Wreckers Must Breathe

by Hammond Innes

  There was a muffled explosion and a column of water shot up just abaft the stern of the submarine. We clambered on to the deck of the submarine and as I ran down it, I saw a figure half-rise from behind the barricade of packing cases and an instant later there was a loud roar and lumps of rock fell from the roof of the main cave into the water. At the same instant the searchlight was switched off.

  We threw ourselves down behind the packing cases, our rifles ready. ‘What’s happened?’ I panted.

  ‘They had rigged up a raft,’ replied Davies. ‘There were several of them protected by packing cases. They had automatic rifles and one of them was flinging grenades. But Trevors got them with one of his grenades. Blew the whole raft apart.’

  ‘Good work!’ I said. ‘Do you think you could hold them off for another half-hour, Trevors?’ I asked.

  There was no reply.

  I put out my hand to where he lay behind his machine-gun. My hand touched his face. It was resting against one of the packing cases and it was warm and sticky. I screened my torch with my hands and switched it on. His muscular little body was crumpled up beside his gun, the back of his head resting on the protruding corner of a packing case. His blue unshaven jaw hung open, and his jacket was sodden with blood. A bullet had caught him in the throat.

  I felt a sudden sickening sensation inside me. One out of four. There were only three of us now. Trevors had stood up in order to make sure of his aim. At the sacrifice of his own life he had demolished the raft. But there would be another raft and another. I said: ‘We’ve got to get on with that job quickly. Can you finish off that basin, Kevan? It wants to be at least three feet deeper. I’ll stay here with Davies and hold the fort.’

  I heard him scramble to his feet. ‘Give me a shout,’ I said, ‘when it’s complete.’ I gave him my torch and saw his big figure outlined against its light hurry back down the deck of the submarine.

  Then Davies and I and the dead Trevors settled down to wait for the next attack. The searchlight had been switched on again and in its light I saw a German rating dive into the oily waters of the main cave and rescue a man who was injured and drowning. He was the sole survivor of the crew of the raft. Swimming steadily on his back and holding the injured man’s head between his hands, the German disappeared into the neighbouring dock. Then the searchlight was switched off again. Three pools of light marked the entrances to docks 5, 6 and 7. Then one by one these were extinguished. To the left of our own dock everything was in complete darkness. To the right, however, docks 1, 2 and 3 still showed a faint glow of light.

  Suddenly a voice shouted in German: ‘Put those lights out over there.’ The order was repeated several times. Then one by one the lights of these three docks were switched off. We were plunged into total darkness. It seemed to press down on us like a curtain. We could see nothing, not even the cases in front of us.

  ‘They are going to try attacking in the dark,’ whispered Davies.

  ‘We’ll just have to listen for them,’ I said.

  ‘Why wait for Kevan to deepen the basin?’ he asked. ‘Why not get on with your scheme right away?’

  ‘It’s no use doing it by halves,’ I said. ‘Once we get it going there’s no possibility of feeding the fire.’

  So we lay there in the dark and the minutes slipped slowly by. Gradually my ears accustomed themselves to all the various sounds in the docks. It was difficult to distinguish them, for they merged into each other to form a peculiar bustling murmuring sound. But occasionally I could pick out words of command and the sound of boots on rock, and from No. 5 dock came the persistent sound of tumbling rock as they worked to clear the fall and get through into our own dock.

  It was an eerie business, lying there waiting for heaven knew what. I kept on mistaking the movement of the water for the sound of a raft being paddled towards us. I found myself praying desperately that Kevan would finish the work before the attack was launched. But I knew it must take him a full half-hour working on his own, and as I lay watching the luminous dial of my wrist-watch the minutes seemed to tick by incredibly slowly. A quarter of an hour passed by. Once I raised my rifle and was on the point of firing. But it was nothing. The darkness was absolutely impenetrable. Twenty minutes. Then we heard a new sound, a sound of hammering.

  ‘They’re making another raft,’ whispered Davies.

  At that moment my eyes were attracted by the flickering of a torch from the far end of our own dock. Kevan wanted me. ‘I shan’t be long,’ I said to Davies, and screening a torch, which I had removed from Trevors, I hurried along the deck of the submarine. As soon as I could, I jumped down on to the dock and began to run.

  Kevan met me by the oil tank. He said: ‘They’re almost through the fall.’ I could hear the sound of shifting rocks quite clearly.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘let’s pump the oil in.’

  There was no time to see whether the basin in the limestone was sufficiently deep. We took hold of the oil tank and dragged it on its trolley to the edge of the debris. Then, while Kevan took the canvas pipe across the debris and laid it over the rampart of rocks so that the nozzle hung down into the basin, I ran back for the smaller petrol tank. Each tank was fitted with a hand pump, and Kevan was already pumping the oil into the basin by the time I had got the pipe of the petrol tank into position. In the light of my torch I could see the black crude oil pouring down amongst the rocks. At the same time I was uncomfortably aware of the sound of voices and falling rocks in the direction of No. 5 dock. At any moment I expected the Germans to break through.

  I scrambled back to the petrol tank and began pumping, thankful to have my automatic rifle beside me. When the gauge told me I had half-emptied the tank, I went over to help Kevan. The oil tank was still nearly three-quarters full.

  I found that Kevan had no need of my assistance, so I looked around and found a length of iron piping and some rags. I tied the rags round one end of the piping and then dipped them first in oil and then petrol. The resultant torch I put down on top of the oil tank. By this time the sound of the Germans coming through the fall was becoming much louder, until by the murmur of their voices I was quite certain that they had broached it.

  Kevan straightened his back. The oil tank was empty. I played my torch over the rampart of rock. It seemed to be holding the oil quite satisfactorily. Then, quite distinctly, I heard an exclam-ation in German. Evidently they had seen the light. Kevan had started the pump of the petrol tank. I could hear the liquid pouring out into the basin. I raised my automatic rifle to cover the spot where the Germans would emerge.

  At that moment there was a burst of machine-gun fire from the open end of the dock. I glanced round. Was it another attack? There was no light at all. After the one burst there was silence. Perhaps Davies had made a mistake? Then, faintly, came the sound of Davies’s voice speaking. I could not hear what he said, but I was convinced he was speaking to the Germans in the next dock. ‘Hurry!’ I said to Kevan.

  ‘Nearly finished,’ he replied.

  Then echoing down the dock came Davies’s voice. ‘Mr Craig! Mr Craig!’ There was a note of urgency in it.

  I took the matches from my pocket and thrust them into Kevan’s hand. ‘Light the torch and throw it into the basin as soon as you’re ready,’ I said. ‘But for God’s sake don’t let them get through first.’

  ‘Ar, I’ll see to it.’ He took the matches, never pausing in his pumping, and I ran down the dock as hard as I could.

  ‘Mr Craig!’ Davies’s voice again. I clambered on to the deck of the submarine. My shoes rang hollow on the steel plates. At last I put out my torch and felt my way forward to the packing cases. ‘What is it?’ I asked as I threw myself down beside Davies.

  ‘They’ve got Miss Weston and your friend Logan.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘They say they’ve got them bound and are going to use them as a shield for a machine-gunner unless we surrender. I asked them to wait so that I could consult you.’

  At that mome
nt the searchlight of the submarine in the next dock was switched on. Then I understood. Floating just off the entrance to No. 5 dock was a raft, and strapped to it in a kneeling position were Maureen Weston and Big Logan. They were kneeling side by side, and between them poked the muzzle of a machine-gun. It was quite impossible for us to fire at the gunner behind without hitting them. I saw Big Logan’s huge body rigid with the effort of trying to tear himself clear of his bonds. The sweat was glistening on his broad forehead and his long brown hair was lank. Maureen looked quite fresh, but the position in which she was held was obviously most uncomfortable. The raft was slowly moving towards us, propelled, I imagine, by at least two ratings swimming in the rear.

  ‘Will you surrender? Or will you risk the lives of your friends?’ I recognized the voice as that of Commodore Thepe.

  ‘What are the conditions?’ I asked to gain time.

  ‘There will be no conditions,’ was the sharp reply.

  ‘Don’t be a bloody fool,’ said Logan. ‘They’re going to shoot you.’ I saw an arm move from behind him and his body jerked at the sudden pain of a jab from a bayonet.

  ‘You stick to your guns, Walter,’ Maureen said. ‘Don’t worry about us. We’ll be shot anyway.’

  At that moment I heard the sound of a shot from the dock behind me. I turned to see the distant figure of Kevan stagger, the torch I had left with him blazing in his hand. In the light of it I could just see the figure of a German high up on the rocks above the basin. Then Kevan’s arm swung and the blazing torch sailed in a perfect arc into the rock basin. There was an instantaneous flash that lit up the whole dock as the petrol lying on top of the crude oil ignited. Then the whole of the end of the dock seemed suddenly ablaze. What happened to the Germans coming through over the fall from No. 5 dock I cannot imagine. The heat must have been terrific, and the flames were immediately drawn through the gap by the draught. The sound of the flames came down the dock like the roar of a mighty wind. And against their intense light I could see the big ungainly figure of Kevan come stumbling down the dockside, his shadow flickering along the wall of the dock in front of him.

  And at that moment the machine-gunner on the raft opened fire on us. I told Davies to make a dash for it. He hesitated an instant, crouching behind the packing cases. Then he darted out and ran as hard as he could down the deck of the submarine. I heard his boots ringing on the deck plates as I opened fire with our own machine-gun. I aimed to the side of the raft, well clear of Maureen and Logan, but it was sufficient to keep the gunner’s attention from Davies long enough for him to get into the dock, out of the line of fire.

  Almost consciously I forced myself not to think of the possibilities I faced. I had to get for’ard to the conning tower. I bunched my legs up under me and then jumped to my feet and started running as hard as I could down the deck. The light of the flames made it quite easy to see my way without a torch. I remember consciously thinking how little time had passed, for, as I started to run, I saw Kevan’s figure still running towards us along the dockside.

  Bullets began to whistle to the left of me and I was uncomfortably aware of the persistent clatter of the machine-gun behind me. The gunner had been prepared for my dash and he had swung his gun on me almost before I had broken cover.

  I learned later from Maureen that I owed my life at this moment to Logan. As I rose from behind the packing cases he made a superhuman effort to shift himself sufficiently to upset the aim of the gun. He just managed to touch the gun with his elbow and so shift it out of alignment. This occurred, I suppose, just as the gunner swung his gun towards me, for I had not run more than a few yards when I received what felt like a violent kick in the left arm, accompanied immediately by a sharp pain. After that the bullets went wide, and in a few seconds I passed out of the gunner’s line of sight.

  I saw Kevan struggling on to the deck of the submarine. He seemed unable to use his right arm, and by the dancing light of the flames I could see the sweat glistening on his face. Davies was standing irresolute at the foot of the conning tower. ‘Get inside,’ I yelled. He began to swarm up the ladder to the bridge. Kevan reached it just before I did. I followed him up, but when I tried to grasp the rails of the ladder I cried out with the sudden pain in my left arm. The forearm was broken just above the wrist and was bleeding fast.

  With my right arm I pulled myself up the ladder. From the bridge of the conning tower I took one brief glance round. In the lurid light, I could just make out a corner of the raft as it slowly approached the end of the dock. At the other end, our improvised tank of oil and petrol was burning furiously. Then I tumbled down the conning tower hatch and closed it after me, fastening it on the inside.

  Coming down from the conning tower, I found Davies bandaging Kevan’s shoulder. There was a nasty wound just near the arm joint. I ran quicky aft to the store-room bulkhead. I dragged the bulkhead back. The imprisoned Germans were sitting on the packing cases. They sprang up as the door opened. I covered them with my revolver. ‘Put your hands above your heads,’ I said in German. I backed down the gangway, keeping them covered. ‘Follow me!’ I backed as far as the engine-room hatch. ‘Open that!’ I ordered the officer.

  He turned back the lever and pulled the hatch open. ‘Now get down there—all of you,’ I ordered. I saw the officer hesitate, weighing up his chances. ‘Wache!’ I called. Then I said: ‘Get down there.’ My call for the guard seemed to settle him, for he went through the hatch and the others followed him. I closed it and fastened it. Then I went back into the store-room. As I climbed the ladder to the hatch I heard the sound of boots moving stealthily along the deck above my head. I fastened the hatch. Then I went for’ard to see about the hatch through which the munitions had been lowered. By the time I had climbed up and fastened this I was feeling pretty faint. Walking back along the gangway, I found myself following a trail of my own blood.

  I arrived back in the control room to find Kevan just easing his shoulder into his jacket. ‘Better?’ I asked. Davies turned at the sound of my voice and then exclaimed: ‘Good God in heaven, Mr Craig! Whatever is the matter with you?’

  I pointed to my left arm. ‘Do you think you can manage a tourniquet?’

  ‘Why, yes, indeed.’

  He took my coat off, rolled my sleeve back and then with a strip of material torn from his shirt, he bound my arm just above the elbow. ‘You’ll want a splint too,’ he said, and broke a heavy chart ruler in half. I then spent a most painful five minutes. The force of the bullet had pushed the bone out of place so that splinters were showing through the mess of blood and broken skin. I think I passed out twice whilst Davies was resetting it. ‘Lucky it is you are with a miner, Mr Craig,’ Davies said, as he bandaged it into place against the splints. ‘It’s not every one that knows how to set a broken limb properly, is it now?’

  I agreed that it wasn’t, and sat down on the chart table, feeling rather uncertain of my legs. ‘What do we do now?’ asked Davies.

  ‘Wait. Just wait,’ I said. ‘And pray that they don’t get into the submarine before the fire has got properly to work on the limestone.’

  We stayed in the control room for some time, listening to the sound of footsteps overhead. I could imagine the puzzlement of the Germans. What would they think? One minute we are holding the dock, and the next a huge fire is blazing and we have disappeared inside the submarine. I could imagine the raft plying to and fro between our dock and No. 5 bringing more and more men on to the scene. What would they do about the fire? Would they try to put it out? Even if they had been able to get their fire-fighting equipment into our dock, they hadn’t a hope of extinguishing it.

  ‘Let’s examine the oxygen supply,’ I said. I was feeling a little better now. But the submarine was getting very hot. I could imagine the terrific heat of that fire reddening the bow plates. If we were forced to stay in the submarine any length of time it would become a death trap—a positive oven.

  We found the oxygen supply equipment. Davies seemed to know ho
w it worked. It looked very complicated to me. Footsteps kept running backwards and forwards over our heads. It was very eerie in that submarine. All movements on deck came to us as hollow sounds. Very faintly we could hear the sound of voices. The air was already beginning to get stale. I knew we could not have already used up the available air, so I presumed that some of the CO2 given off by the fire in the limestone basin was beginning to seep into the submarine. The hatches were only fully airtight when subjected to pressure from water outside. Davies switched on the oxygen supply.

  I went along the gangway and through the magazine to the spot where I had seen the escape apparatus. From the rack I took five sets of equipment. They consisted of a mask, which clipped over the head and covered the nose and mouth, an air bag which was strapped round the body and a small cylinder of oxygen. To my great relief I discovered that the oxygen cylinders were filled.

  As I joined the others I heard a muffled hissing noise coming from the direction of the conning tower. We went into the control room. It was louder there and coming from the hatch. ‘Sounds like an oxy-acetylene cutter,’ said Davies.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ I said. ‘Better stand by to repel boarders.’ We found a revolver for Kevan. Davies was the only one capable of using an automatic rifle. As we stood staring up at the conning tower hatch we saw the metal of it suddenly redden at one point. It glowed like a cigarette in the half-darkness, then broadened and whitened. An instant later molten metal was dripping down at our feet and the flame of the cutter had appeared.

  We watched the brilliant white flame slowly cutting through the metal. There was a sort of horrible fascination about it. It was a race between the cutter and the gas given off by the fire. Or had the fire been put out? I did not think so for the submar-ine was so hot. But my mind was so hazy that I could not be certain of anything. Anyway, I was so exhausted that it didn’t seem to matter one way or the other.

  A large part of the hatch now showed a dull red. The white line of cut metal grew until it showed as a definite segment of a circle. Very slowly I could see the cutting flame moving through the metal. The sound of it was now much louder. Soon the segment had grown to a semi-circle. ‘What do we do—fight or surrender?’ asked Kevan.