by Jon F. Merz
Miles.
He’d have to swim miles before he reached the sandy shoreline.
And his strength ebbed then with that realization. It was too far. Thatcher was a fit man, but he’d never swum that far before. And with night coming on, there was no way to keep his bearing without getting lost. The darkness combined with the temperature of the water would surely kill him before the sun could make its return appearance tomorrow morning.
Thatcher stopped swimming then because his ears had picked something up over the crashing waves around him. Something out of time with the natural rhythm of the sea and the wind.
A motor.
More specifically, a boat’s motor. Thatcher stopped swimming and bobbed about trying to get a fix on its position. There were still fishing boats that plied these waters even with the threat of the Germans always a factor. Perhaps one of them was on its way home.
“Help!”
Thatcher’s voice broke from his throat and lifted into the air. Again and again he shouted as the din of the motor grew ever louder. Thatcher bobbed in the waves being lifted up and then smashed down as he continued to shout. This would be his only chance, he realized. If the boat kept going on its way, then he was a dead man for sure.
He took one last gulp of air and then let out the loudest shout that he had ever given in his life. “HELP ME!”
The motor was even louder now and then he heard a loud horn honk in the distance. A light swept across the waves and then blissfully came to rest right on Thatcher himself.
He was saved.
Chapter 9
As he bobbed in the water transfixed by the light, he could make out the shape of a large ship about two hundred yards away. There was shouting on the upper deck and he heard several of the crew readying a smaller boat to lower into the water so they could reach Thatcher. As he treaded water, Thatcher considered his good fortune. He had been facing a firing squad this morning, then plucked out of that fate, only to find himself drafted for an assignment he wanted nothing to do with.
His opinion on the war was that it was an unfortunate evil but it was also one that didn’t affect him personally. If Hewitt had been charged with destroying a mysterious German ship, then let him go and find the damned thing. Thatcher wanted to get on with his life, away from the reality of war.
But even still, he’d later found himself in aerial combat, shooting down Nazi bombers and fighters before being shot down himself. His chute had almost not opened and Thatcher could have easily drowned in the English Channel. Now, he was about to be rescued once more from an early death and he was beside himself with the thought of the opportunity that lay before him.
The chance to disappear and start life anew was almost intoxicating to him.
The smaller boat touched down on the water and Thatcher heard a motor spark to life as it plowed through the surf and headed his way. He waited until it was close and then lifted his arms as several of the crew dragged him out of the water and onto the boat. Thatcher flopped heavily among the benches and felt the hard wood beneath him for the first time in several hours.
A face peered closer to his. “Blood hell, mate. Where’d you fall out of the sky from?”
Thatcher smirked. “Truer words were never spoken.”
“Bloke’s a pilot,” said another crew member. “Jerries must’ve shot his plane down.”
“Not a pilot,” said Thatcher. “Just an unfortunate passenger.” He glanced around. “Does anyone have any water?”
One of the crew put a canteen to his mouth and Thatcher sucked the cold water down, feeling it revitalize him as he did so. He pulled it away and exhaled with a long sigh. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
“Least we can do seeing how you lot keep shooting down the bad guys,” said the first crew member. “But let’s get you back aboard the ship and into dry clothes. Looks like those are a bit water-logged for sure. A few more minutes and you likely wouldn’t have been able to keep your head above water any longer.”
“You’re not joking,” said Thatcher. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He was exhausted.
He felt the smaller boat kick up and then spin about heading back toward the ship. The crew attached the lines and it was then plucked out of the water by the winches manned by other crews. Thatcher was only dimly aware of this because by the time he was hoisted aboard, he had passed out. Several pairs of hands carried him gently out of the smaller rescue craft and through the corridors of the ship to a cabin where a doctor quickly looked him over and pronounced he was in good health despite his marathon bathing session in the Channel. Then he was tucked away in bed and left to sleep.
When Thatcher regained his senses and woke, it was nearly twelve hours later. He opened his eyes and for a moment forgot where he was and assumed this was the after life. But then vague memories came back to him. Being carried, having his uniform stripped off and being immersed in warm water to heat his core before being tucked away to sleep.
He rubbed his eyes and took in the room. It was small and tidy but comfortable nonetheless. He spotted a proper set of clothes laid out for him and judging from their look, they were of decent quality.
Thatcher was also aware that his stomach was grumbling for food and the gnawing sensation drove him to forsake the comforts of laying in bed for a little while longer. He got up, aware that he didn’t smell like the English Channel anymore, which was nice. He dressed, smoothed his hair back using the mirror, and checked himself over.
Not bad Thatcher, old boy, he thought. Almost looking rather sporty again. He smirked and then slid on the pair of shoes that had been left before opening his cabin door. He took note of the number - six - and then walked down the corridor, hoping to make his way out into the fresh air.
When he stepped out onto the deck, he noted the skies overhead were still gray and foreboding, as if a storm was coming on. Despite the fact that he felt a few drops of rain, Thatcher stood by the rail and inhaled deeply, tasting the salt air but not minding it this time since he wasn’t floating in the stuff. He looked down at the water and shook his head. Not this time, he thought.
“Good morning, sir.”
He turned and saw a crew member standing there. Thatcher smiled. “It is indeed a good morning, thank you.”
“I’m Geoff. Captain apologizes for not having a proper uniform for you, but says the clothes that were in the cabin ought to fit you.”
Thatcher patted himself. “They do indeed.”
Geoff grinned. “Captain would like a word with you if you’ve got a moment.”
“Absolutely,” said Thatcher. “Lead on.”
Geoff led Thatcher through the corridors and up several flights of steps until they at last came to the bridge. Geoff stepped inside and stood at attention. “Sir, the pilot from last night.”
Thatcher stepped onto the bridge and found himself being appraised by the captain, a man of maybe sixty who had deep lines running across his face and a neatly-trimmed beard that gave him a squared off jaw. His eyes were sharp and Thatcher could tell that this man would brook no dissent from his crew.
He stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Captain Adamson. Pleasure to meet you.”
Thatcher found his grip hard and firm. “I can’t thank you enough for rescuing me, sir. A little while longer and it would have been my bloated carcass pulled out of the water.”
Adamson nodded with any mirth. “You were close to death indeed. It’s lucky we got to you when we did. Thankfully I usually post a watch out on the deck and they heard your shouts. How’d you come to be in the water?”
“Shot down,” said Thatcher.
“So you’re a pilot?”
Thatcher shook his head. “Gunner on a Defiant. We were tasked with taking on a squadron of German bombers yesterday.”
Adamson grunted. “I heard you got a fair number of them. Good work.”
“Thank you.”
Adamson frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t turn the ship around and run you back
into land, however. We’re well on our way and cannot disrupt the schedule now - it would put us all in jeopardy. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”
Thatcher resisted the urge to smile. He had hoped for just such a thing. “I understand completely.”
“We can radio back to England and let them know you’re alive, however.”
Thatcher held up his hand. “It’s perfectly fine if you don’t.”
But Adamson frowned again. “Those are the regulations. You know that. Any armed forces person we rescue has to be called in. Now, what’s your name?”
Thatcher paused. He hadn’t anticipated the need for a fake name. And now the captain was eyeballing him suspiciously. “Thatcher,” he said before he knew what he was doing. They’d taken his clothes after all. There was a likely chance they already knew who he was.
Adamson grunted and walked over to the radio station, nudging the clerk as he did so. “Ring up London, Gordie.”
The radio clerk nodded, “Sir.” And then he began speaking into the microphone. After a minute of this, he removed his headphones and handed them to the Captain. “I’ve got them, sir.”
Adamson took the headphones and put them on. Then he picked up the microphone and started speaking into it. Thatcher watched as he spoke for several minutes. But he could only hear one side of the conversation. His hopes for a quick escape were fading fast he realized. As soon as Adamson gave word that he’d plucked Thatcher out of the water, London would know he was still alive.
Just when things had started looking up, thought Thatcher. Now another wrinkle in his grand plan.
Adamson took the headphones off, snapping Thatcher back to reality. The captain came over and smiled at him. Thatcher steeled himself for what he would say.
“You’re a rather popular man, aren’t you?”
“Sorry?”
“Turns out you’ve got some friends in high places. One of them would like a word with you.”
Chapter 10
Thatcher took the headphones and microphone. “Yes?”
“Well, well, well…look who had themselves a lovely little swim,” said a voice that Thatcher recognized as Hewitt’s. “Well-rested this morning, are you?”
“Marvelously so.”
Hewitt chuckled. “You had us worried when your plane went down. Imagine my relief when word came through that someone named Thatcher had been plucked out of the waters.”
Thatcher frowned. The joy in Hewitt’s voice was starting to annoy him. “Yes, I’m sure you were absolutely over the moon with jubilance.”
“Something like that,” said Hewitt. “Listen Thatcher, it wasn’t my idea to have you go off shooting down German bombers. If I’d had my way, you would have continued on your flight to Poole and caught your cruise. But I was outranked on that front and your plane was diverted. It’s lucky you didn’t take any bullets when you were shot down. Small miracles, I suppose.”
“I appreciate your care for my well-being,” said Thatcher. He didn’t know who was listening to his conversation, but he assumed everyone on the bridge was.
“Now listen carefully: Adamson has no idea what your mission is. He only knows that you work for London but he has no idea in what capacity. Keep it that way. We’ve gotten word that the fox has left its den. Do you understand what I mean when I say that?”
Thatcher assumed he meant that Raider X was now our of port and actively looking for hens to hunt. “I believe I do.”
“Good. We’ll try to track it as much as we can, but the fact of the matter is you should consider yourself being actively pursued now. If I were you, I’d take steps to make sure you aren’t caught unaware. Once you clear the coast of France, I’d expect you’ll be in for some company within a short span of time. Plan accordingly. Try not to spend too much time in the water also.”
“Why not?”
“Sharks,” said Hewitt. “Good hunting, Thatcher.”
The headphones went dead and Thatcher frowned again as he removed them and handed them back to Gordie the radio operator. “Thank you.”
He walked toward Adamson who appraised him as he did so. The captain leaned against the bridge and nodded. “Thought you were thinking about giving me a fake name back at the start of our conversation.”
Thatcher smirked. “I was, actually.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say that I’m not one hundred percent thrilled about my employment status.”
Adamson chuckled. “Given you were shot down yesterday, I’m not surprised to hear you say that. But you’ve done a good bit of service for the Crown, so we should be grateful for your work.”
A thought occurred to Thatcher then and he couldn’t shake it. Why had Hewitt told him that Raider X was hunting them now? Hadn’t Thatcher missed the boat he was supposed to be on?
“Something wrong?” asked Adamson.
“This ship,” said Thatcher. “What’s its name?”
“The Archimedes,” said Adamson. “I thought you already knew that.”
Thatcher felt his world reel for a moment before he stabilized. What were the odds that he had been plucked out of the ocean by the very ship he was supposed to have sailed from Poole aboard? It was as if the universe was telling him there was no way he was going to escape his destiny. At least not yet. Thatcher wouldn’t stop trying, however. At least once he managed to get his aunty squared away some place safe. Then Hewitt could go shove his secret missions.
“The Archimedes,” Thatcher said slowly. “Well, lovely. How about that for coincidence?”
Adamson smiled. “I’d put it down to blind luck, myself, but if you want to call it coincidence, then by all means go ahead. We put you in the cabin that had been reserved for you. That’s where we found the clothes you’re wearing. Seems someone sent ahead a few bundles worth of clothes.” He looked out of the bridge at the rolling waves before them. “You must be starving.”
“Indeed,” said Thatcher. “I could eat everything in the pantry.”
Adamson smiled. “Mess deck is two down. Tell the cooks I said to feed you until you can’t move. That should help get you back up to normal in no time. They make a great meal.”
“Thank you,” said Thatcher. He headed for the door.
“Thatcher.”
Thatcher turned. “Sir?”
“Welcome aboard. But don’t cause any fuss. We have other passengers on this ship and I aim to get us all the way to Portugal safely. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly.”
“Good. Enjoy the food.”
Thatcher ducked out of the bridge and headed down two decks where he found the mess and a couple of portly souls busily serving up food to a few of the other passengers. He sat down at an empty table and waited for one of the crew to come by. When he did so, Thatcher told him what Adamson had said and then ordered a full breakfast along with tea and juice. The crew member nodded and left.
Thatcher took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air as he took in the world he’d been thrust into. Here he was, safely ensconced on the ship he was supposed to have boarded yesterday. And yet even now as he sat there waiting to eat, there was a German commerce raider on the prowl looking for the Archimedes.
Thatcher knew the Archimedes didn’t have any sort of armament to defend itself with, but perhaps that was the point. If there had been a chance that she’d fight back, Raider X would simply sink her. Perhaps Hewitt had reasoned that Schwarzwalder might be more inclined to rescue prisoners from the ocean if the ship was completely unarmed. The passengers, after all, weren’t combatants.
Thatcher would have to play that role up if he was indeed plucked out of the sea by Raider X. He was young and fit and obviously of fighting age. The Germans would want to know why he wasn’t in the service and his presence would likely trigger immediate suspicion. Thatcher took a moment to think about what he could tell them when the questions inevitably arrived.
What sort of ailment would disqualify Thatcher from service? Hearing loss was
the most applicable to Thatcher at the moment. He could feign deafness in one ear and that might do it. But then Thatcher chastised himself. What was the point in lying about it? Why not simply tell the Germans the truth? After all, it would be relatively easy for German spies to find out that Thatcher had been a criminal who was due to be executed. Thatcher could then say he’d simply escaped and made his way to the south where he boarded the Archimedes knowing it was bound for Portugal. Once in Portugal, he would be free to start a new life under an assumed name.
The more Thatcher thought about it, the more he liked that plan the best. It was, he decided, better to base his lie on a foundation of truth. That way, even under interrogation, it would hold up. Plus, if they did check him out, the German spies would confirm his story. That would give Thatcher more credence than if he had simply said he was deaf in one ear.
Thatcher nodded to himself and a smile crossed his lips. He wasn’t crazy about being on the ship at the moment, but who knew how this would all play out? There was still a chance that Thatcher could turn this situation to his advantage. He just had to be cagey about it. And that was something he knew how to be quite well. Play along with Hewitt for the time being and then make his move when it was most advantageous. Hewitt, after all, would have no way of knowing if Thatcher would even survive Raider X sinking the Archimedes.
It occurred to Thatcher just how much of Hewitt’s plan was dangerously reckless. There were no guarantees at all that it would work out for the best. Hewitt had simply placed Thatcher into the breach with the hope that it would. It was an interesting realization, Thatcher decided. And he wondered just how many of Hewitt’s other operations were planned like this.
Then again, Thatcher might well have been the first to be sacrificed in this fashion. He smirked. I’m not dead yet, he thought.