make to Prometheus, ‘Do you suspect capital ship?’ Send it off. Aldis lamp. And don’t bother encoding it. If Prometheus can do it, so can we.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hardy stroked his upper lip with the side of his index finger as Land had noticed him doing when he was thinking. Hardy had every reason to be perplexed. A commerce raider could be anything from a battleship to a heavily armed merchantman—one could do Nottingham in, but the other would be chewed to pieces by the cruiser’s guns before she got close enough to launch an attack.

  “Message from Prometheus, sir,” Dove said. “‘You are to stand by for additional orders.’ End of message.”

  A sour look crossed Hardy’s face. “Well, that’s plain enough if absolutely worthless. That means they don’t know either, Number One. Do you have any suggestions?”

  “I recommend that we double the watches. I’d like the pleasure of Firedancer spotting this elusive raider before anyone else does.”

  “But we don’t know where it is, Number One.”

  “Yes, sir. But that works both ways. No one else does as well.”

  “I applaud your ambition, Number One,” Hardy said. “But we’ll be traveling in that big cow’s wake off her port quarter.”

  “‘At a reasonable distance.’ ‘At a reasonable distance, ’ is what our orders were. Suppose we were out far enough to have a good view of the horizon. Doesn’t that improve our chances of seeing the commerce raider first?”

  Hardy rubbed his lip again. “How dare you suggest that I patently ignore the spirit of my orders simply to be the first one to catch sight of the enemy? Do you think me capable of such a thing?”

  Land let silence speak for him.

  “You know me too well, Number One. I shall have to trade you in on someone whose ignorance plays in my favor. We’ll do it your way.”

  “Yes, sir,” Land said, trying to suppress a smile. Here was the Hardy that he had grown to admire. He did not like the other man at all. The finger on the lip again, his mind was working rapidly.

  “Number One? What has gone on in the Denmark Strait?”

  “Sir?”

  “It’s bad enough that Nottingham is sunk, but now we are pulled away from escorting Prince of Wales and sent packing.”

  “Returning to Scapa Flow.”

  “So we are told. But we have to come close to the southern end of the Strait, don’t we? What goes in must come out and it might come out when we cross close to the Strait. What is it then? Big ship or little ship? My money’s on a big ship, perhaps a cruiser or pocket battleship sent after convoys.”

  “Our being pulled away leaves little protection for Prince of Wales,” Land said. “What has she left besides her own guns, which, I admit, are a considerable deterrent?”

  “Her speed. She is a greyhound and if her speed serves her, well and good. There isn’t a ship afloat that can run her down. You look perplexed.”

  “I’m preparing my case for His Lordship and the jury as I always did before entering the courtroom. In my previous life, that is.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “One of reasonable doubt, Your Lordship. We know of convoys to the north and south of us. Incoming and outgoing.”

  “One moment, Number One,” Hardy said. “Helmsman? Port ten. Take us out an additional five hundred yards off that big cow’s port quarter and hold us there.”

  “Port ten,” the helmsman replied. “Wheel ten of port, sir.”

  “All right, Number One. Continue.”

  “We are told off to Scapa and as you rightly pointed out we pass to the southwest of the Denmark Strait. Precisely where this unknown vessel is expected to enter the North Atlantic.”

  “Or has done so,” Hardy said, eyes on the binnacle.

  “Exactly,” Land said. “But for what purpose? Suppose she has speed to match Prince of Wales? This does her no good because Prince of Wales has a head start. Suppose her intentions are to pitch into convoys? The moment she does she gives away her cloak of invisibility. We know where our convoys are, and if she attacks them we know where she is.”

  Hardy crossed his arms over his broad chest and studied Land for a moment. “It’s not a pleasure cruise, Number One. She’s out here for a reason.”

  “Of course, sir. But you see I’ve laid out the information, as we know it. If I were defending the enemy vessel I suggest that the jury would find her not guilty because of insufficient evidence.”

  “Wheel amidships.” Hardy shook his head. “This is surely the first time in the Royal Navy that an enemy vessel has appeared before members of a King’s Bench and been declared innocent of harmful intentions. I don’t fancy signaling the results of this inquiry to Prometheus.”

  “It is not something that I recommend you do, Captain,” Land said, but then he added: “I wonder what the devil she is up to. And where the devil she is. And what the devil she is.”

  “That’s the first thing you’ve said to me in the last thirty minutes that makes sense,” Hardy said. “The devils in this business make no mistake about that. But Coastal Command will be up if they’re not already and they’ll find that elusive creature soon enough. I’d bet your commission on it.”

  Chapter 21

  The North Atlantic

  The U-boat surfaced silently, accompanied only by the soft rush of water rolling from its deck. The teak decking glistened in the moonlight as the boat settled low in the water, gentle swells caressing its bow and traveling
along the rust-stained hull until they slapped playfully against the conning tower.

  The tower hatch creaked open and fell back on its stops with a clang. Two dark forms quickly emerged in the moonlight and took their positions atop the periscope mast. They began scanning the pale gray sky with high-power binoculars. A U-boat on the surface under a bright moon was a tempting target for British Coastal Command. Even at night the bees came and carried with them death.

  Hans Webber, Kapitan of U-376, a Type-VII U-boat, followed the two men through the hatch. He swept the horizon as well.

  “Lookouts up!” he called down into the hatch. “Ventilate the boat. Disengage E-motors, engage diesels.” Webber knew that everything would be done quickly. The crew realized the danger of remaining on the surface a minute longer than they had to. Under normal circumstances the night would have given them sufficient cover—but God had seen fit to bless them with a pale moon that could draw every British bee in the area straight to them. Still, things were in balance—with a little luck they could see the approaching planes in the moonlight.

  “Grubb,” Webber called to his executive officer, “tell me the minute that Funker picks up anything.”

  Grubb’s pale face appeared out of the darkness of the hatch leading to the control room. “Yes, sir.”

  “Have two more lookouts come up. I don’t like sitting under a spotlight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Webber heard the additional lookouts clambering up the aluminum ladder and he pushed himself to one side of the narrow conning tower platform to allow them to pass.

  “Go to the Winter Garden. One port, the other starboard. Keep your eyes open and no smoking,” he reminded them. “There is enough light out here as is.”

  They had just started back when Grubb appeared. “Signal coming from Goliath, sir. We’re getting padding now.”

  Webber nodded, forgetting that Grubb could not see his response. They had surfaced every night for the past week, listening for Goliath’s signal—their signal. Instead the giant U-boat radio network had ignored them and they submerged into the darkness once again. It had been difficult to keep his disappointment from showing and he could feel the frustration in the crew as they waited for a signal that never came. Webber could not tell them why they waited and what their mission was once they received that elusive signal—there was always the danger that they would be attacked and some of them captured and then, inadvertently, someone would say something to the British. There was too much at stake to take chances. Too much to gain if the mission succeeded. Maybe complete victory over England. At least striking a blow so severe that the island nation would never recover.