Convoy North (A John Mason Kemp Thriller)

by Philip McCutchan

  Lanolin might help. It was worth a try. Napper went along to the heads and anointed the affected part. Afterwards he was horribly greasy but the lanolin seemed to have cooled it down.

  V

  ‘Coming up to the North Cape,’ Theakston said, after a look at the chart. ‘We should raise it within an hour.’

  Kemp nodded. ‘Just before dark. Still no convoy.’

  ‘They can’t be far ahead.’

  ‘I wish to God,’ Kemp said, ‘we could break wireless silence! I’ve got that ice in mind. The convoy might enter Murmansk, and if we haven’t caught up, we’ll never know.’

  ‘We can make an independent decision from the weather reports, Commodore.’

  ‘Yes. I don’t want to deviate — but I may be forced to, of course. I take it your chart’s fully corrected for the approaches to Murmansk?’

  Theakston answered stiffly. ‘You have no need to ask.’

  ‘My apologies, Captain. I was merely going on to say that my own folio’s at your disposal if you need it.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll have no need of that.’

  Kemp felt severely rebuked. He remained on the bridge until the North Cape was raised on the starboard bow as dusk was setting in and stayed on until after dusk action stations were fallen out. Then he went below: there was work to be done, more talking with von Hagen. On the way down the ladder to the master’s deck he encountered Petty Officer Napper checking on the gunners of the watch.

  ‘Well, Napper. How’s it going? Still painful?’

  ‘Yes, sir, very painful, sir.’

  ‘You have my sympathy. Fortunately it’s not lethal.’ Kemp went on his way, and Napper scowled at his retreating back in its bridge coat and duffel coat. Not lethal, no! Not to life, anyway. On the other hand you never knew. The body was a very funny thing and its reactions couldn’t be predicted. One part rubbed off on another and things could spread, currently in the sense that with swollen bollocks you walked funny, and that could affect the legs, give you lumbago perhaps, upset your spinal cord so you ended up in plaster of paris, and once let that happen and all sorts of things could go wrong through the sheer inertia of being motionless and flat. You could get obese and bugger up the heart, and your liver would go bad and what-all. Constipation would be a natural certainty, a complete gum-up, and that could lead to poisoned intestines and a sour stomach with flatulence and if you were all done up in plaster of paris you couldn’t even fart. He’d best have a natter with Corrigan again...

  VI

  Kemp said, ‘We’ll be in Soviet waters quite soon now, von Hagen.’

  ‘And then after Archangel, back to England. Will the same ships go back, all of them?’

  ‘Yes. The Russians discharge them somewhat faster than British stevedores. We sail again as soon as the holds are cleared.’

  Kemp changed the subject, becoming reminiscent, talking man to man about those Australian voyages of what now seemed centuries ago, another and better life. His orders had to be obeyed: he had to milk the German of as much information as possible before he was removed by the KGB. The only way Kemp could see to do that was to get von Hagen in a reminiscent frame of mind, to talk to him of the England he had known in peacetime, the England he had come to know so well and to like. Something might penetrate, the past might be made to act upon the present and the future. Bound for all he yet knew for imprisonment in Britain, von Hagen might well see no reason not to talk to Kemp so long as he accepted that eventually he was going to be made to talk to Military Intelligence. On the other hand, of course, he might believe that even under intensive interrogation he could retain his secrets for his Fuhrer’s sake — or more likely for his own anti-communism.

  They talked of persons they had both known and von Hagen talked easily enough, and anecdotally. An old friendship was there still and never mind that they stood now on opposite sides of the fence of war. There was a good deal of do-you-remember, of this and that, of the people who on various voyages had shared the Captain’s table. Kemp steered the conversation towards Britain — towards London, where von Hagen had lived in a service flat in Whitehall Court, with big windows looking out over the Embankment and the Thames busy with its strings of laden barges, an expensive and comfortable flat, rather on the large side for a bachelor which von Hagen was then and still remained.

  ‘London,’ von Hagen said with an inward smile. ‘Yes, they were happy years and I miss them very much to be truthful. English women...do you know, I found our German Haus-frauen heavy going after the English women! Yes, London was a very good place to be in those days.’ He paused, eyes now holding a backward look. ‘What’s it like now, Commodore?’

  Kemp shrugged. ‘I avoid the place whenever possible. My wife likes to go up for shopping...it’s not my cup of tea. When I’m not being a seaman, I’m a countryman.’ He, too, paused and rubbed reflectively at his chin. ‘Of course it’s terribly changed — it was bound to be. All the bombing. A good many landmarks gone and plenty of debris. And all the casualties...but you’ll know all that for yourself, von Hagen.’

  ‘You hold me responsible.’

  ‘Not you personally — of course not. Unless you were one of the London-domiciled German nationals who were able to be of assistance to your Intelligence services.’

  Von Hagen shrugged. ‘It would be foolish to deny that I was questioned. Because of friendships and old times I did my best not to be...too helpful.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that. I’d like to think you might be helpful now.’

  The German’s eyes narrowed he looked watchful, alert. ‘Yes?’

  ‘You have many secrets, obviously. Things that could save lives, perhaps.’

  ‘British lives?’

  ‘You enjoyed England once. You liked the people.’

  ‘I think you are asking me to be a traitor, Commodore.’

  Kemp gave an involuntary sigh. ‘I suppose so. But you’re going to be interrogated anyway. I thought perhaps...if there was anything you’d care to tell me...’

  ‘You would then put in a good word for me?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Kemp said. He looked down at his knees: he couldn’t face von Hagen, but he went on, ‘As an old shipmate, I might be easier to talk to. That’s what I thought, anyway.’

  There was a smile on von Hagen’s face now and he spoke gently. ‘My dear chap, you would make a very rotten agent, and a very rotten interrogator!’

  ‘Certainly I would. I have no ambition to be either!’

  ‘No, I would never expect it of you. And you are also very transparent. Another word would be honest.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And you are out of your depth. You are trying to make me talk, you are trying to deceive and because of that transparent honesty you are failing very badly.’

  ‘Von Hagen, I —’

  ‘You are under orders from someone who does not know you. You are being made use of. Why? Can you tell me that, my old friend Captain Kemp?’ When there was no answer from Kemp the German went on, ‘There is another point. I am about to enter Russian waters — we have discussed that already, of course. You will hide me, and you will permit no search of the ship by the KGB. You assured me of that. But I see a very plain connection. Please be honest with me. I think our past friendship gives me the right to that.’

  Kemp got to his feet and paced the cabin, backwards and for-wards, his fists clenching and unclenching. He felt the movement of the ship beneath his feet, saw the sway of the curtain across the square port — now with the deadlight secured behind it to preserve the blackout — listened to the engine sounds and the noise of the forced-draught system, all the familiarities of the sea that had been his life, a clean life lived among predominantly decent men. He felt defiled now, as though he were throwing all the past away. But the country was at war, the country was on the brink of being starved out as a result of the sustained cruelty of the war at sea, of the shattering ferocity of the attacks on the convoys — and he had his order
s. Could he have the temerity to set his own feelings, his own self-estimation, against the interest of ordinary people in Britain who were enduring privation and air attack, night after night in so many of the big cities? Which came first?

  He turned, and faced von Hagen. He said, ‘Very well, I shall be honest. I have orders from Whitehall to get you to talk to me. You, a top Nazi agent, must know a great deal that would be helpful.’

  ‘Obviously, yes. But the coming interrogation by your Military Intelligence...or is it not to come?’ The German’s eyes were hard now. ‘I think I see it all. But please put it into words yourself, my old friend.’

  Kemp scarcely recognized the sound of his own voice when he said, each word coming out painfully, ‘Unless you talk fully to me, I am to hand you over to the Russians on arrival in Archangel.’

  NINE

  I

  For a while there had been a silence; Kemp wished the sea would open and suck him down. Von Hagen stared at him, his face working, all colour gone from it. He said after almost a minute, ‘That would be to sign my death warrant. After torture, that is. The Kremlin has wanted me for a long time.’

  ‘I’m more sorry than I can possibly say.’

  ‘Yes, I believe you. You are a man in a torture of his own at this moment. But tell me something more: how would you know if I told you all I know, how would you know if I was speaking the truth in what I said? Would I not say anything in order to preserve myself against the Russians, against Comrade Stalin?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  Von Hagen laughed. ‘You suppose so! And I suppose you do suppose so. What then? What use my speaking?’

  ‘I don’t know, von Hagen. I’m simply under orders and I don’t even know, precisely, from whom. Whoever it is, he must know his business.’

  ‘Of course. And now shall I tell you what you don’t yet know? Shall I tell you what all my experiences of governments and politicians and persons in Intelligence lead to me to assess for certain what will happen in Archangel?’

  Kemp nodded.

  ‘You have a British naval presence in Archangel.’

  ‘Yes. A British Naval Liaison Officer.’

  ‘His role is not merely liaison, my friend. He will have an Intelligence officer on his staff, though the fact will be disguised under the cover of some other appointment. This officer will interrogate me before I am handed over to the Russians. He will be an experienced interrogator who will find out, under threat of my hand-over, what you will not have found out. You are not being relied upon exclusively, you see.’

  Kemp lifted his arms, let them drop again. Out of his depth was a gross understatement. He felt helpless, caught in a trap, a man being used, manipulated by unscrupulous persons. He said heavily, ‘I suppose you could be right.’

  ‘I’m certain I am. You may ask, why bother to interrogate me at all when, if I am not handed over to the Russians as will be promised in return for my co-operation, I can be brought after all to Britain in the homeward convoy? There is a very simple answer to that...isn’t there?’

  Kemp nodded. There was no need to put it into words: his own orders had already stipulated the hand-over come what may, the broken promise, the cynical disregard of what would happen to von Hagen. And von Hagen knew it all. The German was going on again. ‘You yourself told me, you would not permit a search of your ship. But they will know already that I am aboard. You realize this?’

  Kemp said, ‘That’s only supposition.’

  ‘Oh, no! I know my value to the Russians, and it is plain to me now that a deal has been arranged between Whitehall and the Kremlin. You’ll not have a chance to hide me away.’

  ‘I shall do my best,’ Kemp said simply.

  Von Hagen smiled with a touch of sadness, almost of a kind of compassion for a man in torment. ‘You will do your best...if I talk to you now?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kemp answered. ‘My best...so help me God.’

  Von Hagen closed his eyes and held his hands up, parson fashion, the finger-tips together, in front of his face. He could have been in prayer, Kemp thought. There was a lengthy silence in the cabin: a clock ticked loudly from the bulkhead beside the square port, and Kemp could hear the footfalls of the officer of the watch above his head, hear the occasional clatter and rasp of the telemotor steering gear as the quartermaster moved the wheel to keep the Hardraw Falls on course. Then at last von Hagen spoke.

  He said, ‘For me, the war is over — that is what they tell prisoners of war, isn’t it? — whichever side takes me I am finished for Germany, and I am split between Britain and Germany. You will believe me, I hope, when I say that I’ve never worked against the British as such. My experience has been in Norway, against the Resistance. Except when, as I’ve said, I was obliged to answer certain obvious questions about London and so on...I never went further than that.’

  ‘I believe that,’ Kemp said, but von Hagen appeared not to listen.

  ‘Now I shall tell you two things, and two things only. I shall tell you out of friendship, because I wish no harm to come to you personally. One of these things is uncertain, the other is very certain.’

  Kemp said, ‘Go on, von Hagen.’

  ‘The certain one first: there is to be a heavy attack on your convoy after it has passed the North Cape into the Barents Sea, once it is off the Kola Inlet outside Murmansk. I —’

  ‘You knew this, knew it when you came aboard?’

  Von Hagen smiled. ‘Obviously! I have no concealed radio receiver —’

  ‘But you were surprised to find the convoy was outward bound for Russia. Surprised and — worried.’

  Von Hagen nodded. ‘Yes. Because I could not believe I was to be taken to Russia. Up to that time, I had made the assumption your convoy was bound for the United Kingdom. When I was told differently, you see — then I knew, that it is your convoy that is to be attacked.’ He leaned forward, eyes on Kemp’s face. ‘A battle fleet is lying off to the south of Spitzbergen — I can give you its composition. There are three heavy cruisers and a pocket battleship, with destroyer escorts, and more forces will leave ports in north Norway to cut off any retreat round the North Cape. Also there will be air support from the Norwegian airfields. Those are the certainties.’

  ‘And the uncertainties?’

  Von Hagen said, ‘It is possible that by now it is known to our High Command that I have been taken. If they wish to get me back —’

  ‘They’ll hold off the Hardraw Falls? No — stupid of me! They won’t know which ship you’re in. Or will they, von Hagen?’

  ‘It’s possible. There was the U-boat attack, and the U-boat will have reported by w/T whilst surfaced.’ It had; Kemp’s leading telegraphist had reported a brief transmission. ‘Two and two may be put together in Berlin — a ship detached from the convoy, off the Norwegian coast, much closer in than is normal. If, as I said, they know I’ve been taken — well, the rest is a simple deduction, I think.’

  ‘Perhaps. Is there anything else you want to say?’

  Von Hagen shook his head. ‘I shall say no more. I shall not burden you, Captain Kemp. I am convinced I am right about your naval staff in Archangel. Let the questioning rest with them. They are not my friends.’

  The German got to his feet and held out his hand. With no hesitation, Kemp took it in a firm grip. Then he called for Cutler to remove the prisoner.

  II

  Kemp called a conference in his cabin: Captain Theakston and Cutler were present together with the naval telegraphist on the Commodore’s staff, Leading Telegraphist Rose.

  Kemp told them the apparent facts. He went on, ‘The Admiral Scheer, with Regensburg, Gottingen and Koblenz. Pretty lethal! The convoy won’t stand a chance, except perhaps if the order to scatter is given. The Rear-Admiral may decide to do just that, and then put himself and the escort between the convoy and the attack force. If he has the time. And that’s up to me, I fancy.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I propose to break wireless silence and inform both the escort and the Admiralt
y.’

  Cutler said, ‘The Nazis’ll pick up the transmission, sir.’

  ‘Yes, they will. So?’

  ‘So they’ll move in faster. Before the British Admiralty can redeploy from —’

  ‘That won’t matter. According to von Hagen, the attack’s imminent in any case. Speed’s the watchword now, Cutler, no time even to cypher up a signal —’

  ‘Plain language, sir? Why, that’s against —’

  ‘Never mind what it’s against, Cutler. Rose?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Make in plain language, from Commodore to Rear-Admiral Commanding the escort repeated Admiralty: “PQ convoy expected to come under heavy attack from Spitzbergen area at any time.” Prefix Most Immediate.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Rose, who had taken down the signal as Kemp had been speaking, left the cabin for the wireless office. Kemp turned to Theakston.

  He said, ‘As for us, Captain, we’re likely to be something of a marked ship — because of von Hagen. We’ve no idea how much the Nazis know. If they’re aware of the facts they may not attack to sink. But they’ll try to board and hook off von Hagen.’

  ‘Aye, and then sink us,’ Theakston said dourly.

  Kemp had all officers and senior hands off watch mustered in the saloon. He believed that secrecy would not at this stage be compromised by his taking the ship’s crew into his confidence, at any rate so far as possible; he said nothing of what was intended to happen to the prisoner if he was got as far as Archangel; but afterwards von Hagen got the blame from the crew. Chief Steward Buckle put it succinctly.