The Good Shepherd

by C. S. Forester

  A wild yell from the look-out forward of the bridge; a piercing yell.

  “Periscope! Periscope! Dead ahead!”

  Krause was on the wing of the bridge in a flash, before the last word was uttered, glasses to his eyes.

  “How far?”

  “Gone now, sir. ‘Bout a mile, I guess, sir.”

  “Gone? You sure you saw it?”

  “Positive, sir. Dead ahead, sir.”

  “A periscope or a feather?”

  “Periscope, sir. Certain. Couldn’t mistake it. Six feet of it, sir.”

  “Very well. Thank you. Keep looking.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  It seemed very likely that the look-out had seen what he said he saw. The U-boat would know, after the dropping of the depth-charges, that she was a long way from her pursuer. She would be aware of the proximity of the convoy and of the screen, and it would be desperately important for her to get the bearings of her enemies. She would put up her periscope for a sweep round; that was so likely that it could be considered certain. And with this sea running she would show plenty of periscope, too. The six feet the look-out reported was not at all an unlikely figure. That grim object cutting through the tossing water was something a man one year enlisted could be sure about if he caught even a glimpse of it. Even the briefness of the glimpse--just long enough for one complete sweep round--was confirmation. Krause walked back to the radio-telephone.

  The excitement in the pilot-house was intense. Even Krause, with his hard lack of sympathy, could feel it beating round him like waves about the foot of a cliff; he was excited as well, but he was too preoccupied with the need for quick decision to pay attention in any case. He spoke into the T.B.S.

  “George to Eagle. George to Eagle. Do you hear me?”

  “Eagle to George,” bleated the T.B.S. “I hear you. Strength four.”

  “I have a contact dead ahead of me, bearing one-nine-zero.”

  “Bearing one-nine-zero, sir.”

  “Range about a mile.”

  “Range about a mile, sir.”

  “I sighted his periscope there a minute ago.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Leave your station and give us a hand.”

  “Come and give a hand. Aye aye, sir.”

  Viktor could cover the five miles between her and the U-boat in fifteen minutes, if she set her mind to it.

  “Sonar reports contact dead ahead, sir. Range indefinite.”

  “Very well.”

  As long as the contact was right ahead he could be sure he was closing up on it as fast as he could. With the glasses to his eyes he swept the horizon again. The convoy seemed to be in fair order from what he could see of it. He went to the T.B.S. again.

  “George to Harry. George to Dicky. Do you hear me?”

  He heard the bleated answers.

  “I am seven miles from the convoy bearing zero-eight-five from it. I’ve called Eagle to join me in chasing a contact.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You must screen the convoy.”

  “Wilco.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  The talker at Krause’s elbow broke into the conversation.

  “Sonar reports no contact, sir.”

  “Very well.” He spoke those words over his shoulder before continuing his orders. “Harry, patrol all the port half, front and flank.”

  “Port half. Aye aye, sir.”

  “Dicky, take the starboard half.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Over.”

  “Sonar reports no contact, sir,” said the talker again.

  “Very well.”

  It might be thought there was irony in those two words. Having called Viktor from her screening duties, having stretched the defences of the convoy to the utmost, he was greeted with the news that contact had been lost. But he could only hold on and hope that it might be recovered. He felt he could at least trust Ellis to go on trying. Viktor was much more plainly in view now, coming up fast and heading to cross Keeling s course some distance ahead.

  “Captain to sonar. ‘A friendly destroyer will be crossing our bows in approximately seven minutes.’ “

  The talker was repeating the message as Krause went to the T.B.S. again.

  “George to Eagle. George to Eagle.”

  “Eagle to George. I hear you.”

  “Contact lost at present.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  The talker was speaking now.

  “Sonar answers - - -“ The talker broke off as a new message came into his ear-phones. “Faint contact. One-nine-four.”

  “Very well.” No time to spare to be pleased. “George to Eagle. Contact again five degrees on our starboard bow. I am turning to follow it.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  No doubt the U-boat was fish-tailing and changing her depth in the effort to shake off her pursuer. She would not have heard Viktor approaching yet.

  “Eagle to George.”

  “George to Eagle. Go ahead,” said Krause.

  “I am reducing speed to one-two knots.”

  “One-two knots. Very well.”

  When Viktor had slowed down her sonar would be able to come into action; and it would make her approach somewhat harder for the U-boat to detect. Viktor had come up as fast as she could. She was an old hand at the anti-submarine game.

  “Sonar reports no contact, sir.”

  “Very well.”

  Viktor was four miles off, Krause estimated, broad on the starboard bow. That peculiar foremast was clear in every detail. The two ships were converging. The bridge was silent, save for the sound of the sea and the monotonous pinging of the sonar.

  “Sonar reports no contact, sir.”

  “Very well.”

  Keeling must have advanced nearly a mile since the last contact. If the U-boat had made a radical change of course at that time the bearing would by now be changing very fast.

  “Two-zero-five!” exclaimed the talker. Everyone on the bridge tensed again. Krause was about to speak on the T.B.S. when he realized what he had heard. A sour note; he glanced at the talker.

  “That’s not what you were taught,” he snapped. “Mind what you’re saying. Repeat.”

  “Sonar reports contact two-zero-five, sir,” said the talker, abashed.

  “Very well.”

  There must be no buck-fever on the bridge of the Keeling; better to waste a second now than have confusion arising later.

  “Take the conn, Mr Watson,” said Krause harshly; he had two ships to direct. He himself was calm as he addressed the T.B.S.; it was an advantage to be of unsympathetic temperament. Then other people’s excitement pushed one into indifference. “George to Eagle. Contact

  again on my starboard bow. I am turning towards it.”

  “Eagle to George. Aye aye, sir.”

  He fancied he could detect an alteration of course on Viktor’s part, but he could not be certain at that distance and with the relative bearing altering. But there was no need to issue orders to Viktor. That Polish captain knew his job. No need to tell a terrier at a rat-hole what to do.

  “Sonar reports contact bearing two-one-zero, sir. Range one mile.”

  “Very well.”

  “Steady on new course, sir!“ reported Watson at that very moment.

  “Very well. Carry on, Mr Watson. George to Eagle. Contact is still crossing my bows from port to starboard, distance one mile.”

  “Eagle to George. Aye aye, sir.”

  Krause had spoken with the dead flat intonation he relied upon to be intelligible, with distinct pauses between words. The English officer in Viktor was answering as coldly, as far as Krause could tell from his peculiar accent and the distortion of the radio-phone. Now he could see Viktor surging right round, in an eight-point turn or more, so that she was presenting her starboard bow slightly to his gaze. The terrier was running to cut off the rat’s retreat.

  “Sonar reports contact bearing t
wo-one-zero, sir. Range two thousand yards.”

  “Very well.”

  The old situation was repeating itself, the U-boat circling and Keeling circling after her; but this time there was Viktor to intercept.

  “Eagle to George.” Just as he was about to speak.

  “Contact, sir. On my starboard bow. Range indefinite.”

  “Very well. On my starboard bow, too. Range one mile.”

  The rat was running into the terrier’s jaws. The two ships were approaching fast, and between them was the U-boat.

  “Sonar reports contact dead ahead, sir.”

  “Very well.”

  That made it seem as if the U-boat had begun to swing in the opposite direction, out of the circle. There was no knowing if she was yet aware of Viktor’s presence, but it seemed as if she must be. Viktor was swinging to starboard already. Her sonar must be good.

  “Eagle to George. Eagle to George. Contact close on my port bow. Converging.”

  “George to Eagle. I hear you.”

  Once more that phenomenon of the varying speed of time. With the ships close together seconds were speeding by; even during the brief exchange of messages the situation had tightened considerably.

  “Eagle to George. Submit I attack.”

  “George to Eagle. Carry on. Permission granted.”

  “Sonar reports contact dead ahead, sir,” said the talker. “Range indefinite. Interference from the other ship.”

  “Very well. George to Eagle. Contact dead ahead of me.”

  He must hold this course for a moment or two longer to enable Viktor to get a cross-bearing. Then he must alter course to avoid collision. Which way? Which way would the hunted U-boat turn to avoid Viktor’s attack? Which way should he head to intercept her if she survived it? Viktor was turning to starboard a trifle farther. When Keeling had made her attack, the U-boat--as far as he knew--had turned right under her on an opposite course. It was the best thing she could do; it would be her best move again. “Come right fifteen degrees, Mr Watson.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Right rudder to course - - “

  “Eagle to George. Depth-charges away.”

  Keeling was turning. Fine on her port bow rose the first column of water; farther and farther round rose the others, in Viktor’s wake. The sound of the explosions was audible and muffled.

  “Sonar reports contact obscured, sir.”

  “Very well. Captain to sonar. ‘Search on the port bow.’ “

  That tremendous temptation again to call for flank speed, and chance muffling the sonar; the temptation must be put aside. Blessed is the man that endureth temptation; for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life. On this course they would pass clear by a wide margin of the area of tortured water which Viktor had depth-charged. Viktor was turning hard to starboard, coming back to the attack.

  “Sonar reports close contact bearing one-eight-two.”

  “Follow it up, Mr Watson! “ Watson gave the order as Krause spoke into the T.B.S. “George to Eagle. George to Eagle. Keep clear. I am going to attack.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “I am setting for medium pattern. Set yours for deep.”

  “Deep pattern. Aye aye, sir.”

  “Medium pattern, Mr Nourse.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Sonar reports close contact dead ahead, sir. Strong up Doppler.”

  “Very well. George to Eagle. I think contact is on reciprocal course to mine.”

  “Eagle to George. Reciprocal course. Aye aye, sir,”

  “Sonar reports contact lost, sir.”

  “Very well. Mr Nourse! “

  Three hundred yards at a combined speed of say eighteen knots; thirty seconds. Deduct fifteen for an ash-can to sink to medium depth. A ten-second spread before and after.

  “Fire one! “ said Nourse.

  Viktor was close, her bows pointed straight at Keeling; she had wheeled right round and was aiming to cross close behind Keeling’s stern. If this were a peace-time manoeuvre that Polish captain would be bawled out for endangering both ships. The “K” guns were going off on either side, their coughing explosions coinciding with the loud hollow boom of the first depth-charge. Wait fifteen more seconds.

  “Come right, Mr Watson.”

  No delay this time, no wasting of valuable moments idly watching depth-charge explosions before beginning to circle back again. Now with Keeling beginning her turn he could step out on to the wing of the bridge. The last upflung column of water was falling back to the foaming sea. Viktor was beginning her run at the edge of the area Keeling had searched with her charges; Krause saw the first of Viktor’s depth-charges drop.

  “Meet her, Mr Watson! Steady as you go! “

  Better not to come too close for a moment, better to hover on the outskirts where Keeling’s sonar would be less seriously deafened, and where he would be free to turn in either direction at the first new contact. The sea exploded again, the huge columns rising towards the grey sky. Krause was watching Viktor closely; with the dropping of her last depth-charge she was turning to starboard too. The last charge flung up its column of water. Now was the time to continue the circle.

  “Come right, Mr Watson! “

  The two destroyers were circling about each other. It was to be hoped that the U-boat was within the area enclosed by the intersection of the two circles. Krause’s eyes were still on Viktor; he was standing at the end of the bridge when the starboard side look-out yelled, not two yards from him.

  “There he is! Sub. on the starboard beam! “

  Krause saw it. A thousand yards away the long, conical bow of a U-boat was rearing out of the tortured water. It levelled off as a wave burst round it in a smother of spray. It lowered and lengthened. A gun came into sight. A rounded bridge. The sub. shook itself as though in torment--as indeed it was. Keeling’s guns went off, like doors being slammed intolerably loudly. Wang-o. Wang-o. Wang-o. The look-out was screaming with excitement. It was hard to focus the glasses on the thing. A wave seemed to run along it, and it was gone.

  Krause sprang back into the pilot-house.

  “Right rudder, Mr Watson.”

  “Rudder’s hard over sir,” said Watson. Keeling had been turning at the moment of sighting.

  A talker was trying to make a report. At first he jumbled his words with excitement, but he managed to steady himself.

  “Gunnery control reports sub. sighted broad on starboard bow, range one thousand. Fifteen rounds fired. No hits observed.”

  “Very well.”

  Lieutenant Fippler’s first attempt to kill a man had ended in failure.

  “Did you get the bearing, Mr Watson?”

  “Only approximately, sir. We were turning at the time.”

  Speak every man truth with his neighbour. Far better to be honest than to pretend to knowledge one did not have.

  “We’re coming to course one-nine-five, sir,” added Watson.

  “Better make it one-eight-five.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  The U-boat when sighted had been nearly on the same course as Keeling. Even if she turned instantly on submerging she would need time and distance to effect the turn. Better head to intercept. And would she turn to starboard or port? Hard to guess. Would she go deep or stay close under the surface? That might be easier to guess.

  “Sonar reports contact bearing one-eight-zero. Range approximately four hundred yards.”

  “Very well. Come left ten degrees, Mr Watson. Deep setting, Mr Nourse.”

  The submarine’s instinct after involuntarily surfacing would be to go deep; and the crew would have the controls jammed over hard already to combat the involuntary movement. And in the thirty seconds between submergence and the explosion of the next charge she would have plenty of time to reach extreme depth. He had to watch Viktor; she was still turning, but she would be late this time in crossing Keeling’s wake.

  “Fire one,” said Nourse into his mouth-piece, and Krause checked himself as he was
about to move to the T.B.S. No need to tell Viktor he was attacking. That was self-evident.

  “Fire two,” said Nourse. “ ‘K ‘ guns, fire.”

  It would take longer this time for the depth-charges with their deep setting to explode. A longer time for them to sink to the additional depth, and a more irregular spread with their somewhat random downward fall.

  Streamlined depth-charges would be more effective than clumsy cylinders; they were already in production and Krause wished he had them.

  The boom of the exploding charges was distinctly lower in pitch, distinctly more muffled, at this greater depth. Krause heard the last one; he could stand still now during this interval. Buck-fever was not so evident.

  “Come right, Mr Watson.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  There had been a momentary temptation to turn to port instead of to starboard, to change the pattern of the manoeuvre in the hope of surprising the U-boat, but it could not be done this time; too much chance of meeting Viktor bow to bow. He trained his glasses back over the starboard quarter, looking out over the stained and foaming sea. No sign of anything. The T.B.S. calling him.

  “Eagle to George! Eagle to George! “

  The Englishman in Viktor seemed unwontedly excited.

  “George to Eagle. Go ahead.”

  “You’ve got him sir! Got him! “ There was a moment’s pause again; when the Englishman spoke next he was calmer, almost languid, but with a crude hardness about his nonchalance. “You’ve got him, sir. We’ve just heard him crunch.”

  Viktor had heard the crunch; they had heard the breaking up noises as the U-boat crumpled under the overwhelming pressure like a piece of paper crushed in the hand. Krause stood silent at the T.B.S. He was a hard man, but his silence was partly due to the thought that two minutes ago, far below the Keeling, fifty men had died a horrible death; quick, but horrible. But in most part his silence was due to the unworded realization that this was a peak in his career; he had achieved the thing for which he had been trained as a fighting man for more than twenty years. He had killed his man; he had destroyed an enemy ship. He was like a student momentarily numbed at hearing he has won a prize. Yet the other realization was present equally unworded and even less conscious; fifty dead men graced his triumph. It was a little as though in a fencing match his foil had slipped past the opposing guard and, instead of bending harmlessly against his opponent’s jacket, had proved to be unbuttoned and sharp and had gone through his opponent’s body.