The Collectors Book Five (The Collectors Series 5)

by Sewell, Ron

  As he clambered over rocks and forded streams, he realised only the women, old men and the children remained. The capture of the train required every man who could use a weapon. All had ended their lives sealed in an unknown tunnel.

  He continued along narrow rock-covered goat tracks surrounded by dense foliage until exhausted, he tumbled to the ground and slept. As the night sky brightened, Talos awoke, stretched one arm and sat on a rock. He glanced around, aware his camp remained a day’s walk. A small stream provided a face wash and drinking water. His muscles ached as he started walking but before long he entered the high forest. Hours later, he arrived in a narrow valley masked by pine trees. The path twisted and turned on the course of a stream.

  A woman’s voice rang out. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”

  Talos shouted, “Joanna, it’s Talos.”

  From behind a boulder a young woman, wearing men’s clothing and holding a single shot rifle, appeared. “You are the first to return. Was the attack successful?”

  He stared at her and whispered, “Everyone’s dead. The earthquake closed the tunnel.”

  “There may still be a chance. Come and tell the old man what happened.”

  Talos grabbed Joanna’s arm. “I searched, the tunnel’s gone. Even if a hundred strong men were available, we could not shift the rock fall. Some are taller than a house.”

  She grabbed his hand and together they walked into the makeshift village. Women with babies in their arms watched.

  “Where’s my husband?” one shouted.

  “My two sons?” screamed another.

  A child ran to them. “When’s mama and papa coming home?”

  With his one good arm, he grabbed the child to him. The boy understood and cried. He pulled away and wiped his eyes before running back to his house.

  Misery surrounded Talos. The expressions on the women’s faces said everything; he didn’t have to tell them. The man with one good arm had survived.

  At the old man’s dwelling, they stopped and waited until he came out.

  The folds of skin on his face almost hid two bright eyes. He pointed to a chair. “You have carried a heavy burden. Rest before you tell us what happened.”

  Tears flowed from his eyes as he described the attacks on the trains. His voice dropped as he told of the quake. How rocks, trees and the earth descended as water into the gorge covering everything in its path. He gave the sign of the cross. “God saved me.”

  “We must gather our tools and go back. Some may be alive,” barked an old woman.

  “No one is alive,” roared Talos. “Do you believe if there had been a chance I would have returned? The mountain buried them and you need explosives and heavy lifting equipment and we have neither.”

  The old man’s expression changed, his eyes watered and his lips trembled. “This war is coming to an end but I fear another soon to start. Here we have food and water. The Germans set fire to our villages and murdered those they found. Here we are safe.” He looked at those standing in front of him. “Go, mourn your losses. Tomorrow we start again. Come, Talos we must talk.”

  The next morning two unmarried women and Talos began the trek back to confirm no survivors. With sufficient provisions, he led them along the narrow paths. They rested for the night and continued as the sun rose.

  In the early afternoon the three of them searched for an opening or a sign their friends or family might have survived. While she clambered over a huge boulder, one of the women, Kiki, slipped, Talos grabbed her hand and saved her.

  Exhausted they collapsed and slept in the open.

  On their return to the village, not a word passed between them. The old man waited outside his hut. “I see from your faces no one escaped. Talos, you are the man of the village. When this war is ended, you must go to Thessalonica and inform the authorities. They will know what to do.”

  ***

  In Gradisca’s engine-room, the chief sat in a deckchair between the two triple expansion steam engines as they thundered and rattled every nut, bolt and steel plate.

  Klinger fixed his Italian-made binoculars on the dark line, which separated the sea from the night sky. In an hour, the sun would blast light over the area, once again making them a target for allied aircraft, submarines and surface vessels.

  “Bruno, go and wake our guests. I want them on this bridge in their uniforms, ready for inspection, in five minutes.”

  “With pleasure, sir.” Bruno scampered away.

  “Quartermaster, how long have we known each other?”

  “A few years, sir.”

  “If I gave you an order you considered wrong, would you obey me?”

  The quartermaster gave him a confused look. “You’re the Captain.”

  Klinger’s eyes narrowed. “In a few minutes I’ll know your answer.”

  The sergeant screamed at his men and formed them into a line across the bridge. He gave the SS salute. “My men are ready for your inspection, sir.”

  Klinger nodded to Bruno. “Take the wheel. Quartermaster, relieve these men of their weapons and ammunition. I need to see how fit they are.”

  Klinger stepped back as the SS handed over their machine pistols and ammunition. “Sergeant, with you leading, your men are to run at the double from the bow to the stern three times.”

  The sergeant glanced questioningly at Klinger and shrugged. “At the double,” he bawled.

  “Quartermaster, those weapons,” said Klinger pointing. “Toss them over the side.”

  Feet pounded along the metal deck. The sergeant charged onto the bridge.

  Klinger sensed his change of attitude.

  “You bastard. You ordered our weapons be tossed over the side.”

  In a calm voice, Klinger said, “I could have you shot for insulting a senior officer.” He lifted his Knight’s Cross with oak leaves and swords. “I was awarded this for valour not for murdering men carrying out their duty. Sergeant, I’ll have a boat lowered, give you water, provisions and a compass, or, you operate the guns on the aft deck and die a hero’s death with the rest of us. You have a choice, make it the right one.”

  The sergeant licked his lips. “May I talk to my men?”

  “You have five minutes.”

  “Crete at Green one zero, sir.”

  “Thank you, Bruno.”

  The sergeant reappeared followed by his men. He saluted as a soldier not the SS. “We fight and die as soldiers, sir.”

  “Good decision. Go and prepare the guns for action. We may have made Crete but the Atlantic remains a dream.”

  Klinger stared at the tree-covered mountains, which stretched from one end of the island to the other.

  Two hours later, they entered Souda Bay, Crete, and tied up alongside the coaling barge.

  Klinger contacted the chief engineer. “You have until dusk to fill the bunkers. Then it’s non-stop to Germany.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind, sir.”

  “Bruno, I’m going for a shower.”

  “Do we have any air support, sir?”

  Klinger shook his head. “We’re on our own.” He smiled. “Maybe no one will bother sinking this heap of rust or perhaps a storm in the Bay of Biscay will save them the trouble. Whatever, we will sail and head home. The crew deserve a dash of hope.”

  ***

  It seemed Klinger’s head had just touched the pillow when the bang on his cabin door woke him with a jolt. He gripped the side of his bunk. “Come in.”

  “Cup of coffee, sir,” said Bruno, whose dark-rimmed eyes gave clear evidence of little sleep. “Like you, I needed to catch up on my beauty sleep. The chief tells me he’s emptied the coal barge.”

  He sipped his hot coffee. “Have we enough?”

  Bruno lowered his gaze. “No, sir, but the chief believes if we travel at eight knots, there’s enough wood built into this ship to make up the difference.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Time we left. Get the ropes singled up. And no lights.”

  “The Chief and his st
okers are having a shower. Can we let them have ten-minutes?”

  Klinger looked at him. “If this was a destroyer I’d scream abuse at the mere suggestion, but it’s not and I can bend the rules.” Tiredness he knew was another of his enemies. It forced good men to make stupid mistakes. We sail in two hours.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  As Bruno left the cabin, a German Brigadier General, his eyes fatigued and his right arm in a sling, strutted into the cabin. “Are you the captain of this vessel?”

  Surprised, Klinger stood. “I am, sir.”

  “Sit. The islanders know the war is over. My troops are disillusioned, as am I. How many of my men can you take?”

  “I could take five hundred but have barely enough provisions for my small crew. This vessel is on a mission that has every chance of failure. You and your men are better staying where they are and when the British arrive, surrender.”

  “A hospital ship with no crew and little food?”

  Klinger leaned back in his chair. “It’s not what you think. I’m ordered to make the passage to Germany. Those in command believe if this old boat appears to be a hospital ship there’s a chance.”

  “And what do you believe, Captain?”

  “What I believe is of no consequence. Like you, General, I do as I’m ordered and want to see my family.”

  The general let his eyes wander around the sparse cabin. “You are correct. Better to surrender than drown.”

  Klinger walked with him back out and into the sunlight, his mind wondering if he should sail and continue the war or give up. He saluted as the general left.

  “Good luck, Captain. You will need it and pray it’s dark when you sail close to Malta.”

  Klinger saw Bruno wiping the sweat from his face, waiting. “Problems?”

  “No, sir. The Chief tells me he’s ready.”

  “Get the crew and the SS soldiers into the officers’ mess. I want to talk to them.”

  Klinger entered the mess where his crew of fifteen and the soldiers waited. He sensed their unease. “Make yourselves comfortable and relax. I need your help. The war is going badly for the Fatherland and my orders are to take this vessel and its cargo to any port in Germany. On the island, the army are waiting for the British to arrive and they will surrender. You may wonder what’s the point in continuing this voyage when we can remain safe and in harbour. I can see the sense in staying. We can relax, become prisoners of war and at some time in the future go home. It’s against any regulation I know of but I leave the decision to you. If it is a draw I’ll cast the deciding vote.” He glanced at the men’s faces.

  Bruno took charge. “Those for staying, hands in the air.”

  Not one hand moved.

  “I’d better get you home,” said Klinger.

  One by one, the men left the room. Each smiled and nodded to Klinger.

  “Let’s go, Bruno. It’s time.”

  ***

  Klinger tossed his cap into a corner of the bridge and stepped out onto the port bridge wing.

  “Helmsman. Ring on stand-by.”

  He turned to Bruno. “Cast off forward.”

  “All clear forward, sir.”

  “Slow ahead port. Slow astern starboard. Rudder amidships. Let go aft.”

  “All clear aft, sir.”

  Klinger peered forward and aft. “Slow ahead starboard. Rudder fifteen degrees to starboard.”

  He watched as the aged vessel turned towards the open sea. “Wheel amidships. Half ahead both. Steer two- seven-zero.”

  Gradisca nosed her way through the unmanned submarine boom that stretched from one side of the bay to the other, into the open sea.

  The sun was getting low as he raised his binoculars and scanned the sea to port and starboard. It appeared empty, his ship the lone resident of the infinite expanse of sea. “Bruno have one of the men bring me a cup of coffee and then get some sleep. Relieve me at midnight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Helmsman. Keep your eyes open and your course straight.”

  Sunset arrived, followed by the dark, and the Royal Navy patrolled elsewhere.

  ***

  At dawn, Klinger strolled onto the bridge and swung his binoculars across the sharp horizon. He grinned after finding it clear. “The war’s elsewhere, well at least for now.”

  “I’ll believe in miracles when we dock in Hamburg,” said Bruno.

  “In time this war will find us.”

  “If you say so, sir. Permission to leave the bridge.”

  “I’ll have a coffee and toast,” said Klinger.

  “On its way, sir.”

  As the day progressed, watches changed and men grabbed sleep. At any other time a passage through the Mediterranean in October might have been welcomed. The weather was perfect and they had not sighted another vessel. The elderly ship steamed at eight and a half knots into another night across the calm sea leaving a straight wake.

  The dawn arrived as Klinger and Bruno repeated the same words as they had the morning before.

  Klinger scanned the sea praying it remained empty and safe. “Not a vessel in sight.”

  “Long may it stay that way, sir.”

  “What the...” But the blip on the horizon vanished. “I saw something. I know I did.”

  “On the horizon. Smoke. Red, one zero, sir,” the helmsman shouted.

  Klinger searched the position. “Shit.” One puff of smoke. A ship directly ahead on the same course. “Bruno, have your breakfast but make sure the army readies those guns for action and make my coffee strong.”

  Klinger scrutinized the sea ahead, left and right in a constant motion. On each occasion he stopped it was to place a dead reckoning position on the chart. Hour after hour and the sea appeared to have been swept clean.

  “Ship. Green, four- five, sir.”

  Klinger examined the vessel and flipped the pages of his recognition book to confirm. “Destroyer CA class. More guns than a porcupine has needles and they never operate alone.”

  “Ship. Red, two- zero, sir. Lead ship is flashing.”

  Klinger grabbed the wheel. “Go. Wake the First Mate.”

  The lead ship constantly signalled by flashing light as Klinger steered a straight course.

  “Captain,” said Bruno.

  The helmsman took the wheel.

  Klinger ran to the bridge wing and flashed, ‘Wait. Wait. Wait.’ When he was ready, he signalled. ‘SS Gradisca on passage for Algiers.”

  “Bruno, fall aft with the soldiers and be ready to open fire on my command.”

  “I gather we go down fighting,” said Bruno.

  “We might win,” said Klinger. He gave a wild laugh.

  A flash from the destroyer’s forward 4.5 inch gun. The shell fell short. A waterspout shot up, its spray drenching the bow.

  He contacted the engine room. “Chief.”

  “I hear you, sir.”

  “We’ve reached the end of the road. Open the throttles wide and get out of there and don’t bother to close the hatches.”

  The decks vibrated as the speed increased.

  The signal lamp on the destroyer flashed. “Stop and stand by to receive boarding party.”

  “Helmsman, steer towards the first destroyer. They won’t expect that.” He wandered onto the port bridge wing and waved to Bruno.

  The white painted structure collapsed and one gun fired. A brilliant flash lit up the side of the destroyer. The second shot found the bridge.

  The vessel veered away to port as its aft guns fired and straddled Gradisca. The next salvo struck like a giant hammer. The bridge superstructure buckled sending lethal splinters through the air.

  “Zig zag,” said Klinger as two more shells burst near. “Sixty seconds and change. Why make it easy?”

  The second destroyer fired each of its four guns. Shells exploded, damaging more of the superstructure.

  “Torpedoes, sir.”

  “Hard to port.”

  “Rudder not responding, sir.”<
br />
  Klinger lifted the lid on a steel box secured to the front of the bridge, and pressed the button. Four explosions blasted through the hull, shredding metal. The sea flooded the holds pressurising the air under the hatch covers until they burst. Two torpedoes added to the destruction. He flashed a message to the destroyer. ‘I am abandoning ship.’

  “Into the boat, helmsman.” He sounded the ship’s steam whistle six times before retreating to his cabin. From his desk he withdrew a bottle of Schnapps, filled a glass, sat in his chair and downed it in one gulp.

  With the glass refilled, he returned to the bridge. Waves rolled across the forward deck.

  “Captain,” shouted Bruno. “We’re waiting.”

  Klinger turned. “I have my orders and cannot leave. Good luck. The British will look after you, even if you did singe their paintwork.”

  The ship shuddered.

  “Give my love to Hamburg. Now go before you join me.”

  Bruno hesitated, ran to his captain and hugged him.

  “Good bye, sir.” He turned and fled to the lifeboat.

  An intense pain surged through his left shoulder, blood drained down his arm.

  In ten minutes, the sea covered the decks from forward to aft. He stepped out and with his good arm waved, as the lifeboat with his crew drew away towards the waiting destroyer.

  Gradisca listed to port. Klinger leant against the bridge bulkhead and sipped his drink.

  On the lifeboat, Bruno stared as she rolled into the sea and disappeared beneath average swells in a flurry of foam.

  Those in the lifeboat waited for one of the destroyers to drag them alongside a scrabbling net.

  “Your war is over,” shouted a sailor as he helped Bruno inboard.

  He placed his right hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’ll be pleased when this stupid war ends. Take me to your captain.”

  The pale-faced sub-lieutenant standing close said, “Sir, this man is an officer and has asked to see the boss.”