The Keeper's Son

by Homer Hickam

  Josh was tired. He thought Millie was whining and it made him a little angry. “Use them sparingly, then,” he snapped, then headed back to the wheelhouse just as the Doakes workboat came alongside.

  “How many survivors?” Chief Glendale called over in his foghorn voice.

  “Maybe thirty,” Josh replied, “and I don’t know how many bodies.”

  “Mister Thurlow!” It was Ready.

  “What is it?”

  “Dawn coming, sir.”

  The eastern horizon looked as dark as ever, but then Josh saw Ready was correct. There was a faint but glimmering bright yellow line marking the far eastern horizon.

  “Can you see them yet, sir?” Ready asked.

  “See them who?” Josh replied in a weary voice. Then he started to make out images on the sea, bumps rolling with the waves. The horizon grew brighter, then the red ball of the sun broke through, bringing everything floating into bleak relief. “My God . . .”

  In a vast, undulating field all around the Maudie Jane, floating bodies of men, women, and children, their arms and legs akimbo, their heads thrown back in openmouthed, sightless stares, drifted like gruesome flower petals strewn across the sea.

  The Chief gave Krebs his report. The port drive shaft seemed to be holding together. The U-560 could go back on the attack. “Chief,” Krebs asked, “what do you make of those American rescue boats?”

  The Chief thumbed through his book of American naval vessels. “The larger one is an eighty-three-foot patrol boat, I believe. The other appears to be a motorized launch.”

  Krebs used the powerful Zeiss binoculars to examine the patrol boat. “I believe those are depth-charge racks on the stern, but no sign of the barrels themselves.”

  The Chief took a lookout’s binoculars and made his own observation. “There is also what appears to be a machine gun on the bow, sir. It’s a belt-fed gun, I’m certain. But I see no belt leading into it. Still, I think this boat has the potential to make trouble. Shall we sink it?”

  Krebs contemplated the situation. It was apparent the Americans were going about rescue duty. Bodies were being lifted out of the water, one by one. Yet, it was a warship, even though it appeared to be unarmed. On the other hand, he didn’t care to waste a torpedo.

  A lookout reported, “Kaleu, a ship to the south coming very quickly!”

  Krebs aimed the Zeiss binoculars at the ship. “Good spotting. It looks like another tanker.”

  Before Krebs could comment further, a plume of steam rose up the side of the tanker, followed by the low thrum of torpedo thunder.

  “Vogel,” Max said as if cursing. “He beat us to it.”

  “Let’s get out there, anyway,” Krebs said. “I expect there will be another tanker before long.”

  “What about the patrol boat, sir?” the Chief asked. “It’s a warship.”

  “It’s an unarmed rescue vessel,” Max retorted.

  Krebs’s instinct was to call up the eighty-eight crew and blow the Americans to bits, but he said, in deference to Max, “We’ll let it go.”

  “Thank you,” Max said in an aside.

  “You may not thank me,” Krebs answered, “if that unarmed rescue vessel grows teeth and claws.”

  The first mate of the Lady Morgan came to stand beside Josh. “There’s our killer, Captain. A Type Seven German U-boat. See that gun forward of the tower? That’s an eighty-eight-millimeter gun. If the captain wanted, he could blow you out of the water with one shell.”

  Josh observed the submarine through his binoculars. There was something painted on its tower fairing. “See if you can make out the insignia on that U-boat,” he said to Once, tossing him the binoculars.

  “It’s a shark, sir. I can see men on the tower, too, sir. One of them has a white cap.”

  “That would be the kraut captain,” the mate said.

  Josh looked around. His boys had stopped their work and were staring at the U-boat. He heard Ready say, “Do you think it’ll come after us?”

  “Our father who art in heaven,” Bobby began, “hallowed be thy name . . .”

  The other boys bowed their heads and prayed with him. To Josh, it appeared as if they were submitting to the Germans. “Bobby!” he bellowed. “Belay that prayer. Ready, bring me the Enfield. We’re going to get into this war.”

  Ready brought up the rifle. “I had to use five rounds to sight it in, sir.”

  “I’ll just need one to kill that son of a bitch,” Josh said.

  “What’s the skipper doing?” Bobby wondered to the other boys.

  “I guess he’s going to attack that U-boat,” Again answered.

  Bobby, his knees trembling, started to say his prayer to himself.

  “All right, boys, go below,” Krebs ordered the lookouts as he took a completed message form from Max. Pretch had alerted Krebs an hour before that a signal was coming through, a long one that would take some time to decode. Krebs glanced at it. It was a list of instructions from BdU to all U-boats at sea on how to save diesel fuel. Krebs knew it was just Uncle Karl reminding all his commanders that he was thinking of them. Krebs chuckled, and prepared to go below.

  Josh propped the Enfield on the railing aft of the wheelhouse and took a long sight. He could see only one man left on the tower, but it was the one he wanted, the captain of the U-boat, identified by his white cap.

  “Whatever are you doing, Captain?” the Canadian first mate asked.

  “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch.”

  The mate’s eyes bugged out. “They will slaughter you.”

  “I had an old captain up on the Bering Sea,” Josh said, sighting in, “who taught me you can’t win unless you fight.”

  “Even against impossible odds?”

  “Especially then.” Josh took a breath, then held it. The front sight lined up with the V of the rear sight, centered on the white cap. Josh squeezed the trigger and the Enfield barked.

  Krebs put his hand on the tower hatch cover to steady himself as he started below. Above and behind him, there came a metallic ping and then immediately, a second one. Paint flew off the hatch cover. Startled, he dropped Doenitz’s message. The form, caught by an eddy of wind, flew off the tower, fluttered down to snag on the traversing wheel of the deck gun, then floated off into the sea. Krebs stared at a dent in the sky periscope where his head had just been a moment before. Unbelievable! A rifle shot had struck the periscope and apparently the ricochet had hit the hatch. He took off his cap and raised his head just enough to squint over the fairing. On board the patrol boat, he saw a big man dressed in khakis and a brown leather jacket standing with a rifle in his hand. “You’re brave, my friend,” Krebs said, “I’ll give you that.”

  The U-boat began to move away in a southeasterly direction. “I admire your spunk, Captain Thurlow,” the mate of the Lady Morgan said. “But that was a foolish move.”

  Josh handed the rifle to Ready. “You’ll notice he’s leaving.”

  “Yes, to sink more ships. How many destroyers are on their way to get after these buggers?”

  “None, as far as I know,” Josh answered.

  The mate shook his head. “The U-boats are going to cut you to pieces.”

  A thunderclap seaward caused everyone to turn in time to see a second boil of smoke rise from the tanker that had been attacked minutes before. Then a sudden release of bubbles from the Lady Morgan brought up a dozen bodies.

  “What are we going to do about this, Mister Thurlow?” Phimble demanded.

  “We’re going to take these folks in to Killakeet,” Josh said, indicating with a nod the survivors and bodies littering the deck.

  “Let the dead bury the dead. We’ve got to get us some depth charges.”

  Josh didn’t reply. The U-boat with the white shark on its tower had disappeared. Maybe it wouldn’t return. Maybe there was just going to be a day of carnage and then it would be over, just as in 1918 when the old surfmen had gone out and the U-boat captain had lifted his cap in respect to the
m. Maybe it’s all over.

  “It ain’t over,” Phimble said.

  “You in the business of reading my mind now, Eureka?”

  “No, sir. I’m just telling you. Captain Falcon—”

  “Is not here. I am. End of discussion.”

  Phimble opened his mouth to argue, then clapped it shut. “Yes, sir,” he said while providing a sharp salute that Josh knew very well meant Up yours, sir!

  29

  By the time the workboat was tied up at the military dock, nearly all of Whalebone City was waiting there, summoned by the clanging church bell. Chief Glendale came ashore followed by the mate of the Lady Morgan. “I’m sorry,” the mate said to the assembly. “I’m afraid we were torpedoed.”

  “We’re right sad to hear that, sir,” Queenie answered. There was a mumble of sorrowful agreement from the assembly. “What can we do?”

  “My passengers,” the mate replied, his voice choking, “they should come ashore.”

  “Preacher,” Chief Glendale said, “can we put them in the church, do you think?”

  Preacher was nearly sober by now, though he still had sand on his face. “It would be an honor, Chief,” he said.

  Keeper Jack was the first aboard the workboat. He knelt beside the body of a young woman whose eyes were open, fixated, as if she was startled to discover herself dead. He gently closed them, and lifted her into his arms. The people of Killakeet quietly followed his example and soon a line of people carrying bodies wound from the military dock to the church.

  “Where was God last night, I wonder?” Queenie asked as she and Amy Guthrie struggled to carry a young woman off, Queenie lifting under her shoulders, Amy at her bare feet.

  “Bible says a bird don’t fall what God don’t know about it,” Preacher said between gritted teeth. He had a dead woman in his arms, and his ruined shoulder was killing him. “God knew all about this. You can be certain of it.” It sounded like an accusation.

  Harro and Joachim were released from the bow torpedo room to take their turn at lookout duty. After receiving permission to climb the rungs of the ladder to the tower, the two boys took up their station and cocked their ear to the conversations of the officers.

  “I should like to use the eighty-eight against this one, Max,” Captain Krebs was saying.

  “Against a tanker?” Leutnant Max shook his head. “It’s not feasible.” He snapped a look at Harro and Joachim. “Why are you staring at me and the captain? We’re not the ones you’re supposed to see! Keep your eyes peeled out there!”

  “Yes, sir!” Harro yelped, and threw his binoculars so hard to his eyes, he knocked himself back a step.

  The Chief came up. “These boys are full of piss and vinegar, sir.”

  “If they don’t pay attention, they’ll find themselves full of extra duty,” Max sniped.

  “I can’t believe I looked so stupid,” Harro whispered to Joachim.

  Joachim chuckled. “You always look stupid to me.”

  Harro gave his shipmate a surreptitious elbow and Joachim responded in kind. For their efforts, they got a rap on the back of their heads by the Chief. “Look, you two, you keep skylarking and I’ll have you down with the stokers scrubbing the engine-room deck plates. You understand?”

  The boys started looking as hard as they could. Before them lay three burning and sinking ships. The U-560 had bagged one of them. Other U-boats had gotten the other two. Harro noticed a glint off something to the south. “Tanker, sir!” he squeaked.

  Max replied tiredly, “Yes, boy. We’ve been watching it for the last fifteen minutes. Concentrate on the sky. Let us know if you see any aircraft.”

  Harro and Joachim got busy with the sky. They saw seagulls and pelicans and a few puffy clouds, but that was all. Furtively, Harro swept his binoculars across the smudge of land to the west. He had heard they were lying off an island that had a lighthouse. If so, it was too far away to make out any details.

  “Send up the eighty-eight crew!” Krebs suddenly barked, startling Harro so much he nearly dropped his binoculars.

  “We’re in for some action now,” Joachim said, nudging Harro.

  The eighty-eight boys scrambled to their artillery piece, pulling out the tampion and unlocking the ammunition boxes. The eighty-eight was a wicked-looking cannon with a long, narrow tube and traversing wheels to adjust its aim.

  “Chief, fall in behind that tanker and get us as close as you can,” Krebs ordered.

  Harro sneaked a peek at the officers. Leutnant Max was saying something to Kaleu Krebs. Harro couldn’t hear what he said, but Krebs responded by saying, “Well, let me prove it to you, Max.”

  The U-560 picked up speed, leaving behind a blue-white trail of frothy turbulence. Forgetting the sky, Harro swept his binoculars to the stern of the tanker. There were men standing on it, pointing at the U-560. The tanker was putting out its own wake of blue-white froth, really churning up the sea. “They’re making a run for it,” Harro whispered to Joachim.

  “Are you ready, Beeker?” Krebs calmly asked the gun captain.

  “Ready, Kaleu!”

  At Krebs’s nod, Beeker pulled the lanyard and the big gun erupted. Harro caught the blur of the shell as it raced out of the tube, then lost it against the sky. He started looking at the stern of the tanker again. The men standing on it were suddenly enveloped in a blossom of flame and smoke. He saw a legless torso thrown high in the air, then watched it all the way down until it splashed into the sea. Harro felt a bit sick to his stomach.

  “Good shot!” Krebs congratulated Beeker, then slapped Max on his back. “You see, Max? We don’t need torpedoes. Beeker, put another round into her.”

  The eighty-eight gun fired again, but this time the shell fell short, producing a plume of water. The tanker was starting to pull away. Beeker adjusted his aim and the next round caught her on her superstructure and a fourth round burst again on her stern. An oily smoke cloud began to trail behind her but the tanker plowed on, leaving the U-560 rocking in her wake.

  “She’ll burn,” Krebs said, satisfied. “Well, what do you think now, Max?”

  “The deck gun was more effective than I thought,” Max confessed.

  Joachim saw the masts of a ship poke up along the southern horizon. He watched it, then cried, “Look, sir, another tanker!” and proudly pointed toward his discovery.

  Max took a look. “It’s no tanker, you idiot. It’s just a small freighter. Probably a banana boat.”

  Banana boat or no, the U-boat curved south, running down on the little freighter. The Chief identified it as the Dona Marta, owned by the Tropical Fruit Company of Tegucigalpa, Honduras, 1,026 tons.

  “Fire at will, Beeker,” Krebs ordered.

  “Why waste shells on a banana boat, sir?” Max asked.

  “Doenitz loves tonnage,” Krebs answered with a shrug. “He doesn’t much care how we get it.”

  The eighty-eight boomed, striking the small freighter and leaving a big hole on her port side. Some crewmen could be seen scrambling aboard the single lifeboat hanging from its falls. It fell and turned over, men swimming from beneath it. Other men, clinging to life jackets, jumped overboard. The freighter, drooping into the water, released a flood of green bananas from her hold. The Chief sent a few men forward to hook the lifeboat, flip it over, and bail it out. “Give them some food and water, too, Chief,” Max said.

  The Chief called down through the galley hatch and soon a jug of water and a package wrapped up in brown paper was handed up. The Hondurans were also plucking bananas from the sea. The Chief pointed to the west and made rowing motions. The freighter crew waved and began to pull their oars.

  “It’s a long haul,” Max said. “I hope they make it.”

  “Well, anyway, we have made the fatherland safe from bananas, Max,” Krebs said with an impish grin. “Let’s go a bit farther south and see if we can catch another tanker.”

  “I wish I could be on permanent lookout duty,” Joachim said enthusiastically. “This is fun!”<
br />
  “Not to me,” Harro mumbled. He kept thinking of the bloody torso he’d seen thrown high into the air off the tanker.

  “You’ll be on permanent shit detail if you don’t shut up,” the Chief said, coming up on the tower and rapping them both on the backs of their heads again.

  Both boys instantly threw their binoculars to their eyes, but all they saw was a spreading pool of bananas and a rapidly sinking rusty, old freighter.

  Bodies were laid out on the pews and up and down the aisles of the Church of the Mariner. When Josh came in, the first thing he saw was a little boy, which immediately made him think of Jacob. He stifled the ridiculous urge to look closer, to make certain it wasn’t his brother. He felt a touch on his arm. It was Dosie, splattered with blood. She had changed out of her party dress and was in her riding outfit. “I could not possibly say what I feel,” she said. “The closest I can come is that I hate this. It’s senseless.”

  “It made sense to the men who did it,” Josh replied. Then he fought an overpowering urge to take her into his arms and let her comfort him. Instead, he said, “Dosie, you need to leave Killakeet. On the next ferry. This is a battleground now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Dosie said. “This is my island, too. Where’s Preacher? That’s why I’m here. Doc sent me to get him.”

  Josh nodded toward the altar. Preacher was on his knees, his head bowed. “Preacher,” Dosie said, “Doc needs you in the Surfmen’s House.”

  Preacher raised his head. “I am praying for the dead,” he said. Then he added with a sneer, “Just in case God might be listening.”

  “Doc says the survivors need you. Most of them are Catholic and they’re asking for a priest.”

  “I ain’t no priest.”

  Dosie had a roll of white hospital tape. She tore off a strip of it and wrapped it around the preacher’s neck. “You are now,” she said, buttoning the top button of his black coat.

  Dosie seemed to have a power over Preacher. She led him to the Surfmen’s House and Josh followed. Dozens of survivors were lying or sitting on the floor. Doc was tending to them with Millie assisting. Off to the side were those who had recently died, covered with blankets and waiting to be carried to the church.