Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2)

by Charles S. Jackson

  There was no time to react as solid water suddenly appeared where clear, open ocean had been a split second before. The bow of MTB 102 ploughed into it head on, initially attempting to rise above the huge wave forming ahead of them but ultimately unable to match the obstacle’s sheer volume. Several tonnes of freezing seawater smashed down upon the open deck, swamping the vessel completely and bringing it an abrupt halt. Many of the men topside were thrown forward at speed by the sudden deceleration, some disappearing overboard while others were smashed against the gun positions or wheelhouse with two receiving grievous injuries in the process.

  The flood engulfed the entire length of the ship, coursing across the decks and threatening to drag more men with it as it emptied back into the sea in torrents. There was chaos below decks as a huge volume of water poured in through open hatches; particularly in the engine room where all three of the powerful diesel stalled instantly, leaving the vessel with emergency battery power only.

  “Man overboard… man overboard…!” Kelly screamed, having barely found the strength to cling desperately to the wheel as the wave had tried to drag him away. “Look around ye and check who’s missin’...!” He’d no sooner finished bellowing the order before he leaped from the rear of the wheelhouse and literally slid across the deck on his stomach, seeking a steadying hold on a mooring bollard as he threw out his other hand in aid of a crewman floundering close off the ship’s port side.

  The stalled boat rolled heavily in the dying swells of the explosion and it took several attempts before Kelly managed to grasp the man’s hand in a final lunge. Even as he’d dragged the man halfway back onto the deck, others were already around him and lending assistance, Kransky and the young Brendan among them.

  “Damage reports…!” Kelly demanded the moment he’d regained his feet! “Damage and casualties: have we lost anyone?”

  “We’re just draggin’ Francis and Billy back on board now,” Brendan advised quickly as he checked around with the others already on deck, “and Billy’s arm’s broke by the look ‘o things. Patrick’s leg looks to be the same as well and Michaels is out cold at the moment – looks like he took a dance with the forward gun position when we hit. They’re patchin’ his head right now and Robbie thinks he’ll be okay soon enough.”

  “The old man and the kids are in once piece,” Kransky added quickly, a long but superficial gash above his right eye slowly oozing a blood trail across his temple. “They’ve got a few cuts and bruises but they’ll manage.”

  “Seamus…!” Kelly called out for the engineer, nodding his silent recognition of the man’s report as he took a few quick steps over to the main hatch and shouted his next query down into the engine room. “I don’t hear those fookin’ diesels runnin’… you wanna enlighten me, brother?”

  “Whole bloody lot’s stalled…!” The muffled but clearly frustrated reply floated back up to him from below a second or two later.

  “I can tell they’re fookin’ stalled, y’ great ee-jit,” Kelly shot back in exasperation. “D’ye have a time frame for me or shall I just fookin’ make one up meself?”

  “If there was any more seawater down here right now we’d bloody-well need Moses himself helpin’ out with a bucket,” Seamus snarled angrily, no happier at the situation than his commander. “Number two engine looks like we might have her firin’ soon but one and three are fooked! Water’s got into the bloody injection system and hydro-locked both of the bastards…” The sound of mechanical activity was clearly audible below in the background behind the man’s words, accompanied by a substantial amount of soft swearing from all concerned as they fought desperately to clear two of their three engines of hydrostatic lock.

  As the water had flooded in, a substantial amount had managed to swamp the air intakes and the injection systems, and some of that had made it as far as the cylinders of two of the engines before the impact had left them stalled. Liquid was almost impossible to compress, and any attempt to restart at that moment would almost certainly result in significant damage to the pistons and/or crankshafts, putting the diesels out of action completely: something they could ill afford.

  “Surface contact…!” Brendan called suddenly, his voice filled with tension once more as he used auxiliary power to operate the SJ radar set on the bridge. “Ten miles and closing fast, bearing three-one-zero: he’s headed straight for us!”

  “You’re just full ‘o pleasant fookin’ news, aren’t ya, boy?” Kelly snarled angrily, his displeasure showing over the situation rather than directed at any one person. “What are we lookin’ at?”

  “Just the one I can see pushin’ forty knots… have t’ be an E-boat.” He used the standard British term for what the Kriegsmarine called a schnellboot.

  “One E-boat’ll be more than enough to finish us if we don’t get those bloody engines back online soon…!” The last part of the sentence was intentionally shouted back down at the engine room hatch, and almost as if on cue, they all finally heard the clatter of a turbo-charged diesel coughing and spluttering into life.

  “One’s all you’re gonna get for the moment, Mister Kelly,” Seamus called up from below decks, an apologetic tone almost slipping into his words. We’ll keep tryin’ but I doubt the other two will be worth shite until we can get ‘em stripped down and cleaned out properly. We’re standin’ in three feet o’ fookin’ water down here as it is and the bilges are barely coping: if I try to start these other two bastards now and they’ve still got water in ‘em, I’ll screw the pistons up right proper and that’ll be that.”

  “One’ll have t’ do then, boys,” Kelly grimaced, not liking their chances but also recognising they had little choice. “Turn us around, Brendan and take us east: we need to put as much distance between this bugger and us as we can!”

  With a low, uneven rumble that was no more than a shadow of the roar produced when at full power, MTB 102’s single working engine revved gently and the helmsman began to bring her about, moving off at slow speed.

  “You’ve just one engine back on line and you think you’re going to outrun a schnellboot doing forty knots?” Lowenstein asked almost casually, having watched unnoticed from his vantage point by the main hatch and listened intently to the exchange.

  “What else would y’ have me do…?” Kelly snapped back over his shoulder as he stood beside the helmsman, eyes never leaving the radar screen and his nervous frustration clearly showing through. “We’ve not many other options at the moment: those big bastards are three times our size and mount a thirty-seven millimetre cannon that can shoot to two miles or more – well outside the range of our guns.” He allowed a humourless sneer to flicker across his features as he glanced back at Lowenstein momentarily. “I’d consider meself a brave man sure enough, fella, but I’ve never felt the urge to commit suicide that I can recall.”

  “I’m not suggesting we stand and fight,” Lowenstein continued evenly, shrugging as if they were discussing something as inconsequential as the local football results. “All I’m asking is whether trying running due east – back toward Occupied England – is the best choice.” He paused for a moment as he made a few quick mental calculations. “With one engine we can manage how much…? Ten knots…?”

  “Fifteen…” Kelly answered quickly.

  “…If we’re lucky…” Brendan added softly, much to his commander’s visible displeasure.

  “…So he’s doing forty knots maybe, making him at least twice as fast and probably more,” Lowenstein continued as the two teens climbed through the hatch from below and gathered in behind him in support. “That means he’ll gain on us at around two-thirds of a mile per minute…” more mental calculations “…which puts us in range of his guns in about ten minutes… maybe less…”

  Kelly and the rest of the crew kept silent and considered the man’s equations for a moment as Brendan pushed the throttle forward and got the boat moving once more, bringing her nose around toward the east. None of them could quite manage to work the sums out in the
ir own heads but the figures he was throwing up seemed to be possible.

  “Assuming you’re right, mister… and without a slide rule, I’ve no idea if y’ bloody are…” Kelly asked after a few moments’ silent thought as his mind continued to chew over the figures, “…what else would you suggest we do?”

  “The Irish coast’s only a few miles away right now and the fog bank coming off it’s an awful lot close than that… I’d reckon we could make that in well under ten minutes and we could use it as cover right along the coast as we head west.”

  “They’ll see us on radar clear as day,” Kelly pointed out shrewdly, turning to face Lowenstein fully for the first time and truly intrigued by what the man had to say now as the rest of the crew also gathered about with interest. “They’ll be able to track our every move.”

  “So they will,” Lowenstein shrugged again in reply, “and what of it? They might well be able to track us for the entire journey but they still need to see us to shoot at us and unless this fog lifts – which isn’t likely for a few hours yet – they won’t be able to do a damn thing about it otherwise.” The man was almost smiling now as he grew more confident in his own planning as logic began to fall into place behind his initial idea. “We’ve got radar too so there’s no way they can sneak up on us… if they do get close enough to see us in this soupy shit, at least we’ll be in a position to hit them back and we’ll know they’re coming. Odds are even at point blank range…”

  Kelly stared long and hard at the man from a distance of a metre or so, tearing the suggestion apart in his mind over and over and finding no flaw in the reasoning. After a few silent seconds, a smile began to spread across his face.

  “I like this fella…!” He exclaimed loudly, loosely pointing a finger in the appropriate direction. “More than that, I really like that plan! Brendan…!” He snapped quickly, turning back to the helm as Lowenstein remained in place with arms folded expectantly, a faintly smug expression sneaking across his own features. “New course: take us past the East Lighthouse and then turn onto one-eight-zero… best possible speed if y’ will!” He glanced around for a moment at the men still standing about on deck, some nursing injuries of varying seriousness. “Hop to it, boys! We’re off to play a grand game of hide-and-go-seek!”

  With many years of experience in the field, Kransky was the most knowledgeable man present with regard to first aid and he’d spent his time tending to Michaels and the other wounded in the moments following the attack. The IRA captain had begun to wake from his unconsciousness by the time he’d finished bandaging the man’s head, but he was still a long way from fully regaining his senses, and Kransky made sure a pair of crewmen took him carefully below decks to get him out of the cold to ward against the danger of shock setting in.

  As he was gently escorted away with a man on each arm for support, the American had moved across to the bridge and watched the exchange between Kelly and Lowenstein with great interest. His curiosity had already been piqued regarding the man he’d been ordered to take care of – particularly in light of the unusual relationship he shared with the children, whatever that might be – and that interest had increased greatly upon noting the soft but obvious confidence with which Lowenstein had thrown up the suggestion of losing their pursuer in the fog.

  “That was some mighty quick thinkin’ there, buddy,” Kransky observed as he drew up beside him, the man still standing unmoved from the position of his interaction with Kelly, although both teens had since returned below decks. “Wouldn’t have picked you for a navy man…”

  “Neither would I, Mister Kransky,” Lowenstein returned with a wry, self-deprecating smile. “Other than a passing association in my younger days with some historical societies restoring old ships, I’ve rarely even set foot on a boat.” Being far from a fool, he easily recognised the man was fishing for information, albeit in a friendly manner. “Never been much of a military enthusiast or tactician at all, truth be told,” he added quickly, “if that’s what you’re wondering?”

  “I had been,” Kransky responded almost apologetically, “and call me Rich… anything else seems a mite formal considering what we’ve already been through. Don’t mean to pry buddy, but I have to admit your arrival’s raised lots of questions and given me not a single damned answer to match. Max Thorne wants you safe and sound badly enough to risk all this for it, me included: I just wanna know the kind of man I’m bein’ asked to risk my life for.” He shrugged. “That was a damned sharp idea – hiding in the fog like that – for somebody who says they’ve no experience in tactics or combat.”

  It’s a fair question… Rich… but there’s no great secret to my inspiration. I’m a physicist by ‘trade’ – a scientist – and I’ve never served the military in any way, shape or form… not willingly, anyway…” He added softly, almost under his breath, but continued before Kransky could ask any questions about that remark. “That being said, I’m also a bit of a connoisseur generally, if I do say so myself...” He gave a self-deprecating grin. “Someone I guess you might call a ‘bloody know-it-all’. You might be interested to know – for example – that the boat we’re standing on right now was once used in a movie.”

  “No shit?” Kransky was both surprised and a little impressed by that random titbit of information. “Which one...?”

  “It was called The Eagle Has Landed,” Lowenstein’s grin mutated quickly from self-deprecating into something that displayed a good deal more dry humour, “and I somehow doubt you’ve seen it... but that’s neither here nor there...” he added quickly as Kransky shook his head, confirming he had no recognition of the title.

  “You asked me where I got the idea from to head into the fog...” Lowenstein continued after a short breath. “Well, that was from a movie too. Spend some spare time with me and you’ll probably work out pretty quickly I’m a bit of a movie buff – at least, I used to be – and that idea came from one of my favourites. The situation here kind of reminded me of something similar in that movie – that’s all.” Not thinking for a moment that the man would have any idea what he was referring to, Lowenstein’s smile turned decidedly cheeky as he added: “A fog bank off the coast of Northern Ireland’s not exactly the Mutara Nebula, but the general principle’s the same for all that.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Lowenstein nodded his farewell and turned to make his way back below decks, the same faint grin never leaving his face.

  “‘Mutara Nebula’…?” Kransky repeated the phrase instantly, that unlikely name somehow sparking something deep within his memory despite his clearly recognising Lowenstein’s expression and the fact that the man hadn’t expected him to know what he was talking about. He knew what a nebula was – vaguely, anyway – but he also recognised the name itself, although its origin eluded his recall in that moment. He stared on as Lowenstein disappeared down the engine room hatch, still more unanswered questions now unavoidably added to the already-growing list in his mind.

  S-59 was nearing the western end of Rathlin off Bull Point lighthouse as the report came through that Haas and his crew were attacking their target beyond the other side of the island, slightly less than twenty kilometres away. Toepfer would’ve demanded more power had they not already been running at full throttle, and as it was they could do nothing more than bide their time and listen on in impotence to reports of the engagement from the East Lighthouse as they drew ever nearer to their enemy.

  “Rathlin has a visual, Kaleun!” Wagner called excitedly from the main bridge below, radio headset still pressed to one ear. “Can’t see the combatants themselves but they’re picking up the flash of tracer against the horizon…” There was a moment’s pause before he came back with another update, this time with urgency in his voice to add to the excitement. “They’ve received an emergency call from Bruno, Kaleun! They’ve taken heavy flak in their attack pass and he’s ditching!”

  Toepfer cursed inwardly, frustrated that there was no more speed to be wrung from his howling engines. The fly
ing boat’s crew were good men and he knew Haas and Schilcher personally – the aircraft was based with them at Campbeltown after all. “Try to raise them directly, Wagner – let them know we’re on our way. What news on the target?”

  “Rathlin reports it was dead in the water for a few moments after Bruno’s attack but its moving again now,” the radio operator replied a few moments later, sounding breathless in his excitement. “They advise it’s now bearing one-eight-zero, speed about fifteen knots.”

  “They’re heading south?” Toepfer frowned deeply, surprised by the information. “Why head south toward an occupied coast?” But as he thought more on it he began to see method in the apparent madness. “Only fifteen knots, you say?” He called back down, not waiting for an answer to his rhetoric query. “They must’ve been damaged in the attack – that’s why they’ve dropped their speed!” The reality of what was happening finally dawned on him. “Cheeky bastards...! They can’t outrun us so they’re going to try and lose us in the fog!” He grinned widely, thinking they’d now trapped their prey. That gloating smile disappeared a second later as another radio report came through from Wagner below.

  “Urgent distress call from Bruno, Kaleun: two dead and two severely wounded. Aircraft has ditched and is taking on water – requesting immediate assistance.”

  “Scheisse…!” Toepfer swore savagely, cursing such poor luck and lost in thought for a moment as if the passing seconds might somehow change the outcome of the inevitable decision he was reluctant to make. “Do we have any other assets in the area that can assist?” The question was mostly rhetoric: he already knew the answer would be negative.