Rendezvous-South Atlantic

by Douglas Reeman

  A mistake? It was possible. The Germans were always trying to move their heavy units to avoid bombing raids. They had to keep them afloat and to all appearances ready for sea. Just by being there they were a constant threat. Enough to tie down the Home Fleet's big ships at Scapa andd others further south. Having the whole French seaboard as well as their own, the enemy were more than able to extend the menace.

  He gripped the screen and tried to clear his mind of the nagging doubt. Just suppose it was part of a plan? That the raider's attacks on Loch Glendhu and the other convoy had been a working-up for all this? At best, it would mean the Germans had been right in assuming that a single raider could tie down, a far greater mass of ships than her worth really suggested. At worst .. he gripped the screen even tighter. Then it would mean that every available cruiser had been withdrawn from this convoy to search for a red-herring, The raider would be caught and sunk. He stared fixedly at the troopship. But in exchange for their sacrifice, the Germans might hope for the greatest prize of all. A whole convoy. Men, supplies, vital materials and....

  He swung round as a man called, `Commodore's comin' up, sir.

  Stannard joined him by the screen. `What shall we do, sir?'

  `Wait, Pilot.' He did not look at him. `And hope.'

  The following morning was another fine clear one. Even during the last part of the morning watch the sun gave a hint of the power to come and the horizon was hidden in low haze, like steam.

  Maxwell was officer of the watch, and-as Lieutenant Hunter started ,the daily check on the columns and bearing' of the various ships nearby, Maxwell stayed by the screen, staring at the tiny shape of the American destroyer directly ahead. The haze was playing tricks with her upperworks and spindly funnels. As if she had been cut in halves, with the upper pieces replaced at the wrong angle.

  He glanced at Lindsay but he was still asleep in his chair, one arm hanging down beside it like that of a corpse. He returned to his thoughts, unconsciously clasping his hands behind him as if on parade.

  Soon now he would be getting his half stripe. Without effort he could see 'himself at the gunnery school on Whale Island. The toiling ranks of marching officers and men. The bark of commands and snap of weapons. It would be like picking up the threads all over again. With luck, further advancement would follow automatically, and people would forget the one mistake which had cost him so .much time.

  Maxwell had been young and newly-married to Decia when it had happened. Her family had been against the marriage from the start but had put a brave face on things when it had come about.

  As gunnery officer in a destroyer he had been in charge of a practice shoot, a normal, routine exercise. His assistant had been a sub-lieutenant, a spoiled, stupid man whom he should never have trusted. Perhaps he had been thinking about his new bride. The excitement and sudden prosperity the marriage had brought him. He was a proud man and had at first disliked the idea of having a rich wife while he lived on a lieutenant's meagre pay.

  Whatever he had been thinking about, it had not been the shoot. The sub-lieutenant had made a serious mistake .with deflection, and instead of hitting the towed target, the shell had ploughed into the tug and killed seven men.

  The sub-lieutenant had been dismissed the Service with dishonour. But he had been inexperienced, a nervous breakdown following the accident had more than proved the point to the court's satisfaction. So if Maxwell had not directly pressed the trigger, he was certainly recognised as the true culprit. Only his excellent record had saved him from the same fate. To be required to resign was a lesser punishment in the court's eyes, but to Maxwell it spelled disaster.

  Returning to the Navy because of the war, he had half expected that his past would be buried. Another chance. One more fair opportunity. He had been wrong. One empty job after another, until finally he had been appointed to Benbecula. The bottom rung of the' ladder.

  He swayed back on his heels. But when he reached Whale Island again no one would sneer or cut him dead. He would be the man who had sunk a U-boat and made history. Ancient six-inch weapons with half-witted conscripts behind them against the cream of the German Navy. And it had been his eye and brain which had done it.

  Then he thought of Decia. The nightmare vision of the bedroom and the man on his knees pleading with him. It would all be too late. He would not have her. Not see the admiration and envy on the faces of brother officers when he entered a room with her on his arm.

  The telephone by his elbow made him start. `Officer of the watch?' His eye moved to the pod on the foremast as he formed a mental picture of the lookout.

  `Aircraft, sir. Green four-five.'

  Lindsay was awake. `What was that?'

  Maxwell kept his eyes on the foremast. `Say again.'

  `I'm sure it wass an aircraft, sir.'

  Maxwell covered the mouthpiece and looked at Lindsay. `Bloody fool says there's an aircraft on the starboard bow, sir.' He frowned. `Fifteen hundred miles from the nearest land and he sees an aircraft! Must be the bloody heat!'

  Lindsay moved from the chair and took the handset. `Captain here. What exactly can you see?'

  The seaman sounded flustered. `Can't see nothin' now, sir.' Then more stubbornly, `But it was there, sir. Like a bit of glass flashin' in the sun. Very low down. Above the laze.'

  `Keep looking.' To Maxwell he added, `It's disappeared.'

  Maxwell sniffed. `Naturally.'

  Hunter came out of the sunlight, folding his shipping lists. `Could be a small plane, sir.' He smiled awkwardly as they looked at him. `But I was forgetting. There are no carriers hereabouts.'

  The phone rang again.

  Lindsay took it quickly. `Captain.'

  `Just saw it on about the same bearin', sir. Just one flash. Very small, but no doubt about it.'

  Lindsay handed the telephone to Hunter. `Inform the commodore that I would be grateful of his presence here.' He waited for Maxwell to pass his message. `Very well, Guns.' He glanced towards the nearest troopship. `Now you can sound off action stations.'

  For a moment longer nobody moved. Then Maxwell asked, `But, sir, why?'

  `It may give us,' he paused, recalling the deserted restaurant, the gross Turk at his table, `it may give us time.'

  Maxwell shrugged. Without another word he pressed his thumb hard on the red button.

  Dancy rubbed his forehead with a handkerchief. In spite of the bridge air ducts it was stifling.

  He asked quietly, `Do you reckon anything will happen?'

  Stannard glanced at the commodore's bulky shape in the chair, at Lindsay who was standing just outside the starboard door.

  'I dunno. This waiting makes me sweat a bit.'

  The ship had been at action for two hours, although it seemed much longer.

  Without warning the commodore heaved himself from the chair and snapped, `Chart room.' He waited until Lindsay had followed him and added, `You, too, Pilot.'

  In the chart room it was even hotter with every scuttle and deadlight clamped shut.

  The commodore said, `Nothing.'

  Stannard looked at Lindsay. He seemed very composed, even calm.

  `The lookout was certain about the plane, sir.' Lindsay watched him across the table. `He is an experienced rating.'

  `I see.' The commodore's'hands fluttered vaguely and then came to rest on the chart. `What do you suggest?'

  Lindsay relaxed slightly. `If I'm right, sir, it would be inviting disaster to make a radio signal for assistance. One, we know the Freetown ships will not make contact before tomorrow at the earliest. Two, if there is an enemy ship out there, it might be in total ignorance of our position.'

  `Well?'

  `I suggest you should alter course to the east'rd, sir. Or turn one hundred and eighty degrees and then call for assistance. Increase to maximum speed. It would give us time and room to manoeuvre.'

  `Do you know what you are asking?' Kemp's voice trembled. `For me to run away from a shadow! You must be out of your mind!'

 
Lindsay said patiently, `That aircraft was probably catapulted from its parent ship. If so, you can expect the worst.' He added with sudden sharpness, `What is the alternative? Head on into destruction?' He spoke faster as if to prevent interruption. Stannard saw his hands clenched into fists against his sides, could almost feel the effort he was making to break Kemp's resistance. `Think, sir, of the effect it will have if we allow this convoy to be decimated. Quite apart from damage to morale on top of the Singapore disaster, the actual losses would be terrible. These troops are vital for the next few months, and for all we know, so too are the supplies and equipment.'

  Kemp took a few paces to the bulkhead and turned his back on them. `Can't do it. It's too big.' He added hesi

  tantly, `We have to take the risk.'

  `There have already been too many of those, sir.'

  Lindsay spoke very quietly. `Admiral Phillips took a risk with Repulse and Prince of Wales but they were both sunk, and Singapore fell just the same. We took risks by send ing an army to help the Greeks when anyone but a fool should have seen it was impossible to stop the rot there. Result, we lost more men and plenty of good ships trying to get them away at Crete.',

  `You're accusing me of risking this convoy. Is that it?'

  Kemp still did not turn.

  `I do not see you have any choice but to take evading action now, sir.' When the commodore said nothing he - persisted, 'If you wait, it will be useless trying to scatter the convoy. We have a whole day of clear visibility.....'

  Kemp faced him abruptly. 'Leave me to think.'

  Stannard asked, 'What about my plotting team, sir?'

  Kemp shouted, `Let them wait until I am ready! Now for God's sake leave me alone!'.

  Stannard followed Lindsay into the passageway and thrust past the waiting midshipman and his yeoman. Under his breath he muttered, 'Stupid bastard!' Then he slammed the door behind him, making one of the messengers jump with alarm.

  Above the bridge in his armoured control position Maxwell heard the door slam. His shirt was wringing with sweat, and the backs of his spotting team and Lieutenant Hunter immediately below his steel chair looked as if they had just emerged from the sea. In the Denmark Strait they had somehow kept going with thick clothing and the small electric heaters. In this glare there was no defence at all against the sun.

  Hunter twisted round and looked at him. 'No more aircraft. No bloody anything. So why can't we fall out action stations?'

  Because that stupid commodore can't make up his mind, that's why. But aloud Maxwell replied sharply, 'For God's sake, don't you start!'

  Hunter shrugged and reached out to open a small observation slit on the port side. It made a very small breeze, but the sight of the nearest troopship was somehow reassuring. The same view, day after day, after bloody day. He felt Maxwell stirring behind him and smiled. Whale Island. Maxwell would love that. All mouth and trousers, like the rest of his breed.

  For a split second he imagined an aircraft had dived from the sky, although it was impossible., The screaming roar seemed to press down on him, until his mind was a complete blank. Then came the explosions, and as he stared incredulously at the troopship he saw the towering waterspouts rising beyond her, higher and higher, until they shone like white silk in the sunlight.

  As the tall columns began to subside he saw the tell-tale pall of black smoke, growing and rising against the clear sky like a filthy stain. A ship on the port column had been hit. But with what? It had all been just a matter of seconds. Seconds in which everything and each man around him seemed suspended in time and space.

  Then Maxwell yelled, 'Don't gape at me! Start tracking!' He punched the shoulder of the nearest seaman. 'Come on, jump to it!'

  He pressed his eyes to his powerful sights as the control position turned slightly on its mounting. He blinked in the harsh light and rubbed his forehead with his wrist. Nothing. The horizon was still hazy but not that much. You should be able to see something. He felt a chill run down his spine as he picked up the handset and reported, 'Captain, sir. Those shells came from below the horizon.' He heard Hunter gasp. 'No target, sir.'

  Lindsay heard his flat voice and then ran to the wheelhouse door. The ship which had been straddled by three or more heavy shells was falling out of line, her upper deck burning fiercely beneath. the towering smoke pall.

  He snapped, 'Make the signal.' He scribbled a brief addition before Ritchie dashed to the W/T office. 'At least someone will know what's happening.'

  He heard the commodore pushing through the bridge watchkeepers, his voice shaking as he called, 'What was it? Where is the enemy?'

  Again that screaming roar, and Lindsay tensed, imagining the projectiles hurtling down from their high arc of fire. He had been right. Three columns of water shot above the far line of ships.

  He shouted, 'I've reported we are under attack!' He did not take his eyes from the burning freighter.

  `Yes, yes.' Kemp seemed unable to think clearly, He was also peering at the ship, at the smoke and flames which had now engulfed the whole of her poop.

  Lindsay said, `Spotting plane. It was just a freak hit.' He glanced at the other man's stricken face. `But I'm afraid we can't rely on luck any more.'

  .Then he left the commodore on the gratings and entered the wheelhouse. It was too late to turn the convoy now. At any second the other ship would show herself. But to shoot this far and with such accuracy she must be big. Too big.

  He saw the faces of the men around him, watching, waiting for his decision.

  He said quietly, `As soon as we know the enemy's bearing we will make a signal to. the convoy. To scatter.'.

  Kemp's shadow filled the doorway. 'I-did not order that!' He was tugging at his collar. `I demand to be informed!'

  'Then I am informing you now, sir. Do you have any objections?'

  Kemp dropped his eyes. `I suppose some will getaway. There's nothing we can do.'

  Lindsay eyed him calmly. Christ, how could he feel so remote?

  He said, `As you told me when you came aboard, sir. This is my ship. When the convoy scatters, your control will be at an end.'

  Kemp stared at him, his eyes watering with fixed concentration. `There's still the American destroyer!'

  For once Lindsay did not bother to hide his contempt. `You'd send her, would you?' He turned his back. `She'll be needed anyway, to shadow the enemy when it's all over.'

  As if to mark the finality of his words, the tannoy speaker intoned, `Control to bridge. Enemy in sight!'

  T he burning freighter had dropped a mile astern of the convoy when the port column of ships wheeled away in response to Lindsay's signal, their rising wash giving evidence of increasing speed.

  `From John P. Ashton, sir.' Ritchie steadied his telescope. 'Request permission to engage the enemy.'

  The bridge shivered as another salvo came screaming -out of the sky. The shells exploded in an overlapping line of spray and dirty smoke, a mere cable from the leading troopship.

  `Negative.' A near miss from one of those shells would sink the elderly destroyer. `Make to the second column to scatter now.'

  Stannardmuttered fiercely, `They can't get far. Christ, those bastards are shooting well.'

  Another sullen roar enveloped the bridge and he saw the shells explode where the big liner might have been but for the change of course.

  Lindsay slid open a shutter .on the starboard' side and raised his glasses. At first he saw only haze and the clear blue sea below the horizon. Behind him he heard Hunter's voice on the speaker.

  `Green three-oh. Range one-eight-oh.'

  Then quite suddenly he saw the enemy ship. She was a darker blur in the horizon haze, but as he watched he saw the ripple of orange flashes which momentarily laid bare her superstructure in the powerful lenses. He tried not to swallow,, although his throat was like a kiln. He knew those nearby were watching him. Trying to gauge his reactions.

  19

  `They made it safe.'

  A cruiser at least. H
e heard the screaming whine of shells as they tore down over the scattering ships, the tell-tale shiver as they exploded harmlessly in open water.

  `Make the signal to our column. Tell them to be as quick as possible.'

  The enemy fired again, and the rearmost ship in the column was straddled by three shells. As she steamed stubbornly through the falling torrents of spray he saw she had been badly mauled. Her boat deck looked as if it had been crushed by an avalanche of rock.

  'All acknowledged, sir.' Ritchie scribbled automatically on his pad. Not much point. Nobody would ever read it.

  There was a sudden silence in the wheelhouse as Lindsay said, `Give me the mike.' He took it from Dancy, seeing in his mind the men throughout his command.

  `This is the captain speaking. We are under attack by a heavy enemy warship which is now about nine miles off our starboard bow. She is big and therefore fast. With bad visibility or darkness the convoy might have been saved by scattering.'

  He paused as the sea erupted far away on the port quarter, smothering another ship with those deadly waterspouts. Across the distance he heard the jolting metallic cracks, like a woodsman using an axe on a clear day. The sounds of jagged splinters biting into her hull.

  He continued, `To have even a hope of escaping, these ships must be given time.'

  Lindsay snapped down the button and looked at Ritchie. `Very well, Yeoman. Hoist battle ensigns.'

  The commodore, who had been staring at the freighter with the smashed boat deck, swung round and shouted, Stop? I order you to....'

  Lindsay interrupted harshly, `I intend to give the convoy as much of a chance as possible. With or without your help, sir.'

  Ritchie pushed between them and grasped the wrist of a young signalman. `Come on, boy! Somethin' to tell yer kids!'

  Lindsay stooped over the gyro. `Starboard ten. Midships. Steady.'

  `Steady, sir. Course three-four-zero.'

  `Full ahead both engines.'

  Stannard listened to the urgent telegraphs. `Shall I call up the chief, sir?'

  `No. He knows what's happening up here.' Lindsay felt the gratings shaking and rattling under his feet. `He knows all right.'