Wreckers Must Breathe

by Hammond Innes

  It was a matter of seconds for me to slip into the man’s uniform. Logan glanced once more round the store boxes. Then he dragged the man whose uniform I had borrowed to one side and covered him with cases. Then he said: ‘Step out on to the deck and call to the petty officer of the guard. His name is Kammel. Just call his name and beckon to him.’

  I did as he told me. I stepped out from behind the cases. ‘Herr Kammel!’ I called. ‘Here!’ And I nodded to him with my head. He came at once and I stepped back behind the cases. Logan told me to kneel down and pretend to be examining the unconscious guard. I knelt down and supported the man’s head with my arm.

  The footsteps of the petty officer rang sharply on the rock as he approached. I never saw the blow, but I heard it. It was a low dull thud and was accompanied by the sound of splintering bone. I felt slightly sick as I looked up and saw Big Logan holding the man by the scruff of his neck like a puppy as he lowered his unconscious body beside the other. The man’s mouth was hanging open. The jaw had obviously been broken.

  There remained the two ratings. And then there was the guard still standing serenely on the deck of the submarine just in front of the conning tower. Looking over the cases, I could just see part of his uniform and his right hand. The three miners had just appeared out of the store at the end of the dock and were being escorted towards us by their guard. ‘What do we do now?’ I asked Logan.

  ‘Get the guard,’ he said, and bending down he removed the petty officer’s revolver from its holster. ‘When they come up to the cases, you be bending down over the petty officer and tell them to get hold of his legs and shoulders. Make your voice sound as though it were urgent. I’ll do the rest.’ He pushed the unconscious guard, who had acted as decoy for the petty officer, under the cases with his mate, and then waited, the revolver behind his back.

  I bent down and lifted the petty officer’s head. I waited until I heard the sound of cases being stacked and then I called out in German to the two ratings. ‘The petty officer has fainted,’ I said. ‘Come and help me lift him.’ I heard their boots on the rock behind me. I did not dare look up. It was a nasty moment. I was dressed as a rating and consequently could not give them an order.

  ‘What’s the matter with him?’ asked one. He spoke with a soft Bavarian accent.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘You take his feet.’

  Out of the tail of my eye I saw him take hold of the petty officer’s feet. But the other man remained standing, obviously expecting me to take hold of the arms. ‘You take his arms,’ I said, and began to unbutton the petty officer’s tunic and loosen his collar.

  There was a moment’s hesitation, and then the man bent down and slipped his hands beneath the officer’s armpits. I remember noticing that his nails were unpleasantly bitten. ‘Ready?’ I said. And at the same moment came the sickening thud of metal on bone. As the man holding the petty officer’s feet collapsed, I straightened up and covered the other with my revolver. He was too surprised to cry out. He looked from the fallen man to me with his mouth agape, and in that second strong hands gripped him by the throat. I looked round as the man slid unconscious to the floor. The little bow-legged miner was standing over him. I got to my feet. It had all happened in a flash. When I looked over the barricade of cases, I could see no one on the dockside. The guard on the U-boat was still standing just for’ard of the conning tower.

  ‘Get into these uniforms as quick as you can,’ Logan told the three miners. ‘And if any of them come round, you know what to do.’ Then he nodded to me and lifted one of the cases. I followed him up the gangway, my revolver swinging from its lanyard. He lowered the case through the hatch. Then we moved quickly for’ard, the grey curved bulk of the conning tower between us and the last remaining guard.

  We stopped at the after gun. ‘Get him round here,’ Logan whispered. ‘Pretend you’ve discovered something wrong with the gun. Keep your face turned away from the light.’

  I nodded. ‘Wache!’ I called. Then I repeated it. ‘Wache!’ There was the sound of boots on hollow steel and the ring of a rifle butt. Unlike our own guards, who were armed with revolvers, the ratings that provided the U-boat guards were equipped with rifles and had bayonets fixed. I pointed to the telescopic sights at the side of the gun. ‘Someone seems to have broken this,’ I said.

  It was simple. He peered at the sight. The next second I had caught hold of him as he fell. He never made a sound as Logan hit him. We laid him out on the deck. ‘Quick!’ said Logan. He ran to the ladder leading to the bridge. I followed him. At the top he paused. Someone was passing along the gallery at the end of the dock. I glanced back. Our miners were now struggling into the uniforms. I looked up at Logan. He seemed very different from the friendly Cornish fisherman I had known—and very different indeed from the friendly half-wit the base had known. His face had an intent purposeful look and that huge bulk that had been a harmless spectacle to the German ratings now seemed most sinister. It seemed to me scarcely credible that the man should have dealt so silently and so swiftly with no less than four armed guards.

  Logan waited until the man had passed the end of the gallery and then, in a flash, he was on the bridge, had tumbled down the conning tower hatch. I followed him. We passed the control room and moved silently forward. Both of us had our revolvers ready. Then Logan hesitated and nodded to me to go forward. We had reached a bulkhead. Beyond it I could see our last guard. He was leaning against a rack of rifles, humming to himself. I went in, my hand on my revolver. At the sound of my footsteps, he sprang to attention, thinking I was an officer. The butt of his rifle rang on the steel floor plates. ‘Give me that rifle,’ I said in German. And I stepped forward and grabbed hold of it. His first instinct was to obey the order, and before he had realized that Big Logan was covering him with a revolver, the weapon was in my hands.

  ‘March him aft,’ Logan said.

  I gave the order and we went clattering down the gangway past the control room and the ward-room and into the storage chamber. Here three men and an officer were busy dealing with the cases that we had lowered through the hatch. They turned as we entered. They were unarmed and could do nothing.

  ‘Tell them that I’ll shoot the first man that utters a sound,’ Logan said.

  I told them.

  ‘Now get up through that hatch and have all our late guards dropped down here,’ Logan said to me.

  I ran up that little ladder and out on to the deck again. As soon as I had signalled to the three men on the dockside to bring the bodies on board I ran for’ard and got hold of the guard we had knocked out by the after gun. When we had lowered the bodies we closed the hatch. Almost immediately the men inside were attempting to force it open. I sent two of the miners to bring the heaviest articles they could find on the dockside with which to pin it down. The largest of them, whose uniform incidentally was much too small for him, stood with me on the hatch and held it down. In a few seconds the other two returned, struggling with a small portable forge, which is part of the equipment of every submarine. It had been left against the wall of the dock and weighed several hundredweight. It was a most effective weight and we placed it on the hatch. Then the miner I had detailed to mount guard went for’ard.

  By this time I was beginning to get anxious about Logan, who had not yet reappeared. I felt at any moment men might come on to the dock. Moreover, there was the possibility that the men in the store-room at the end of the dock might get curious as to why the prisoners were no longer collecting the cases. I hurried for’ard to the conning tower. As I climbed the ladder to the bridge, Logan’s head appeared in the hatch. He carried a light machine-gun and several magazines. ‘Get that trolley alongside the gun,’ he said.

  ‘Are they the right shells?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ was his reply. ‘We’ll have to see.’

  I signalled to the men aft and jumped on to the dockside. I walked down to where the munitions trolley stood. The little bow-legged miner seemed intelligent, for
he appeared to understand what I was up to, and he and his companion, the big man who had helped me hold the hatch down, brought the gangway along. The iron wheels of the trolley clattered noisily as I dragged it along the dock.

  Suddenly there was a shout from behind me and I spun round, my hand moving automatically to my revolver. A man was standing in the doorway of the store-room. ‘What have you done with those damned prisoners?’ he shouted. Someone passing along the gallery stopped to see what the trouble was.

  I thought we were for it. ‘The lieutenant wants them to clear this pile of cases off the dock before they bring any more,’ I shouted back to him in German. ‘And he wants these shells got off the dock.’

  The man hesitated, and then shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, hurry up,’ he grumbled. ‘It’s nearly lunch-time.’ He went back into the store-room and the man who had paused in the gallery continued on his way. I thanked God for my knowledge of German and dragged the trolley level with the gun.

  By this time the two miners had placed the gangway in position and we each took a shell up on to the deck of the submarine. Big Logan was already bending over the gun. As I climbed up on the deck, I saw the muzzle of it slowly falling as Logan sighted it on the far end of the main cave. As I reached him he flung the breech open. I slipped the shell in. It fitted perfectly. He closed the breech and straightened his back. ‘There we are,’ he said. ‘Everything ship-shape and ready to fire. All you have to do now is pull that lanyard.’ He pointed to the trigger lanyard. ‘Then you fling open the breech—so. The used shell falls out, in with the next and fire.’

  The two miners put their shells down beneath the gun.

  ‘Do you know how to fire a machine-gun?’ Logan asked them.

  ‘We were both in the last war,’ replied the little bow-legged one, whom I later discovered to be Alf Davies, one-time foreman at the Wheal Garth.

  ‘All right.’ Logan turned to me. ‘Will you take charge?’ he said. ‘There are rifles, hand-grenades and any other weapons you fancy in the submarine where we found that guard. Get what you want. Fire the gun only when there is no chance of holding the dock any longer. But it must be fired. I’m going to collect that girl.’

  I said: ‘Don’t be a fool, Logan. You haven’t a hope.’

  ‘I’ve got the key,’ he said. ‘I’m still daft, remember. I think I’ll get away with it.’

  ‘Anyway, what’s the good of bringing her down here?’ I demanded. ‘It’s certain death.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ he said. ‘There’s just a chance. I found three engineers in the engine-room and I’ve shut them in. All we’ve got to do is flood the dock and float the submarine out stern first. The tide is only about an hour on the turn. If we hurry we’ll just be able to do it. Once out in the main cave we submerge and get out through the undersea entrance under our own power.’

  ‘Good God, what a chance!’ I exclaimed, thinking of the masses of complicated machinery with which the boat was filled. ‘There isn’t a hope.’

  ‘Maybe not, but can you suggest anything else?’ he asked. ‘The mine is blocked, remember.’

  I couldn’t, and he jumped on to the dockside. I watched him walk down it, apparently quite calm, and disappear into the gallery. I told Alf Davies to man the gun and took the big miner up on to the bridge and down through the conning tower hatch. Well, I thought to myself, I suppose we’re lucky to have any sort of a chance at all. After all, I had been expecting to try to blow myself and every one else into the next world. But I must say I did not relish the idea of trying to manoeuvre the submar-ine out through the underwater mouth of the cave under her own power with only three men on board who knew anything about the works, and unwilling men at that. Our only hope was that they were not all the heroic type.

  I led the way for’ard to the magazine room. It was the hand-grenades I was after. I had the germ of an idea at the back of my mind. At that moment I don’t think it was conscious. But it was sufficiently strong to direct me towards the grenades. We took up four each in our pockets, two rifles and a box of ammunition between us. We brought our haul out and laid it on the deck beside the gun. Then I looked at my watch. It was one-twenty-five. Another five minutes and first lunch would be over. Surely Logan ought to be back by now? But he had to get up to the top gallery. If the guard-room door were open he might have to bide his time.

  At that moment there was a shout from the end of the dock. ‘Wache! Send those bastards down here to collect these cases.’

  I poked my head round the conning tower. The same man was standing in the tunnel leading down to the store-room. ‘They’ll come as soon as they’ve packed the stuff away up here,’ I replied.

  Then my heart sank. An officer had appeared, and I recognized him as the commander of U 21. He stopped and spoke to the man in the entrance to the store. The fellow pointed to the pile of cases on the deck and shrugged his shoulders. The commander nodded and came striding down the dockside. ‘Get behind that gun,’ I said. I dragged the rifles and the machine-gun out of sight. Then the two miners and myself crouched down, waiting.

  The commander paused by the gangway. He looked up at the man mounting guard just for’ard of the conning tower, who had not moved a muscle, and then back at the gangway. I could just see his face between the mountings of the gun. He was puzzled by the position of the gangway. At length he stepped aboard and went aft. I picked up a rifle which I had loaded. I pushed forward the safety catch with my thumb. We were for it now. He would see the forge lying over the hatch. I left my hiding-place and moved quickly after him, my rifle ready. He bent over the forge. Then he began to shift it. I was about fifty feet from him. I put one knee to the deck and raised the rifle to my shoulder. ‘You’re covered,’ I said in German. ‘Put your hands behind your back and keep still.’

  He swung round, and without a second’s hesitation his hand went to his revolver. The choice was his. I pulled the trigger. The explosion in that confined space seemed deafening. His hand suddenly checked as it touched his holster, then his knees began to sag. I did not wait to see if he were dead. But as I raced for’ard I heard him slump to the deck. ‘Man that gun,’ I ordered.

  Davies took his place beside the gun as I ran up. ‘Hand-grenades,’ I panted to the other miner. ‘You look after No. 3 dock. I’ll look after No. 5. We’ve got to block the gallery both sides.’ He dived for the grenades, and despite his bulk had jumped on to the dock in a flash.

  I picked up three grenades and followed him. I had dropped my rifle, but my revolver was still hanging round my neck by its lanyard. As we raced along the dock several men came running down the gallery. Two went past in the direction of No. 5 dock. But three more paused and came running to meet us. Fortunately they were ratings and therefore not armed. I fired, and though I had not aimed at any of them, they broke and ran. I was not accustomed to a revolver and I found the kick unexpectedly powerful.

  Men had by now appeared in the entrance to the store-room. But they, too, were unarmed and drew back into the tunnel. We had almost reached the end of the dock now and I had drawn level with my miner. And at that moment I saw that one of the guards from No. 3 dock had appeared. But he held his rifle uncertainly, put out by our uniforms. ‘Get back!’ I yelled in German. ‘Guard your own dock. It’s mutiny.’

  He did as I had ordered. But when we came to the gallery itself we found that he and two other guards were now standing across the gallery leading to No. 3 dock with their rifles at the ready. ‘Okay,’ I said to my companions. ‘Out with the pins and let ’em have it.’ I left him to look after the three guards whilst I took the gallery between our own and No. 5 dock. I could see men coming from other docks and out of the store-rooms farther along the gallery. I think we both tossed our grenades into the gallery at about the same time, for we were both running together with bullets singing past our ears and shrieking as they ricochetted off the walls.

  Then came a terrific roar. And then another. The ground shook under our feet and a
blast of hot air sent us both sprawling. My face hit the rocky surface of the dockside only half-protected by my upflung arm and I felt the blood warm in my nose. There was a horrible splitting noise as the rock began to crack. We clambered to our feet and staggered forward. And at the same moment there was a splitting and a rumbling behind us. I turned to see the whole roof of the gallery between our dock and No. 3 collapse. One moment I could see the white uniforms of the guards as they turned to run, and the next instant there was just a tumbled heap of rocks half-invisible in a cloud of dust.

  My companion stumbled to his feet. There was a nasty cut across his left eye. The dust was beginning to clear now and I could see that the gallery leading to No. 3 dock was completely blocked. But I could not see what had happened to the right, between our own dock and No. 5, except that a whole lot of debris had spilled on to the floor of the gallery where it passed the end of our dock.

  I ran back down the dock, a hand-grenade ready in my hand. The force of the explosion had broken most of the electric-light bulbs. But in the half-dark I was just able to see the white uniform of an officer, as he appeared up the tunnel from the store-room. The beam of a torch almost blinded me. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked, mistaking me for one of the base guards. Then I suppose he saw the grenade in my hand, for he said: ‘What are you up to?’

  I had no alternative. I pulled the pin out, threw it into the tunnel in which he stood and ducked sideways. The bullet from his revolver sang past my head. A second later there was a flash and a great rumbling explosion. By one of those freak chances his torch remained alight and as it fell, it showed up for an instant the tunnel. The whole roof seemed to crumble. For an instant it actually hung suspended with small pieces of rock pouring from it. Then it came rumbling down and the whole scene went black.