Rendezvous-South Atlantic

by Douglas Reeman

  One. more day and they would be in December, with still another month to go before they could run for home, for Scapa and its weed-encrusted buoys.

  He turned on the bunk and heard the small pill jar rattle beneath the pillow. The sound was like a cruel taunt, and he tried not to think of Boase's reserved voice as he had handed them to him. Enough to make you sleep for four hours at least. Deep, empty sleep which he needed so desperately. Pitifully. Yet he knew he was afraid to take even one of them. In case he was needed. In case.... He rolled over to his opposite side and thought instead about opening a new bottle of whisky. It was no use. He could not go on like this. He was slowly destroying himself, and knew he was a growing. menace to all those who depended on him at any hour of day or night.

  Whenever he fell into the bunk for even a few moments the nightmare returned with the regularity of time itself. Again and again and again he would awake, sweating and frightened. Shaking and knowing he was beaten.

  Perhaps if they were on convoy duty it might have been different. The daily check of ships under escort, the careful manoeuvres with massive merchantmen charging blindly through fog or pitch darkness for fear of losing the next ahead. The search for stragglers, and the triumph at watching the lines of weatherbeaten charges plodding past into harbour and safety.

  But here there was nothing, and he knew it was affecting almost every man aboard. Tension flared into anger. Someone just a minute late on watch would be cursed by the waiting man with all the hatred and venom of an enemy. Lindsay tried to break the deadly monotony and discomfort by speaking daily to the ship's company over the new tannoy system. He occasionally left the bridge to do his rounds, to visit as many parts of the ship as he could between other duties, but he could feel the hopelessness of it just the same. Even the pathetically early Christmas decorations in some of the messes seemed to make a mockery of their efforts to stay sane.

  The telephone jarred into his thoughts like a gunshot. It was Stannard again.

  `Sorry to bother you, sir.' His Australian accent was more pronounced than usual. `There's a westbound convoy altering course to the south-east of us. W/T office is monitoring all traffic as you instructed.'

  `How far away?'

  Stannard sounded vague. `Approximately five hundred miles, sir.'

  `Anything else?'

  `Admiralty reports a deployment of seven plus U-boats converging ahead of convoy's original course, sir.'

  `Very well. Keep a good listening watch.' He heard the line go dead.

  As he lay back he thought of the countless times he had heard such warnings himself when he had commanded the Vengeur. Except that now there were more U-boats, bigger and better organised than before. He could . imagine the heart-searching which would be going on at this moment as the commodore and escort commander of that unknown convoy examined and discussed the latest information. Alter course. Run further north to avoid the eager U-boats. Lose time certainly, but with luck the ships would be saved from destruction. U-boats rarely wasted their efforts and fuel by sweeping too far from the main convoy routes. And why should they? Their growing toll of sinkings was evidence of their harvest.

  But in the Atlantic you could never be really certain. Time and distance, speed and visibility were so different heree from the calm efficiency of the plotting rooms in the far off Admiralty bunkers.

  But it was not Benbecula's concern. The convoy, like all the others at sea at any given time, must depend on its own resources.

  He closed his eyes and tried to dismiss it from his mind. But try as he might he could not put aside a sudden feeling of uneasiness. Doubt or instinct? It was impossible to describe.

  He switched on the light and swung his legs off the bunk, feeling automatically for his sea boots. It was no surprise to hear the discreet knock at the outer door and to see Jupp's mournful face peering in at him. Perhaps he could not sleep either.

  `Will you be wanting an early breakfast, sir?' His eyes flickered swiftly across the disordered bunk. `I 'ave some coffee on the go.'

  Lindsay, shook his head, steadying his legs against the tilting deck. `I think I'll make do with coffee for now.'

  Jupp vanished just as quietly and returned in minutes with a pot of fresh coffee.

  He said, `Blowing a bit up top; sir.' He glanced with. obvious disapproval at Lindsay's soiled and crumpled sweater. `I could get you some more gear from my store.'

  Lindsay smiled. `Later.'

  He swung round as the handset rang again. `Captain?'

  Stannard said, 'W/T office has just received a signal for us, sir. Top Secret. I've got Aikman on to it right away.'

  Lieutenant Aikman, who was listed as boarding officer, had the additional chore of decoding the more secret and difficult signals, and would not thank Stannard for hauling him from his warm bunk.

  Lindsay swallowed some coffee and then asked, `Any news of the convoy?'

  `Six more U-boats reported to the south of it, sir. I've marked 'em on my chart, so it also gives us a fair idea of the convoy's position.'

  Lindsay nodded. 'Good. That was sensible.' There was more to Stannard than he had imagined.

  He replaced the- handset as Jupp said, `Marvellous 'ow the Admiralty know all them things, sir..'

  Lindsay shrugged. `They've the Germans to thank for that. Admiralty intercepts signals from seagoing U-boats to German naval headquarters and passes the information on to the convoys. Got it?'

  Jupp looked doubtful. `Not quite, sir.'

  Lindsay groped for the nearest dry towel and wound it round his neck. `If a U-boat sights a convoy her skipper flashes the news to Germany.. The German operations staff then signal all U-boats in the vicinity to home on to it like a pack of wolves.'

  As he buttoned his jacket he was thinking of those submarines. Seven plus ahead of the convoy's previous course. Now six more to the south. It was a formidable force, but fortunately there was still time to take avoiding action. Thanks to the radio operators at the Admiralty.

  Jupp handed him his cap and glasses. `It's all too much for me, sir. Makes me feel old.'

  Lindsay brushed past him. `You'll never get old. You're like the ship. Rheumaticky but reliable!'

  As he hurried up the companion ladder he realised with a start that it was the first time he had attempted to make a joke about anything since ... he shut the other picture from his mind.

  By the chart room he paused and glanced inside. Stannard was, stretching across the big table, his fingers working deftly with dividers and parallel rulers...He made some small notations on the chart and then straightened his back. Seeing Lindsay in the doorway he said, `Oh, good morning, sir.' He grinned. `Although it's as black as

  a boot outside.'

  Lindsay leaned on the table and studied the neat lines and bearings.

  Stannard said, `As far as I can make out the convoy has made a really drastic alteration of course.' He tapped the chart with his dividers. `They are steaming almost nor'west and really cracking it on.'

  `What do we know about it, Pilot?'

  Lindsay knew what the convoy's commodore was doing. He had already passed out of effective range of air cover from England and was heading further north in the hopes of getting help from the longe-range bomber patrols from Iceland. There were so many dead patches where aircraft could not reach to carry out sorties and anti-submarine attacks. Like the vast area now covered by Benbecula's endless vigil.

  Stannard said, `I looked at the intelligence log, sir. Seems it's a fast westbound convoy. Only ten ships, according to the last information.'

  The door banged open and Aikman, his pyjamas covered bya duffel coat, stepped over the coaming.

  `Bloody hell, Pilot! Can't you let a bloke get some shut-eye!' He saw Lindsay and flushed. `Sorry, sir!'

  Lindsay smiled. `I know how you feel.' He was still thinking about the convoy. `What does the signal say?'

  Aikman ran his fingers through his tousled hair. `Three German heavy units have left Tromso, sir. Last repo
rted heading south along the Norwegian coast. Further information not yet available.' He looked up as Lindsay turned to face him. `There's a list of deployments too, sir.'

  Lindsay took the long, neatly written signal and read it very slowly. It might be nothing. The enemy could be moving three important warships south to Kiel or to the Baltic for use against the Russians. They had been seen steaming south, but that could have easily been a ruse to confuse the Norwegian agents who must have flashed the news to the Admiralty in London. Perhaps they were going to make another attempt to break into the Atlantic in strength. He ran his eye over the deployment information. A cruiser squadron was already on its way from Iceland, and more heavy units had left Scapa Flow: He found he was reading fasteras the mental picture began to form in his mind. Almost every available ship was being sent to forestall anything which the three German units might attempt. He thought of the deserted buoys at Scapa. The place would really be stripped bare now.

  He looked- at Stannard. `I want you tomake notes on this signal. You'll need help with it, so I'll stay on the bridge awhile until we hear something more.'

  Stannard nodded and picked up a telephone. He said, `Bosun's mate? Get the navigator's yeoman double quick. And tell Midshipman Kemp I want him here, too.' As he dropped the handset-he was already searching through his chart folios until with a grunt he dragged one out and laid it on the smaller chart table by the bulkhead. `Just so as I can plot what's happening off Norway, sir.' He grinned and added, `Not that we'll be involved, but it helps to pass the time.'

  Lindsay eyed him gravely. `Good thinking. But don't bank' on the last part too much.'

  As he walked towards the wheelhouse Lindsay was thinking of the carefully detailed information in the signal, What Stannard did not yet realise was that apart from Benbecula and two patrol vessels in the Denmark Strait there was hardly a single ship within five hundred miles of the convoy and its escorts.

  He found Dancy standing in the centre of the bridge staring straight ahead through a clearview screen. Beyond the toughened glass there was little visible but the dark outline of the forecastle framed against the oncoming ranks of white-topped waves. Past the pale crests there was complete darkness,, with not even a star to . show itself through the thick cloud.

  Dancy stiffened as Lindsay lifted himself on to the chair.

  Lindsay remarked, `How is the ice on deck, Sub?'

  Dancy replied, `The middle watch had it cleared before we came up, sir. But there is some forming below Number Two gun mounting, I think. I'll get the hands on it in half an hour.' He hesitated. `If that is all right, sir?' '

  Lindsay looked' at him. How much more confident Dancy had become. Probably through working with Stannard.

  `Fine,' he said.

  Stannard entered the wheelhouse a few minutes later but he was no longer so untroubled. `I've marked all of it on the charts, sir.' His palm rasped over his chin. `If those three jokers make a go for the Atlantic, which way will they come, d'you reckon?'

  Lindsay shrugged. `They'll know they've been seen on the move and will not waste time trying for the Denmark Strait this time. Quite apart from the problems of drifting ice, they'll imagine we've a mass of -patrols there already waiting for them.'

  Stannard said quietly, `If they only knew!'

  Lindsay nodded. `My guess is they'll head for the Rose Garden.'

  `Sir?' Dancy sounded puzzled.

  Stannard understood. `That's the area between Iceland and the Faroes, you ignorant oaf!' ,

  Dancy replied carefully, `All the same, it'll be hard to slip past our ships, surely?'

  `Over four hundred miles, Sub?' Lindsay looked away. `It's a pretty wide gap.'

  He settled back in the chair and waited until the others had moved away. He did not want to talk. He wanted to think, to try and explain why he felt so uneasy: Involved.

  On the face of it, Dancy's youthful optimism should be justified. The Navy had been planning for such an eventuality since the Bismarck's breakout., But this was a very bad time of the year. Visibility was hopeless and air cover restricted accordingly. It was just possible the Germans might make it. If so, where would they go, south to prey on the convoys from the Cape, or further west in search of more rapid results?

  Aikman entered the wheelhouse, his eyes glowing faintly in the shaded compass light. `Another signal, sir. Two more U-boats reported to south of convoy.'

  Stannard snapped, `Give it to me. I'll put it on the chart.'

  Lindsay's voice stopped him by the door. `While you're there, Pilot, get me a course and speed to intercept the convoy.' He hesitated, feeling Stannard's unspoken warning. `I mean to intercept the convoy if it comes as far north as our patrol limit.'

  Stannard said, `Right away, sir.'

  Aikman asked, `They'll never come right up here, surely, sir?'

  Lindsay looked at him. `Wouldn't you if you had fifteen odd U-boats coming after you?'

  Aikman nodded glumly. `I suppose so.'

  Somewhere below the bridge the tannoy speaker squeaked into life. `Cooks to the galley! Forenoon watchkeepers to breakfast and clean!'

  Lindsay looked at his watch. Nearly three hours since Stannard had called him on the telephone about the change of course. It seemed like minutes.

  Stannard came back and said, `Course to intercept would be one hundred degrees, sir. Revs for fifteen knots.' He paused, his voice empty of everything but professional interest. `If the convoy maintains its present course and speed we should make contact at 2000 tonight.' He stood back, his face hidden in shadow as he waited for Lindsay's reaction. Then he added slowly, `Of course, sir, we'd be out of our allotted area by noon if you decided to act on it.'

  `Yes.' He thought of the two lines which Stannard must have drawn on his chart. Two converging lines. One the Benbecula, the other a handful of desperate, valuable ships. The convoy's original track was straddled by Uboats. To the south the gate was also closed. But if the convoy came further north and the German heavy units burst through the patrol lines, they would need all the help they could get.

  He said, `Very well. Bring her round to one-zero-zero. Call up the chief before you ask for maximum revs, but warn the engine room what to expect.'

  He could feel the sudden expectancy amongst the shadowy figures around him. Moments before they had been lolling and swaying with the regular motion, half asleep and dull with boredom. His words had changed all that in an instant.

  `Port fifteen.' Stannard rested one hand on the gyro, his eyes watching the quartermaster as he began to turn the wheel.

  Below decks, as the forenoon watchkeepers queued for their greasy sausages and powdered egg, their, sweet tea and marmalade, they would feel the difference and cling to their mess tables until the turn was completed. Only the seasoned men would guess what was happening. The others would merely curse the officers on the bridge for deliberately trying to ruin their breakfast.

  'Midships.' Stannard had his eye down to the gyro. `Steady.'

  `Steady, sir. Course zero-nine-five.' The quartermaster sounded breathless as the ship rolled heavily across a steep trough.

  `Steer one-zero-zero.' Stannard looked up as small tinkling sounds echoed above like tiny bells. More ice .forming on the control position and rigging made by the spray-flung high over the bows.

  A telephone buzzed and Stannard said, `Yes, Chief.' He looked at Lindsay. `For you, sir.'

  Fraser sounded irritable. `What's all this I hear about full revs, sir?'

  Lindsay turned his back to the others and spoke very quietly into the mouthpiece. `There may be a convoy coming into our pitch, Chief. There are three bandits at large from Norway and a whole pack of U-boats to the south. I thought our presence might cheer 'em up a bit. Pilot will give you the details. I just wanted you to know the rest of it first.'

  There was a long pause. `Aye, sir. Ring down when you're ready; I'll give you everything I've got.'

  Lindsay handed the telephone to Stannard and said, `'I'm going below. I have
a feeling this is going to be a long day.'

  Two hours later Jupp stood beside Lindsay's table and eyed him with grave approval. Lindsay had shaved, taken a quick shower, and had allowed Jupp to supply him with a freshly laundered sweater. But it was the fact that he was eating his first complete breakfast since taking command which was obviously giving the steward so much pleasure. He even felt better, but could discover no cause for it.

  Beyond the bulkhead he could hear hammers banging away the ice and the squeak of metal as the gun crews tested their weapons and made sure the mechanism had not frozen solid overnight. It was still dark on deck, and would be for most of the day. He could feel the ship's stern lifting slowly to the following sea, while the bows crashed and vibrated like dull thunder, throwing up the spray in long tattered banners as high as the foremast derricks.

  There was a tap at the door and Petty Officer Ritchie stepped over the coaming, his cap beneath his arm. He too looked brighter and more relaxed than Lindsay could remember. Perhaps, like himself, he craved to be doing something, if only to keep his inner hurt at bay a while longer.

  `Good morning, Yeoman. Anything new?'

  Ritchie took a pad from his pocket. `Not much, sir. No more U-boat reports. And there's nothin' about the three Jerry ships neither.' He leafed through the pad. `Bad weather over the Denmark Strait, so. all air patrols is grounded.'

  `That follows.' Lindsay gestured to Jupp for some more coffee.

  Ritchie added, `Some more information about the convoy, sir. Ten ships and three escorts.'

  `Only three?'

  Ritchie grimaced. `Well, sir, it's a fast convoy apparently. Mostly tankers in ballast and two personnel ships. One of 'em's; got a party of Wrens aboard it seems. A complete signals course.'

  Lindsay stared at him,- suddenly ice cold. It was more than a coincidence, surely. The feeling. The nagging instinct that something was wrong. Like the dream. Only this time it was real.

  `Give it to me.' He took the pad, his eyes darting across Ritchie's round handwriting as if to see something more than the bare details.