North Strike

by John Harris

  They were all staring towards the submarine as it slid astern. The white ensign was still fluttering from the end of the log where Magnusson had placed it. It was whipping in the breeze now, standing out straight, clear and sharp against the dark background of the scarred earth and the drift of grey-blue smoke coming from the burning timber.

  Campbell looked up from his watch. ‘Now,’ he said.

  But nothing happened and he looked quickly at Magnusson, then at Marques and Orjasaeter.

  ‘I make it now, sir,’ Marques corrected politely.

  ‘Wait,’ the Norwegian said. ‘The time pencils are not exact to the second.’

  The submarine was disappearing well astern now.

  ‘The buggers have misfired,’ Campbell said, his face full of disappointment.

  ‘Wait! Wait!’

  They had almost reached the bend in the fjord and Magnusson had just given up hope when they saw a huge column of water lift from the stern of the submarine. The logs appeared to heave together and the whole vessel seemed to rise out of the water. Almost immediately they heard the roar of the explosion, and a moment later another as a second column of water went up alongside the collapsing remains of the first.

  Everybody was on deck now, staring back – men, women and children together – and as they stared they saw the submarine’s stern begin to settle. Wolszcka, looking wilder than ever, began to caper about the deck as the submarine vanished slowly beneath the water and the logs which had been weighting it down floated free. Only the fore end of the vessel, presumably sealed off by watertight doors, remained above the surface.

  ‘Wow!’ Campbell said.

  ‘I think we must have blown the stern off,’ Marques said. ‘They won’t salvage much from her.’

  As the thin sun appeared, Magnusson could still see the white ensign, a mere speck now, against the land. Then they reached the turn where the fjord opened out to the sea, and as Otno Island appeared the submarine slowly vanished from sight behind the trees.

  Annie Egge was standing near Magnusson on the poop, her face bleak.

  ‘It might be a long time before you come back, Annie,’ he said.

  She turned, the frown on her face giving way to a smile. It was tremulous and uncertain for a moment; then her head lifted.

  ‘But we shall come back, Magnusson,’ she said. ‘We shall all come back. Norway will hold up her head again.’

  ‘It won’t be long.’

  Her smile faded. ‘I think it will,’ she said. ‘Perhaps many years. But we shall come.’

  Campbell appeared. He seemed transformed, all his stiffness gone in the joy of success. ‘Willie John says he’s in touch with some operator in the Shetlands,’ he announced. ‘He’s passed a message to be sent on to Cockayne via the Admiralty.’

  Magnusson grinned. ‘That’ll make the old bugger sit up.’ The fjord widened. To the south lay Otno Island, topped with a clump of trees. The wind was on the quarter, fresh enough to lift the tops off the waves and bringing with it the smell of pines and damp earth and land. The ship, heeling steadily with the wind, was running at nine knots, the speed increasing all the time. The sky was grey with a layer of broken cloud.

  Magnusson glanced upwards. ‘Covered enough to keep aeroplanes away,’ he observed cheerfully. ‘We’re going to make it home.’

  Willie John appeared. ‘We’ve had a signal, boy,’ he grinned. ‘From Cockayne himself, via the Admiralty, via the Shetlands. We’re tae make for Rosyth. We’ll be met an’ escorted.’

  Magnusson looked up at the sky again.

  ‘Shove up the topgallants,’ he said.

  It was surprising how different it was in the entrance to the fjord, with the land slipping away on either side. The wind was gusting strongly now and big seas, coming round the island, were beginning to charge at them, bearing the ship up, filling the air with lashing spray.

  ‘Rosyth for tea, boy,’ Willie John said.

  The sea was bubbling into the lee scuppers and the air was filled with the squeak and clang of freeing ports as the deck cleared. The ship was making twelve knots as they coiled the falls down on the belaying pins. The huge course sails looked like the bellies of giant sows, and round the ship the sea was surging and hurling itself into the air, leaping the rail by the mizzen braces and filling the deck again with a whirl of frothing white water.

  Going below, Magnusson found Annie in the chartroom.

  ‘Another hour,’ he said, ‘and we’ll be safe.’

  The glance she gave him was warm, trusting and affectionate.

  As he went back on deck, the lookout called and, hurrying forward, he followed the pointing hand to see the square box-like structure of a fishing boat ahead of them. It lifted on a wave so that its red lead showed. Then it sank out of sight in the next trough, almost as though it were going down on its last dive into the vast darkness of the sea-bottom.

  As it lifted again, he realised it was flying the swastika of Nazi Germany and that a small gun was mounted on the bow.

  Campbell was studying it, his eyes narrowed. He turned and looked at Magnusson.

  ‘Iversen,’ he said in a flat voice.

  Nine

  It was Willie John who broke the long silence as he appeared at Magnusson’s side with a signal pad in his fist.

  ‘Yon bastard iss callin’ us up by radio,’ he announced.

  ‘What’s he saying?’

  ‘I cannae tell. It’s in German.’

  The Norwegian naval officer translated it quickly. ‘It is from Kapitän-zur-See Langfels, Senior Naval Officer, Sjambad-Marsjøen-Kurigsdal. To Cuxhaven. He says “Where are you heading?”’

  Magnusson hesitated then he shook his head. ‘Ignore it,’ he said.

  Two minutes later, Willie John was back. ‘He’s repeatin’ it, boy, and sayin’ “Answer at once.”’

  ‘Continue to ignore it.’

  Two minutes later it was Marques who spoke. ‘She’s flashing now, sir.’

  ‘Can you read it?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But it’s in German.’

  The German-speaking Norwegian appeared at a rush with a signal pad in his hand. After a minute or two’s scribbling, he looked up. ‘He is saying “Return to port at once. British Navy at–” then he gives a position. Does it make sense?’

  ‘Have you got that position written down?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then it makes splendid sense. I feel like replying “Thanks for the information.” Anything else?’

  ‘Yes. “Reply by radio if possible.”’

  ‘Make “Radio unserviceable. Must proceed. Orders from Berlin.”’

  The lamp clicked and the fishing boat swung, flashing again.

  ‘He makes “Ignore all orders prior to today’s date. I have orders for you.” He repeats his name, rank and title.’

  As they argued, Marques spoke. ‘He’s gone over to international code, sir. He’s flying “U”. “You are standing into danger.”’

  ‘Must have decided we’re a bit thick. Acknowledge it, Chief. Then give ’em “E”. We’ll alter to starboard away from ’em.’

  The flags clattered and flapped as they ran up.

  ‘He replies with “X”, sir. He wants us to watch his signals. Hello, now he’s got “L” up. He’s got something to tell us.’

  ‘We don’t want to know. Give him “E” again.’

  ‘Right, sir.’ There was a pause. ‘“T” now, sir. “Do not pass ahead of me.”’

  ‘The bugger’s becoming incoherent.’

  ‘I think he wants to come aboard.’

  ‘He’s got a hope. Keep giving him “E”.’

  ‘He’s still sending “I”, sir.’

  ‘Oh, Christ–’ Magnusson was growing irritated ‘–just answer him with anything. Baffle him. Blind him with science.’

  He could see a German officer standing by Iversen’s wheelhouse, staring at them through binoculars.

  ‘That chap’s got scrambled egg on his cap,’ Campbel
l said. ‘He must be the SNO, Sjambad–Marsjøen–Kurigsdal–Victoria–St Pancras and all stations west.’

  ‘He’ll find his command’s shrunk a bit.’ Magnusson glanced at the log. They were still travelling at twelve knots with the wind roaring in the foresail. ‘Break out all sail,’ he said.

  As Campbell shouted, men swarmed up the rigging and the canvas unfurled, snapping and cracking as it shook out its creases and filled with wind. Hauled taut by the men on deck, it billowed into curves.

  ‘Log?’

  ‘Twelve knots. Coming up to thirteen.’

  ‘Good. Good.’ Magnusson smiled. ‘Stand by, helmsman.’

  With every one of her sails set and drawing hard to the thrust of the wind, Cuxhaven was tearing along like a mail-steamer, the splash of white at her forefoot creaming away to a broad foaming stream of wake behind her. The fishing vessel was moving towards them on a converging course and a light began to flash again.

  ‘What’s it say?’

  The Norwegian frowned. ‘He’s saying “Where is U49”?’

  ‘He might well ask.’

  The fishing vessel was still heading across their course, clearly expecting her signals to bring the barque to a halt, with all her sails aback.

  ‘He’s flying “K” now, sir,’ Marques said. ‘“Stop instantly.”’

  ‘Bit less friendly. I think he’s decided we’re not quite what we seem.’

  Marques hauled down Cuxhaven’s hoist and sent up another.

  ‘What are you saying to her?’ Magnusson asked.

  ‘B-A-L-L-S, sir.’ Marques grinned over his shoulder. ‘I don’t know what they’ll make of it.’

  Magnusson smiled and gestured to Myers. ‘Starboard a point.’

  Campbell was peering ahead. ‘At this rate,’ he growled, ‘we’ll hit her.’

  ‘So what?’ Magnusson asked.

  ‘Christ!’ Campbell’s head jerked round. ‘You’re not going to try it, are you?’

  ‘We have a steel hull. She’s made of wood. Soft wood at that.’

  ‘She’s got a gun and we’ve got a lot of torpedoes on board.’

  ‘They couldn’t hit a pig in a passage. Not the way the sea’s moving them.’

  ‘They can radio our position.’

  ‘They’ll have to be quick.’

  As Magnusson spoke, the fishing boat fired a warning shot. They saw the splash of the shell a thousand yards off the port bow.

  ‘Across the bows,’ Campbell said. ‘The next one’ll hit us.’

  ‘Right, let’s panic them. Steer directly towards her, helmsman.’

  ‘Steer towards, sir.’

  ‘Look to the yards.’

  As Cuxhaven swung, the men at the ropes hauled. The sails moved and the ship changed course, coming up towards Iversen.

  Immediately, the fishing vessel began to put on speed, as though believing Cuxhaven was trying to pass across her stern, and she began to head towards the bigger ship’s starboard hand.

  ‘Leave her there, helmsman! Prepare to come about!’

  The two vessels were drawing closer now, Cuxhaven’s broad bank of sails clawing at the sky. Iversen was working her way round, making heavy weather of it in the lumpy sea. They could see two or three men crowding round the little gun on the foredeck. There was another puff of smoke, and over the roaring of the wind and the crash of the waves, they heard the whine of the shell. A hole appeared in the foresail, then the shell dropped like a stone into the sea astern of them, throwing up a spout of water.

  The men on Iversen had seen their danger now. The big ship was heading directly towards them and a machine-gun began to fire. Small holes appeared in the sails.

  ‘Yards! Starboard, helmsman!’

  Cuxhaven was bowling along at a tremendous speed, every sail drawing, creaming through the water so that their ears were full of the hiss and crash of the sea. Iversen was still trying to cross their bows to reach safety and Magnusson saw the men on her struggling to hoist a sail to give her more speed.

  ‘Tell ’em to give the auxiliary all it’s got,’ he said. ‘Touch more wheel, helmsman.’

  Cuxhaven’s head moved again and suddenly it seemed they were looking straight down on Iversen. They could see the Germans’ faces as the great spike of the jib boom rushed towards them. The officer in the gold-laced cap was yelling frantically and a few of the Norwegians from Marsjøen were on deck, pointing and shouting back at him.

  ‘Tell those bloody idiots to get down!’

  The machine-gunner on Iversen started firing again and everybody fell flat on the deck as the bullets whistled through the air. But they were already too close. Cuxhaven was towering over the fishing vessel, and the bullets struck the steel bows and whined off to port and starboard.

  ‘Let’s hope they don’t remember the gun,’ Campbell said. But by this time the crew of Iversen were concerned only with getting out of Cuxhaven’s way. The little boat turned, presenting her stern to the barque as she tried desperately to scuttle back to safety the way she had come. But she was already too late and the thump as Cuxhaven hit her was hardly felt. The barque, over three thousand tons and three hundred feet long, smashed into the smaller vessel, rolling her over. The mast scraped along Cuxhaven’s side with a scream of tortured metal, then it broke off and fell across the fishing boat, trailing wires and rope as Cuxhaven swept on.

  They saw Iversen’s red bottom as she rolled over, and the Germans jumping into the sea. The crash had cut her in two, and a wreckage of splintered planks swept astern as Cuxhaven roared by. The German sailors, flung about in the boiling wake, came up gasping and yelling for help.

  Wolszcka was hanging so far over the side, shaking his fist and yelling insults, Magnusson thought he was going to fall into the sea. Campbell was staring over the stern.

  ‘Haldursen’s picked up the bloke with the scrambled egg on his cap,’ he announced. ‘I think he’s got others too.’

  Magnusson grinned. ‘A few more for the bag,’ he said. ‘When we’re clear we’ll stop and bring ’em on board. Get Willie John to make a signal to Cockayne to the effect that we have a complete German crew as prisoners and that he’d better make sure that something’s around to escort us home. I’ll enjoy seeing his face when we arrive.’

  Cuxhaven had hardly faltered in her stride but horrible clanking noises had started to come from aft.

  ‘Tell the engine-room we’ve finished with the auxiliary,’ Magnusson said. ‘You’d better check the damage, too, while you’re at it.’

  As Campbell vanished below, Magnusson looked back. The last obstacle had gone. Støregutt and Jakka had slowed and were circling to pick up the rest of the German sailors. Then they saw the puffs of smoke start again from their tall funnels and heard the tonk-tonk of their engines as they followed in Cuxhaven’s wake.

  Magnusson looked about him. Apart from Altmark they’d failed with their task in Oulu, but they could chalk up an armed fishing boat and a submarine whose crew, Magnusson was sure, had been almost totally wiped out. In the hold they already had a handsome batch of prisoners, and on board were Atwood’s survivors and every man, woman and child from Marsjøen who had no wish to live under the German yoke.

  Finally – Magnusson glanced across the deck – there was Annie Egge.

  The Germans seemed to have wiped the floor with the British in Norway. There were still Allied troops in Narvik but, with all the other pockets of resistance wiped out, Magnusson couldn’t imagine they’d be there long. When they’d finished, the Germans would have a thousand miles of coastline full of little inlets from which their submarines and warships could prey on British shipping. It was a daunting prospect and he had a strong suspicion that the Germans would take advantage of their success to strike somewhere else.

  He glanced again at the girl. God knew what she was going to do or what he was going to do with her. It was clear she was expecting him to suggest something. He somehow thought he’d manage it.

  Campbell appeared with Wi
llie John. ‘No damage to the hull,’ he reported cheerfully. ‘Everybody all right.’

  ‘An’ yon torpedoes didnae explode either,’ Willie John said.

  Magnusson grinned. ‘They didn’t?’

  Campbell laughed. ‘But the auxiliary’s useless. The shaft’s gone.’

  ‘An’ the screw iss buggered, boy.’

  Magnusson stared upwards. ‘Oh well,’ he said. ‘We’ve always got the wind.’

  It was a crisp wind and full and fair for the Northern Isles. The barometer was high and around him there were only the great arches of canvas leaping outwards above his head. The ship was beautiful and sails were the loveliest things ever made.

  Synopses of John Harris Titles

  Published by House of Stratus

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