by D. A. Rayner
The Doctor spoke softly at the Captain’s elbow when the other two had gone: “There could be another reason for not making a signal.”
“Meaning?”
“Less chance of interference.”
“God blast your impudence. If you were an executive officer I’d put you under close arrest.” There was genuine friendship and amusement in the Captain’s voice.
“I’m your medical adviser. For your professional secrets my lips are sealed.”
“Your doom’s sealed as a chess player.”
“Good night, sir.”
“Good night, Doc.”
“Good luck.”
He was alone in the wind. The ship rode easily now that her speed was still further reduced. She crept after her quarry—the heart of her purring like a great cat, and the snaking tail of her wake laid flat to the waves over which she had stalked.
Taking each decision separately, the Captain turned over the events of the last hour. As he did so the continuous note of the asdic impinged on his conscious mind.
“Mr. Mackeson. Tell the asdic hut to cease transmissions and to keep a listening watch only.” The pings of the asdic under good conditions could be heard at great distances and might well bolt this particular fox.
Silence again on the windswept bridge, and time once more to think and query his actions. He had been frankly troubled by the Doctor’s remark, even though it may have been a lighthearted one. Was it true that he had refrained from sending a signal because he wanted so badly to fight his individual battle? His mind, trained to react to emergencies, sometimes worked so fast that it was difficult to tell, even to himself, where instinct ended and thought began. To challenge single-handed such a deadly foe was to risk needlessly his ship and the lives of some, if not all, of his men. Yet his instinct had been all against breaking wireless silence.
The unusual position must be considered in some detail.
His target, if it were indeed a U-boat, was obviously going somewhere with a very definite object. Even allowing that a U-boat represented too much of her nation’s energy to be permitted to cruise aimlessly far from the convoy routes, the speed of this particular boat suggested considerable urgency. At fourteen knots, and steaming into that sea, conditions aboard would be extremely unpleasant and would greatly reduce the normal efficiency of her crew. Indeed, her own haste might well have reduced the effectiveness of her detecting equipment, so that he had been able to fall in astern of her without being observed.
What could she be up to? To land agents on the coast of Brazil? Her present course suggested a destination farther down the coast of the South American continent. To refuel in the neutral Argentine? Her speed suggested a certain prodigality with fuel, but it was a possibility. He wished he knew to what rendezvous she hurried.
For a moment his mind digressed to ponder on his horror of foreign words in the English language, however appropriate they might be.
Rendezvous? Then he understood! The U-boat was steaming to meet a supply ship in this deserted part of the ocean, or an armed merchant raider, or—his mind boggled at the thought—even a German pocket battleship. In his imagination he saw himself having to break off an engagement with a U-boat to take over the duties of a cruiser: the duties of detecting and shadowing, while superior forces were collected in order that the enemy might with certainty be destroyed.
If this hypothesis were in any way correct, it was even more important not to flush the bird too soon. A signal would stand a good chance of being monitored by the efficient German radio service. With stations on the long coastline from the North Cape to Dakar, they would obtain a reliable idea of his position and would warn the U-boat and whatever it was going to meet. Judgment must be very nice. He must make a signal as soon as the submarine dived, and hope to hold it down so that it could not surface to receive a warning. He must make his signal very short and hope to avoid the German monitors. It took time, he knew, to line up the direction-finding sets onto a signal. He must explain the position to Johnson, the petty officer telegraphist, and try to get him to pass the signal in something less than five minutes. Johnson would, of course, use the emergency prefix which would insure his signal receiving priority.
Brains in the Admiralty would think faster and know more of the background than he did. But the U-boat must first be sighted. A report based on a suspicious but unclassified radar echo might cause error and uncertainty in London. What should he say? “U-boat sighted on surface, seen to submerge,” and then give the geographical position? The Admiralty could do the rest of the thinking—or could they? What did he know that he would not be telling them? The steady course! He must tell them that, if they were to give proper weight to the occurrence. He’d alter the signal to read: “Have tracked U-boat by radar for 130 miles, submerged after identification” then the position. Mentally he crossed out the words “after identification”and substituted “at dawn”. It would be equally strong and helped to explain his tracking a wily enemy for so long.
He was so pleased with the result of his thinking that he almost felt like waking up the Doctor just to tell him.
“Mr. Mackeson, how’s the target?”
“Two-one-oh; ten thousand, sir.”
“Good. Keep it so.”
He crossed to the telephone to the Radar Office and picked up the handset. “Lewis,” he said when he heard the petty officer’s voice answering. “Are you getting tired?”
“No, sir. I’m all right. I can carry on until dawn if you wish.”
“I’d feel happier if you were about. We shan’t need you once the light comes. I don’t expect you to stay on the set all the time. Just keep handy.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Lewis, the Captain thought, was a great asset. Bad petty officer he might be, but his set was mother, father, wife, and child to him. He turned to Mackeson.
“Eleven-thirty now. I’m going down to my sea cabin. I’ll be up at once if you want me. I’ll just lie down and rest. I want to be fresh when the dawn comes. Call me at once if you’re in any doubt. The navigator’s got the middle watch, and Number One the morning. I’m to be called at four-thirty, and leave a message for the First Lieutenant to see there’s a dam great cup of kai waiting for me.”
“Will you have a cup now, sir?”
“Yes, if there’s any being brewed. Tell the bosun’s mate to bring a cup to my cabin. Good night, Mackeson.”
“Good night, sir.”
It was good to get out of his clumsy oilskins and stretch out on his bunk. The thick hot cup of kai was as warming to the stomach as it was satisfying to the mind. The drink was as much a meal as liquid refreshment. On the bridge the chocolate would have solidified in a rim around the cup, but here in the warm cabin it tasted like a hot chocolate mousse. He licked his lips appreciatively. The Americans, he had heard, drank coffee on the bridge at sea. He thanked heaven he was in the British Navy.
The ship rose and fell sedately. The regular pitching was accompanied by only the very slightest roll. As her bow was borne upward, he felt that his body, stretched on the bunk, was pressed cosily down upon the mattress. When the long, lean bow plunged downward, his body pressed less heavily upon its resting place. It was a sensation that never failed to please him.
He heard the clattering of feet as the watch was changed at midnight. After a decent interval he raised the handset from the bridge telephone beside his head.
“Forebridge, sir.” The voice rolled the r’s with Scottish persistence. “For-r-bridge, sorr.”
“Is everything under control, Pilot?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’m here if you want me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He replaced the set. He ought to sleep, he knew, but sleep had never seemed farther away than it did at the moment. His excitement was too great. Tomorrow he would be trying to kill a violent enemy; and just as certainly the U-boat captain would be trying to kill him. Sleep to refresh the mind was greatly to be desir
ed, if only because the battle would in great measure be fought with the mind and will of the opposing captains—but sleep eluded him. Before long he became resigned to the inevitability of a watch night. If he could only obtain bodily rest instead of the mental oblivion he sought, he could at least turn the waiting hours to good account by devoting them to thought—and this might well give him an initial advantage over his adversary.
If he had guessed correctly, some instrument aboard the U-boat was not functioning. Something had gone wrong with her delicate susceptibilities, and he was confident that her Kapitän was sleeping calmly, quite oblivious of the fact that an enemy was sitting on his tail.
Sooner or later the U-boat’s Kapitän would discover the unwelcome fact. The conditions inside the boat at that moment leapt to the imagination and brought a smile to his lips. There would be anger, disorder, and bitter recriminations, and none of these emotions would help the efficiency of the underwater machine. They were all a poor prelude to a battle, where wits and personal skill would count for so much. In turn these would be followed by righteous indignation on one part and by sulkiness on the other—a canker of doubt on either side. It was not to be expected, however, that these disagreements would for long impair the efficiency of the very efficient German U-boat service. Soon, or very soon, depending on his personal qualities, the Kapitän would have his boat working smoothly again. He’d begin to weigh the situation, either speedily and by instinct or more slowly and with thorough precision. Either course could be right, depending on the man’s nature.
He thought that the German would want to see what was happening, and what were the odds against him. Taken by surprise, he’d probably only have secondhand information about his assailant. He’d almost certainly risk a peep through his periscope; and on what he then saw he would make up his mind whether to risk firing torpedoes or not. If he could be sure that only one ship was following him, he’d almost certainly attempt to torpedo her—because to do so would at once remove all his worries. Bow or stern tubes? It made a difference between two or four torpedoes; but in the relative positions of the ships, to turn the U-boat would waste too much time. He’d fire both stern tubes. Assuming that the U-boat would dive four miles away from the destroyer, the Hecate would cover the distance in fifteen minutes. She could hardly be driven faster up sea, or the water noise would be so great that it would interfere with the reception of her delicate asdic machine. This would allow a resourceful man plenty of time to plan and execute a torpedo attack. A torpedo would cover the narrowing distance in about two minutes, but it would take five minutes to work out the settings, put them on the torpedoes, and fire them.
Mentally the Captain did his sum. Five minutes for the Kapitän to regain control of his boat after the crash dive. Five minutes to set and fire the torpedoes. A large alteration of course ten minutes after the submarine dived should take him clear of his enemy’s riposte. But would it? A ship did not answer immediately. She took time to turn, and her momentum would keep her moving in the old direction even though her bow was turning to the new course. It would be better to give the order for the step aside at eight minutes after diving. Then, by calculation, there would be one desperate minute when the Kapitän, his torpedoes running, would see his adversary turn and know that his lunge would pass harmlessly over his enemy’s shoulder. The Captain hoped this would be the case—it would be a great disappointment to the German.
The more he thought of it, the more important it seemed to the Captain that he should draw his enemy’s fangs as soon as he could. He hoped to give the German no peace in which to reload once he was within asdic range, and certainly no time in which to fire his bow tubes. The real danger from torpedoes existed only in the time that it would take the Hecate to close in from four miles to one mile. Once he was inside that distance, and provided he could hold contact with the enemy, it would be almost impracticable for the U-boat to attempt to torpedo him. Even if he had no depth charges with which to harry or burst open his opponent, the U-boat could not remain submerged indefinitely. She must surface at the end of twenty-four hours—so the textbooks said—to recharge the batteries and replenish the air, both for human breathing and for the air bottles that worked her ballast tanks.
He looked at his watch. It was already past two o’clock. He heard the clatter of steps down the ladder outside his door. Guessing their purport, he raised the bridge telephone from its hook.
“Captain, sir?” the query came at once. It would take a clever man to catch the navigator napping.
“How’s the kai boat, Pilot?”
“Bosun’s mate’s just gone to brew some, sir.”
“I’ll have a cup. How’s our friend the enemy?”
“Aye aye, sir. Oh, the enemy’s still doing a steady fourteen knots. Very easy fellow to keep station on. Five revolutions up or down every quarter of an hour, that’s all the alterations I’ve had to make since I came on, and his course is still two-one-oh, sir.”
“How’s the weather? It feels as if it’s easing.”
“Easing quite a bit now, sir. I can see a star or two.”
“Is the wind veering at all?”
“No, sir. Steady as rock. It’s just dying away, or we’re running out of it.”
“Probably both, Pilot. Keep up the good work.” The Captain replaced the handset.
The bosun’s mate brought him the cocoa. Sipping it appreciatively, he went once more carefully over his previous thoughts. There seemed little to alter in the picture his imagination had drawn, and only one point that worried him. Would a U-boat fire torpedoes at a destroyer approaching dead toward him? It seemed a terribly small target at which to aim. But suppose he were deliberately to tempt the German by offering him an easier shot—would that be more likely to draw the enemy’s sting? If he altered course as soon as the U-boat dived by thirty degrees to starboard, the maneuver, even if the Kapitän observed it, would be readily understood as a desire on the part of the British ship to get away from that attack which was always so difficult—the one where the quarry was running straight away from the attacker. Then eight minutes later he would alter the Hecate’s course sixty degrees to port.
This certainly seemed to be the solution. Throw away the “Knight of speed” in order to gain the “Queen of drawn claws.” It was a game of chess played with the ocean for board, ships for pieces, and men’s lives for stakes.
U-BOAT 121 hurried over the sea. Driving her into the waves regardless of the devastating motion, the powerful diesels shook her strong hull with vibration, and their clatter pervaded the whole boat. As her bow rocketed skyward men’s innards would be left behind. As the lean ship breasted the wave’s crest, she would corkscrew wildly before plunging downward, and once again stomachs would be in suspension. It was a motion that was sufficient to nauseate the toughest, and conditions aboard were indescribably vile.
Korvettenkapitän Peter von Stolberg had a stomach that was never proof against such violent motion. Consequently, after refusing his supper, he had turned into his bunk, where, with pills, he had tried to calm the queasiness within him. Only necessity, the urgent necessity, of getting to a given position on the deserted ocean by a given time had caused him to make this high-speed dash on the surface. It had to be done regardless of the discomfort to the crew and the possibility of damage to his ship, because the Grand Admiral had said that he must be there on time. The Kapitän could see the shrewd, dynamic face of his superior as he closed his eyes to shut out the misery of his and his men’s condition.
“You will be in position by noon, local time, on the ninth of September, Herr Kapitän—and nothing must stop you. Nothing!” The little man had slammed his fist on the polished top of the great desk behind which he sat. His eyes, of an unnaturally pale blue with irises completely surrounded by the whites, appeared like those of a bullfrog—about to pop out of his head. “Raider M has succeeded in capturing a complete set of the Allied ciphers that the enemy will bring into force on the first of October. It
is true she is herself coming home, with a pleasant load of prisoners, after sinking over a hundred thousand tons of enemy shipping—but that is not certain enough for me. You understand? We must insure against the risk of her non-arrival. She has been instructed to photograph the ciphers and transfer the films to you, for delivery to me here. You are to proceed direct to this position and, unless you yourself are directly attacked, you are not to engage the enemy—however tempting the target may be.”
A few days later U-121 had sailed from Brest, apparently with plenty of time to make the rendezvous. But the first few days had not been entirely happy. A patrolling Liberator had spotted them on the second night out, and they had suddenly found themselves under the bright, artificial moon of a parachute flare. A moment later the sea around them had erupted as the stick of depth charges burst. Worse was to follow. A British escort group of sloops had hunted his boat relentlessly for three days before he had finally been able to shake them off. Thus they had been forced to make almost the whole of the first eight hundred miles submerged—surfacing only at irregular intervals and for just enough time to recharge their batteries. The continual air reconnaissance of the British Coastal Command was no longer a joke.
When at length the Kapitän had his boat clear of the aircraft, he had run into persistent bad weather; and the margin of seven days which he had thought he had in hand when he left Brest had gradually been whittled down to no more than a bare eighteen hours to spare. For that reason, and that alone, he was driving his ship and his men unmercifully. At the same time he was extremely angry with his own frailty. He disliked the motion and he hated the stench of sickness that pervaded the boat. But the pill he had taken was working now. He felt drowsy. Soon he was asleep, rolling slightly from side to side. The expression of disgust still curled his lips, for he was a fastidious man.
Leutnant-zur-See Erich Kunz had the first watch. He was concerned only with keeping himself as dry as possible, and that was a difficult enough job. Crash would go the long bow into the steep head sea, flinging up the spray to whip over the exposed conning tower. Then the wave, roaring aft along the deck, would break in fury against the four-inch gun, sending even heavier water pouring over the men who crouched in their inadequate shelter. There were three men whose duty kept them outside: Kunz, the officer of the watch, Karl Schott the signalman, and a seaman for lookout. It was, thought Kunz, a useless duty for all three, for in no direction could their water-washed eyes see a thing. But he dared not say so to his commanding officer.