Go in and Sink!
Page 28
Browning reached the bridge, panting fiercely.
`I’m ready.’
Marshall said, `I’ll have an armed party sent with you, sir.’
`You won’t.’ Browning tugged his cap firmly over his eyes. `I’m not even taking Simeon. It takes long enough to get out of trouble without having half the bloody Navy in the launch!’
Marshall guided him to the ladder. It made sense of course. And in any case the launch was now firmly lashed alongside. They could sink it with a couple of grenades if they turned nasty. It was just that he disliked the idea of Browning going with only Hart and Travis for company.
Browning lifted his leg over the coaming and muttered, `In any case, I’ve got my revolver with me.’ His face loomed against the creaming water like a big fruit. `And thanks, my boy. You know what for.’ Then he was gone.
Marshall held his breath as the three men were half carried, half pushed across the thin, treacherous pattern of spray between the hulls. He thought Browning waved to him before vanishing into the small wheelhouse, or it could have been Hart.
He heard Simeon on the voicepipe. `Permission to come to the bridge.’
Marshall managed to smile. Remembering the last time.
`Granted.’
Simeon was hatless, and wore an oilskin with the collar turned up to his ears.
`Gone, has he?’ He sounded bitter.
`Yes.’ He watched Simeon peer down at the pitching launch.
`Bloody waste of time.’ He seemed to expect an argument. When Marshall stayed silent he snapped, `But he wouldn’t listen to me!’
`Control room to bridge. Fast H.E. to the north of us, sir. But it’s very faint, and we’re getting a lot of interference.’ A pause. `Nothing to worry about yet.’
Blythe, who had returned to the bridge, walked aft and cupped his hands around his ears for several seconds.
`Probably those patrol boats, sir.’
Simeon said irritably, `Well, they’re not likely to come this way, are they? More likely to sweep as far as Ustica Island. They’ve done it before.’
Marshall said, `The yeoman was offering his opinion, sir.’
Simeon said more calmly, `If you say so.’
Marshall thought of the far off vessels which the Asdic had detected. Fast and probably small. It was unlikely they would have any long-range detection gear, and in the choppy seas, with the land so near, it was safe enough for the present.
It was probable the enemy had aircraft fitted with radar like the R.A.F. were using. It had spelled disaster to many a U-boat caught on the surface in total darkness. If they had, it was equally likely they would keep them in southern Italy, or nearer the scene of anticipated operations.
A lookout said, `I can just hear ‘em, sir.’
They all turned, Marshall cupped. his hands behind his ears and then said, `A long way off.’ It was like the combined buzzing of a hive of bees. He had heard the sound often enough when British M.T.B.s had swept out of harbour for nightly raids along the enemy coasts.
Simeon said, `What are they doing, I wonder?’
Nobody answered.
Gerrard’s voice came again. ‘H.E. moving from east to west, sir. Fading.’
`Thank you.’
Simeon had guessed the truth. The patrol boats were keeping a set course. Going through the motions. They would meet trouble if it came. But they were not looking for it especially.
Simeon was peering down at the launch. `I’ll bet they’re nattering about old times together.’ He could not hide his resentment. `I wish I could get my hands on that bloody general!’
`Control room to bridge.’
`Yes.’ Marshall trained his glasses across the screen towards one unbroken crest of white foam. `Torpedo officer wants to come up, sir.’ `Trouble?’
Gerrard hesitated. `I’d rather he told you, sir.’ `Very well.’
Buck pounded up the ladder and almost fell headlong on the wet grating.
`Very pistol, sir. Missing from the wardroom.’ He was breathing fast. `It was just a thought, something that’s been bothering me.’
Simeon snapped, `For God’s sake, Buck, can’t you do your stores returns in bloody harbour!’
Buck replied harshly, `We’re never in bloody harbour, sir!’
The port lookout yelled, `Sir! They’re fighting aboard the launch!’
Marshall pushed the others aside and climbed up to the screen. He saw several figures reeling about in the wheelhouse, while someone else was hammering on the door from the outside. A tinkle of breaking glass, distorted shouting, and then a man burst from the opposite side and ran drunkenly aft waving his arm in the air.
There was a dull crack, and seconds later a flare burst high in the air, painting the clouds’ bellies in bright silver like a moonscape.
`Travis!’ Marshall yelled his name. `For God’s sake, Cain, shoot that bastard down!’
More figures tumbled out on the narrow deck, and Marshall saw Browning’s bald head shining in the glare as he groped his way towards the figure in the stem.
Travis was bent double, reloading the Very pistol, his hair blowing wildly in the wind.
Cain yelled, `Can’t shoot, sir ! The others are in the way !’
Marshall watched’as Browning paused to steady himself against a ventilator, dragging the revolver from his pocket. Travis was shouting at him, though amidst all the other sounds it was impossible to make sense of it. He raised the pistol once more, his teeth bared as if he was laughing, or screaming.
`Control room to bridge! H.E. at oh-one-oh. Closing!’
Blythe said desperately, `They’d be blind to miss that bleedin’ flare!’
Travis pulled his trigger even as Browning dropped on one knee and fired.
It was like a terrible two-part tableau. Crouching figures caught in their various attitudes of fear and anger, and then as Browning’s bullet smashed the other man down the second Very light exploded into the rear of the small wheelhouse in a searing ball of fire.
In the next instant the whole of the launch’s deck seemed to be on fire. Blazing petrol ran down the scuppers in liquid fire, and Marshall saw two men leap into the sea, their bodies like torches, their screams rising above the growing crackle of woodwork.
Gerrard was yelling, ‘H.E. closing fast, sir! We must get out of it!’
Marshall watched helplessly as Cain and some seamen slithered across the saddle tank, only to be driven back by the spurting flames.
He heard the wheelhouse glass shattering in the heat, saw the helmsman flailing round like a dervish, his agony too terrible to watch.
There was a small explosion and more petrol burst into flames, the fire darting along the deck and licking towards the submarine until the mooring lines caught ablaze and parted like cotton.
Blythe gasped, `The cap’n’s had it, sir!’
He pointed wildly as Browning lurched to his feet, hesitated, and then toppled backwards into the flames. He must have fallen through a hole blasted in the deck by an exploding fuel tank. He vanished in an instant, with not even a cry.
The wind and sea were already carrying the burning launch clear, the hull tilting into the water, hiding the last horror in a curtain of steam. One figure was trapped in the bows by the advancing flames, and somehow Marshall knew it was Hart. Then he too was taken, and consumed, as with a great spluttering gasp the launch dived under the surface.
Marshall heard himself say, `Casing party below. Clear the bridge.’
He swung round as Simeon shouted into his ear, `Why did he do it?’ He was almost screaming. `Why?’
Marshall propelled him towards the hatch. `Probably because you triggered him off, sir! Now get below!’
Men dashed past him, too numbed by the terrible spectacle even to speak.
Marshall stared abeam, where a patch of steam still showed faintly against the dark sea beyond.
Then he listened to the distant roar of engines and shouted into the voicepipe, `Dive, dive, dive!’
His boots thudded on to the control room deck, and he said flatly, `One hundred and eighty metres. Bring her round to two-eight-zero.’
He saw Starkie’s narrow shoulders tense as he put the wheel over. The hull gave a sharp creak while the boat continued in her dive. Down, down, the depth needles crept round remorselessly.
‘Course two-eight-zero, sir.
`Shut off for depth-charging.’
He listened to the regular Asdic reports but ignored them. He could feel those fast moving engines even though he could not hear them.
`One hundred and eighty metres, sir.’
Marshall looked at Gerrard for the first time. `Group down. Slow ahead both motors.’
He stared at the shining side of the control room. Between the packed dials and instruments to the actual skin of their existence. Out there, following their dive, Browning was still with them. He clenched his fists, fighting back the anger and the sense of loss.
`H.B. still closing, sir. Two vessels. Probably F.P.B.s.’
`Yes.’ Marshall watched the expressionless gyro compass. `They’ll be slowing down soon. They won’t want to drown their Asdic with their own noise.’ He found that he could say it without emotion.
He looked again at Gerrard. His face was in profile, shining slightly in the reflected light bulbs. He was thinking hard at this moment. It was not the last job after all.
Marshall listened to the faint mutter of engines. Not unless….
He turned as Simeon said thickly, ‘For Christ’s sake!’ ‘Sir?’ He watched him coldly. ‘Do you want something?’
Devereaux said, ‘You can sit over here, sir. By the chart table.’
Simeon looked through him. `Shut up! I don’t need to be told!’
Marshall gripped the periscope support and stared at him.
You do need to be told. And if we get out of this, I’ll tell you, right enough!
Three minutes later the first depth-charges exploded.
16
Tomorrow
Marshall felt the hull buck in protest as the first charges exploded. He saw several seamen exchanging glances, .heard someone taking long deep breaths. But he kept his eyes on the depth needles. She was still going down, deeper, deeper. More than she had ever done before in his hands.
Metal groaned along the casing as the pressure continued to mount, and he heard Devereaux clicking his brass dividers together in a small tattoo.
The first attack had been made by one vessel. The second one had no doubt stopped to watch results, keeping her Asdic unimpaired by her consort’s propeller noises.
‘H.E. closing from astern, sir.’
Marshall watched the needles. Waiting.
Gerrard turned to look at him, his face shining in the lights.
‘One hundred and eighty metres, sir.’ ‘H.E. closing fast, sir.’
How different it sounded at this great depth. Thrum thrum-thrush. He tightened his grip on the support, picturing the charges rolling off their little rails, falling slowly, ten feet a second.
He snapped, ‘Hard a-port. Group up. Full ahead.’
The boat responded immediately, and he saw Frenzel’s
hands flashing across his levers like an organist’s. ‘Midships. Steady.’
`Steady, sir. Course two-two-zero.’ Starkie sounded cool enough.
The charges exploded as one, the echoing detonation booming the hull like a collision. The boat rocked to one side, shook herself and came back again. Flakes of paint drifted through the lamplight, and a man began to cough.
Marshall listened to the subdued roar of engines as the attacking vessel tore away to prepare another sortie.
He looked at Devereaux and saw him staring at the deckhead as if waiting for something to cave in on him.
He said, `Keep a good plot. Don’t rely on the echosounder.’ He waited for each sentence to penetrate. `If we pile up ashore, I’ll not forgive you.’
Devereaux’s adam’s-apple bobbed above his sweater and he nodded.
Simeon asked harshly, `What are you doing?’ He waited, his eyes fixed on Marshall. `Wouldn’t it be better to lie low until they give up?’
Marshall cocked his head as the Asdic operator snapped, `Fast H.E. closing, port side, sir.’
He replied, `No, I think not, sir. These boats are most likely M.T.B.s or the like. Their job is to pin us down until dawn. By then they’ll have plenty of help.’ He looked at Simeon impassively. `I’m not waiting.’
Petty Officer Blythe took hold of the steel flag locker and murmured, `Here we go again.’
The engine noises grew louder, rattled high overhead and then faded again. The charges exploded much nearer, making the hull tilt and yaw from beam to beam while Gerrard fought to regain his trim.
Marshall said, `Take her up to ninety metres. Slow ahead.’
Gerrard swallowed hard. `Group down. Slow ahead both motors.’ He glanced at him quickly. `Take her up, sir?’
‘Yes. They’re getting us fixed.’ He waited, listening to the compressed air as it drowned out the enemy’s engines.
`Ninety metres, sir.’
`Hold her so.’
He crossed swiftly to the chart. He could feel Devereaux pressed against him. Smell his fear.
The deck rocked very gently as a single charge exploded. It seemed to be a long way off, and somebody gave a disbelieving whistle.
Marshall concentrated on the chart. `Starboard twenty. Steer three-zero-zero.’ He looked sideways at the navigator as the helm went over. `Must get more sea-room.’
He strode to the periscopes and waited, counting seconds. A double bang, closer, but still well clear. As the echoing detonations sighed against the hull he heard the vessel’s engines joined by another. He did not need the Asdic report to know the attackers were changing their methods.
He glanced at Gerrard. `What d’you think, Number One? How many charges will they carry?’
Gerrard stared at the curved side, his mouth in a tight line. It seemed an age before he replied. `About a dozen each, sir. They’ve not much room for more.’ He swung round as a new sound came into the boat. It was like a child scratching a fence with a piece of wire, casual, insistent.
Gerrard said, `Christ, they’ve made a firm contact!’
Marshall looked past him. `One hundred and eighty metres again!’
He turned towards Devereaux, seeing his sudden terror, bare on his face. `Easy, Pilot.’ He smiled. `And keep your plot going!’
The attacking vessels must have cut diagonally across the U-boat’s track, side by side like a pair of terriers after the hare.
A pattern of six charges exploded in a long and ragged bombardment. The last pair burst with such a roar that the hull tilted its stern too steeply for Gerrard’s men to restrain the dive, and Marshall saw the needles flying round, while on every side the boat seemed to be jerking and groaning in physical agony. More paint flaked down, and when a signalman grasped the conning-tower ladder for support he shouted, `Christ, it’s bending!’
Gerrard appeared to be standing diagonally across the control room as he pushed a planesman’s shoulder and yelled, `Move, Kennan! Hold her!’
Gerrard turned as the tell-tales flickered into line. The depth guages stood at a full two hundred metres. Even the air felt different, as if it were being squeezed solid by the tremendous pressure around the hull.
Marshall smiled at him. `Makes our first deep dive cepm a bit trivial, eh?’
It was all he could do to speak so lightly, and he felt a nerve jump in his neck as the hull gave a sharp, sickening squeal.
Devereaux cleared his throat, the sound making more than one man jump with alarm.
`We are in six hundred fathoms, sir.’ He cleared his throat again. `As far as I can see, we’ve plenty of sea-room now.
Marshall looked at Simeon, and was surprised to see him sitting on the deck, his
back against the main bulkhead. He was staring at a space between his feet. Like a man under a spell.
‘H.E. closing from astern, sir.’
He said to Simeon, `I would suggest you stand up, sir. If this pattern comes too close, the shock could snap your spine.’
He turned away as Gerrard said, `This one’s coming in more slowly.’
They all looked at the deckhead, trying to see through the toughened steel, visualising the great depth of water above, the crushing darkness below.
But there was no scraping echo from the patrol boat’s Asdic. Just that monotonous thrum-thrum-thrum, it seemed endless.
‘H.E.‘s speeding up, sir!’
Marshall glanced quickly round the control room, wondering how his men were coping in their various sealed compartments. They would all know why the engines were increasing speed. The charges were coming down … now. The enemy was haring away to avoid having his own tail blown off.
There were three, although to those who crouched and clung to the wildly buckling hull it sounded like an avalanche crashing about their ears. Lights shattered, glass flew in all directions, and pieces of loose equipment rained down on the sobbing, gasping men as if the hull had begun to break up.
`Emergency lights!’
Marshall skidded on broken glass and heard someone calling for help. He saw the additional lamps flicker across the dials, and watched fascinated as the depth gauges took another slow turn. They were over seven hundred feet beneath the surface. It was incredible. Unbelievable that they had withstood the pressures of both sea and explosions.
He peered at the clock. After three in the morning. The attack had gone on for over two hours. It seemed like minutes, that was the strange thing about it.
Gerrard croaked, `She’s steady, sir.’ He sounded near to cracking.
`Hold her.’ Marshall staggered through the chaos and touched his arm. `You can do it, Bob!’
Gerrard nodded dumbly, and turned back to his gauges as Marshall added, `Check all departments now.’
A man lurched to his feet and cranked at a telephone handset. Others came out of their stunned attitudes and moved to their stations, like old men, unsure of each and every step.