The patrol slowed down, cruising through the broken water, thrusting the fragments aside with her raked stem. The searchlight remained switched on. As something dark floundered by a piece of wreckage a man on deck fired just one shot, and all movement ceased. The light went out.
‘Get me below, Richard.’
With his face ice-cold from spray and pain, Seaton lowered himself into the dimly-lit control room. He saw their faces, the mixed expressions of anxiety and relief. The passenger was squatting beside the W & D door, like a trapped animal trying to avoid discovery.
‘I – I thought that gunfire was for us.’ Niven dropped to the deck with a thud.
‘A bit longer and it would have been.’ Seaton watched Drake’s eyes. ‘They killed all of them.’
Drake let out a great sigh. ‘Thank God you’re okay! You look as if you’ve been through a kind of hell.’ He nodded to Jenkyn. ‘Let’s get the blazes out.’
Seaton was getting light-headed again. Perhaps the doctor had given him something.
He touched the curved deckhead and made himself move to the chart table. XE 16 felt good. Was she pleased to see him, too? He felt vaguely disturbed, disappointed.
He said flatly, ‘Belay that. We’re not going. Not just yet.’
Drake stared at him. ‘But, Dave, everything’s going rotten on us. If we put down again, we might never make it to the rendezvous.’
Seaton lowered himself on to his elbows and peered at the chart, shutting them all out, sharing his thoughts only with the submarine.
Drake had been on his way. Running without waiting. He was obeying orders, but how often had he done that before?
‘I’m going to blow the gantry.’ He heard someone gasp. ‘I promised.’
He thought of the S.S. officer, watching him from the doorway, smiling. The one he had taken for a doctor, in a white coat with tiny flecks of blood on it. The silent people around the café, seeing a boy shot down and unable to do anything about it.
‘And we don’t have to wait too long. There have been several planes about. As soon as they switch on the aircraft warning lights I will start the attack.’ He tapped the chart with a pencil. ‘Richard, you plot the bearings as I give them. We know the approximate size of the floating platform, so we’ll make the run-in accordingly.’
A symbol, Brynjulf had described it. Well, XE 16 would leave a different one. The German staff and the Waffen S.S. too, they would all know that for once they had been caught out. He remembered the excited cruelty on the S.S. officer’s features. Something is not cricket.
He waited for Niven to take over the chart and then staggered painfully to his place at the periscope. Each action was agony, and when he lowered himself to his knees he felt like an old man.
‘Dive … dive … dive. Twenty feet. Steer –’ He glanced at Niven. ‘Well?’
Niven replied, ‘Course to steer is one-six-zero.’
‘Right. Now stay with it.’ Seaton realised that his mind was probably sharper than theirs. They had been penned in this terrible atmosphere for two days. While he … He snapped, ‘Steer one-six-zero. Revs for three knots.’
He clung to the periscope, listening to the familiar sounds of inrushing water and murmuring pumps as Drake kept the boat trimmed.
Jenkyn said, ‘Ship’s head one-six-zero, sir.’
Seaton nodded. ‘Very good.’ There was an edge to his voice he could not understand, a sharpness which should have been doused by his pain.
‘Twenty feet, Skipper.’ Drake was different, too. Subdued.
Seaton watched the red second-hand on the clock ticking round, and pictured the harbour hidden in darkness overhead. The tension was almost physical, and he glanced around him, seeing the crouching Norwegian professor, still dazed by what was happening. He, like the others, probably imagined he was in the hands of a madman. One second he was being rescued from the Resistance, and the next he was safe aboard a British submarine. But escaping, no. He was suddenly involved in something over which he had no control at all.
A fast pair of screws rushed overhead, drumming against the hull like a train tearing through a station. But no Asdic. It was probably a police patrol, or the one which had poured the murderous tracer into the launch.
He saw Niven, gripping his stop-watch as if life depended on it, a pencil held point-down on the chart. Jenkyn’s narrow shoulders, his head thrown back characteristically to watch his controls.
Seaton looked at the oilskin bag, left where Niven had put it. It might contain a vital secret for the Allies, or a dead codfish, for all he knew.
Niven said, ‘Now, sir.’
‘Periscope depth.’
He dabbed his mouth with the back of his hand. His fractured finger stuck out away from the rest, and he had a desire to laugh. It reminded him of one of his father’s old girl friends. Little finger sticking out as she sipped tea with borrowed refinement.
‘Nine feet, Skipper.’
The periscope showed him very little, except that the sea was choppy, and often obscured the lens for several seconds at a time. Low cloud. No sign of a searchlight. He swung the handles carefully, every move on the deck a stabbing agony. How many ribs did the doctor say? Only four? They felt like a broken wicker basket.
He steadied the periscope and saw the far-off wink of green lights. They had come a long way from the wreck.
He said, ‘Wreck bears three-four-zero.’ He swung the periscope round once more.
Niven responded in the same strained voice. ‘I suggest you bring her round to starboard in that case, sir. Steer one-six-five.’ To the control room at large he added, ‘The current seems stronger than I allowed for.’
Nobody answered.
Seaton gripped the handles until his hands were welded to them. There must be another plane coming in. He saw the four warning lights shining down from the sky, glinting red stars.
He said softly, ‘Dead on course. The target is right across our bows. About half a cable.’ He looked at Drake’s stubbled features. ‘Take her down. Sixty feet. Can’t afford a second go. If we push our luck we’ll hit the harbour wall on the far side.’ His mind clicked into position. ‘Revs for one knot.’
The deck tilted very slightly, but he kept his eyes on the ticking red hand.
‘Should be under it now, sir.’
He nodded, afraid even to speak. He could see it in his mind, feel it towering over them, the colossus which Brynjulf and others had been forced to build.
The hull gave a violent shudder.
Seaton said, ‘Stop engine.’ He saw Gjerde wrapping his arms round his knees like a passenger in a crashing aircraft. He explained, ‘It’s all right. We’ve grounded.’ He looked at Niven. ‘Nice work. Depth, tide, all perfect.’ They would have hit the wall, or ground into thick, suffocating mud if they had made an error of just a few feet.
For a moment longer they stood or sat quite motionless, listening, and imagining.
Only the soft purr of the disengaged electric motor remained to break into the stillness.
‘Release starboard cargo. Four hour setting.’
Niven swung the basket-wheel and they felt a slight tremor as he reported, ‘Gone, sir.’
Seaton pictured the massive platform above them. Almost square, it made little difference where they placed the charges. The height and tremendous weight of the gantry would do most of the work.
‘Release the port cargo.’
Niven took the other wheel with both hands and put some weight on it. He said, ‘Stiff, sir. I’ll have another go.’
Seaton watched Niven’s shoulders crouching over the wheel, could feel his frustration. There was a grating sound which ended abruptly in a loud click.
Niven turned and looked at him, his mouth moist. ‘Cargo refuses to release, sir.’ He gestured behind him. ‘But the contact is unbroken.’
Seaton said, ‘Try again.’ He was amazed at the calm tone of his voice.
There had been tales of side-cargoes which had refused t
o budge, or had exploded prematurely when they dropped off. This was only different in one way. The charge was still fixed to the hull, but the fuse set to fire in four hours had engaged and would not return to a safe setting. XE 16 had been transformed in seconds from a submarine to a live bomb.
Drake said softly, ‘That’s torn it.’
Niven shook his head. ‘Still won’t budge, sir.’ He glanced up at the deckhead. ‘If I went outside …’
‘You’d probably detonate the charge.’ Seaton kept his voice low, knowing how Niven felt. ‘We’ve four hours. Time to get clear. If we have to ditch, we’ll take our chances outside the harbour limits.’
He saw Gjerde staring at him and then at the control panel, as if to discover his fate.
Seaton added, ‘Bad luck.’
They all turned as Niven said, ‘We hit the wreck a couple of times.’
‘You didn’t say anything.’ Seaton looked at Drake. ‘Was it serious?’
Drake moved his hands in the air, his eyes red-rimmed with strain. ‘How the hell do I know? I was worried about you, and when you came aboard back there all I could think of was getting out. Job done, medals all round, something like that.’ He fell silent.
‘I see.’ There was nothing more to say. Perhaps it was true, but Drake had gone through enough hazards to know that only the ever-vigilant stayed alive. Anyway, once they started to move again the faulty side-cargo might explode instantly. End of problem.
‘Stand by.’ He steadied himself against the lowered periscope, wishing that his heart would leave his throbbing ribs in peace. ‘We’ll go out stern-first.’
Jenkyn adjusted his position on his little seat and said, ‘They do say that if you keeps yer mouth open when the thing blows up it lessens the chance of a ’eadache.’
Seaton nodded. ‘No doubt about it.’ It was fantastic about Jenkyn. He had a sort of blind faith in him. Unshakable. Perhaps he knew there was no point in worrying about anything if the charge did explode.
‘Slow astern.’
The screw vibrated steadily, and as compass and inclinometer moved together, XE 16 slid off her muddy perch and backed slowly into the harbour.
Seaton could feel his teeth grinding together, the cold sweat running down his neck and chest. But there was no split-second realisation, no awful finality of an explosion.
He made himself study the clock’s impassive face. It would be a final twist of fate if they had to swim ashore and be captured. He found himself wondering if he would have continued with the attack if Drake had told him about possible damage. He thought of Trevor and the others, and got his answer.
‘Stop engine. Slow ahead. Steer three-zero-zero. Eight-five-oh revolutions.’ He waited, listening to his orders being made into deeds. ‘When you’re happy, Geoff, raise her to forty feet.’ To Niven he said, ‘Give me a course to reach the next position.’
He thought he heard a small sound against the hull, and pictured the two-ton charge hanging from its pivot. The other one was lying astern, the timing fuse gnawing away the seconds and the minutes. One would be quite enough with all that top-hamper overhead. It would be like a giant iceberg capsizing.
‘Course will be two-eight-five, sir.’
‘Good.’
The depth gauges blurred suddenly, and he imagined that something was overheating. But when he looked round he saw that everything was out of focus, as if seen through a steamy window.
That was all they needed now. For him to pass out. He sat down very gingerly, taking his time.
Gjerde was staring at him fixedly. If only he could ask him what her name was. But he knew he would not ask anyone. Anyone but her.
13
— And Escape for the Living
IT WAS AN unreal and nerve-stretching journey from the harbour to the big West Byfjord for each man aboard XE 16. Not only were the bearings and courses directly opposite to their original approach, but so too were their reactions. Or so it seemed to Seaton. As he fought against pain and waves of nausea, and tried to keep his command running at her maximum speed, he was aware of the tension around him.
Perhaps it was because they had begun to imagine they would be unable to get free of Bergen. And then when the side-cargo had failed to free itself from the hull the acceptance of death had already been reached. Only the frightened Professor Gjerde suffered in ignorance, knowing nothing of the real danger and fearing only for his own escape.
To achieve what they had, and then to realise that after getting through two minefields and out into broader reaches of fast moving water they were none the less faced with disaster, was enough to make anyone despair.
It was strange too how Niven had come to the fore. Seaton had known from the outset that he himself could not get back on deck without losing consciousness. His injuries gave him no peace, and it was all he could do to hold on. Drake’s past skills were all needed as XE 16 wallowed and porpoised through freshwater pockets along the fjord, and Jenkyn removed from the helm would be like throwing the wheel and compass overboard.
Seaton had explained to Niven what he wanted, what to look out for. He had seemed almost eager to go on deck, and when he had reported to the control room that they were fast approaching the pair of small islands, still with their watchful searchlights swinging back and forth across the channel, his voice had been steady, matter of fact.
It was a chance they had had to take. To risk a dive and the possible detection by A/S gear laid out on the sea-bed was not worth thinking about. It was hard enough to keep the boat steady as it was. With one massive charge hanging to her port flank, her progress was often haphazard and crablike, with plenty of sweat and curses from both Drake and Jenkyn to keep her under command.
And so with her induction trunk all but lowered, and Niven lying half frozen on her casing, XE 16 swept between the islands at an impressive speed of nearly seven knots, running her diesel engine and charging the batteries throughout.
As Jenkyn had remarked between curses, ‘If only the bloody prof ’ere ’ad the savvy to make a pot o’ char, things would be near bloody perfect!’
Seaton knew that Drake was trying to hide his resentment at Niven’s role. Even though he was the obvious choice, and no slur against him as first lieutenant, it seemed hard to take, in spite of the nearness of violent death.
Seaton’s head struck the periscope hoist and made him gasp with pain. Tired almost to exhaustion, and sick from a dozen different pains, he had nearly gone under, his forehead lolling forward like that of a corpse. If it had been the other side of his head, and he had banged the great, blackened bruise, he knew he would have screamed aloud.
None of the others had seen it, thank God. None except Gjerde.
Seaton’s dismay seemed to bring him to life in some way. He wriggled past the chart table, scrabbling on his hands as the boat staggered violently in a deep trough.
He exclaimed, ‘I forgot, Lieutenant. I have a flask. Some brandy, I think.’ He started to search through his stained and creased overcoat.
Seaton was about to refuse his offer when Gjerde added vaguely, ‘I must still have it. Nina said to keep it away from the others.’ He pulled a small flask from his inner pocket and said, ‘There!’
Seaton stared past him, his lips forming the name. Nina.
He took it and let the brandy trickle over his tongue. It was tremendous.
‘Give some to the others.’ He watched the man’s face. It was pathetic to see his expression. As if he had been expecting Seaton to smash him in the face.
Jenkyn did not take his eyes from the gyro repeater but took the flask gratefully. ‘Ta, mate.’
Drake had a quick swallow and nodded. Embarrassed? Confused? In these past hours it was difficult to accept that you knew anyone that well, Seaton thought.
He dragged himself to the table and rested against it, feeling the heartbeats of his small command throbbing through the frames, the chart table and into his own body.
He studied the chart with extra care, c
hecking each of Niven’s little crosses which marked their original passage towards Bergen. Time was fast running out. He would have to decide. Now. He peered at the nearest island. Beyond it, and the rest of the chain, lay the sea. Between the scattered islets, some no larger than humps of jagged rock, there were many marks to show where ships had gone down over the years. It was a dangerous place, and certainly with nowhere to beach the boat while they got ashore with their passenger.
At worst, the side-cargo would explode when the fuse ran out. At best, when it was freed from the hull. It was not the sort of hand you would play poker on, Drake would have said.
He turned. ‘Blow all your ballast. Trim her as high as you can. Reduce to revs for two knots.’
Air hissed insistently into the ballast tanks, and the deck rolled more steeply as the top half of the side-cargo rose out of the water.
Seaton picked up the handset and said, ‘Richard? Get your life-jacket blown up. We may have to ditch.’
To Drake he said, ‘Take Professor Gjerde on deck. I’ll sit in for you as soon as you’ve got the trim right.’
Drake was breathing heavily. ‘All set.’ He looked round desperately. ‘I’ll stay. You go, Skipper.’
Seaton smiled grimly. ‘Like this? I couldn’t get ten feet.’ He added in a sharper tone ‘Move over, and do as I say, for once.’
He caught sight of Gjerde’s face as Drake hustled him to the hatch. Even in subdued control room lights he looked like the walking dead. It must be twenty times worse for him, he thought.
To Jenkyn he said, ‘I need a volunteer, Alec.’
‘’Oo would that be d’you reckon?’ Jenkyn chuckled. ‘Ready, sir. Ship’s ’ead is three-two-zero. Dead slow.’
Seaton heard the others moving uneasily on deck. It must be bloody icy up there. Not that it matters now.
He reached for the handset again. ‘Geoff? I’m going to try and slip our baby in a second or two. If it blows, there’s nothing to say except it’s been nice knowing you. If it brews up after it starts to sink, you’ll get a beating, but you should reach the nearest land, with any luck.’
He heard something like a sob and knew it was Gjerde. He snapped off the handset and said, ‘All right, Alec. Leave the wheel.’
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