She looked endearingly at him. "I understand it all Billy, but what about you? Do I wait for you before I go into the water?"
Billy figured his chances of getting to the aft end of the catcher were slim, but he didn't want Ailie to know. "All I've got to do is the same as you lass, so don't worry, I'll be there."
Ailie bit into her lip. "What's to stop them closing the sea cocks when they discover what's happened?"
"They won't be able to close the one in the engine room," he replied confidently. "I'll make sure of that. By the time they realise what's happening it will be too late, they'll have to abandon ship." He stood up, pulling her with him. "Are you ready, lass?"
Ailie nodded and reached up to kiss him. She held him fiercely until he was forced to push her away.
"There's a knife in the coat pocket Ailie. I shall need it." Ailie took the knife out and handed it to him. He pushed it into the waistband of his trousers. "Be careful lass and may God go with you."
Ailie went out through the deck-head the way Billy had come in. There was sufficient cloud cover to break the moonlight and she wriggled on her belly until she was under the catwalk. Then she dropped on to the deck and ran softly to the aft end and the tiller flat.
Billy followed two minutes later. His route to the engine room took him past the accommodation section in which he believed Schafer would have assembled his men. He did not fear a chance meeting but wished he could have chosen a more distant and safer way.
The door to the engine room was let into a bulkhead in a small, internal alleyway that ran abeam. It opened on to a steel mesh platform from which a ladder descended into the heart of the tiny vessel.
He had no way of knowing how many men would be in the engine room but believed Schafer would need only one man for the short duration of the trip. He descended the ladder cautiously. He had his back to the engine room and had to twist round as he came down the ladder to get a good view.
He could see no-one but knew that whoever was there was probably in the small control room. The noise was deafening as the two diesels poured their mighty horsepower on to the twin screws. He glanced carefully over the entire engine-room space while remaining at the foot of the ladder looking for the sea cock.
He saw the red painted wheel set into the deck just aft of the port engine. Around the bulkheads were masses of pipes and wiring. He searched among them for a turnkey or something sturdy he could use, like an axe, to render the sea valve inoperative once he had opened it. He saw what he could use, and turned his attention to the control room.
The engineer Schafer had left there was Corporal Holbach. He probably never knew what happened when Billy opened the door. He turned his head as the deafening roar of the diesels burst into the quiet box and saw Billy coming through. He saw the lunging arm as the knife was thrust forward, driven with tremendous force into his side. He rolled his eyes in surprise and then pain, as he collapsed to the floor.
Billy closed the door and went for the sea cock, spinning the wheel furiously. As the valve opened, sea water began pouring in from the outlet, foaming in an enormous jet across the engine space.
He grabbed a fire axe from the bulkhead, running through ankle-deep water to reach it, and hammered the spindle on the sea cock until its exposed threads were damaged beyond hope. There was no way now the valve could be closed.
There was no time for Billy to stand and consider the effectiveness of his sabotage. He pushed the handle of the axe into his trousers and made for the ladder.
Ailie reached the tiller flat without being seen, and opened the locker where Billy said she would find the dinghy. It was quite dark and the patchy moonlight was barely helpful. The dinghy was there, rolled and tied with a painter. She lifted it from the locker and laid it on the deck at her feet.
She could feel the thrash of the twin screws beneath and was aware of the phosphorescent trail peeling away from the stern of the ship. She looked over the Taff rail of the catcher. She was filled with despair at the prospect of leaping into that dark, boiling sea.
Ailie's despair turned to raw fear as she started climbing down into the tiller flat. It was like a bottomless hole. She could see nothing. She descended slowly. When the stern dropped she felt as though she was almost floating because of the weightlessness. Then as the stern lifted, her weight increased dramatically and she was caught by a terrible fear that her legs would buckle and she would fall from the ladder.
She clung to the metal frame and couldn't move. The memory of Billy's bravery and his words of encouragement ran through her mind, overcoming the devils she imagined were reaching up to her from that eternal darkness and she unlocked her frozen limbs.
The thumping of the screws played like a sonorous drumbeat, booming in the confines of the dark space. Her eyes were firmly closed and the flesh on her back crawled with a thousand demons.
She touched the deck with 'her feet and sagged gratefully against the ladder, fighting to regain her control. Something sloughed in the darkness, gurgling into some unseen bilge hole. The deck throbbed constantly and the screws squealed in protest as the stern lifted and fell into the water.
The sea valve, she thought, the sea valve. Which side?
She put her hands forward, crouching slightly and moving away from the ladder towards the starboard side of the ship. With the meagre light coming through the open hatch Ailie was just about able to make out shapes. She was unable to distinguish any real features but she sensed movement.
Ailie had never been inside a tiller flat before but she knew it housed the steering gear; the direct link with the rudder. She wished she could sever that link and have done with it. She knew that was impossible; she had to locate that damn valve.
As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom she felt a little easier. She groped her way to the bulkhead and almost stumbled over it. There it was, the wheel that would flood this small ..... She felt an uncontrollable panic rive her slender frame; she had to reach the ladder without mishap. With the compartment flooding she might not make it.
She shook herself violently in the way she used to when she had no voice. It was her way of releasing the built-up emotion and she felt the need of it now. She had to be sensible, she told herself, and courage was unnecessary, just common sense.
She turned the wheel. It took a great deal of effort. Her small hands whitened under the strain as she put every ounce of strength into it. It squealed and rotated free. She spun it quickly and the sea water gushed out in a torrent, hitting the dark shapes of machinery and cascading back to cover her in a drenching cold wetness.
She gasped for breath and made for the ladder, reaching it far quicker than her earlier passage. She felt nothing other than an urgent desire to flee that death trap and she scaled the ladder swiftly, coming through the hatch to fall on the deck in breathless relief.
Schafer stood on the open bridge beside Brenneke and Kretschmer. He felt pleased. The catcher rode the swell gracefully, dipping her bow and pushing up the surf to break moderately over the flared gun platform. It was dark with just occasional patches of moonlight. He glanced at the binnacle compass and nodded at Kretschmer who was at the wheel. They were going home; there was nothing to stop them.
He carried the documents in their waterproof protection over his shoulder. He had fashioned a strap so that it passed diagonally across his back and chest. The documents lay between his shoulders, leaving his hands free.
He looked at his watch. "Ten minutes," he said aloud.
"We should all be on board the submarine in thirty."
"It's a good night," Brenneke commented. "Plenty of cloud. Good cover."
It was small talk, unnecessary but inside they held their breath and the chatter eased their minds. It gave them some comfort.
"There's something wrong, sir," Kretschmer said suddenly. His voice was quiet and he looked at the wheel as though it had come adrift in his hands.
Schafer felt little needles of pain attack his body. "What is it?" he said
sharply. "What's wrong?"
Kretschmer shook his head. "We're losing way."
Schafer reached for the engine room voice pipe. "Engine room, is there anything wrong?" There was a muffled roar, nothing else. "Holbach, answer me damn you," he called angrily. His voice was strained and there was a genuine panic building deep inside him. He looked at Brenneke, his eyes glaring crazily. His first officer reached for the engine-room telegraph and moved the handle back and forth.
They watched it, waiting for a repeat signal. It was like an inanimate being, totally lifeless but compulsively watchable. They knew nothing would happen, yet their eyes were riveted to it.
Suddenly Schafer leapt from the bridge, sliding down the small ladder and was running along the deck in one, almost single stride.
Brenneke looked in alarm at Kretschmer. "Engine room. You wait here, I'll go with him."
Schafer saw the light coming from the open door leading down into the engine-room. He knew something was dreadfully wrong because that door should have been shut. As he stepped on to the steel platform he saw the water. It was lapping well over one third of the way up the ladder.
"Oh my God, the sea cock!"
He jumped into the water, knowing how little time there was left. The upper half of the engines was still above the water-line but their power was spluttering to a flickering death.
He pushed himself away from the ladder. The water was above his waist and he could see the tell-tale bubbles where the jet of sea water was pouring through the sea cock.
Brenneke appeared on the platform. He called but Schafer did not hear. "Hauptsturmführer, don't! You are risking too much!"
He climbed down the ladder in time to see Schafer disappear beneath the water. He jumped in and swum to where he had seen him dive under.
Schafer plunged beneath the surface and fought against the swirling debris and seething torrent of inrushing water. He reached for the handle of the valve and turned it. The wheel moved a full turn and stuck fast. He straightened his body and lifted his head clear of the water to draw in a fresh breath, and then he plunged beneath the surface again.
Brenneke saw his head come clear a few feet from him.
He called out but there was no response. Brenneke began to feel an unsettling panic. He was a brave man but did not have the reckless courage Schafer had. He glanced back at the ladder.
Schafer pulled hard again, but the wheel refused to budge. He kicked with his feet and got closer to the wheel, closing his arms around it completely. The wheel moved fractionally then seemed to bite hard and that was it. He felt seething anger and lashed out at the small wheel. Bubbles of air poured from his mouth as he swore at it. He pushed away to go for the surface again, but as he moved he felt something restraining him. He kicked out but could not move: the strap he had fashioned to hold the damn packet had become entwined around the stem of the sea valve!
Schafer lost his reason then: he thought the saboteur was holding him and he wasted time fighting against an imaginary foe. His efforts brought fresh demands on his lungs and he opened his mouth, drawing in the turgid water.
He coughed and screamed. He was drowning! He was drowning! He fought valiantly, thrashing out wildly as the strength drained from him. The chord tightened with each twisting movement of his writhing body.
Then the catcher moved.
Brenneke felt the water deepen beneath him. He couldn't remain there any longer. His fear strengthened his need for self-survival and the desire to live overwhelmed him. His leader was no longer visible: the deepening water had claimed him.
Beneath the water, the life-and-death struggle was petering out. Schafer made a last desperate attempt to free himself from that lethal strap. The water swamped him, closing in to snuff out the fire that had burned so furiously and had almost driven him to victory.
It claimed Brenneke too. When the engines stopped, the power died and the sea water covered the emergency batteries. The engine room was plunged into darkness. Brenneke died because his fear broke his reason. He died screaming, but unlike Schafer whose screams were muted by the boiling water, Brenneke's reached out of that engine-room and curled themselves into the soul of the dying ship.
Kretschmer, too, felt the ship die. It stopped and settled gently, moving sluggishly as the water inside its belly upset its crucial balance. The deck tilted beneath his feet and told him it was finished, Schafer and Brenneke would not come back; the rendezvous was lost.
There was only self-preservation that mattered now; time only to save himself for whatever destiny fate had planned. He ran from the bridge calling to his men who were already scurrying from the crew accommodation.
They crawled like ants over the boat deck to the lifeboats, slipping awkwardly on the tilting deck. Kretschmer screamed at them to launch the boats. Why didn't they move? Get on with it!
But the boats were wrecked. The davit ropes had been slashed through and massive holes torn in the side of the two small dinghies. The men panicked, running in all directions, looking for anything that might float. Some found lifejackets stowed in lockers and hastily donned them, throwing themselves into the water to escape the stricken vessel.
Kretschmer looked aft and just saw the dinghy moving away. He could see two figures on board but was unable to distinguish their features. He slithered off the canting boat-deck and made a grab for the Taff rail. He reached out, calling for Schafer and Brenneke, appealing to them not to desert their men.
Kretschmer didn't know, nor would he ever know who was in the dinghy. Events had overtaken him with such alarming speed they defied understanding. He died beneath the Taff rail, trapped there as the Nordcaper turned over, taking him with her.
Before he died he saw the face of the woman. She laughed and crooked her finger at him, beckoning. He reached out and her vision melted into the dark waters of the North Atlantic Ocean.
It was over.
*
Billy dipped the paddle into the water and pulled hard. Ailie followed, cutting whorls into the sea to add her meagre strength to Billy's. They knew they had won; Schafer had been beaten. She tried not to listen to the screams that bounced across the water. She wanted to drive on, to escape the nightmare.
Billy's arms powered his strokes with a possessive strength, drawn from his heart and mind; the will to survive transcending the physical obstacles and spurring him on, hoping his example would encourage Ailie.
But he knew they were at the edge of defeat: North Cape Island was about six miles from them and he had no way of knowing if their direction was right. Billy had taken his bearing from the stern of the Nordcaper. That and his instinct pushed him on and his faith in God.
But instinct and faith were of no use in place of navigation aids, and he had to admit to himself they were lost. To find the island in the dead of night against the wind and the current was impossible.
Ailie collapsed first, unable to summon the strength anymore. Billy battled on until his efforts were but token attempts. Soon he caved in. He lay beside Ailie and took her into his arms believing they would die like that. He kissed her but her lips were cool. He cried then for his beloved Ailie, and wanted to die so there would be no more pain. His fading memory of that awful night was holding Ailie in his arms and the biting cold. Then nothing.
EPILOGUE
They were gathered in the cemetery to pay their last respects, their heads bowed in sorrow as the rain dappled the two, freshly dug graves. Reevel Anderson had been asked to conduct the burial service, and his sad voice had spoken of gallantry and foolishness. It was silent now as the wind blew in from the south quarter, brushing the tops of the scree and the tufts of grass. There were a few sheep in the lower meadow grazing peacefully as if nothing had ever happened, while rabbits hopped about their daily business. Beneath Blue Whale Mountain smoke could be seen coming from the cottage chimneys. The wind took the smoke away, clipping it as cleanly as a knife. All of the island folk were there in the cemetery; the children too. Somebody began si
nging quietly as the coffins were lowered into the open ground. And then the soil was turned over into the graves, thudding softly on to the polished wood. They all waited until the men had finished. The two crosses, already engraved with a suitable eulogy were tapped gently but firmly into position by Reevel Anderson. When he had finished he crossed himself and stepped away. Then he turned and nodded.
Billy stepped forward and laid a small bouquet of flowers on his mother’s grave. He stood there and prayed quietly, tears pricking the backs of his eyes. Then Ailie came up beside him and placed flowers on Manny Ziegel’s grave. Then the two of them held each other’s hands and stepped back into the fold of people behind them. And then it was over and the islanders began to slip away, some back to their homes and others to the schoolhouse where a small celebration had been planned. This was not to celebrate the deaths of Maura and Ziegel, but to celebrate the safe return and success of Billy and Ailie.
The story of their rescue had been repeated a dozen times since their return. They had been found huddled together by a Royal Navy mine hunter that had been despatched to investigate the fire on North Cape Island. The dinghy had drifted ten miles north of Sule Skerry. They were both suffering from hunger and extreme exposure, but their indominatible spirits and the skilful care of the naval doctors had brought them through the crisis. They had both been taken to the mainland to be interrogated by the naval authorities, but had been allowed to return to North Cape with the Navy’s praises ringing in their ears. Billy had been granted time to attend his mother’s funeral before having to report back for duty.
He held Ailie's hand as they walked away from the cemetery knowing that soon he would be going back to fight the real war. It seemed so cruel. But for now this moment together was theirs: it would be an endearing memory for them until Hitler was beaten and the war was over. Time would heal their wounds and restore them to a lasting peace on North Cape Island where they could begin their lives again, free for ever from the shadow of the wolf.
Shadow Of The Wolf Page 18