Again there was nothing, not even static, she realizing that she’d forgotten to flip the out switch so that they could come in. At once there was static and then, ‘Derry here,’ Inishtrahull. Over.’
Suspicion was in that voice but she’d have to continue. ‘Germans and IRA have us hostage. Repeat hostage. Bannerman alive; Allanby dead. U-397 lying in wait. Contact to be made at zero one hundred hours this evening. Over.’
‘Derry here, Inishtrahull. Are you the folks from Tralane?’
Did they not yet know this? ‘Of course we are. Over.’
‘How many of them are there?’
‘Ten and … and six of us. Three lightkeepers, Dr. Fraser, myself, and … and Colonel Bannerman. Look, I’ve got to hurry. None of them know I’m doing this.’
‘Message understood, Inishtrahull. Weather negates our getting relief to you next forty-eight hours.’
‘But … but we can’t wait that long! They’ll kill us.’ She depressed the key and did it again and again. ‘Derry … Derry, are you still there?’
No further response came from them. Switching off the set, she sat a moment, felt so lonely now as the foghorns gave another blast and the wind kept buffeting the lighthouse. The surf, when she looked, was boiling into the cove. Hamish …
Erich had heard her and was standing in the doorway. An arm stretched out in front of him, he started forward, his eyes so very blue. ‘Mary, what have you done?’ he asked as if he still couldn’t believe it of her but would know it anyway.
‘Contacted Derry. Told them we’re here.’
He did not swear at her, did not even cry out, just took another step and another, felt for things, stumbled when he came up against a stool, he spreading his arms widely now as if to grab her if he could, she backing away until finally he had come too close and she had ducked under his arm and run.
The lifeboat was lifted up by the seas, its bow rising higher and higher as the rocket line trailed across the canvas tarpaulin that had been fastened down over the entire length of the boat. But the line slid off into the sea and another was soon fired, it passing uselessly over the stern which had pitched down into the trough of the waves.
The chain of men, each linked by an arm, stretched out along the icy pier whose boom and rigging threatened to snap free at any moment. Bannerman was fourth; Hamish two from the near-shore end. Kevin … Huber … Galway … Mary picked each out, then tried to search the surrounding terrain for Nolan and the Tulford woman. The snow was blinding but now and then there would be a pause and she would have a view of perhaps one hundred yards.
Huddled in the ruins of the cottage nearest the pier and without her coat, hat or mittens, she was freezing. Ten minutes … fifteen … Would it take much longer? Already she felt a lethargy that was hard to resist. To have run from Erich had been foolish, but to have told him what she’d done, far worse. They would kill her now, no matter what. Kevin would have to, and if he refused, Liam Nolan would shame him into it until he did.
The lifeboat surged high on a wave. There was a collective cry of anguish from the men as the boat settled back, only to then be dragged far down in a trough, the grey seas roaring into the cove, the boat now gathering momentum as it shot towards the shore.
Mary caught sight of someone on the cliff in front of her. It wasn’t Nolan or Mrs. Tulford. ‘Erich,’ she gasped.
He was stumbling along the very edge, had been making his way downhill towards the ruins of the cottage, guided only by the briefest of memory from the night they’d landed.
Again he appeared through the driving snow and the spray. The boat was dragged back only to be lifted and flung harder this time at the shore. A man sat in its stern, clinging to the tiller and grey with ice, frozen stiff. A man …
Erich was facing towards the sound of voices from the pier. He stretched out an arm in front of him, seemed to teeter on the brink, wasn’t even conscious of what was happening to the lifeboat.
Again the sound of the surf came to her, the sight of the men all clinging to one another as the wind tore at the tops of the waves and the lifeboat was plucked up. ‘ERICH!’ she cried.
He took a step and disappeared as the boat came down and was dashed to pieces. The men on the pier began to run, to slip and fall and try to scramble back up on to their feet.
‘Erich …’
‘So he is dead, and you will die for it. Now move. There is nothing you can do for any of them.’
Ursula Tulford caught hold of her. Jamming the muzzle of her pistol into Mary’s back, they left the ruins to walk along the edge of the cliff.
The chain had formed again. The men were attempting to reach Erich who lay face down on the rocks. There were bodies in the water—men in life jackets, dead men, frozen men. Pieces of the lifeboat were being sucked away or tossed about by the exploding waves. O’Bannion and the others couldn’t reach Erich. The waves took him. Suddenly he was gone. Mary couldn’t understand why she felt the loss. Dismayed by the thought, she shook her head, must have felt remorse because of what she’d done.
They started for the lighthouse and she went meekly enough, was resigned to having lost everything, but would they allow her a few moments with Hamish? Would they? Suddenly she had to see him, had to say so many things to him.
As the others clambered up from the shore, she caught sight of the colonel. He had a fire axe held close in against his right leg, half-hidden by the slicker he wore. He mustn’t do anything, not now, couldn’t know that she would be dead in a few minutes, that her death might give him and Hamish a small reprieve.
A first scattering of the men caught up with her and Mrs. Tulford. Each of them was trying to shelter himself from the wind and the spray. Suddenly there were ragged, gaunt faces around her—half-frozen eyes that numbly sought her out, wondering what she’d done and why she’d no coat, hat or mittens.
They were all exhausted, all in a state of shock at what had happened. In ones and twos they passed through the gap in the low stone wall and made their way wearily up the path towards the lighthouse, the ground webbed with wet snow which lay thickly among the tussocks, the two curraghs lying there, black like ebony, their rib lines showing through the tarred canvas. Old boats? she wondered.
A figure plodded past her and Mrs. Tulford. The axe was raised, Bannerman giving a grunt of triumph as he dashed it down into the first of the boats.
The sound must have startled everyone. He tugged at the axe, let out a curse—roared at it as another and another of the men rushed past her and he savagely swung the axe at the nearest of them. There was a shot, she turning to grab the gun in Mrs. Tulford’s hand as the colonel smashed the axe into the other boat.
The gun went off again. The woman was too strong. Grimacing as someone grabbed her from behind, Mary fought to get the woman’s gun but was dragged screaming from her as another shot and another followed and Hamish … Hamish had placed himself between Bannerman and the woman.
Dashing the axe into the other boat, Bannerman tried to tug it out. Perhaps there was a split second when he realized he’d never do it, but then a sudden burst from a Thompson gun tore into him and he turned towards it to lift the axe up, blood rushing from his nose and mouth.
Flinging the axe at Nolan who had fired that thing, he pitched forward. Mary tried to reach Hamish and finally, at a word from O’Bannion, was allowed to crouch over him.
‘Lass, I’m not hurt. It’s only a graze.’
‘Inishtrahull … Inishtrahull … CC Derry here. Do you read us? Over.’
No one moved. No one said a word. They were all crowded into the watch room, everyone still freezing, still wet to the skin and tense.
Hamish was holding a wad of gauze to his forehead, the Tulford woman looking questioningly from Kevin to Huber as static crackled and the call sign was repeated.
Derry wouldn’t let up, not now. ‘Go on. Do it,’ said
O’Bannion to Flaherty, the lightkeeper.
‘Or else what, lad?’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
Flaherty knew that Sean Harvey had gone to tend the foghorns and Angus was up winding the light mechanism.
‘Inishtrahull … Inishtrahull …’
Turning his back on O’Bannion, he reached for the microphone. ‘CC Derry, we are reading you loud and clear. Winds from the north-northwest gusting to forty-eight knots and gale force ten, repeat ten. Visibility less than one hundred yards. Over.’
Gale force ten … his voice had been so matter-of-fact.
‘Inishtrahull, have you sighted that lifeboat? Over.’
Would Derry now ask where she was? wondered Mary.
‘All hands frozen stiff,’ said Flaherty.
‘Can you give us the name of their ship?’
Static crackled. Kevin placed the muzzle of his revolver against the man’s head, Flaherty using a finger to push the barrel aside. ‘I don’t need t’ be reminded, son,’ he said quietly. ‘Now see that you give me a chance t’ talk to them.’
A gnarled forefinger and thumb closed over one of the switches, a tuning dial was turned, then turned back a little, the lightkeeper listening intently until satisfied he’d done the best he could. ‘Inishtrahull calling CC Derry. Have we lost you? Over.’
‘We read you, Inishtrahull.’
‘Roger, Derry. Lifeboat from the Grand Manan out of Halifax, Nova Scotia. There were at least five in her, Derry, but no bodies could be recovered due to heavy seas. Over.’
It was coming now, and she could almost hear Derry asking, What’s happened to the woman who contacted us?
‘Storm should reach its peak around midnight, Inishtrahull. Expect hurricane force winds will abate slightly as dawn approaches. Will attempt overflight and sea search then, if possible. Over.’
‘Derry, supplies are very low. Could they drop us something?’
Flaherty hadn’t wanted them to break off contact; Kevin had again nudged his revolver against the lightkeeper’s head.
‘Will ask Beaufort CC Derry zero-four-two if it’s possible, Inishtrahull, but doubt it. Maintain contact, report on winds. There’s a disabled tanker listing badly to her larboard some sixty-eight miles to the north-northwest of you.’
‘Are you still in contact with her, Derry?’
‘Contact with the Island Fogo out of Saint John’s, Newfoundland, was broken off at zero nine hundred hours. Over.’
Nearly an hour ago …
Almost too eager to reply, Flaherty said, ‘Will attempt to contact her, Derry. Hope she picks up our radio beacons. That fog signal may not be of much use in this weather, nor the light. How’s her steering gear?’
‘Gear jammed, repeat jammed. If she comes in close enough, will advise abandon ship. Over.’
‘Not on your bloody life, Derry! Them seas be far too murderous!’
‘Roger, Inishtrahull. Will advise accordingly. Request you stand by twelve hundred hours. Over.’
Reluctantly Flaherty signed off but then the green light flashed and he had to turn back to the set.
‘Tanker contact resumed, Inishtrahull. Position: latitude fifty-five degrees, fifty-three minutes north; longitude eight degrees, fifteen minutes west. Speed eight knots and drifting. Wind fifty-six knots and rising rapidly. Seas breaking over entire vessel. Will notify all stations Donegal Coast to be on full alert, repeat full alert.’
‘How many hands, Derry?’
‘Twenty-seven, but there’s a woman passenger. Have advised not to abandon ship. Request stand by, further notice. Over.’
A woman … ‘Roger, Derry. Over and out.’
‘A woman,’ said Huber. ‘For a woman to take passage on a tanker is almost unheard of unless Russian.’
‘Does the tanker even exist—is this what you’re saying?’ asked O’Bannion.
Huber reached for a towel. ‘I am merely suggesting that you should tell that man to attempt to raise this tanker. That should let us know the truth soon enough.’
Flaherty hesitated. ‘I’m supposed to stand by. I can’t …’ He felt the gun nudge the back of his head.
The static was impossible, he turning the volume up, adjusting dial after dial and even trying other frequencies until at last faint snatches came through. ‘Radio mast broken … Jury rigged … Attempting to repair steering gear …’
The voice faded but then it came loudly, was crystal clear. ‘Cargo of aviation fuel leaking. Have had to shut down diesel power plant. Am on emergency lighting …’
Contact ceased. Flaherty tried desperately to raise the ship. The seas would be piling over the tanker. Her bow would rise up with each towering wave, the ship plunging into the troughs and breaking into the next wave only to be lifted up.
‘Inishtrahull … Island Fogo, calling Inishtrahull …’
‘Roger, Island Fogo. Go ahead. Over.’
The static was too much. A tense half-hour later contact was reestablished. By then two of Kevin’s men had passed mugs of tea around.
‘Inishtrahull, we require urgent medical assistance. Request you relay CC Derry who will over to us. Have badly injured man …’
‘Island Fogo, we have a …’
Kevin’s gun came down. Flaherty threw out his hands, his head hitting the wireless bench before he slid slackly to the floor.
Cringing, Mary stared blankly at the mug in her hands. It had all happened so fast.
‘Inishtrahull … Inishtrahull, are you receiving us? Over.’
The Tulford woman switched off the set, the wind shrieked, and in that moment of comparative silence, each of them heard it.
Then the foghorns sounded and, after their six seconds had passed, Huber resigned himself to things and grimly said, ‘Reestablish contact. We mustn’t leave them without help.’
‘But, Herr Vizeadmiral …’ began the woman, only to be silenced, Kevin reaching for the microphone and setting it upright.
As one of the others dragged the lightkeeper aside, Hamish started after them only to be stopped by Huber. ‘They will want your advice, Doctor. That one will have a sore head, nothing else.’
It began again, everyone watching as Kevin familiarized himself with the set, having laid his revolver to one side. Hamish moved closer to him but Mary could no longer see the gun. ‘Inishtrahull, Island Fogo here …’ Static broke things up and all they caught was, ‘Nurse Ellen Simpson will relay injuries …’
‘Roger, Island Fogo. Go ahead with nurse. We are standing by.’
Contact was lost. Its thin thread had been broken and now no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t raise the ship.
Nolan’s hand had closed over Kevin’s revolver. Hamish hadn’t had a chance.
‘Nurse Ellen Simpson,’ said Huber, giving her a look that said much and made her wish her middle name hadn’t been Ellen and he’d not remembered.
The smell of molten tar, tobacco smoke, sweat, too many men and burning coal made the kitchen stuffy and close. Outside, the wind shrieked. Snow whipped across the island or was plastered to the bleak, ruined walls and chimneys of the isolated cottages.
Huber finished the cigarette he’d been budgeting. Lost in thought, he ground out the butt as Hamish said, ‘How many men must die, Vice Admiral? You know you can’t get off this island. That submarine …’
‘U-397 is hardly feeling a thing at a depth of ten fathoms, Doctor, so we wait, yes, and we each keep to ourselves.’
‘Och, don’t be daft, man. She has to come up for air and to recharge her batteries. She can’t run on diesels below the bloody surface!’
‘If she has to, she will lie on the bottom, to the lee of the island.’
‘And if my memory serves me, there are very strong tidal currents sweeping in and out of the North Channel and through Inishtrahull Sound. Aye, t
here are, and you know it too.’
‘Perhaps, then, you would give me your word there’ll be no further interference from yourself and that wife of yours.’
‘The lass must speak for herself. As for myself, I ask again that you give up. Let one of the lightkeepers contact Derry. There’s no sense in this waiting. For God’s sake, listen to reason. You can’t continue.’
‘You’ll never get Nolan into one of those curraghs,’ said Mary. The boats had been carried into the shed that lay below the lighthouse. More tar was being heated, its smell permeating everything, thank fortune.
‘The curragh is a most seaworthy craft, Mrs. Fraser. These people … The Irish understand the sea. Those boats have been in use for centuries.’
Was Huber beginning to enjoy their little chat?
Gruffly Hamish said, ‘No doubt they’ve been in use for thousands, Vice Admiral. Aye, they’ll repair them soon enough, and worse for it, will attempt the impossible.’
‘This business with the Island Fogo was all a Funkspiel, wasn’t it, Mrs. Fraser? A wireless game.’
‘I … I don’t know what you mean?’
‘My dear lady, you most certainly do. I admire your courage, but of necessity must have the truth. Erich Kramer would not have come after you like that had you not done something he had failed to prevent. You contacted Derry and Erich heard you at it.’
Nolan got up from his chair and was now resting on his crutches, she tearing her gaze from him to the corridor where Galway stood.
‘Doctor, I have to know if she advised the British of our presence,’ said Huber.
With difficulty, she found her voice. ‘That’s just not possible. I know nothing of wireless sets.’
Nolan flicked a glance beyond her to Galway. There were two other IRA in the room—young men with several days’ growth of beard, though this didn’t make them look more menacing, simply exhausted and afraid.
‘There has been no contact with the other lighthouses along the coast, Mrs. Fraser,’ said Huber. ‘In a storm such as this, lightkeepers the world over like to maintain contact with each other if only to brace their courage.’
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