San Andreas

by Alistair MacLean

‘I can just see the nasty suspicious looks I’d be getting from you if we started whispering together and the nasty suspicious questions I’d be getting afterwards. My dear Margaret, we have matters of state to discuss.’

  ‘You don’t trust me, is that it?’

  ‘That’s the second time you’ve asked me that silly question. Same answer. I do trust you. Totally. I trust Mr Kennet there. But there are five others I don’t know whether to trust or not.’

  McKinnon took the Captain from the ward and returned with him inside two minutes. After she’d tucked him back in bed, Margaret Morrison said: ‘That must rank as the shortest state conference in history.’

  ‘We are men of few words.’

  ‘And that’s the only communiqué I’ll be getting?’

  ‘Well, that’s the way high-level diplomacy is conducted. Secrecy is the watchword.’

  As he entered Ward B he was stopped by Janet Magnusson. ‘What was all that about, then? You and Captain Bowen, I mean.’

  ‘I have not had a private talk with the Captain in order to tell all the patients in Ward B about it. I am under an oath of silence.’

  Margaret Morrison came in, looked from one to the other, then said: ‘Well, Janet, has he been more forthcoming with you than with me?’

  ‘Forthcoming? Under an oath of silence, he claims. His own oath, I have no doubt.’

  ‘No doubt. What have you been doing to the Captain?’

  ‘Doing? I’ve been doing nothing.’

  ‘Saying, then. He’s changed since he came back. Seems positively cheerful.’

  ‘Cheerful? How can you tell. With all those bandages, you can’t see a square inch of his face.’

  ‘There are more ways than one of telling. He’s sitting up in bed, rubbing his hands from time to time and twice he’s said “Aha”.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. It takes a special kind of talent to reach the hearts and minds of the ill and depressed. It’s a gift. Some of us have it.’ He looked at each in turn. ‘And some of us haven’t.’

  He left them looking at each other.

  McKinnon was woken by Trent at 2.0 a.m. ‘The moon’s out, Bo’sun.’

  The moon, as McKinnon bleakly appreciated when he arrived on the port wing of the bridge, was very much out, a three-quarter moon and preternaturally bright—or so it seemed to him. At least half the sky was clear. The visibility out over the now almost calm seas was remarkable, so much so that he had no difficulty in picking out the line of the horizon: and if he could see the horizon, the Bo’sun all too clearly realized, then a submarine could pick them up ten miles away, especially if the San Andreas were silhouetted against the light of the moon. McKinnon felt naked and very vulnerable. He went below, roused Curran, told him to take up lookout on the starboard wing of the bridge, found Naseby, asked him to check that the falls and davits of the motor lifeboats were clear of ice and working freely and then returned to the port wing where, every minute or two, he swept the horizon with his binoculars. But the sea between the San Andreas and the horizon remained providentially empty.

  The San Andreas itself was a remarkable sight. Wholly covered in ice and snow, it glittered and shone and sparkled in the bright moonlight except for a narrow central area abaft of the superstructure where wisping smoke from the shattered funnel had laid a brown smear all the way to the stern post. The fore and aft derricks were huge glistening Christmas trees, festooned with thick-ribbed woolly halliards and stays, and the anchor chains on the fo‘c’s’le had been transformed into great fluffy ropes of the softest cotton wool. It was a strange and beautiful world with an almost magical quality about it, ethereal almost: but one had only to think of the lethal dangers that lay under the surrounding waters and the beauty and the magic ceased to exist.

  An hour passed by and everything remained quiet and peaceful. Another hour came and went, nothing untoward happened and McKinnon could scarcely believe their great good fortune. And before the third uneventful hour was up the clouds had covered the moon and it had begun to snow again, a gentle snowfall only, but enough, with the hidden moon, to shroud them in blessed anonymity again. Telling Ferguson, who now had the watch, to shake him if the snow stopped, he went below in search of some more sleep.

  It was nine o‘clock when he awoke. It was an unusually late awakening for him but he wasn’t unduly perturbed—dawn was still an hour distant. As he crossed the upper deck he noted that the conditions were just as they had been four hours previously—moderate seas, a wind no stronger than Force three and still the same gently falling snow. McKinnon had no belief in the second sight but he felt in his bones that this peace and calm would have gone before the morning was out.

  Down below he talked in turn with Jones, McGuigan, Stephen and Johnny Holbrook. They had taken it in turn, and in pairs, to monitor the comings and goings of everybody in the hospital. All four swore that nobody had stirred aboard during the night and that, most certainly, no one had at any time left the hospital area.

  He had breakfast with Dr Singh, Dr Sinclair, Patterson and Jamieson—Dr Singh, he thought, looked unusually tired and strained—then went to Ward B where he found Janet Magnusson. She looked pale and there were shadows under her eyes.

  McKinnon looked at her with concern.

  ‘What’s wrong, Janet?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. It’s all your fault.’

  ‘Of course. It’s always my fault. Cardinal rule number one—when anything goes wrong blame the Bo’sun. What am I supposed to have done this time?’

  ‘You said the submarine, the U-boat, would attack if the moon broke through.’

  ‘I said it could, not would.’

  ‘Same thing. I spent most of the night looking out through the porthole—no, Mr McKinnon, I did not have my cabin light switched on—and when the moon came out at about two o‘clock I was sure the attack must come any time. And when the moon went I was sure it would come again. Moon. U-boat. Your fault.’

  ‘A certain logic, I must admit. Twisted logic, of course, but not more than one would expect of the feminine mind. Still, I’m sorry.’

  ‘But you’re looking fine. Fresh. Relaxed. And you’re very late on the road this morning. Our trusty guardian sleeping on the job.’

  ‘Your trusty guardian lost a little sleep himself, last night,’ McKinnon said. ‘Back shortly. Must see the Captain.’

  It was Sister Maria, not Sister Morrison, who was in charge in A Ward. McKinnon spoke briefly with both the Captain and First Officer, then said to Bowen: ‘Still sure, sir?’

  ‘More sure than ever, Archie. When’s dawn?’

  ‘Fifteen minutes.’

  ‘I wish you well.’

  ‘I think you better wish us all well.’

  He returned to Ward B and said to Janet: ‘Where’s your pal?’

  ‘Visiting the sick. She’s with Lieutenant Ulbricht.’

  ‘She shouldn’t have gone alone.’

  ‘She didn’t. You were asleep so your friend George Naseby came for her.’

  McKinnon looked at her with suspicion. ‘You find something amusing.’

  ‘That’s her second time up there this morning.’

  ‘Is he dying or something?’

  ‘I hardly think she would smile so much if a patient was slipping away.’

  ‘Ah! Mending fences, you would say?’

  ‘She called him “Karl” twice.’ She smiled. ‘I’d call that mending fences, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Good lord! Karl. That well-known filthy Nazi murderer.’

  ‘Well, she said you asked her to make it right. No, you told her. So now you’ll be taking all the credit, I suppose.’

  ‘Credit where credit is due,’ McKinnon said absently. ‘But she must come below at once. It’s too exposed up there.’

  ‘Dawn.’ Her voice had gone very quiet. ‘This time you’re sure, Archie?’

  ‘This time I’m sure. The U-boat will come at dawn.’

  The U-boat came a
t dawn.

  SEVEN

  It was little more than half-light when the U-boat, in broken camouflage paint of various shades of grey and at a distance of less than half a mile, suddenly appeared from behind a passing snow-squall. It was running fully on the surface with three figures clearly distinguishable on the conning-tower and another three manning the deck gun just for’ard of that. The submarine was on a course exactly parallelling that of the San Andreas and could well have been for many hours. The U-boat was on their starboard hand so that the San Andreas lay between it and the gradually lightening sky to the south. Both bridge wing doors were latched back in the fully open position. McKinnon reached for the phone, called the engine-room for full power, nudged the wheel to starboard and began to edge imperceptibly closer to the U-boat.

  He and Naseby were alone on the bridge. They were, in fact, the only two people left in the superstructure because McKinnon had ordered everyone, including a bitterly protesting Lieutenant Ulbricht, to go below to the hospital only ten minutes previously. Naseby he required and for two reasons. Naseby, unlike himself, was an adept Morse signaller and had a signalling lamp ready at hand: more importantly, McKinnon was more than reasonably certain that the bridge would be coming under attack in a very short space of time indeed and he wanted a competent helmsman to hand in case he himself were incapacitated.

  ‘Keep out of sight, George,’ McKinnon said. ‘But try to keep an eye on them. They’re bound to start sending any minute now.’

  ‘They can see you,’ Naseby said.

  ‘Maybe they can see my head and shoulders over the wing of the bridge. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter. The point is that they will believe I can’t see them. Don’t forget that they’re in the dark quadrant of the sea and have no reason to think that we’re expecting trouble. Besides, a helms-man’s job is to keep an eye on the compass and look ahead—no reason on earth why I should be scanning the seas around.’ He felt the superstructure begin to shudder as Patterson increased the engine revolutions, gave the wheel another nudge to starboard, picked up a tin mug from the shattered binnacle and pretended to drink from it. ‘It’s like a law of nature, George. Nothing more reassuring than the sight of an unsuspecting innocent enjoying a morning cup of tea.’

  For a full minute, which seemed like a large number of full minutes, nothing happened. The superstructure was beginning to vibrate quite strongly now and McKinnon knew that the San Andreas was under maximum power. They were now at least a hundred yards closer to the U-boat than they had been when it had first been sighted but the U-boat captain gave no indication that he was aware of this. Had McKinnon maintained his earlier speed his acute angling in towards the U-boat would have caused him to drop slightly astern of the submarine, but the increase in speed had enabled him to maintain his relative position. The U-boat captain had no cause to be suspicious—and no one in his right mind was going to harbour suspicions about a harmless and defenceless hospital ship.

  ‘He’s sending, George,’ McKinnon said.

  ‘I see him. “Stop,” he says. “Stop engines or I will sink you.” What do I send, Archie?’

  ‘Nothing.’ McKinnon edged the San Andreas another three degrees to starboard, reached again for his tin mug and pretended to drink from it. ‘Ignore him.’

  ‘Ignore him!’ Naseby sounded aggrieved. ‘You heard what the man said. He’s going to sink us.’

  ‘He’s lying. He hasn’t stalked us all this way just to send us to the bottom. He wants us alive. Not only is he not going to torpedo us, he can’t, not unless they’ve invented torpedoes that can turn corners. So how else is he going to stop us? With that little itsy-bitsy gun he’s got on the foredeck? It’s not all that much bigger than a pom-pom.’

  ‘I have to warn you, Archie, the man’s going to get very annoyed.’

  ‘He’s got nothing to be annoyed about. We haven’t seen his signal.’

  Naseby lowered his binoculars. ‘I also have to warn you that he’s about to use that little itsybitsy gun.’

  ‘Sure he is. The classic warning shot over the bows to attract our attention. If he really wants to attract our attention, it may be into the bows for all I know.’

  The two shells, when they came, entered the sea just yards ahead of the San Andreas, one disappearing silently below the waves, the other exploding on impact. The sound of the explosion and the sharp flat crack of the U-boat’s gun made it impossible any longer to ignore the submarine’s existence.

  ‘Show yourself, George,’ McKinnon said. ‘Tell him to stop firing and ask him what he wants.’

  Naseby moved out on the starboard wing and transmitted the message: the reply came immediately.

  ‘He has a one-track mind,’ Naseby said. ‘Message reads: “Stop or be sunk”.’

  ‘One of those laconic characters. Tell him we’re a hospital ship.’

  ‘You think he’s blind, perhaps?’

  ‘It’s still only half-light and the starboard side is our dark side. Maybe he’ll think that we think he can’t see. Tell him we’re a neutral, mention the Geneva Convention. Maybe he’s got a better side to his nature.’

  Naseby clacked out his message, waited for the reply, then turned gloomily to McKinnon. ‘He hasn’t got a better side to his nature.’

  ‘Not many U-boat captains have. What does he say?’

  ‘Geneva Conventions do not apply in the Norwegian Sea.’

  ‘There’s little decency left on the high seas these days. Let’s try for his sense of patriotism. Tell him we have German survivors aboard.’

  While Naseby sent the message McKinnon rang down for slow ahead. Naseby turned in the doorway and shook his head sadly.

  ‘His patriotism is on a par with his decency. He says: “Will check nationals when we board. We commence firing in twenty seconds”.’

  ‘Send: “No need to fire. We are stopping. Check wake”.’

  Naseby sent the message, then said: ‘Well, he got that all right. He’s already got his glasses trained on our stern. You know, I do believe he’s angling in towards us. Very little, mind you, but it’s there.’

  ‘I do believe you’re right.’ McKinnon gave the wheel another slight nudge to starboard. ‘If he notices anything he’ll probably think it’s because he’s closing in on us and not vice versa. Is he still examining our wake?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Turbulence aft must have died away quite a lot by this time. That should make him happy.’

  ‘He’s lowered his glasses,’ Naseby said. ‘Message coming.’

  The message didn’t say whether the U-boat captain was happy or not but it did hold a certain degree of satisfaction. ‘Man says we are very wise,’ Naseby said. ‘Also orders us to lower our gangway immediately.’

  ‘Acknowledge. Tell Ferguson to start lowering the gangway immediately but to stop it about, say, eight feet above the water. Then tell Curran and Trent to swing out the lifeboat and lower it to the same height.’

  Naseby relayed both messages, then said: ‘You think we’re going to need the lifeboat?’

  ‘I quite honestly have no idea. But if we do, we’re going to need it in a hurry.’ He called the engine-room and asked for Patterson.

  ‘Chief? Bo’sun here. We’re slowing a bit, as you know, but that’s only for the moment. The U-boat is closing in on us. We’re lowering both the gangway and the lifeboat, the gangway on the U-boat’s instructions, the lifeboat on mine…No, they can’t see the lifeboat—it’s on our port side, their blind side. As soon as they are in position I’m going to ask for full power. A request, sir. If I do have to use the boat I’d appreciate it if you’d permit Mr Jamieson to come with me. With your gun.’ He listened for a few moments while the receiver crackled in his ear, then said: ‘Two things, sir. I want Mr Jamieson because apart from yourself and Naseby he’s the only member of the crew I can trust. Show him where the safety-catch is. And no, sir, you know damn well you can’t come along instead of Mr Jamieson. You’re the officer commanding and you can’t
leave the San Andreas.’ McKinnon replaced the receiver and Naseby said, plaintive reproach in his voice: ‘You might have asked me.’

  McKinnon looked at him coldly. ‘And who’s going to steer this damned ship when I’m gone?’

  Naseby sighed. ‘There’s that, of course, there’s that. They seem to be preparing some kind of boarding party across there, Archie. Three more men on the conning-tower now. They’re armed with sub-machine-guns or machine-pistols or whatever you call those things. Something nasty, anyway.’

  ‘We didn’t expect roses. How’s Ferguson coming along? If that gangway doesn’t start moving soon the U-boat captain is going to start getting suspicious. Worse, he’s going to start getting impatient.’

  ‘I don’t think so. At least, not yet awhile. I can see Ferguson so I’m certain the U-boat captain can too. Ferguson’s having difficulty of some kind, he’s banging away at the lowering drum with a hammer. Icing trouble for a certainty.’

  ‘See how the boat’s getting on, will you?’

  Naseby crossed the bridge, moved out on to the port wing and was back in seconds. ‘It’s down. About eight feet above the water, as you asked.’ He crossed to the starboard wing, examining the U-boat through his binoculars, lowered them and turned back to McKinnon.

  ‘That’s bloody funny. All those characters seem to be wearing some kind of gas-masks.’

  ‘Gas-masks? Are you all right?’

  ‘Certainly I’m all right. They’re all wearing a horseshoe-shaped kind of life-jacket around their necks with a corrugated hose attached to the top. They’re not wearing it at the moment, it’s dangling down in front, but there’s a mouthpiece and goggles attached to the end of the tube. When did German submariners start using gas?’

  ‘They don’t. What good on earth would gas be to a U-boat?’ He took Naseby’s binoculars, examined the U-boat briefly and handed the glasses back. ‘Tauchretter, George, Tauchretter. Otherwise known as the Dräger Lung. It’s fitted with an oxygen cylinder and a carbon dioxide canister and its sole purpose is to help people escape from a sunken submarine.’