The Shadow of War

by Jack Murray

  There was none.

  For the next few hours, the ship continued to pitch and roll violently. However, in the hammock there was a rhythm to the movement of the ship. Whilst it may have been disastrous for his stomach, never mind his nerve, Manfred felt confident he could manage.

  The noise was another thing. Menacing, strange noises were caused by water smashing against the side of the ship. The scream of the storm. The crashing and clattering of things falling to the ground and then rolling around the floor. The heartrending cries of his comrades ringing throughout the ship, accompanied by the base groan of the metal stretching and rivets rasping in the tempest. Sleep was impossible.

  Night came but without a break in the weather. If anything, it seemed worse, although Manfred was past caring. He was now on deck. Sick. He watched the ship plummet into another valley and a large wave rose up, crashing over the top of the deck. Manfred was soaking wet. The wind bludgeoned his face and showers of spray blinded his eyes with salty sea water.

  The sea was a grey-white lather icing atop grey-black mountain ranges. Manfred felt numb, his eyes were on fire, his stomach empty and sore. He stood on the deck immobile. He wanted to leave but was unable to move. Instead, he was hypnotised by the sight and sound of the maelstrom.

  Finally, he moved his limbs slowly towards the door. It took several minutes but he reached the safety of his hammock. He stripped off his wet clothes and flung them onto the floor. At last, lying in the hammock, sleep came. A fitful sleep, but rest, nonetheless.

  He awoke around dawn. Light filtered through the windows. The first thing Manfred noticed was the noise, or lack of it. The ship was no longer rolling violently. The storm had abated.

  The second thing noticed was the ringing in his ears had stopped. It was then that the stench hit him. The smell of stale sweat, damp clothing and vomit assaulted his senses and he nearly retched. He decided to get out into the fresh air.

  However, as he jumped down from his hammock, he realised that he ached all over. His eyes and face were smarting from the earlier exposure to the salty wind. He found some dry clothes and dressed slowly. Gerhardt was also awake. His face had a deathly pallor, but he managed a weak smile.

  ‘Am I dead?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, you’re in heaven, my son.’

  ‘Nice place.’

  ‘Smells a bit.’

  ‘Bloody hell, does it ever,’ said Gerhardt rising slowly. He looked around him and grinned. ‘That was the worst day of my life.’

  The two boys looked at one another for a moment. An acceptance that worse would follow. Then, Manfred laughed, ‘I know what you mean. We must be near by now. I’m going to find out.’

  A couple of minutes later, Manfred found a seaman cleaning up the filth on deck. ‘How long before we make land,’ he asked him.

  ‘If it hadn’t been for the storm we would have been there by now. A couple of hours, no more.’

  Manfred thanked him and went below deck to relay the news. By now most of the hammocks were stirring. Sepp was up and dressed, although Christian grimly refused to be moved by anything save an undertaker. Manfred and the rest of his friends went to the galley in search of food. With each passing minute on the calmer sea, their appetites returned.

  When they arrived, Manfred spotted Kupsch. He motioned for the rest of his comrades to follow him.

  ‘Johann, I want you to meet my friends.’

  They sat down alongside Kupsch. Gerhardt asked him what regiment he was in.

  ‘I’m artillery. I shoot the big eighty-eight’s. Boom, boom.’

  The group laughed at this. The eighty-eight-millimetre gun was the deadliest anti-tank weapon in the war. It could knock out a tank from over a kilometre. This was well outside the range of the British tanks, explained Kupsch.

  Sepp pointed to him and joked, ‘No drinking the night before battle. I want your frigging head to be clear.’

  The table, including Kupsch laughed. He held his hands up and said, ‘I promise. Afterwards I get drunk.’

  ‘How come you’re not feeling like death, anyway?’ asked Sepp.

  Kupsch explained about his hobby sailing boats.

  ‘Rich boy, I thought your type was avoiding all this,’ said Lothar dismissing him with a wave of his hand.

  Kupsch nodded his head, ‘Many of my friends are. Sorry, I should say former friends.’

  ‘And you?’ asked Gerhardt.

  ‘I don’t like Hitler much, but a lot of what he says is right. Germany was a mess until he came along. If this is what we have to do to be respected then damn, I want to be part of it. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life on my knees.’

  The other boys nodded their agreement. He had summed up how they felt. They had grown up in a serf state. No longer should the country accept this status. The youth of Weimar would lead Germany, if not to glory, then at least to prosperity where they would be equals with the other great powers.

  The galley produced a big breakfast for the brave souls who were, once again, prepared to eat. Manfred and the boys ate hungrily. By the time they had finished, the galley was full. They agreed to head up onto the deck and spend the rest of the morning waiting to see their final destination: North Africa.

  2

  The weariness and ache in Manfred’s bones slowly began to disappear as he stood on the deck with his friends. The sky was a cloudless cerulean blue. Perfect. The sea seemed to be playing a joke on the travellers. Gone was the black and white anger. It had been replaced by a serenity few would have believed possible in such a dangerously spiteful sea.

  All around they heard the sound of laughter as young men shared their stories of sickness. It was almost as if they had seen the worst of the war. Even Manfred was laughing. No one, aside from Kupsch, had been left unscathed by the tempest. It was easy to laugh at other people and be laughed at too. The catharsis acted to distract the soldiers from what lay ahead. They welcomed anything that took their minds off the future.

  Then the laughter stopped as quickly as it had arisen.

  Several officers had appeared and began yelling at the young men. There was genuine anger in their voices. They walked along the deck and their presence created a wave of silence that swept the length of the ship.

  ‘What are they shouting about?’ asked Lothar.

  Kupsch went to find out. He returned a few moments later and reported.

  ‘Some kid was swept overboard last night.’

  Or jumped.

  They all looked at one another. So they had not yet reached land and death had visited them. It woke everyone up to why they were on the ship. An awkward silence fell on the group. Eyes avoided eyes.

  A voice shouted out from another group.

  ‘Land.’

  Manfred and his friends turned around. It was true. Barely there, a hazy grey at the point where sky met sea. The sound of voices returned to the deck as the soldiers started to talk excitedly again. These were young men. They lived in the moment. The past was quickly forgotten, such is the joy of youth. But the memories never leave you. They come back. Later when you are older; when you are better able to understand them; when you are able to feel what you should have felt then: the horror and the sorrow.

  ‘This is it boys,’ said Gerhardt.

  ‘Not quite,’ pointed out Christian. ‘Still a few hours to go. This is hardly a speedboat, or hadn’t you noticed?’

  Several hats started to beat the laughing ‘Professor’ Christian over the head. The good humour in the group was now fully restored. They all leant against the railings and allowed a gentle sea breeze to lick their faces. Whatever the future held, they wanted to enjoy these last few moments of peace.

  ‘Nervous?’ asked Gerhardt.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Manfred. ‘You.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Silence returned not just to the group but along the deck as the young men watched the ship slowly make its way towards a land where many of them would die in agony.

  -
<
br />   Manfred took a drag of the cigarette. He had never smoked until he joined officer training. Everyone else was smoking, even Gerhardt. He tried to like it but could not understand the appeal. He was sat on his hammock, his friends all around.

  Everyone was laughing. The mood had relaxed. The prospect of land meant war and possible death, but for Sepp it meant they would be off the water at long last. This was an immense relief.

  ‘You really can’t swim?’ laughed Christian.

  Sepp shrugged, ‘No. Never interested. The sea was a long way away and, well, there were better things to do.’

  This comment was greeted, predictably, by a few ribald comments on what Sepp had probably never done. In truth, he was hardly alone in this. Virgin men who had been trained to kill.

  Manfred remained silent whilst the others made fun of Sepp. He thought about Anja. He thought about his experience with women, or the lack of it. The others seemed to know so much more. Or maybe they were lying to him and to themselves. Who could tell?

  -

  First it was the shout.

  Then they all heard it. A light drone at first. Then it grew louder. All at once the deck was a riot of noise and movement. Orders were shouted and lost in the din. Manfred felt himself jostled and pushed as soldiers were ordered to return below deck. Manfred glanced up and saw some of the sailors running to the guns. Then, moments later, driven along by the human wave he was inside and virtually carried downstairs.

  They boys returned to their hammocks. There was no choice as the windows were blocked by the men shouldering one another to get a better view of what was happening. The noise of voices quietened as the hum of the fighter planes grew more distinct.

  Manfred looked at his friends. All felt fear and frustration in equal measure. Fear at the prospect of being under attack; frustration they could do nothing to help. The sound of the planes grew louder. Then the anti-aircraft guns chonck, chonck followed a minute later by the regular, rat, tat, tat rhythm of machine guns.

  Now the planes were a roar overhead. Explosions followed as they dropped their cargo. The sound reverberated around the hold. From each side they heard the deadly sound of gunfire. Manfred glanced down at the hands of his friends. Gerhardt hands were clasped together, knuckle-white.

  Manfred’s breathing was shallow. He feared taking a deep breath or exhaling too much lest it reveal the fear he was feeling. The siren scream of the planes was the worst; a prelude to death. If you heard the explosion it meant you were still alive.

  No one spoke.

  At the windows there was shouting and cheering on the gunners. But no one in Manfred’s group spoke. Eye contact was avoided. It would reveal too much. Instead they fought a battle in their minds. The age old confrontation between fight and flight.

  The sound of the guns acted like a percussion to the main theme played by the aerial combatants. The different sounds the planes became familiar very quickly: the hum, the roar, the scream. Finally, there was a cheer amongst some of the men on the starboard side.

  The boys turned around. They were hugging one another and the sound of an aeroplane splutter, scream and then silence before the explosion. To a man they roared in happiness, in anger and in relief.

  ‘Will they leave now?’ asked Lothar following a brief halt to the firing. Manfred shrugged. Gerhardt shook his head. Moments later the assault began again.

  Manfred glanced at Christian. His new friend was virtually white with fear. Gerhardt was looking left and right with each explosion. This was less to do with fear than a desire to see if they had been hit. Lothar looked like he was ready to lie down and have a nap. A good actor, nerveless or just plain stupid. Manfred couldn’t decide which.

  An explosion just outside rocked the ship, and then another. The screams were no longer of aeroplane engines. It was metal tearing. And then they heard a siren.

  ‘We’ve been hit.’

  It was Gerhardt. His voice was toneless. He stood up. The others followed him. Panic flooded the hold. All at once everyone was shouting. Another explosion rocked the ship. This had a different texture. Rather than from above, it seemed to come from within.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Manfred. ‘That’s the magazine. We have to get off. It’ll explode.’

  Dozens of other soldiers, more alert to the problem, had reached the same conclusion and were soon rushing to the door.

  ‘Grab your life belt,’ shouted Manfred over the din.

  An officer had pushed his way inside to order men to do what they had already started trying to do. Despite the officer’s efforts, panic was rising as the ship lurched on the starboard side. Manfred and his friends made it out onto the deck which was a scream of noise and confusion. Terrified soldiers were rushing, jostling and fighting to escape the fire that was spreading on the other side of the ship.

  The sky was blanketed by puff ball smoke and the air smelled of cordite. Smoke made their eyes water and breathing difficult. Manfred was coughing as he struggled to find something to cover his nose and mouth with.

  An officer close by was shouting for them to get to their lifeboat stations. It took Manfred a few moments to get his bearings then he saw Lothar pointing up to the next level. They followed him up some steps which led to the upper deck. Here it was calmer as the officers had matters under control. Soldiers were calmly lowering lifeboats onto the water.

  Manfred looked up. It seemed the raid was over. Glancing around at the rest of the convoy it seemed theirs was the only ship to sustain serious damage. The noise level below was, if anything, rising. Another officer appeared and shouted to the sergeant in charge of Manfred and his friends to get a group to help put out the fire near the magazine.

  The sergeant turned around and pointed to Manfred, Lothar, Sepp and Gerhardt to follow him. The four men, along with the officer, ran around to the starboard side which was listing now at a slight angle. Below they could see around a dozen men manning hoses trying to put out a fire in the hold below.

  The officer shouted over the din, ‘The pump below is blocked by a car that has rolled over a line connecting several of the hoses. Get down there and move the car. Be as quick as you can. The ship could blow if the fire gets to the magazine.’

  The sergeant took instruction from the officer and then waved at the boys to follow him down below to the hold. They descended two sets of stairs rapidly. A minute later they were now below deck. All around them were tanks, a few armoured cars and jeeps. The heat was intense but because the magazine was being hosed up above, the water spray cooled them as they followed the sergeant.

  ‘Grab the rope over there,’ shouted the sergeant.

  Gerhardt did as he was told and returned with a thick rope. They were now beside the jeep. Simply rolling it forward off the water line was not an option. It was wedged against another jeep, bumper to bumper. They would have to use the rope and pull it a foot to their left to release the line.

  Manfred risked a glance at the fire. It had reached the magazine. The fire fighters were losing the battle. Gerhardt helped the sergeant tie the rope around the wheel axle. Then all four men took the strain and tried to pull the car off the line. The effort seemed to tear Manfred’s muscles as he pulled with every ounce of his being. At first it seemed a hopeless task. He glanced at Lothar and Sepp. The sergeant had chosen well. Manfred doubted there were two stronger men on board. Slowly it felt like something was giving.

  After thirty seconds, they felt the wheel slip off the line. Moments later they heard a roar of approval as more water was released to fight the blaze. However, there was no time to stop and survey their work. The sergeant yelled at them to get back to the ladder. This required no second instruction.

  The ship’s siren was telling them that it was time to abandon ship.

  3

  ‘Back to the lifeboat station,’ ordered the sergeant. They weaved through the armoured vehicles to the metal ladder connecting the hold to the upper deck. The sergeant stood back and waited as each of the young m
en clambered up the ladder. Up above a captain was shouting at them to move quickly. The lifeboats were in the water.

  Sepp was at the top first followed by Lothar and then Manfred. Gerhardt virtually had his arms ripped from sockets as Lothar pulled him up to the deck. The ship lurched a little more followed by awful silence, probably lasting no more than a heartbeat. Seconds later, there was a tremendous explosion in the magazine.

  The ship juddered. Manfred glanced down in horror as the sergeant lost his grip and fell backwards into the hold. He hit the deck with a thump. It knocked him unconscious.

  ‘Quick,’ shouted Manfred, ‘we have to get him.’

  Gerhardt jumped down the steps with Manfred. Lothar joined his two friends split seconds later. Manfred was the first to reach the sergeant. He was out cold but still breathing. There was no time to worry about back injuries. The intensity of the heat would kill him in a minute. The fire was almost upon the three men.

  Another smaller explosion rocked the vehicles behind them.

  Manfred put his hands underneath the arms of the prone man and hoisted him. Lothar grabbed him and threw him over his back like he was a rag doll. Manfred almost laughed at the ease with his friend handled the sergeant, who was built like a light-heavyweight.

  Lothar took him as far as the steps. The heat was felt like it was searing the skin of Manfred’s face. Worse the metal ladder was getting hotter by the second. A third explosion rocked the boat. Manfred reached up to stop Lothar falling on top of him. With a final push-pull, the sergeant was hauled up onto the deck by other soldiers waiting for them. The back of his head had a gash and he was still unconscious. Sepp was there and picked up the sergeant as easily as Lothar had. They rushed to the other side of the boat where the lifeboats had been lowered.

  They, and a few other soldiers, were the last on board. The decks were empty. The stragglers, including the captain, prepared to jump into the sea to be picked up.