by Milly Adams
Sammy looked around, his sou’wester pulled down as icy spray burst over the bulwark. Isaac was on the bridge with him, taking a break, as the lookouts kept the bins to their eyes, and the officer of the watch made damned sure they did it well. Isaac had left Davy Weale to man the radio. Occasionally Sammy could see Vigilant over to the east, or was it just a shadow? Who knew?
Isaac smoked a cigarette but only for a second, then the spray from the heightening seas doused it. Sammy had wrapped a towel around his neck but the rain and seawater still gushed out of the bottom of his oilskins. He loved it, even though it was cold, because he could breathe fresh air and see the sky. Isaac tossed away the cigarette, which came straight back on the wind, to disintegrate over Sammy. They laughed, balancing against the rail as Vehement was buffeted by waves. They were making slow headway but that was par for the course in this area at this time of year.
Sammy shouted in Isaac’s ear, ‘Wonder if she’s had the ring enlarged?’
Isaac shrugged. ‘Wonder if Otto and Rosa have reached Sweden?’
The leading seaman on watch next to them, scanning to the east, yelled, ‘Too many questions, not enough answers? Wonder if the missis has had the baby yet?’
The sun was rising astern. ‘Keep your eyes on the horizon, if you would, now the sun’s getting his hat on. I know the visibility’s poor but needs must,’ shouted Lieutenant Stanning. ‘I doubt any bugger will be doing anything but trying to keep his course, so I’d be surprised if we got a fish up our arse for a while yet.’
Vehement ploughed into a huge swell, lifting with it, then diving too sharply. The men grabbed the rail as the wave flushed them off their feet, and almost over. Sammy was airborne. Shit, he was going over. Isaac jammed against him, and they both tore into Lieutenant Stanning. Then the prow came up, and all three of them slumped one on top of the other, onto the plates of the bridge as the water gushed away. The seaman on the western sector, Able Seaman ‘Naughty’ Nicholls, swore, ‘Bloody binoculars whacked me gob.’
‘Broke the lens, then?’ Sammy called, from beneath Isaac.
Lieutenant Stanning shoved at Sammy with his elbow, shouting in his ear, ‘Personal space, if you don’t mind, Leading Seaman Williams. I like you, but not this much.’ Sammy laughed and he and Isaac heaved themselves to their feet, allowing Stanning to stand. Straight away he resumed his watch duties, and the lookouts theirs: scanning the seas.
Naughty Nicholls was swearing again. ‘Never mind the bloody bins, what about me gob?’ He scanned, his elbows resting on the rail.
‘Just keep ’em up to your eyes, Nicholls,’ Stanning yelled. ‘And keep watching.’
‘I am, sir. Bloody hero, I am.’
Stanning laughed, and shouted, without turning, ‘Sammy, time you let someone else take in the non-existent view. Bugger off now.’ His voice was shaking with the cold.
Sammy and Isaac did as they were told, gripping the ladder tight as the waves threatened, and sliding down the conning tower, water cascading after them, and into the control room. They stripped off their oils at the base of the ladder and handed them straight to the two stokers who were waiting, in search of a fag, not fresh air.
Sammy lurched his way to the engine room as the boat pitched, tossed and rolled, with Isaac on his tail. Here it was bloody noisy but warm and their sweaters steamed as they started to dry. The watch keepers were either end, checking dials, and always there was the chief, a filthy oil cloth in his hand, even more dirty than the stokers, if that was possible. No sweaters, just grubby vests. God, he thought he smelled when he came off the bloody boat, but they must stink.
He looked at Isaac and grinned. There was no point in trying to talk against the engine noise. Those buggers who’d obviously just come off their watch and gone up top would freeze after this heat. They stayed for twenty minutes or so, until dry, and then pitched into their bunks, fully dressed as always, hearing the battering of the waves through the casing. Sammy was dozing when the boat heaved, almost over it seemed, paused, and then righted. How was Adrian doing? Would the chief have to do the bacon on a string trick again? God he hoped not, the heads were bad enough as it was in this weather.
He heard the captain call ‘Prepare to dive’ as he was on the point of sleep again, seeing Phyllie smiling at him, feeling her lips, her body against his and he felt utterly complete. She loved him. She loved him. All these years they’d been friends, best friends, and now they were something else as well. Something wonderful.
Isaac called, ‘About time we dived, eh, Sammy? Our Adrian will have a better chance of picking up enemy engines and propellers now, not to mention keeping his food down. Better than all that peering through curtains of rain.’
Sammy didn’t answer. He preferred for those off watch to think he slept when Phyllie was in his head, as she usually was these days. Phyllie, the love of his life, as she always had been – he could see that now – and always would be. Diddy had better be right and bring ’em home, because now he had a real life to live, and soon a wife and children to come home to. Soon, yes, soon he’d marry her. They were diving deeper now. He slid in his bunk, just a bit, but the boat was calm, the tumult of the waves was gone. He slept.
He woke for his watch, he and Isaac together. Coxswain Peters stopped in the passage. ‘You awake?’
‘Always,’ Isaac muttered, easing himself sideways out of the bunk above Sammy’s. All around the men were going on watch, coming off watch, talking, belching, complaining. Sammy took over from Adrian, who was green, but not that bad. ‘You all right, lad?’
Adrian nodded. ‘Better now we’re deep. Don’t mention bacon. Do not, under any circumstances whatsoever, say that word, and definitely do not say string. I’m getting my head down. Kept the bunk warm for me, have you?’ Behind him Sammy could see Diddy and the Jimmy, 1st Lieutenant Michael Dorian, laughing.
Sammy slipped into the Asdic booth. ‘You’ll love it, lad. Better than a hot water bottle any day, but not nearly as nice as a good woman.’
The boat had been running for about an hour into Sammy’s watch, making better time than they had done on the surface, when Sammy heard it. But what? He held up his hand to the captain, shut his eyes to hear better, scanning, coming back to the direction. What? What? Diddy was next to him now.
‘Anything?’
Sammy nodded. There it was again. He swung to the left, then back a fraction, no, just half an inch more, slowly. He wasn’t breathing: there. ‘Sound bearing zero six zero – but weak. Really weak.’
Diddy leaned close, taking one of the earpieces, holding it to his ear. Sammy kept his eyes shut, reporting, ‘Depth charges. Scattering? Not sure. No question, though, they’re raking ’em.’
Diddy straightened, returned the earpiece. Sammy pressed it to his ear. Diddy said, ‘Good call, Sammy. Where now?’
‘Zero six five, sir. Moving astern. Way off.’
The Jimmy said quietly, ‘That’s Venture’s sector, damn it to hell.’
Diddy was nodding. ‘Time to gulp down some air; let’s see how the weather’s doing.’ He reached for the loudspeaker. ‘Lookouts – get ready, and up that ladder before we’ve even bloody surfaced, if you please.’
The Jimmy was officer of the watch and headed for the oilskins and ladder before Diddy had stopped speaking. The lookouts were hot on his heels.
The captain ordered, ‘Course zero three zero. Prepare to surface.’ He flung a look over his shoulder. ‘Note for the log, Navigator. In spite of weather conditions, decided to proceed on surface in search of convoy.’ Sammy knew it was also to recharge the boat’s air and batteries, in case Vehement was the next one that had to hit the depths, and stay there until the predators moved off.
The prow was rising, Sammy was listening, but there was nothing closer. The captain was at the periscope, scanning three six zero degrees continuously, although the waves would be breaking over the lens. Diddy ordered the periscope down, and the boat broke surface, heeling over and back in response to th
e force of the waves. Sammy almost fell from his perch, his pencil falling to the plates, below which he could hear the slurping of water in the bilges. The storm had obviously increased. He grinned at the thought of bacon on a string. Poor bugger. Isaac looked across as though he had picked up the thought. He laughed, mouthing: ‘Bacon?’
Sammy stayed glued to the hydrophone in case he picked up sounds that evaded the lookouts. He looked back at Isaac, who was twiddling some dials. Strange, how when you lived and worked with someone, you often didn’t have to speak. It had been like that with Phyllie when they were kids, and would be again, when they were married. He imagined waking up with her, then he thought of going to bed with her, and felt the heat rising, and listened hard, anything to keep his mind off that.
Water poured through the conning-tower hatch. He shut his eyes, and kept listening. On and on Vehement went, grinding through the weather, the lookouts changing, Sammy listening, the captain at the chart table with Sub Lieutenant Norton, so young he looked as though he should still be at school. Adrian came for his watch but Sammy waved him back; he stank of the sick that stained his top. ‘Get your head down. I’ve got it for now.’
Diddy passed on his way to his cubbyhole. He might be doing paperwork, or getting his head down while Lieutenant Dorian ran the control room, but he’d also have both ears pricked, too bloody right he would. An hour passed and by then there was a smell of food from the apology for a galley. Sammy could slaughter a plate of chips, an egg too. Adrian came through. ‘Grub’s up. You have yours. I’ll cover you.’ He looked better. Sammy raised an eyebrow. Adrian’s grin was weak. ‘Yes, bacon and string and Coxswain Peters promises it will work this time. Says he’s never had to do it more than once, so I’m a bloody champion if it goes to a third round.’
Sammy handed the headphones to the lad, who put them straight on, taking his seat, his hands already on the scanning wheel. Sammy was making his way out of the control room when the call came from the bridge.
‘Masthead off the starboard bow.’
Sammy spun round; Adrian shook his head. Sammy hurried over, bent and listened in the earpiece Adrian offered. No, nothing. Silently Diddy appeared beside them. Both Sammy and Adrian shook their heads. Diddy spun off, heading for the ladder, tearing up, his bins round his neck, and no oilskin. It was then Adrian vomited, off to the side, onto Sammy’s boots.
Sammy sighed and nodded. Adrian left the shack and Sammy took his place. No one could listen properly when they were upchucking. ‘Mop up, then get your head down. Come back when you can.’
Adrian grabbed a mop from the bucket, swished it around Sammy’s boots, and left.
Isaac was waiting expectantly because it was up to him to report the information gleaned by Diddy, if it couldn’t wait until harbour, though it stood a good chance of giving away their position at this distance. The call came from the bridge. ‘Hard to starboard, steer one six zero.’
A long wait, then they heard Diddy, who was sliding down the ladder into the control room again, say, ‘Fuck a duck, destroyer bearing towards us, maybe others from the convoy will join the party. Could be coincidence, or could be the skimmer’s seen us.’ He grabbed a pencil, wrote the details of his observations. Young Norton took them to Isaac, who knew to wait until the order to transmit was given, for they needed to be well clear of all contacts, unless they were hit on the surface and beyond help. Then it would be the last thing Vehement did.
The alarm was given, though. The watch rushed down through the hatch, which was being slammed shut, the dive commenced. Sammy stayed glued to the hydrophone. Around him they’d be opening the vents to flood the tanks. He heard the coxswain’s orders, then spare bodies clattered to the prow; any extra weight would help the dive. Any. The bloody destroyer must still be on a bearing heading straight for them, from what Diddy and the Jimmy were saying. Shit.
Vehement was prow down, the mop slid across the floor. He forced himself to concentrate and listen, scanning. Nothing, but at least the rolling had stopped as the boat’s engines ran hard. Diddy called, ‘Depth?’
‘Thirty feet, sir,’ reported the coxswain. Yes, Sammy had found the enemy engine noise now. He lifted his hand. Diddy came. Took an earpiece. Listened. ‘Distance?’
Sammy stared. For God’s sake, the bugger wasn’t going to attack? Vehement’s job on this patrol was to report and, later, to collect an agent from the Norwegian shores, again.
‘Report,’ barked Diddy.
Sammy checked. ‘Port bow, increasing.’
They waited. The captain ordered water pumped from the forward trim tank towards the stern. They were now horizontal, at periscope depth when they should be diving. Diddy was back at the periscope, scanning, sweat beading his face, just as the condensation was beading the internal casing. It was then that Sammy’s doubts were pushed aside. The bugger was observing as he should, double checking he’d copped the convoy right. His heart was pounding as the engine noise drew closer, but he was sure there was only the one. He told Diddy who replied, his eyes alive, his mind already plotting, ‘For now, young Sammy. Keep reporting.’
Sammy’s neck ached with tension as he scanned. ‘One skimmer, still.’ He listened, tracked the noise, ‘Skimmer contact fast approaching, sir, getting louder …’
Diddy gripped the periscope handles, bent his legs, scanned again, stopped, fixed in one position, then slapped the handles up, the periscope descended. Sammy breathed a sigh of relief as would everyone else in the control room. The periscope would leave a wake, which any sharp-eyed lookout on the skimmer could see. If he did see it, then it’d pinpoint Vehement’s position, and that would lead to a damned loud bollocking. If the Germans had Asdic as well, God help Vehement, because then they’d be like butterflies pinned on a collector’s board.
Sammy gave the update: ‘Contact closing quickly, sir.’ While what he wanted to scream was: dive, for God’s sake, dive.
It came then: ‘Dive to two hundred feet. Quick as you can.’ Diddy’s voice was calm, not the scream that had been in Sammy’s mind.
The captain called, ‘Thirty degrees down, full ahead. Flood Q. Peter, note in the log: one destroyer in pursuit. Convoy consists of further twelve merchants, four corvettes. Did you get that, Isaac? Make a note for transmission later. Add the position and time, both of you. Quietly, everyone.’
‘Sir.’ Sub Lieutenant Norton started writing as he stood at the chart table, struggling to keep his feet. Lieutenant Stanning was studying the dials, the hydroplanes were hard down, the control room tilting. Isaac wrote. Sammy scanned. Men were rushing through the control room from astern. One slipped as the tilt increased, cursed as he crashed into some pipes. Was Adrian at his battle station? Probably, but that wasn’t his business, his was to listen. ‘Passing sixty feet,’ said Lieutenant Stanning.
‘Slow ahead both. Blow Q,’ ordered Diddy. ‘Sammy?’ he called softly, his voice as calm as the pond Phyllie wrote about at Little Mitherton.
Sammy told him, ‘Louder on a line to port, sir.’
‘Well, that’s something,’ breathed Diddy.
Dorian, Stanning and the captain shared a look, one of tempered relief. The Germans didn’t know exactly where they were, then Sammy, quietly, ‘Still on a line to port, sir.’
Sammy breathed easier. ‘Fading on a line to port, sir,’ he said.
Isaac snatched a look at him. Sammy suspected they were both thinking Diddy had cut that a bit too fine. Sammy could see the hams swinging in the passageway, and the bread, too, in their nets. Was it mouldy yet? The coxswain murmured the depth, anything to help them hide. Sammy whispered the distance and Diddy read his lips. Sammy could see in his mind’s eye the destroyer carving its path, closer, closer in distance but still off to port, but not by much. It was bloody tight, and would they drop ashcans and if they did, would they guess the range?
Diddy was by the chart table. Sub Lieutenant Norton was marking the chart. His hands were shaking. Poor little bugger, thought Sammy.
‘Two hundred feet.’ They were levelling out and as they did so Sammy heard the depth charges hit the water through his headphones, but they were off to port. Well, obviously. He raised his hand, whispering. ‘Sir, ashcans.’
Diddy nodded. Crump, crump, crump, to port, but closer than he’d thought. The boat shuddered as sledgehammers pounded the water around them. There were roars, the usual bloody roars outside, beating at them, making the boat shudder. Sammy clung to his table. His ears felt as though they were bursting with the headphones’ resonance, and he shoved them back, just for a minute. Young Norton looked stunned, and called softly, ‘What the hell’s that noise?’
Diddy spoke, his voice casual, but little more than a whisper. ‘Just think about it, Peter; if you remove water with an explosion, then more will come in. Think bath. It’s just like a bloody forceful tap. It roars. They’ve not got us pinpointed, they’re scattering their toys from the pram, so it’s all right. Pass the word, again, Coxswain. Silent running. Silent. Socks only, when you move them to trim the boat, Stanning. Can’t have any motors when they’re close. Don’t want their big ears picking us up.’
Actually, it isn’t bloody all right, Sammy ground out to himself. I want to get back, to Phyllie. I really really do. So, no, it’s not bloody all right.
Crump, crump, and then he caught another blip on the scanner, tuned in, heard another engine, distant. Shit. It had to be a corvette. He whispered the contact to Diddy. His captain raised an eyebrow, that was all. Two ships looking specifically for them, or were they just fishing, thinking they might have seen us? Whatever it was, the skimmers would be criss-crossing the grid, having a fine old time as they tried to flush them out.
Crump, crump, closer now, and Vehement didn’t like it, shaking herself like a doxy being given a shower. The engine noise was loud in his earphones, when it wasn’t smothered by the mayhem of the depth charges. Crump. Shudder. Roar. They were bloody close and Vehement was still being chucked. Another huge crump.
