A Ship Must Die (1981)

by Reeman, Douglas

  It was nearly over. Two German ships run to ground. As the thought touched his mind he saw a great mushroom of fire burst through the raider’s well-deck, tiny feathers of spray darting from the sea around her as wreckage was scattered in confusion.

  Duncan was saying, ‘Andromeda’s ceased fire! God, she looks knocked about, Skipper!’

  Masters steadied the aircraft. ‘She looks just fine to me, you misery! Look at the kraut! Slowing down and taking on a list, if I’m not mistaken!’ The recklessness held him like a vice. ‘Let’s go and take a closer look.’

  Duncan nodded, sharing the mood. ‘Not too bloody near though!’

  Lifting and falling on the unruly air currents, the little seaplane flew towards the enemy ship. Several explosions hurled wreckage into the air and there was a lot of smoke. Through his binoculars Masters could see the damage and knew this was no bluff, no last-chance attempt to lure the enemy under the guns.

  ‘She’s stopping. God, I think they’re trying to lower boats!’

  He swore and dropped the glasses as he brought the plane back under command. When he looked again the raider was easier to see, and as he watched he saw the sky clearing far beyond her, the rain passing away and the sea changing again into those great, smooth rollers.

  He stopped breathing, the glasses pressed against his eyes until they watered with pain.

  Far away on the brightening horizon was a single ship. She was bows-on, and even at such a distance Masters could see the rising moustache at her stem which left no time for doubt, no room for conjecture.

  He spoke into his microphone with deliberate care.

  ‘Jim, old son, the captain was right. We were celebrating too soon.’ He put the Seafox into a banking turn. ‘We have company!’

  17

  Just a Man

  LIKE TWO WALLOWING juggernauts the Salamander and the Empire Prince headed into sea and wind while the work of pumping oil got under way.

  On the port wing of his bridge Rietz watched carefully, ready to use helm or engines if the two vessels swung too close together or veered apart before the rubber hoses could be slacked off.

  It was all going remarkably well, in spite of the deep swell. The oiler’s crew had not put up any real resistance, and after the Salamander had followed up her signal to heave-to with a shot across the other ship’s bows, there had been no trouble. Rietz had sent sixty of his own men to help with the complicated derricks and guys which were used for swaying the hoses over the strip of surging water. He could see his chief engineer, old Hans Leichner, bobbing and peering at the pulsating hoses, while deep below his boots the bunkers continued to suck greedily on the fuel.

  Rietz had been surprised to learn that the oiler’s master was a naval commander, but the Empire Prince was a fleet auxiliary, an important vessel by any standards. He had been the only casualty when he had been clubbed down by one of the boarding party as he had tried to reach the radio room.

  Rietz glanced outboard at the way the sea was smoothing in the wake of the rainstorm. They might miss the full brunt of the storm. He no longer cared much, with full bunkers he would be free again, able to move as he chose.

  He thought briefly of Vogel in the Wölfchen, miles away to the north-east, making certain Salamander could replenish her empty bunkers without interruption.

  Vogel was probably planning a way to escape the aftermath of Rietz’s report when they reached Germany again. That was, if anyone would care at this stage of the war. They said a million men had died in Russia, and many more beside in North Africa and Italy. No wonder the grand admiral had put such stress on his raiders’ importance. Germany was faced with probable invasion across the English Channel. When it came, each side would know there was no second chance. They were too worn down by war, its cost in men and suffering.

  He heard a door slam back inside the wheelhouse and steeled himself. It was instinct, like a waking animal who senses danger near at hand.

  It was Schoningen, the navigating officer.

  He exclaimed, ‘Captain, we have just received a signal from Wölfchen!’

  Reitz watched him coldly. ‘Am I to be told, Lieutenant, or must I guess?’

  The lieutenant pulled himself together with an effort.

  ‘Wölfchen is engaging a British cruiser, Captain. The prize ship is badly hit, but Captain Vogel has reported severe damage to the enemy. He is confident of victory.’

  Rietz looked away, sickened. Vogel had broken the unwritten rules to serve his own ends. Another victory over a warship would clear his name and leave his own testimony in the dust.

  He snapped, ‘Call up Lieutenant Storch. We will discontinue oiling at once. See that all our prisoners and neutral seamen are sent across to the Empire Prince without delay.’

  He was still on the bridge wing as Storch came hurrying up the ladder.

  ‘Is it true, Captain?’

  Rietz watched the first of the prisoners emerging uncertainly on deck to stare at the big oiler alongside.

  ‘It is, Rudi. Vogel has sprung a trap and is taking full advantage of it.’

  Storch stared from him to the growing lines of figures being herded on deck.

  ‘What are you doing, Captain?’ His face looked stricken as he asked, ‘Are you going to fight?’ When Rietz did not answer Storch said, ‘Leave him, Captain. He has betrayed you, as well as the name of Germany. Leave him, as he would you!’

  Rietz smiled gravely. ‘You know it is not possible. It is a matter of convenience as well as honour, my young friend. That ship will be the cruiser Andromeda. There is none other in these waters. I think I knew it would be like this.’ He became suddenly brisk. ‘Now get those people passed across to the oiler and cast off the hoses. Have you dealt with her radio?’

  Storch nodded, still only half understanding. ‘Yes. The captain tried to stop my men. He had no chance.’

  Some of the prisoners were staring up at the rust-streaked bridge as if they still expected a trick, a betrayal.

  With a sudden impulse Rietz said, ‘Bring the oiler’s captain to me.’

  By the time Fairfax had been ferried across in a wildly pitching motor boat most of the prisoners had already been transferred.

  Rietz watched the young naval commander as he was led to the bridge and wondered if anyone would ever know or care.

  Fairfax glanced around the bridge, the hurrying seamen in their worn leather coats and scuffed sea-boots. The prisoners were being sent over for a reason. So that the Empire Prince could be sent to the bottom with the last of the evidence. But before that terrible act of murder it was to be his turn. He sensed the guard beside him, fidgeting impatiently with his Schmeisser sub-machine-gun.

  Fairfax felt very calm, almost empty of any emotion at all. All he could see in his mind was Sarah.

  Rietz stepped forward and nodded curtly. ‘You are Commander Fairfax of the Royal Australian Navy, yes?’ He gestured towards the swaying oiler. ‘In a moment you will be free to go. I regret that your radio must be destroyed, but it is a small price to pay.’

  Fairfax stared at him. He had never seen a real enemy before. Not close to, as a human being. Perhaps that was almost as unnerving as the German’s words.

  Rietz said, ‘You will know soon enough, there are two raiders. I suspect some of your people have always thought as much. It is no longer important. What is important is that you should know my ship was in no way responsible for the murder of helpless seamen. In war we have to do many cruel things, not least to ourselves.’

  Rietz could hear the shouts from the petty officers on deck, the clatter of wires and tackles. They would all be waiting for him to act, would be needing his hand to guide them.

  Fairfax said slowly, ‘It is just your word, Captain.’

  Storch thrust forward, his features flushed and angry. ‘How dare you speak to my captain like that! Because of the prisoners we have wasted valuable time when we could be many miles away and you left to drown!’

  Rietz snapped, �
�That is enough, Lieutenant!’

  But Storch could not stop himself. ‘And because my captain is not the man you think he is, we are going to fight your ship!’

  Rietz watched Fairfax’s face and asked quietly, ‘She is your ship, am I correct? At this moment our consort is attacking her. It is my duty to assist, just as it was yours to lure me here.’

  He turned on his heel. ‘Take him back to his ship.’

  A seaman seized Fairfax’s arm but he shook it off.

  ‘Captain Rietz.’ He waited until the man had turned towards him. ‘Thank you for telling me and for giving your prisoners a chance to live again.’

  He saluted and then followed the armed seaman down the bridge ladder.

  Storch said bitterly, ‘Arrogant dog!’

  Rietz patted his arm. ‘Not like us at all, eh, Rudi?’

  The lieutenant smiled wearily. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Rietz watched the last boat being run up to its davits.

  ‘Ring down for full speed. We will steer north-east.’

  He trained his binoculars on the oiler and the men who crowded her decks to watch as Salamander’s screws began to beat the sea into a powerful froth beneath her stern.

  Almost to himself he said, ‘It will feel cleaner to fight under our true colours for once, Rudi, and may do more good than a thousand prizes.’

  But when he looked round the lieutenant had gone. Commodore Rodney Stagg sat on the bridge chair, a cigar glowing from his great jaw as he watched the busy figures around him. The dead and wounded had been taken away, and only the blood and blasted clothing were left to remind them of the battle and the cost.

  Blake was on one of the telephones, and Villar was examining his compass to ensure there was no damage. Most of the smoke had cleared, like the sky, and Stagg found it hard to look up at the battered control tower with its bright punctures and long red stains.

  Andromeda had reduced to half speed, and Stagg knew it was because she had taken on a slight list to starboard. But the underwater damage was reported to be in hand, and Weir had managed to keep all the pumps going.

  Sub-Lieutenant Walker took a long breath then lifted his glasses to look at the blazing raider. All her main armament had fallen silent, but Andromeda’s guns were still moving slowly on their mountings, watching for any sign of defiance.

  Blake put down the telephone. ‘W/T office report on the storm, sir. We may give it a miss. Once I’m sure of the raider we’ll signal her to abandon and take to the boats. But her list is much worse.’ He wiped his face as if to clean away the sights and smells of battle. ‘Close thing though.’

  Stagg boomed, ‘Nonsense! Chap like you should have more bloody faith!’

  ‘Seafox in sight, sir. Fine on the port bow.’

  ‘Warn the handling party.’

  Blake listened to the engines’ beat, the distant shouts of some of the damage control party as they cut their way to a trapped man. Masters had survived, had even brought down an enemy aircraft. It was impossible, they said. Well, once again, they were wrong.

  A dull explosion deep inside the German ship flung more glowing sparks high in the air, and some giant bubbles, like obscene under-sea vehicles, nudged along the ship’s side.

  Was Rietz dead? Blake wondered. Or was he over there now, watching his executioner, as so many had watched him in the past?

  ‘Seafox is signallin’, sir.’ The yeoman’s brass telescope swivelled towards the wafer-thin silhouette like a cannon.

  It was flying so close to the surface that the stabbing morse light was reflected across each long roller.

  ‘German raider approaching from the south-west.’ As the Toby Jug spelled out each word it fell into the bridge like a sledge-hammer.

  Stagg said hoarsely, ‘Can’t be! Bloody fool’s wrong!’

  Blake turned to look at the blazing ship with its attendant clutter of splintered woodwork and rigging.

  He had been proved right, but too late. He looked along his ship, at the scars and blackened holes. It was cruel, unbelievably so.

  He heard himself say, ‘Pass the word to all positions, Pilot, then warn the Chief.’

  Stagg swallowed hard then threw his cigar over the side.

  ‘We’ll fight, eh?’

  Blake answered, ‘Of course.’

  He looked up at the curling ensigns and remembered Claire. She was so clear in his mind that he thought he spoke her name aloud.

  Sub-Lieutenant Walker, his face unusually pale, said, ‘W/T have contact with Seafox, sir. Their short-range radio is working now.’

  Somebody said, ‘That makes a change.’ But his voice was dull, like a man who has just witnessed something terrible.

  Blake nodded. ‘Tell Lieutenant Masters to continue spotting for us.’

  Villar looked down from the compass platform. ‘What about his fuel, sir?’

  Blake did not reply. There was no point. Masters would understand.

  Stagg lurched to his feet. ‘Give me the microphone. I’d better speak to the ship’s company.’ He saw Blake’s face and said quietly, ‘No. It’s for you to do. The ship knows you.’

  Blake took it in his hand and stared at the strange, ragged clouds. He pressed the button as he had a million times.

  ‘This is the captain speaking. We shall be engaging another German raider very soon. Some of us thought we had finished work for the day.’

  He saw the Toby Jug nudge a boatswain’s mate and grin. It was that easy to make them smile when he felt like crying for them.

  ‘After that, most of us will be going home.’ He gripped the microphone until his hand ached. ‘I just want you to know how proud I am of you –’

  He thrust the instrument into Walker’s hand, unable to continue.

  Stagg muttered, ‘Well done. Not easy.’

  Blake watched the little Seafox turning away and climbing slowly towards the clouds.

  Not easy. ‘There’s that.’ He had said as much to Claire when they had spoken about England.

  Blake threw off the heavy oilskin and said, ‘Tell Moon to bring me a clean shirt.’ He looked questioningly at their lined faces. ‘All right, lads?’

  Several of them nodded, a few tried to grin.

  Blake studied each one in turn. Ordinary, everyday faces. You would never notice them in a crowded street or a barracks.

  But here, in the middle of an ocean, they were special.

  Moon appeared with a carefully folded shirt, the shoulder straps strangely bright and alien amongst the dirt of battle.

  He said mildly, ‘I’ll fetch some sandwiches later on, sir.’

  Blake did not know whether to laugh or crack wide open.

  He gripped the steward’s shoulder and shook him gently. ‘You do that thing, Moon. I shall look forward to it.’

  ‘From Seafox, sir. Enemy in sight!’

  Lieutenant Trevett, who was bringing some notes to Villar, said quickly, ‘I’ll say something for that galah. He’s bloody punctual!’

  Stagg looked at Blake and spread his big hands. ‘Ready?’

  Blake nodded. ‘Ring down for maximum revolutions. Stand by to engage!’

  Stagg was on his feet, restless and grim-faced, as the Andromeda’s bow wave peeled away on either side in steep banks of white foam.

  ‘What d’you reckon he’ll do?’

  Blake raised his glasses and stared at the horizon. It had misted over slightly, and was made worse by the sun’s harsh glare reflected from the sea.

  ‘He’ll make a diagonal attack, sir. These converted merchantmen usually have their armament in halves, one full battery on either beam. Torpedoes, too, but he’ll not reduce speed to use those.’

  He felt the deck lift slowly and then surge forward and down again, a long roller breaking past the ship’s sides and flinging water over the deserted decks.

  The raider probably had the latest range-finder, whereas Andromeda was almost blind. Blake turned his smarting eyes from the sun and knew the only chance was to get as c
lose as possible and beat down the enemy’s fire-power. If they waited until night the German could pick them off at leisure.

  Walker said in a hushed voice, ‘Engineroom, sir.’

  Blake tried to keep his face expressionless as the men watched him stride to the telephone.

  ‘Chief? Captain here.’

  Weir said, ‘I’ll need to reduce speed, sir. Starboard outer is giving me trouble. Must have taken a bad knock from a bomb or shell splinter. If we cut the revs on the port screws it will give you a better chance.’

  Blake stared past the telephone at one of the splinter holes where a man had died. Weir knew what he was doing. Andromeda would need all her manoeuvrability. She could not manage on helm alone, and with unequal thrust on her screws it would take longer to alter course, to avoid those first deadly salvoes.

  ‘How long, Chief?’

  Weir did not answer directly. He said, ‘We’re losing fuel, too.’

  ‘I know.’ Blake did not have to peer over the screen to remind himself of the long silver-blue trail they were leaving astern. ‘Do your best.’

  Weir gave a short laugh. ‘Aye, sir. I’ve no wish to swim home.’

  Stagg asked, ‘What did he want?’

  Villar snapped, ‘Enemy’s opened fire, sir!’

  There was a thin, abbreviated whistle, and seconds later a column of water shot from the sea barely half a cable from the port beam.

  The two forward turrets began to whirr round, their guns lifting to their maximum sixty degrees elevation.

  The quarters officers would find it more difficult at the reduced speed, Blake thought. The swell was noticeably heavier and the hull was corkscrewing back and forth in long, sickening swoops.

  ‘Open fire!’

  The gong gave its tinny warning below the bridge and A turret, followed closely by B turret, belched fire towards the horizon.

  Over the speaker Blake heard the Australian lieutenant, Blair, call, ‘Range one-double-oh. Inclination one-one-oh right!’

  Blake blinked rapidly to clear his vision and tried again. Then as some of the mist parted below the horizon he saw the enemy for the first time. A solid dark shape, guns flashing from her hull even as he adjusted his glasses.