Gerrard grimaced. `Sorry. Thought it best to call you, sir. Just picked up some fast moving H.E. at two-six-zero. Might mean we’re getting near trouble.’
Marshall nodded and walked to the chart. It had been three days since they had left their makeshift harbour. Three days of unnatural quiet, as if the whole Mediterranean was taking a brief rest after the months of battle. The strain had been all the greater because of it, he thought. Impossible to relax. Just lying there staring at the deckhead. Eating and watchkeeping automatically. Without any sensation but apprehension.
On the surface dawn would be lending colour to the sea again. Down here it was as usual. Dank and clammy, with all unnecessary fans switched off to conserve power and minimise noise. For they were now heading towards the well-known bottleneck between Sicily and Cape Bon on the Tunisian shore. Eighty odd miles over which the struggle for mastery had swayed back and forth without let-up. Air attacks on British convoys as they ran the gauntlet in their attempts to carry supplies to Malta. Submarines of both sides which hunted ceaselessly and tried to cut Rommel’s lifeline to the desert or smash the British convoys with equal determination. Well known to Marshall and those like him, if not to the newer hands at the game.
`We’ll take a look. Periscope depth.’
Marshall left the chart table and stood by the well, ignoring the carefully controlled inrush of compressed air, the gentle tilt of the deck as Gerrard took the boat towards the surface.
They did not want any trouble now. Not from either side. It would take another two days to reach the pickup point on Italy’s west coast, more valuable time to get into position, sift the facts before committing all of them to a plan of action.
He thought of the three passengers in the wardroom. No doubt sleeping while they still had the time. What selfcontrol they must have. And a capacity for sleep. They were a mixed trio, yet in some ways very like all the others Marshall had met who fought that remote, secret war.
The senior one was a Major Mark Cowan. Slightly built, with a clipped, matter of fact manner, he looked anything but a regular soldier. From the little he had said, he did not seem too hopeful at the success of the mission.
A radio message had been sent to the agents to tell them about the pickup times and exact rendezvous point. But no acknowledgement had been received and none expected. Cowan had said that the Germans had discovered the agents’ hiding place, and any sort of radio message from them would most certainly kill their last chance of rescue. More that that, the major had lea unsaid. He was probably waiting until they got closer to their objective. Preserving secrecy unless required to share further details.
Marshall lifted his hand slowly and crouched down beside the well, his forgers on the twin handles and locking the periscope on to the last bearing.
Here was the sunlight, pale green, strengthening to blue as the lens cut through the gentle swell. He shivered. How inviting it looked. So clean.
He gripped the handles tightly and said, `Full extent.’
His back ached as he straightened it. He saw a vague purple hump far away on the horizon, still holding the shadows, merging with the dawn sky. That would be the island of Pantellaria. They were right on course. Naturally, as Devereaux would have said.
Further still. The periscope moved soundlessly as he edged round. Hold it. There it was. He saw the first sunlight reaching out to touch the glass screen on her bridge, a white moustache of foam beneath her bows. But even at full power the shape was indistinct for exact recognition. He tensed. Probably a second ship on the other one’s port quarter. Destroyers.
`Down periscope.’ He looked at Gerrard. `We’ll alter course ten degrees to starboard. Steer three-two-zero. Take her down to thirty metres.’ He walked to the chart again. `But watch the depths. We’re running across the Adventure Bank. No more than thirty fathoms hereabouts.’
Gerrard licked his lips. `Very good, sir.’ He turned away, his hands gripping the helmsman’s chair as if for support.
Marshall watched him thoughtfully. `At least it might take the weed off the keel.’
He turned and saw Major Cowan by the bulkhead door, a cup in one hand.
`Bother?’
‘No. Two destroyers on patrol. Well away from us.’
Cowan studied him and then replied, `Not what I imagined. Thought there’d be bells ringing, men dashing about. That sort of thing. This is like damned church!’
Marshall smiled. Stick around a bit longer, my friend. Aloud he said, ‘I’m just going to have some coffee. How about joining me?’ He followed him into the wardroom and then said quietly, `Now, suppose you fill me in on some more details?’ He pushed the coffee pot across the table. `I don’t like going in blind.’
Cowan smiled. `Quite so.’ He glanced round at the bunk curtains. A few snores showed they were occupied. `I get the point. No harm now, I suppose. What exactly do you want to know?’ He was offering nothing in advance.
`Mrs. Travis. What is her part in all this?’
Cowan sighed. `I was against her getting involved. Again.’
Marshall waited, remembering her words when he had asked her if she had done this sort of thing before.
Cowan added, `She worked in Paris the last time. Being French, her services were invaluable. But her cover broke and the 1Vlilice caught her. They may be French police, but they work for their new masters, and they’re worse than the Germans in some ways. I suppose they see the Resistance as a threat to their own power. And their lives.’
‘Caught her?’
He nodded. `Held her for two days outside Paris. Waiting for the Gestapo to pick her up. They’d been after her for some time, although of course they did not actually know who they were chasing.’
Marshall thought of the way she moved and listened. Like a hunted animal.
`Anyway, our people managed to get her out of it just in time. A close thing.’ He shrugged. `But when she was asked to do this job, she agreed without hesitation. Her husband’s in Italy. Just inland from Naples.’
`I see. So he’s working for you, too?’
Cowan watched him sadly. `Actually, no. He’s an engineer. A collaborator. Doing the same sort of work as he was doing in France. A construction. job. Top priority.’
Marshall felt dazed. `And she agreed to see him? Just like that?’
The major refilled his cup. `Did she mention her parents? Well, her father works for the Resistance. He’s with the French railways. Very useful contact. I don’t have to spell it out to you. We heard that Travis is getting cold feet. Wants to change sides again. Come home and be forgiven. She is the only one he might listen to. He’ll know she despises him’ but he trusts her. Know it’s no Gestapo trap.’
Marshall looked at his cup, suddenly sick. `And your people let her go back to him. Knowing the Germans might suspect her. Might even have been told this by Travis, or whatever his real name is!’
Cowan shook his head. `Unlikely. There’s not much contact between the German occupation forces in France and those in Italy. It is a risk of course, and in any other circumstances I think we’d not have taken it. But on the face of it, this was worth taking. She is his wife, and was coining to join him at his new location. She had the right papers, and she knows her job.’ He added quietly, `Travis knows about the bombs. If we can get him out alive we might save countless of our own people later on.’
`And if she’s failed?’
‘Then we’ll just have to get what we can from the agents. If you can lift them off’
Marshall stood up, his mind racing. `But the Germans know about her now!’
‘Perhaps. We can’t know for sure until—2
The rest of his words were lost as the deck gave a sudden. lurch and from the control room came a cry of alarm.
Marshall staggered and almost fell as the hull jerked violently, and he heard a new sound, like a saw on metal, screeching along the submarine’s casing until it seemed to fill, the wardroom with its intensity.
He ran towards
the control room, cannoning into awakd ened seamen and startled watchkeepers. He saw Gerrard clinging to the periscopes, his face like chalk as he yelled, `Blow all main ballast! Surface!’
Marshall gripped his arm. `Belay that order!’ He glanced quickly at the gauges, at the helmsman’s back as he struggled with the wheel. `Klaxon!’ He could hardly think because of the screeching which seemed all around him. `What happened?’ He had to shake Gerrard’s wrist to make him react. `What was it?’
Gerrard stared at him. `The hull plunged. Then that noise!’ He looked round as the sound suddenly stopped. `I thought we’d hit a wreck. That we were going to take a dive.’
Men scurried past to their stations, and Marshall said, `Check the trim.’ To Frenzel, who had just appeared at his panel, he added, `Report damage to hull.’
One of the planesmen said hoarsely, `Can’t hold her, sir!’ He twisted round on his stool his eyes wild. `She’s going mad!’
Marshall stood motionless in the centre of the control room. `Anything on the Asdic?’ He looked at Frenzel. `The after planes are jamming. We must have picked up something.’
‘Asdic reports no H.E., sir.’
Marshall nodded, seeing Cowan and his two companions in the bulkhead doorway, yet not seeing them. They were all here now. At their proper stations. Waiting for him to act. To perform a miracle if so needed.
Frenzel’s E.R.A. reported, `No hull damage, sir.’ He was gripping his telephone like a club.
Marshall made himself wait for several more agonising seconds. When he spoke he expected to hear a break in his voice. He glanced at Gerrard. Like his had sounded.
`Take her up slowly, Number One. Periscope depth. If she starts to dive, blow everything.’ He forced a smile. `Just like old times.’
`Group up. Slow ahead together.’ Gerrard gripped the coxswain’s chair.
Starkie cursed quietly. `She’s weavin’ about a bit, sir.’ He eased the spokes and then brought them back again. ‘Bloody cow!’
The sound came suddenly as before, like a jarring whine, ending just as abruptly with a violent clang across the casing.
`Fourteen metres, sir.’ Gerrard sounded very tense.
`Up periscope.’ Marshall snapped down the handles. No time for caution now. A quick glance to either bow and into the sky overhead. How pale the sky was. Almost silver in the sun’s early glare.
He brought the lens towards the stern and depressed it slightly. There was no sign of the wire or cable, but there, bobbing close astern, was a mine.
It was covered in green slime, and could have been in the water for months. Years. It had probably broken adrift from a field elsewhere until its severed cable had caught something. An old wreck. Anything. All this time it had waited. He saw the pointed horns twisting slightly against the U-boat’s headway. It was as deadly as the day it had left Germany. Or England.
`Down periscope.’
Starkie said, `She’s steerin’ a bit better now, sir
`She would, ‘Swain.’ To the control room at large he said, `It’s a mine. We are towing it about fifty feet astern of us.’ He saw their stunned expressions, the way some of them looked at the after bulkhead door as if expecting to see something different.
Major Cowan was the first to speak. `Can you handle it, Captain?’
Marshall looked at him, suddenly very calm. `What I’m paid for.’
He crossed to the chart. `How about it, Pilot?’
Devereaux wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘It’s a bad place to surface, sir.’
`I didn’t choose it.’ He leaned over the table. Shutting them all outside his thoughts. `Smack in the middle of the Strait. Alter course and steer due north.’ He restrained their movements with a sharp warning. `Slowly! Take your time. The cable is caught under the bandstand and then down and around the after planes. I don’t want that mine veering into the screws!’
Cowan asked quietly, `Couldn’t we wait until dark, Captain? If you surface you might be spotted.’
`We’ve a whole day of sunlight, Major.’ He studied him gravely. `To wait until sunset would take too long. We’d be right up by the enemy’s coast. And anyway, if we tried it in the dark we would most likely get blown up.’
He turned away. `Up periscope.’
Another look. Empty sky, but the mine was still with them. It seemed to gleam in the sunlight like something malevolent.
He said quietly, `Starboard ten.’ He heard the trimming pumps thudding quietly. Gerrard was watching the boat’s stability all right. What had happened to him? Had he been thinking of those other boats? Of Bill Wade? He swung the periscope once more and imagined he could see their own shadow beneath the surface. `Steady’.
Starkie called, `Steady, sir.’ He leaned back slightly to watch the gyro repeater quiver to rest. Due north.
`Down periscope.’ Marshall thrust his hands into his pockets. `Chief, get your men and all the gear you need. As few hands on deck as possible.’
Buck said, `I’ll take charge, if I may, sir.’ He forced a grin. `Chief knows his onions where engines are concerned. But I reckon I’ve cut up more bloody cars in my Wandsworth garage than he’s had hot dinners. This is right up my street.’
Marshall nodded. `That makes sense.’ He sought out Warwick. ‘Automatic-weapon crews close up on surfacing.’ He looked down at the chart table, fighting back alternative thoughts, challenges which still lay behind his hazy plan.
Tools clanked in the background, and he heard Buck say, `I’ll want that, and that big cutter over there.’ He sounded satisfied. `Ready when you are, sir.’
Cowan asked, `Anything I can do?’ Marshall smiled. `Pray.’
He looked at his watch. What a bloody thing to happen. Now of all times.
Gerrard moved close. `I’m sorry, sir. I should have kept my head.’
Marshall eyed him thoughtfully. `Not to worry.’
Men pushed past them towards the ladder. It seemed to be full of them. Deck party in lifejackets and carrying Buck’s tools. Gun crews with their ammunition belts. Warwick wiping his binoculars with a piece of tissue. They all looked very tense, but none seemed to show any doubt in what they were being ordered to perform.
The captain had spoken. That was it.
Marshall licked his lips and looked at Gerrard. `Shut off the boat once we’re on the surface. If this thing explodes, do your best to get our lads out of the escape hatches.’ He paused, seeing the doubts crowding Gerrard’s face. `If you get clear and we don’t, Major Cowan will tell you where to go and what to do. it’ll be up to you to get those people off.’ He gripped his arm. `All right, Bob?’
‘Yes.’ Gerrard nodded jerkily. ‘But watch out.’
Marshall walked to the ladder and said to Devereaux, Go forrard before you shut the watertight doors.’ He dropped his voice. `If the worst happens, you’ll be needed
up here to sort things out.’
Devereaux glanced at the massive steel door. `Yes, sir.’
Marshall watched him grimly. `Stop any panic. You know the score. If they have to ditch, tell them to watch out for the jumping-wire and the gun barrel when they pop through the escape hatch.’ He made himself smile. `No sense in getting a headache for nothing!’
The lower hatch clanged open and he began to pull himself up the ladder. It was slippery, or perhaps his hands were sweating badly. He gripped the locking wheel, feeling someone taking hold of his legs.
His voice rang hollowly in the tower. `Surface!’
He had learned quite a lot in the last few minutes. About himself and about Gerrard. He had even discovered that Buck came from Wandswordi.
He heard Gerrard’s shrill whistle and swung the wheel over his head.
11
Secret weapon
Lieutenant Colin Buck tugged his cap down over his eyes and stared at the mine. He was standing right aft at the narrowest part of the casing, and with his back to the conning-tower he felt strangely detached, as if he was poised on the surface itself, being
followed by the slime covered sphere with its bobbing horns.
What a beautiful morning. Not a cloud in the sky, and only a hint of haze to mask the dark blue horizon. After the cramped hull, the constant comings and goings of other human beings, being made to stand aside in passageways or duck through watertight doors, it was like a dream world.
A stoker petty officer, naked but for a pair of patched shorts, crawled awkwardly along the edge of the casingabove the hydroplanes. Buck watched him, his mind unusually relaxed. Despite the dangers of being on the surface in bright sunlight, the need to rid themselves of that ruddy mine, he felt quite calm.
`Well, Rigby, what d’you make of it?’
The petty officer sank down on the wet steel and sighed. `It’s a bastard sir. A real, second-to-none bastard.’
Buck grinned. `It’s a start anyway.’
The petty officer leaned over the edge and pointed into the U-boat’s gentle wake. `I did what you said, sir. Followed the wire from where it’s caught round the bandstand.’ His filthy arm moved further aft and down again. `The cable seems to go round the saddle tank and through the port hydroplane.’ He squinted up at Buck. `Trouble is, there’s a bloody great bight in the cable. It’s wrapped tightly round the plane, so that the drag is further aft across the rudder.’
`I see.’ Buck seized the jumping-wire and swung out over the narrow, pointed stern. The sea was so clear he could pick out trailers of weed on the hull, the reflected glitter of sunlight from a spinning screw. `You’re right. It is a bastard.’ He turned and looked at the bridge, an uneven black shadow against the sky. He saw the restless muzzles of the Vierling and machine-guns and Marshall’s silhouette at the rear of the bandstand watching for some sort of progress.
Buck cupped his hands. `Wire’s fouled round. the plane, sir! No good trying to cut it up here. It will have to be done under water.’
Go in and Sink! Page 19
