The Unforgiving Sea (The Searight Saga Book 2)

by Rupert Colley

  I stirred an extra spoonful of sugar into my tea. ‘Uncle Guy was there too.’

  ‘Yeah. I used to think he was such a poor blighter, losing his leg in the war. Now I think he got away lightly.’

  ‘Couldn’t have been easy though.’

  ‘No, but, you know, there’s a lot of men worse off than him.’

  ‘He’s another who never speaks about the war.’

  ‘I know. He wasn’t keen on us joining the merchants. The thought of his nephews being out at sea gave him the jitters. I can see why now.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Listen, Robert, I wanted to say…’

  We were distracted by the appearance of Swann. ‘You chaps all alone?’

  I never did get to hear what my brother wanted to say.

  Chapter 4

  No one saw it. No warning was heard. Clarence, Swann and I had returned to my cabin to fetch my cigarettes. Not due for lookout for another hour, Swann said he was going to have a kip. We may have been expecting it, but when it came it was a shocking moment. The ship roared. I felt myself being lifted off my feet by the blast. I fell back in a heap as the ship screeched and rocked. The intensity of noise filled my ears. The alarms sounded, the lights flickered on and off. I found myself against the cabin wall beneath the washbasin, my nostrils filled by the stench of cordite. We heard distant shouts and screams. Scrambling to my feet, I helped Clarence get up. ‘Shit,’ screamed Swann. ‘They’ve gone done it.’ The ship surged again, as if climbing out of the water as she took another hit.

  ‘Lifejackets,’ ordered Clarence.

  With our lifejackets secured, we opened the cabin door, only to be forced back by a cloud of thick, black smoke. Swann ripped off three pillowcases, handing them to us to cover our noses. With our eyes streaming, we grappled our way along the corridor, falling against the right-hand wall. Turning a corner, we reached the bottom of the stairway, the only exit to the open deck, to be confronted by a sheet of flame like a curtain. Sweat poured off me; smoke suffocated me. We glanced at each other, the panic written on our faces. Swann was the first – taking a few steps back, he ran and propelled himself through the fire, landing on the bottom rungs of the steps. I saw his feet disappear up the rungs. Panicked voices came from above. Holding my breath, I did the same, my skin burning up as I leapt through the flames. Brushing the sparks from my uniform, I shouted at Clarence. ‘Hurry up, for God’s sake.’ The steps beneath me were turning red, burning through the rubber on the soles of my shoes.

  Pacing frantically, Clarence was screaming. ‘I can’t… I can’t do it.’

  ‘Clarence, please…’ I jumped back down and felt the heat lashing at my face, the smoke on my throat.

  I felt myself being pulled up the steps by my arm. It was Swann. ‘You’ll fry. Come on.’ I fought him off. ‘Clarence…’

  Clutching his neck, choking, Clarence fell to his knees as the flames whipped above him, melting the ceiling.

  Swann was too strong for me, pulling me up the steps by my arms and the lifejacket. ‘I can’t leave him, I can’t leave him,’ I screamed.

  We reached the deck. My lungs breathed in the air. Everywhere, men were running, shouting, punctuated by the hissing sound of escaping steam. Pushed aside, I fell to my feet, coughing violently. Looking up, I saw three of the fire crew, lugging the fire hose. Hope momentarily filled me as I got to my feet. But the hose fell limp in their hands. ‘Steam pressure’s gone,’ shouted one, as the last drips of water fell. The corridor below exploded in a ball of flame. We staggered back. ‘Clarence,’ I screamed. ‘No!’

  The chief officer, a man by the name of Hodgkin, came rushing down the deck, shouting, ‘Abandon ship! Captain’s orders – abandon ship!’

  ‘Can’t we save her?’ shouted Swann.

  ‘Hole’s too big. It’s beyond plugging.’

  ‘What about the lifeboats?’

  ‘Starboard ones are knackered. Go to port.’ As he said it, the ship lunged to the right. We fell back against the railings. Peering over the side, my heart lurched on seeing the sea lapping within three or four feet of the deck. There were already men in the sea, their lifejackets keeping them afloat.

  The ship, listing heavily to starboard, was ablaze with fire; smoke swirling up. Voices shouted from everywhere, along with a strange strangulated noise, getting louder and louder. ‘The mules!’ I shouted.

  I saw a man consumed in flames, staggering, screeching, his arms flailing. Someone pushed him overboard.

  Swann and I, with the fire crew, followed Hodgkin, his figure engulfed in smoke, as he headed towards the portside lifeboats. Slipping with almost every step, I felt as if we were climbing a hill covered in a sheet of ice. I could hear Hodgkin shouting – ‘Abandon ship! Captain’s orders – abandon ship!’

  Passing one of the hatchways, Swann and I heard shouting coming from the storage accommodation below. On peering down the hatch, we saw that the ladder had been badly buckled. ‘Help me; I can’t get out,’ came an echoing voice from within. Swann took the rope hanging on a peg under the hatch and, on securing it, shimmied down. I followed. The place was almost in darkness, most of the lights having blown. We landed in about three feet of water. Bits of wood and flotsam littered the surface. The place was used to store lorries – dozens of them. Despite the size, it felt claustrophobic with its low ceiling. ‘Here, over here,’ someone shouted. A body, face down in the water, floated by, his shirt billowing on his back. The lorries had tumbled over each other, resembling a massive road crash, windows broken, twisted metal. We followed the voice, Swann in front, wading through the water, going down the incline, the water getting deeper.

  We found the man, his face too much in the dark to see. ‘I’m stuck,’ he croaked. The water here was up to our stomachs.

  ‘Is that you, Smithy?’

  ‘Yeah. Bloody lorry’s got me pinned.’ He’d been jammed against the metal wall by the front of a lorry, its hood open. I didn’t know the man but guessed he was one of the mechanics. ‘I think me leg’s broke.’

  ‘Hold on,’ said Swann. ‘We’ll get you out. Searight, I’ll shift the lorry; you pull Smithy free.’

  Swann shouldered the lorry and pushed. I took Smithy by the armpits bracing myself, feeling his breath on my skin. ‘Hold on now,’ I said to him. ‘If anyone can move it, Swann can. Built like an ox.’

  ‘I can’t shift it,’ yelled Swann.

  ‘Just get it off me.’

  Swann tried again, screaming as he pushed his full weight against the cab. I joined him. But even together, straining every muscle, we couldn’t budge it. ‘Sorry, mate,’ said Swann, breathlessly.

  ‘No, don’t leave me, don’t leave me, please.’

  Swann looked at me. I saw him glance at the shaft of light coming from the open hatch. We could hear men on deck cursing at not being able to free one of the lifeboats. Smithy reached for my hand. His grip was surprisingly strong. ‘You can’t leave me here to die.’

  Swann tried again – a last frantic attempt at shifting the weight of the lorry from Smithy’s legs, even if only for a moment. He reeled back, his chest heaving, his whole body deflated. Stepping through the water, he said, ‘I tried, mate, I’m sorry. Come on, Searight.’

  ‘We can’t leave him here.’

  ‘Then we’ll all die.’

  We heard a shout. ‘Anyone down here?’ came the voice from the hatch.

  ‘Aye!’ shouted Swann.

  ‘Get the hell out of there. She’s going down any minute. Only one lifeboat left.’

  Swann didn’t need a second invitation. The ship suddenly lurched, the sound of screeching metal echoing through the accommodation as we were pushed back by a gush of water. Bouncing off the wall like a tide, the water was now at our chests. I saw Swann resurface from the water, shaking the filthy water from his hair.

  ‘No, no,’ cried Smithy, gripping my hand. A light above flickered on. His eyes glared at me, full of fear, his face black with dirt. Blood poured from his nose
.

  ‘Smithy, I can’t… I can’t.’

  The light dimmed then went dark. Thank God, I thought. I couldn’t have left him while I could see his eyes. I tried to pull my hand free but he wouldn’t let go. Fear seized my chest. He meant me to die with him. ‘Please, Smithy, let go.’

  Swann had reached the rope. ‘Searight, Robert, you can’t do anything for him,’ he shouted back as a pair of hands reached down to help him up.

  ‘Let go of me, Smithy. We tried, yeah?’

  ‘You ain’t leaving me.’

  Swann was on the deck. Peering back down, he shouted my name again.

  I’d never hit a man before, but with my right hand, I punched Smithy in the side of the face. It wasn’t hard but, taken by surprise, he loosened his grip just enough. Wrenching my hand free, I fell again into the water. Buoyed by my lifejacket, I quickly found my feet. Unable to look back, I splashed through the water, climbing up the incline, pushing away wood and debris. ‘Wait for me,’ I shouted, desperate to get out.

  ‘Don’t leave me, you bastard, please… please, don’t… don’t…’ Smithy’s voice died away within his sobs. ‘Don’t leave me.’

  I reached the rope, tears coursing down my cheeks. ‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered again and again. ‘I’m sorry.’ I pulled myself up on the rope, my training kicking in. Swann grabbed my wrists. ‘Come on, mate, you can do it.’ The ladder, though buckled, still provided support for my feet. With a final heave, Swann pulled me up out of the hatch onto the deck, now under water. He pushed me against the wall of the ship, as everywhere mules stampeded around us.

  I could still hear Smithy’s voice from below. ‘You bastards, you…’

  The mules, all of them panicked, ran into each other, braying wildly, trampling over the dead bodies beneath their hooves.

  ‘All the boats are gone,’ shouted Swann, punching a mule away. ‘We’re gonna have to jump.’

  ‘We need to get higher.’

  Together, gripping onto the railings, we climbed our way up the ship as the bow sunk further into the sea. A mule, making a horrendous guttural noise, slid pass us, its ears pinned back. Others fell into the sea, their legs flailing almost comically in the air. We stepped over a sailor clutching onto his stump, his leg clean off at the knee, the other wrapped round the rails. Too much in pain, he didn’t notice us as we jumped over him.

  The ship seemed to be groaning as its metal strained under the pressure of breaking up. Further ahead, we could see the stern ablaze, black smoke blocking out the sun. The creaking noise of the ship intensified. It was time.

  We stopped. Swann checked the fastenings on his lifejacket. I did the same. ‘Bloody light’s not working. Nor’s yours.’

  He was right; I hadn’t noticed. The red lights attached on the lifejackets were notoriously unreliable.

  Looking at the sea, I realised it was awash with mules – hundreds of them, swimming frantically in circles. Swann offered me his hand, as if he was inviting me to dance. Taking it, I almost laughed. We had no room for a run up. Slipping towards us along the deck, another couple of mules, making a frightful noise.

  ‘Ready?’

  I nodded.

  Holding our noses, we climbed up the railing and jumped. The twenty feet felt like a thousand. I hit the water and the jolt of cold ripped through me like a sword of ice. Losing contact with Swann, I sunk further, the cold squeezing my insides. I kept falling, unable to do anything about it. I felt the pressure on my head and in my ears, within my lungs.

  Finally, the lifejacket propelled me back up. I ascended at what felt like great speed, breaking the surface. I gulped in air, before being seized by a choking fit. I’d swallowed goodness knows how much oily water. All round me were mules and flotsam, chunks of wood and wreckage. I reached out for what looked like a door, pulling myself up on it. The waves rolled dramatically. Under a black sky, the ship made for a pitiful sight, bellowing smoke. The sea had already claimed two thirds of it; only the stern remained above sea level. I was still too close; I’d be sucked down as the ship went. Kicking my legs, I turned my door and swam with the current to get away. I cursed the failing lifejacket light. I heard a few shouts from somewhere, men crying for help, but couldn’t tell whether the voices were far or near. I called out Swann’s name. ‘Over here,’ came the reply, but from where, I had no idea. The number of mules seemed to be increasing – bumping into each other, frantically swimming in circles.

  With a final, angry groan, like a wounded animal, and with much hissing of steam and air as the red hot vessel came in touch with the sea, the ship slipped beneath the waves. And then it was gone. And with it, my brother, my poor brother. May you rest in peace, Clarence, I said to myself, may you rest in peace. An eerie silence filled the air as the toiling sea settled and the bubbles disappeared. Without the presence of the ship, I felt more vulnerable and more keenly than ever the desperate situation I was in. The evening sky seemed so vast and unending, the sea so unforgiving.

  Someone somewhere shouted ‘Sub’. Looking round, my heart lurched on seeing that the U-boat had emerged, a gigantic silver beast. A number of officers with binoculars appeared on the conning tower platform. Nearby, two men manned the machine gun, swinging it round to face us. Panic seized me – surely they wouldn’t gun us down in the water? With a shouted order from the German captain, the machine guns let rip with a terrifying clatter. Inert, my eyes glazed over. I thought of my mother – losing both sons at sea. Bullets whistled all about, blood spurted, the air filled with the sound of agonized, high-pitched braying. The water round me swirled as mules, panicked by the noise, floundered in the water. And still the machine gun continued. Then it stopped as suddenly as it had started. The Germans retreated back inside the U-boat. Moments later, the submarine moved off, slowly gliding beneath the waves. And then it was gone, leaving us to our fate. All that remained was a chorus of whimpering as the last mules died.

  I knew, as the others must have, that I wouldn’t survive long in these waters. I had to find a lifeboat or a raft. The chances of being picked up here were so slim to be almost non-existent. The thought galvanized me into shouting out for help, hailing for all my worth. Nothing in return. Just the cries of men in the same predicament as me.

  The minutes turned to an hour and more. Dead mules floated by. The waves settled. The smoke had finally cleared but night had fallen. The cries of help around me came less and less. I knew I was weakening; I had no more strength to shout for help. I could no longer feel my legs. I wanted to sleep, to slip away.

  I don’t know how long I floated on my wooden door but then came a cry that was music to my ears – men on a lifeboat calling out for survivors. ‘Here, here!’ I screamed back. The dark outline of the boat came into view. I waved and shouted, frantically kicking my legs to reach it.

  ‘There’s one!’ said someone on the lifeboat. I was getting nearer but the effort was taking every ounce of my strength. The thought of being saved was enough to propel me towards them. Hands reached out for me. ‘You swimming all the way home, mate? Come on, you’re almost there. Keep going.’

  A hand stretched down and clasped mine. A second hand took me by the wrist. I felt myself being dragged away from my door and hauled into the boat. It wasn’t easy for them – my lifejacket and clothes were so greasy from all the oil on the water. Eventually, pulled onto the boat, I collapsed.

  Oh, the joy of being on that boat. I thanked my rescuers but my eyes, clouded by seawater, were unable to focus. I reached over the side and vomited the oil and seawater out of my system. Someone patted me brusquely on the back. Numerous splinters from the wooden door pricked my fingers. My shoes and socks had gone – sucked off and washed away. But I didn’t care, none of it mattered – I was out of the water; I’d been saved.

  Of course, at that point, I wasn’t to know that my ordeal had barely begun.

  Chapter 5

  The Boat: Day One

  I woke up, my back stiff as hell. It took a moment before rem
embering where I was. I was sitting in a boat, my bare feet swishing in bilge water. The sea, vivid blue, was calm, the sun rising. In any other circumstances, one might describe it as idyllic. I stretched. I looked around at my fellow occupants in the boat – Swann, I was relieved to see, had also made it. He and I sat together at the back of the boat, blankets round our shoulders, Swann pulling on his beard. To my even greater delight, I spied a mop of blond hair and saw my friend, Owen Gardner. We acknowledged each other from opposite ends of the boat. There were six others, their lifejackets strewn around. The most senior, sitting at the bow of the boat, was Chief Officer Miles Hodgkin, a man in his late twenties but with the impression of someone three times his age. The others were calling him captain, having decided to unofficially promote him. With their backs to me, on either side of the boat, sat Seamen Edward Davison and Leo Arbatov, a Russian by birth, each holding an oar. I noticed the swirl of hair round Davison’s bald patch. One of the stewards, Charlie Palmer, was urinating over the side. Looking round, I noticed the boatswain, a chap called Harris Beckett, a short, muscular man with a thin moustache and a tattoo of a scantily-dressed, large-chested female on his right upper arm. He was, I noticed, eyeing me with almost a look of loathing. Averting my gaze, I wondered whether I had read his expression correctly and, if so, what had I done to earn such a look. Next to Beckett, his eyes cast down, was, I reckoned, the youngest man on board, a boy of no more than eighteen, John Clair – jet black hair, tall, lanky and awkward, as only teenagers can be. Clair leant against Beckett who, with a hefty shrug, pushed him off. Palmer, having relieved himself, was now scanning the waters with a pair of binoculars. ‘Any more, Palmer?’ asked Hodgkin.

  ‘Don’t look like it, Captain. I reckon they’ve all swam back to England by now.’ Palmer had a way of speaking quickly, as if concerned he might forget what he wanted to say.