‘It’s past nine,’ she whispered in my ear. ‘And they’ve discovered that we’re missing. They’re searching the hold.’
I sat up and looked through my gun sights. I could see the whole of the for’ard part of the ship. The grey superstructure of the bridge shone in the morning sunshine. And beyond was blue sky sweeping down to the shimmering green of the sea. There was not a cloud to be seen and the sun was already high in the sky on the port bow. The position of the sun told me that we were still headed for the Kattegat. Presumably we had not yet dropped our escort. The trapdoor to the hold was open and I saw one of the volunteers come out. He climbed the ladder to the bridge and was met by Sedel. He shouted something and Sedel cursed.
Schmidt came down from his perch in the gun turret. His unshaven chin accentuated the pallor of his face. But though he looked tired, almost ill, his eyes were as alive as ever. He had a word with David, who climbed quietly out of the driver’s seat and joined us in the body of the tank.
‘Freya, you will pass up the ammunition when required,’ Schmidt said in a low voice. ‘Mr Shiel, you will take over this gun, and Mr Kilmartin, you will stay where you are. If they begin searching these tanks before the escort is dropped, we shall have to show our hand. That will be unfortunate. But I do not think they will. It is now nine-forty-five and they are due to part from the escort at any moment. Then they will take control of the ship. The Norwegians will be taken for’ard. When I am certain that all the volunteers are either in the fo’c’sle or on the bridge, I shall open fire. I shall blow away each end of the bridge, and you will both fire a few bursts with your machine-guns in order to test the accuracy of your aim. Under no circumstances must any of the volunteers be allowed to reach the well deck alive. Our only danger is if we are taken in the rear. We shall have nothing to fear from the crew, only the volunteers. The only way they can get aft is by means of the well deck. It is your business, with the machine-guns, to see they do not leave the fo’c’sle. We have plenty of ammunition.’
I cannot begin to describe the impression Schmidt created. It was strange to see this shabby little Jew, unshaven and filthy with oil, issuing precise and elaborate orders for action. And yet it was not incongruous. It was in the character of the man. I remembered the impression I had had of him in my office, a hunted, frightened man, fleeing from justice. Physically he still gave that impression of weakness. Yet there was neither weakness nor indecision in his black eyes. He gave us our orders as though he were arranging the mechanism of a machine. He brought to a scene of action the cool, clear brain of an engineer, and at zero hour he made his dispositions and explained his plan as though he were in a laboratory about to conduct an important experiment.
When he had finished, he climbed back into the turret. I was completely awake now, and I waited, my mind alert and my eyes fixed on my field of vision, with only the slightest void in my stomach to indicate that we were about to go into action.
There was much coming and going in the fo’c’sle. Sedel was constantly issuing orders, and once Marburg himself appeared, his features as expressionless as ever. It was strange to be bottled up in that tank on such a beautiful morning. Stranger still to imagine the burst of action that would break out in this ship as soon as the escort had been dropped. Everything was so bright and fresh, with promise of summer in the warmth of the sunshine. I thought of the battle of the River Plate. Fought in conditions of bright sunlight, the combatants must have felt much as I did at the thought of fighting on a day that was so obviously made for pleasure.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of all the men I could see on the fo’c’sle standing motionless, gazing to port. I guessed that the escort was closing with the Thirlmere, before she came into my field of vision. Very sleek and beautiful, and rather deadly she looked, with the bow wave creaming white against her grey hull. She came up fast to within a stone’s throw. I could see the gold braid on the commander’s cap as he hailed us through cupped hands.
I could not hear what he said. But after receiving a reply from our bridge, the destroyer sheered off and swung away from us in a great arc. The captain had come to the port side of the bridge and stood watching the destroyer as she fell astern of us. His figure, rigid against the cloudless blue of the sky, was joined by two others – Marburg and Sedel.
Five, ten minutes – I don’t know how long they stayed there watching the departure of their escort. Time meant nothing to me at that moment. A minute seemed a lifetime.
Then suddenly Sedel raised his hand to his lips. A whistle shrilled out, loud and insistent above the throb of the engines. The captain turned towards him and then his eyes fell to the thing in Sedel’s hands. Almost involuntarily his hands rose above his head. Then suddenly he swung his right at Sedel’s chin. But the German had anticipated the blow. He stepped back, quickly, precisely, and then deliberately fired two shots. The captain never recovered from his lunge, but plunged straight on and fetched up, sprawled across the railings of the bridge. Then slowly his body slipped from sight, his cap tilted drunkenly over his eyes.
Zero hour! The thing had been planned and I could imagine the precision with which it was executed. The wireless operator would look up as the door of his cabin opened. If he resisted, he would be ruthlessly shot down like the captain. If not … Already they were herding the members of the crew on the fo’c’sle. Several passed under guard along the well deck within a few feet of us. They were searched and bundled into one of the fo’c’sle cabins. Only the engine-room crew were left. Presumably a guard had been placed over them. Meantime, the ship had changed course and the sun was now on the starboard bow.
The minutes ticked slowly by. I thought Schmidt would never give the word to go into action. But I understood the reason for delay. The farther we got off our course in the direction of Germany, the clearer the proof of guilt. There was a great deal of movement on the fo’c’sle. In the bustle of the ship’s capture I had endeavoured to keep check on the number of volunteers now for’ard. As far as I could tell there were eight, besides Sedel and Marburg. That left only two unaccounted for, and they would presumably be looking after the engine-room.
A man came hurrying down from the bridge with a small bundle under his arm. He stopped at the foot of the mast and looped it to a halyard. Then he hauled the bundle up and the Nazi swastika flag was broken out at the masthead. There was a great cheer from the fo’c’sle at this. And then there was the sound of orders being issued and a moment later two of the men came hurrying down from the bridge. They went straight to the trapdoor leading to the hold.
‘Get them covered,’ I heard Schmidt say. My hand closed round the trigger of my gun. The cold feel of the steel was somehow comfortingly impersonal. I held the two of them in my sights. ‘Fire!’ came Schmidt’s voice. I heard the rat-a-tat-tat of David’s gun as I pressed my trigger. The gun chattered in my hand. Both men were thrown against the side with the force of the twofold burst of fire.
Then the whole tank rocked and my ear drums sang as Schmidt fired the gun. Through the narrow aperture of my sights I saw the whole of the port side of the bridge, where the captain had so recently been shot, explode. The flash of the explosion seemed a part of this detonation above my head. The whole side of the bridge burst into fragments. Then the structure subsided gently until it hung draped against the more solidly constructed deck housing. A second explosion followed almost immediately. This time the shot was fired at the starboard side of the bridge, but only the extreme edge of it was carried away.
There followed a complete and startled silence, so that above the throb of the engines I heard a gull screaming imprecations at the disturbance. Then, as though some vitalising force had suddenly brought the ship to life again, it echoed with shouts and the running of feet. Two men swung themselves down the broken superstructure of the bridge, heavy service revolvers swinging from their lanyards.
‘Give them a few warning bursts,’ Schmidt ordered.
We did so, and the two of
them dived for cover. The hatch of the gun turret clanged above my head as Schmidt threw it open. ‘I wish to speak to Baron Marburg,’ he shouted.
No one answered him.
‘Unless he comes forward in ten seconds,’ Schmidt called out, ‘I shall put another shell into the bridge.’
I could hear him counting softly to himself. The now derelict-seeming superstructure of the bridge was lifeless. Eight – nine – ten. Once again the tank bucked to the kick of the gun. This time the whole of the starboard end of the bridge collapsed into a mass of twisted wreckage.
‘Do you want me to demolish the whole forward part of the ship bit by bit?’ Schmidt called out.
But Marburg had already made his appearance. He was at the port end of the bridge, his heavy body in silhouette against the sun. ‘Who are you and what do you want?’ The question was put in a cold dispassionate voice. I think at that moment I admired the man. I could well imagine the shock that burst of fire must have been to him, when everything had appeared to be going according to plan. Yet there was no tremor in his voice. He might have been addressing a board meeting.
‘My name is Franz Schmidt,’ came the reply from above my head. ‘I think you may remember it in connection with a new type of diesel engine. As you will realise, we control this ship. We have plenty of ammunition and we can quite easily blast the whole of the upper works of the ship away. As a last resort, of course, we have the means of blowing the ship up.’
‘What do you want?’ As he asked this question Marburg glanced over his shoulder as though to speak to someone. Then he added, ‘I understand the strength of your position. Do you want us to put back to England?’
‘There is no need for that,’ Schmidt replied. ‘I want you to send the crew down into the well deck. They are to come down one by one, and remember that I know them all by sight.’
‘Very well, I will do that.’ Marburg disappeared. We waited anxiously. I was afraid that they would try driving the crew in front of them as a shield. I knew we could not afford to be squeamish, but my whole being revolted at the idea of shooting innocent neutrals down in cold blood, however imperative the reason.
‘Keep the approaches to the well deck covered,’ came Schmidt’s voice.
I, too, had seen the movement of a man’s head that had prompted the warning. The next instant four of the volunteers dashed forward, two from either side of the deck houses. Their intention was to jump on to the well deck. But they hadn’t a chance. Before they had covered the few feet of open deck they fell, riddled with bullets. And to add point to their death Schmidt fired another round at the bridge, demolishing a further section on the port side.
‘Now perhaps you will send the prisoners singly into the well deck?’
After a few moments the first of the crew appeared. Schmidt spoke rapidly in Norwegian. The man came down to the well deck and stopped at a point where he was covered by our guns. He was followed by eight others. Schmidt then spoke for several minutes. Though I did not understand a word of what he was saying, I guessed that he was explaining the situation to them and giving them instructions. At length he dismissed them.
They immediately made their way aft. Three of them had taken guns from the dead Germans. I learned later that one of them was killed in a fight with the two engine-room guards. Both of the Germans were killed. A moment later the donkey engine came to life.
My task of keeping watch on the for’ard part of the ship prevented me from seeing what was happening aft. But I knew well enough what Schmidt’s intention was. He was getting the torpedo boat unshipped. The work took more than a quarter of an hour. By the time he announced that it was completed and the boat lowered over the side, I had sighted what I instantly knew Marburg had sighted when he had spoken with us from the bridge. Beyond the broken superstructure I made out the sharp black bows of a destroyer. The huge wave at her bow told of the engines running at full speed. Close behind her came a second.
Schmidt dropped into the interior of the tank. He had seen the danger. ‘We have only just time,’ he said. ‘Freya, get out as quickly as you can. Get the engine started. You,’ he said to me, ‘and Shiel will follow. Take a drum of ammunition each. They fit the guns on the boat. I’ll keep the bridge occupied.’
‘No, you go,’ I said. ‘Let me stay.’
‘There’s no time for argument,’ was the curt reply.
I realised that his decision was final. Freya was already clambering out. I followed her, with David close at my heels. The first thing I noticed as I jumped on to the deck was the gap left by the torpedo boat. The great derrick boom was swung over the side of the ship. I slipped down at the rear of the tank just as a bullet ricocheted off the armour plating. An instant later the whole vehicle shook as Schmidt fired straight into the centre of the bridge.
No more shots were fired after that. We slid down a rope ladder into the boat. Freya went aft to get the engine going, whilst David and I manned the machine-guns. Close above our heads hung the great girder on which the boat had been lowered. The moments seemed like hours. And every minute the two destroyers were coming closer. I could see the swastika flags quite clearly now.
Suddenly there was a roar overhead and a large plane swept by black against the sun. I looked round the packed boat. It hardly seemed as though we had a chance. As soon as we were clear of the Thirlmere we should be under fire from the destroyers. And now there was this plane. An instant later the engine came to life. Still we waited. Then came the sound of three shots, clear and distinct above the noise of the engine. I looked up just as Schmidt swung himself over the side and slid on to the deck. At the same moment the engine roared again and we began to move, swinging away from the side of the Thirlmere.
I glanced back to see Freya, her hair blowing free in the gathering wind of our movement, holding the wheel, her face splodged with grease and a smile on her lips. Behind her towered the bulk of the Thirlmere. Figures were moving on the broken bridge structure. A rifle cracked and then another. I swung my gun on to these tiny targets and opened fire.
When I next glanced back, Freya had handed the wheel to her father and was moving towards the engine hatch. She caught my eyes as she disappeared. There was the light of battle in her eyes and she lifted the small object that hung from a chain round her neck. For an instant I did not understand the significance of her gesture. Then I realised that this was the key to the special valve. For the first time the Schmidt Diesel engine was to show its paces.
A few minutes later the boat seemed to leap forward in the water, and the high-pitched drone of the engine almost drowned the clatter of my gun. The bows rose high out of the water and the spray swept from them in two great curves that glinted in the sunlight with rainbow tints. In an instant it seemed we were out of range.
As soon as I joined Schmidt in the deckhouse I knew that he was wounded. His left arm hung limp from the shoulder and a dark stain showed just above the elbow. But he refused to hand the wheel to anyone. ‘It’s only a scratch,’ he yelled at me, and his face was a white mask in which his eyes glowed feverishly like coals.
Above the roar of the engine the distant boom of a gun sounded – then another and another. Three great fountains of water shot up ahead of us. Schmidt swung the wheel over and the boat skidded round on her stern. Behind us I could see the bow waves of the two destroyers white and menacing. The hunt was up and I could not believe that we could possibly escape from those sharp-nosed sea hounds. Boom, boom, boom! More fountains of spray, this time only fifty yards on the port bow. Again the boat skidded in a great curve as the wheel went hard over. The water creamed in our wake, a huge half circle of foam-flecked sea. The day was perfect.
Then suddenly a shadow swept like a huge bird across the sea, and down across our stern came the plane. Schmidt swung the boat away to port again. The aircraft swept past only fifty feet above our heads. David had swung his gun on to it. But he did not fire, for as she climbed steeply up into the azure blue of the sky, the sun glinted on h
er wings, showing us the triple circles of the Royal Air Force against the drab grey and green of her camouflage paint.
More shells, this time astern. Over went the wheel again. With shaded eyes I watched the flight of the aircraft. She had circled in a great bank and was now headed back towards the destroyers. I watched her, fascinated. She had climbed to about a thousand feet. But instead of attacking the German destroyers, she skirted them and swept on to the Thirlmere, now no more than a drab grey toy ship far astern.
When she was no more than a speck in the sky, the size of a gull, the plane dived. She swept over the Thirlmere. Six tiny dots slipped from beneath her. She must have straddled the ship nicely, for an instant later the Thirlmere seemed to burst into a thousand fragments. Even at that distance the roar of the explosion was shatteringly loud. For a while a pall of smoke hung like a cloud over the spot where the Thirlmere had been. When it cleared away, the sea beyond the two German destroyers was clear to the horizon.
A moment later the clatter of the destroyers’ pompoms sounded as the aircraft dived to the attack of our pursuers. But already we were drawing away from them at a tremendous pace, the whole boat shuddering under our feet as though at any moment the engine must shake loose from its mountings. And hull down on the horizon ahead we saw two ships. They grew rapidly larger and Schmidt swung our own boat away to port with the intention of skirting them. But David, who had found a pair of glasses in the control room, reported that they were flying the white ensign. It was, in fact, the Thirlmere’s late escort in company with another destroyer. We closed with them shortly before noon and the enemy destroyers then sheered off. Just before twelve-thirty we were joined by three Avro Ansons of the Coastal Command.
The Trojan Horse Page 21