Rendezvous-South Atlantic

by Douglas Reeman

  He turned on his chair and rapped, `Time?'

  A signalman said, `Twenty-one 'undred, sir.'

  Feet thumped overhead where Maxwell and his fire control team had been sitting and shivering for several hours.

  He darted a quick glance around the bridge. Dancy and Petty Officer Ritchie. Stannard just by the rear door, and the signalmen and messengers arranged at telephones and voicepipes like so many statues. The coxswain was leaning slightly over the wheel, his heavy face set in a frown of. concentration. as he watched the ticking gyro repeater. The tension was almost a physical thing.

  Watertight doors were closed, and apart from the bridge shutters every hatch and scuttle was tightly sealed.

  Lindsay-felt his stomach contract painfully and realised he had not eaten since breakfast.

  The buzz of a telephone was so loud that a seaman gave a yelp of alarm.

  Stannard snatched it and then said quickly, `Signal from convoy escort to Admiralty, Sir.' He paused, listening to the voice from behind the W/T office's protective steel plate. 'Am under attack by German raider. One escort in sinking condition. Am engaging.' He swallowed hard. `Require immediate repeat immediate assistance.'

  Lindsay did not turn. `Full ahead both engines.'

  Stannard shouted above the jangle of telegraphs. `Admiralty to Benbecula, sir. Act as situation demands. No assistance is available for minimum of twelve hours.'

  Dancy whispered, `God!'

  Another telephone buzzed and Lindsay heard Dancy say, `Masthead. Yes. Right.' Then he said, `Gunflashes at Red two-oh.'

  The bridge was beginning to vibrate savagely as the revolutions mounted.

  Then Stannard again. `Admiralty have ordered convoy to divide, sir.'

  Dancy called, `Masthead reports that he can see more flashes, sir.'

  `Very well.'

  Lindsay forced his spine back into the chair, willing his mind to stay clear. The flashes were a guide, but with the low cloud and possibility of ice about it was impossible to. gauge the range.

  The control speaker intoned, `'We can see the flashes too, sir. No range as yet.'

  With the freezing spray splattering over the bridge it was hardly surprising. Maxwell's spotters probably had their work cut out to keep even the largest lens free of ice.

  `Any more news from the escort?'

  `'No, sir.' Stannard had the handset against his ear.

  Lindsay pounded the screen slowly with his gloved fingers. Come on, old girl. Come on. He recalled the words from the Admiralty. Act as situation demands. Would they have said it if they had known Benbecula was so close?

  Dancy asked quietly, 'D'you think it's the same one that sank Loch Glendhu, sir?' He sounded hoarse.

  `Yes. That last effort was just a rehearsal. Maybe this is, too.'

  Someone gasped as a bright orange light glowed suddenly in the blackness ahead. It seemed to hang like a tall, brilliant feather of flame, until with equal swiftness it vanished completely.

  Stannard said, `That's one poor bastard done for.'

  Maxwell's voice made him look round at the speaker, `Approximate range is three-double-oh, sir. Bearing Red one-five.'

  Lindsay clenched his fingers to steady himself. Fifteen miles. It might as well be double that amount.

  Stannard was by his side again. `We're a lot closer than I calculated, sir.' He seemed to sense Lindsay's despair and added, `We might still be. able to help.'

  Another bright flash against the unmoving backcloth. This time it seemed to last for several minutes so that they could see the underbellies of the clouds shining and flickering as if touched by the fires below.

  Out there ships were burning and men were dying. Lindsay stared at the shimmering light with sudden anguish. It had been so well planned, with the methodical accuracy of an assassination.

  The fire vanished, as if quenched by a single hand.

  Lindsay looked away. If she was in that ship, please God let it have been quick. No terror below decks with the ship falling apart around her. No agony, of scalding

  steam, of shell splinters. Only the freezing sea, just for this once-being merciful.

  Stannard took the handset from a messenger before it had stopped buzzing. `To us from Admiralty, sir. Convoy has divided. The two personnel ships with the commodore aboard have turned north. The tankers and remaining escort have headed south.' He sounded surprised. `Enemy has ceased fire.'

  Lindsay stood up and walked slowly across the violently shaking gratings. Of course-the German had ceased fire. He had destroyed two or more in the convoy. The U-boats would be waiting for the tankers now. The raider could take his time. Follow the two helpless ships as far as the ice, and then....

  He swung round, his tone harsh: `Come to the chart room, Pilot. We'll alter course immediately.'

  `Are you going after them, sir?'

  Lindsay looked at him. `All the way.'

  Ritchie watched them leave the wheelhouse and then crossed to the gyro, straddling his legs as the ship crashed violently in the heavy swell.

  `What d'you think, Swain? Will we make it?'

  Jolliffe's face remained frozen in the compass light like a chunk of weatherworn carving. `I'll tell you one thing, Yeo. If we gets stuck up there in the ,bleeding ice it'll be like shooting fish in a barrel.'

  Dancy heard his words and walked quickly to the forepart of the bridge. He watched the spray rattling against the glass and thought of men like. Jolliffe and Ritchie. Professionals, yet they were worried. He gripped the rail and shivered uncontrollably. Knowing he was at last afraid.

  Down in the ship's damage control section Goss sat in a steel swivel chair, his hands on his thighs; his head jutting forward as he stared grimly at the illuminated ship's plan on the opposite bulkhead. This compartment had altered very little since her cruising days, and apart from additional titles and new functions, the plan, the various sections throughout the jiull had not changed. Coloured lights flickered along the plan showing watertight compartments and bulkheads, stores and holds, the complex maze of passageways and shafts which went into the body of a ship.

  The damage control parties had been at their stations for hours, and behind him Goss could hear some of the .stokers and seamen chattering together, their voices almost lost in the pounding rumble of engines and the whirr of fans.

  In another seat at the far end of the plan sat Chief Petty Officer Archer, his head lolling to the unsteady rolls, his cap tilted to the back of his head as he waited with the others for something to happen.

  Goss did not like Archer, and already there had been several flare-ups between them. With Tobey, the ship's boatswain, who had been drafted to more important duties, as the dockyard had explained, Goss had got on very well. Not on a sociable level, of course; but professionally, which was all Goss required in any man. Tobey was a company officer, one who had served in the line for many years, most of them in the Benbecula. He knew the ship, every rivet of her, like his own skin, and had nursed her over the thousands of miles they had steamed together. Being sparing with paint and cleaning gear, avoiding waste in materials by keeping an eagle eye on the seamen to make sure a proper wire splice was used instead of merely signing a chit for a whole new length of it. But at all times he had kept the ship perfect, a credit to the company.

  He darted a glance at Archer. He on the other hand was a regular Navy man. He knew nothing of making do with meagre resources, with a clerk in the company office checking every item and expense. He had lived off the

  taxpayer for too long, and cared nothing for economy. When Goss had gott on to him about the constant increase of-rust streaks on the superstructure, Archer had merely ordered his men to slop on more paint. Hide it, cover it up, until somebody else made it his business to deal with properly. Someone else, in Archer's view, was the dockyard, any dockyard. He was not concerned.

  He sat bolt upright in his chair as the deck and fittings gave a sudden convulsion, and above the engines' confident beat he heard a drawn-out,
menacing roar.

  A seaman called, `What was that, Chief?'

  Archer looked at Goss, his eyes anxious. `I'm not sure.'

  Goss listened to the sound as it faded and then stopped altogether. `We must be pushing through some drift ice.'

  He licked his lips. The captain must be stark, staring mad to drive the ship like this with ice about.

  Archer said quietly, `Well, I expect they know what they're doin'.' He did not sound very convinced.

  A door opened and aa seaman staggered into the compartment carrying a huge fanny of cocoa. Feet scraped and mugs clattered as the men hurried to meet him, their concern temporarily forgotten.

  Goss glared at the clock. It was six in the morning. Nine hours since the bridge had reported sighting gunflashes and had rung down for full speed. The old Becky must have covered nearly a hundred and forty miles in that time, and it was a wonder the boilers hadn't burst under the strain. A further scraping roar echoed around the hull, and he gripped the arms of his seat as he pictured the surging slabs of ice dashing down the ship's flanks, fading into the wash astern.

  He could feel his palms sweating, and knew from the stricken silence behind him that the others were watching him.

  He said gruffly, `She can take more than this, so get on with your bloody cocoa!'

  Goss tried to shut them all from his mind, close them out, as he often did when he was worried. He thought back to that last cruise, before the war had changed everything. Even by looking at the damage control plan he could bring back some of it. The passengers had often come down here on one of the little conducted tours which had always been so popular. The ladies in the silk dresses, with tanned shoulders, the men in white dinner jackets wafting the scent of rich cigars as they listened to some earnest junior officer explaining the ship's safety arrangements. It had all been a bit of a joke to them, of course. Like the boat drill, with the-stewards taking as many-liberties as they dared when they assisted some of the younger women with their lifejackets. But Goss had never looked on it as anything but deadly serious. He had been in one ship when fire had broken out and the lifeboats had been lowered with minutes to spare. An ugly episode. He looked along the plan, his eyes dark. In those days, of course, one of the main points to be watched was the watertight door system. It did not actually say anything about it on the plan, but Goss had known that if Benbecula had begun to sink it would have been his job to ensure the emigrants and other poorer passengers were not. released by his system of doors until all the first class had been cleared into the boats. He had always disliked the tours down here, just in case some clever bastard had noticed the obvious.

  He felt the chairback pushing against his spine and sa`w a pencil begin to roll- rapidly from the table. The helm had gone over, and fast. He thrust himself forward and gripped the table,. as with a grinding vibration more ice came roaring against the ship's side. But this time it did not pass so quickly. Even as he staggered to his feet the whole compartment gave a tremendous lurch, so that men fell yelling and cursing amidst. the widening stain of spilled cocoa. An overhead light flickered and went out, and flecks of paint chippings floated down' like a toy snowstorm. The deck shook once more and then the noise subsided as before.

  But Goss was already reaching for his array of buttons,, his eyes fixed on the neatly worded compartment on the port side where a red emergency bulb had begun to flash.

  `Pumps! Come on, jump to it!' He snatched up a telephone and shouted, `Give me the bridge.' He saw Archer and a mechanic fumbling with the pump controls and added violently, `Yes, the bridge, you bloody idiot!'

  Benbecula had hit hard and was flooding. It was all lie knew. All he cared about.

  `Bridge? Give me the captain!'

  Lindsay watched the foreshortened figures of some seamen slipping and sliding across the forward well deck. Because of the thin coating of ice their black oilskins made them stand out like so many scurrying beetles as they began work with their hammers to clear the wash ports and scuppers before the task became impossible.

  Dancy was saying, `Masthead? Yes, you can be relieved now.'

  Lindsay thought briefly of the masthead lookout. Even with his electric heater he had to be relieved every hour if he was to keep his circulation going. fie peered at his luminous watch. Six o'clock. It did not seem possible they had been charging through the darkness for so many hours. He walked to the port side to watch as more fragments of broken ice materialised out of the black water and swirled playfully along the side. Nothing dangerous, in fact it was unavoidable. It looked more menacing than it was, and in the darkness gave an impression of great speed and size. .

  Stannard said, `We should sight something soon.' But nobody answered.

  Hardly anyone had said much as hour by hour the ship had pounded into the night. The noise-and violent shaking had thrown most of them inwards on their own defences, and even the men with cocoa and huge chunky sandwiches who had come and gone throughout the agony of waiting had passed without more than a quick, anxious word.

  Stannard said, `I'd like to go and check the chart again, sir.'

  `Yes.' Lindsay thrust his hands into his pockets, feeling the gratings under his sea boots jerking as if being pounded by unseen hammers. `Do that.'

  Maybe the German' had indeed turned away and run for base. He might think the Home Fleet was better deployed than it was, and feared a quick and overwhelming reprisal. And where were the two ships?

  A telephone buzzed and a messenger said urgently, `It's the doctor, sir.

  Lindsay tore his mind from the mental picture of the chart, the course which he and Stannard had evolved to contact the two ships.

  `What does he want?'

  The seaman, hidden in the darkness, answered, `He asked to speak with you, sir.'

  Lindsay swore silently and groped his way across the deck. It was . slippery from the constant comings and goings of slushy boots, and added to the streaming condensation from deckhead and sides it filled the bridge with an unhealthy, clinging humidity.

  He snatched the handset. `Captain. Can't it wait?'

  Boase sounded edgy. `Sorry, sir. It's Lieutenant Aikman. He's locked himself in his cabin. One of my S.B.A.'s tried to make him open the door. I think he's upset.'

  `Upset? The word hung in-the air like one additional mockery. `What do you want me to do, for God's sake?' Lindsay made an effort to steady his voice. `Do you really think he's in trouble?'

  Boase replied, `Yes, sir.'

  As Lindsay stood with the telephone to his ear, his eyes staring at Ritchie's shadowy outline by the nearest window, the hands of the bulkhead clock showed eight minutes past six.

  At that precise moment in time several small incidents were happening simultaneously. Small, but together they amounted to quite a lot.

  Able Seaman Laker, known to his messmates as Dracula because of his large protruding teeth, was just being relieved from the crow's-nest by a seaman called Phelps. As they clung together on the swaying iron gratings outside the pod Laker was shouting in the other man's ear about the stupid, bloody maniacs who had fitted such a piddling little heater for the lookout's survival. Neither of them was paying much attention to the sea beyond the bows.

  On the forward well deck another seaman fell from a bollard and slithered like a great black crab across the ice and came up with a thud against a hatch coaming, dropping his hammer and yelling the most. obscene word he could think of at such short notice.

  The lookouts on Numbers One and Two guns turned to watch him, drawing comfort, from the man's clumsy efforts to regain his feet, while the rest of the deck party paused to enjoy the spectacle as well.

  On the bridge Dancy was remembering Aikman's stricken voice, his pathetic self-defence under Stannard's anger and the captain's questioning. He had not heard what Boase was saying, but he could guess. He did not know Aikman very well, but realised probably better than the others that he was, like himself, acting a part which had suddenly got beyond him. He turned to peer at
'Lindsay's vague outline at the rear of the bridge, wondering what it was Aikman had done to excite Boase and make him risk disturbing the captain.

  All small incidents, but as Dancy turned once more to his clearview screen he saw in that instant what a momentary lack of vigilance had created. Looming out of the darkness was a solid wedge of ice. In his imagination he had often pictured icebergs as towering and majestic, like white cathedrals, and for several more seconds he was totally incapable of speech or movement.

  Then he yelled, `Hard astarboard!' He heard the wheel going over, the sudden gasps of alarm, and then added wildly, `Ice! Dead ahead!'

  Lindsay dropped the telephone and hurled himself towards the screen, his voice sharp but level as he shouted, `Belay.that! Wheel amidships! Both engines full astern?

  Ignoring the clang of telegraphs, the violent response of reversed screws and the clamour of voices from all sides he gripped the rail and stared fixedly at the oncoming wedge of ice. It was difficult to estimate the size of it. It was not very high, probably about ten feet, and some eighty feet from end to end. Against the dark backcloth of sea and clouds it appeared enveloped in vapour, like ice emerging from a giant refrigerator. He felt the engines shaking and pounding in growing strength to stop-the ship's onward dash, and found himself counting seconds as the distance continued to shorten. Dancy should not have put the helm over. If the ship had hit an ice ledge with her bilge it would slit her open like one huge can. But if he had not even seen it the ship would have smashed into it at full speed, with terrible results.

  Stannard came running across the bridge, then stood stockstill beside him, his voice strangled as he said, `We're going to strike, by Jesus!'

  It seemed to take an eternity for the ice to reach them. The engines were slowing them down, dragging like great anchors so that the bow wave was falling away even as the ice became suddenly stark and very close, the jagged crest of it looming past the port bow as if drawn by a hawser.

  The crash, when it came, was muted, but the sensation transmitted itself from the keel to the flesh and bones of every man aboard.