‘She struck hard, too. The tower was flooded, of course – result of the destroyers’ gunnery – and short of blowing main ballast – maybe I should have, blown her to the surface and ordered abandon ship – but diving that fast and perhaps slightly concussed oneself—’
‘Think you were?’
‘Hard to be certain, sir. We were thrown around like ninepins – and head injuries, as I said – other breakages as well – legs, an arm or two, collar-bones—’
‘On the bottom then, with all machinery stopped – were you hearing the enemy at all?’
‘I thought I did, from time to time, but—’ He stopped, shook his head. ‘Don’t know. And we’d no hydrophone that worked by then.’
‘No more depthcharging either, I take it?’
‘Two isolated charges soon after we struck, but a long way off. They must have believed they’d sunk us, tried with those two to see if they could stir us up, maybe. We may have travelled further slant-wise than they’d have reckoned. Any case, long as we stayed absolutely quiet – and we had no option on that score—’
‘Of course not. Although—’
‘Oh, a very large “although”.’ Cutting in as if talking to himself, with his eyes shut for a moment, thoughts clouding. Recalling the extreme anxieties, life-and-death quandaries. Pulling himself together then: ‘I beg your pardon, sir. But – on the sea-bed, not knowing we’d ever get off it, and the worst of it that I daredn’t lift a finger to find out. Except I did know the tower was flooded. Opening the vent in the lower hatch by just a crack we got a needle-jet at full sea-pressure, warning me that when the time came to try to get her off I’d have to start by pumping out some – well, the midships comp tank was the obvious choice.’ A shrug that might have been a shiver: ‘That is, if the pump would work. Another thing I couldn’t ascertain was whether if we did get her up I’d have the use of a periscope. The main ’scope’s gland had succumbed to blast or pressure, giving us a continuous intake – similar trickles into the TSC bilge via the for’ard hydroplanes’ glands – but whether the big scope would eventually be useable or the topside damage might have jammed or even bent it – one realised this was at least quite probable. And the attack ’scope was of course inaccessible in the flooded tower.’
‘UB81 being different in that respect from others in her class.’
He nodded. ‘Most do have them the other way about.’
‘Was she on an even keel?’
‘List to starboard of about fifteen degrees, once she’d settled. And slightly bow-down. That was another possibility, that she’d have dug her snout in, and depending on the consistency of the sand or mud—’
‘Time, when you hit the bottom?’
‘Two-forty p.m., sir. Control-room clock stopped on impact. My own’ – he tapped his top pocket – ‘kept ticking. The impact was violent. As you can imagine. How she didn’t break apart…’ Shake of the head. ‘The men who died, incidentally – or did I say this already? – well, they were only three of about a dozen who eventually came round. Not Hofbauer, my navigator, his skull was actually crushed. But gas – chlorine – was another threat; battery containers had been cracked – hardly surprisingly – so there was electrolyte washing around in the tank. Obviously if salt-water had got in—’
‘Quite.’
Schwaeble got up, moved to a window, stood gazing out. His shape and stance were similar to Franz Winter’s – that fighting stance, assertion of virility, pugnacity. Head jerking round on a rather short, thick neck – which was also an attribute of Winter’s – demanding, ‘How long were you in this state of enforced inertia?’
‘Four hours, sir. No – four-and-a-half. I had to wait for darkness – and give it longer than might be absolutely necessary, since I thought it was conceivable a destroyer might have hung around. If they’d guessed there might be life in us they’d know this was the way we’d play it. And if they were lurking up there, they’d hear our first stirrings, and – stayed quiet too, no doubt have stood by their guns.’
Remembering. To an extent, re-living. The lack of light, for one thing: not even the emergency lighting, after they’d hit the bottom, only a few flashlights of which he’d forbidden the use until they did start moving and might need them. Damaged and unconscious men having been taken care of first, of course, and the pressure-hull inspected for leaks by Hintenberger and his henchmen.
He added, ‘Something of a dilemma, initially. If I found I could shift her, whether to accept the rather slim odds on making it back here – via the Dover Strait and other minefields, in the state we were already – or save at least some of our lives by surfacing and abandoning ship. That’s – as I say – if surfacing were possible. But with the necessity of waiting for darkness – well, abandoning wouldn’t necessarily have saved any lives at all – in a roughish sea and no rescue ships near. And if I’d tried it before dark, might have been blown to pieces the minute we broke surface. As to surfacing, incidentally, or even getting off the bottom, another possibility was that the exterior main ballast might have been holed – when the casing was shot away, could have happened then. In which case we might well not have had sufficient buoyancy, if we had only internal main ballast tanks that we could blow.’
‘But you made the best possible decision, and succeeded.’
A shrug: ‘Had the luck of the devil, sir.’
‘Your crew stood up well to the four-hour wait?’
‘Did indeed, sir. I explained the situation – that we had no option but to just sit tight, and what we’d do then – try to do – and they settled down. Some slept – couldn’t play cards or other games, having no light. So – dozing, chatting…’
He remembered Hintenberger growling – on his bunk, Otto and Stahl on theirs, only a few feet distant from each other in the darkness – the engineer musing philosophically, ‘Had a fair run for my money, anyway. Lasted a lot longer than a good few of the fellows I started out with. But it’s a fact that no-one’s luck lasts for ever.’
Otto had cut in, ‘Mine does, Chief. Therefore as far as this little contretemps is concerned, so will yours.’
‘You reckon?’
‘Definitely. With your assistance and experience contributing, naturally. Dare say there’ll be a few bad moments, but—’
‘Under the Dover mines – as we were saying earlier, eh?’
‘Through them, more than under.’
‘On the surface? A night-time passage?’
‘Hardly. Along with the mine barrage goes a whole fleet of trawlers and drifters. I’m not mad, Chief. We’ll go through dived, using the route we know and trusting in the continuance of my well-proved luck.’
‘Well.’ The engineer had reached over to rap on Hofbauer’s bunk-board. They’d put the navigator in his own bunk, with his broken head wrapped in a towel that would by now be scarlet. ‘Didn’t help this lad here much, did it. Barely weaned, and – phut!’
‘His own personal bad luck, that’s all. But I truly am a lucky swine, Chief, and it must be better to serve with a lucky skipper than the other kind – uh?’
‘You’re lucky as hell with girls, we all know that.’
‘Well – since you mention it—’
‘Pin your great bat ears back, Stahl, here comes the dirt!’
‘No, it doesn’t. What I was about to say is there’s one waiting for me in Wilhelmshaven that’s truly out of this world!’
‘Saying there weren’t half a dozen in Bruges?’
‘This one’s – frankly, she’s exquisite. And keen as mustard. Honest truth, she’s a corker, and she and I have – an understanding. So I have a powerful interest in getting there, and I damn well will, you can count on it!’
‘Saying that if it wasn’t for the expectation of a bit of nooky we could not count on it?’
It had gone on for a while, he remembered, that exchange. The engineer complaining that it must be great for Otto with his good looks and height, fine physique; but lacking any of those attribut
es he’d always had to rely on hypnotism or Mickey Finns.
‘Don’t suppose you ever had to trick one into it, Skipper, did you?’
‘Trick… no. Not trick. Oh, except—’
‘True confession time now, Stahl!’
‘No.’ Letting himself off on that one, shaking his head in the dark and the deep-water silence. He’d said something like, ‘No, confessing nothing.’
Yawning, jerking upright on his chair, having come close to falling asleep – Schwaeble was on his way back from the window, dumping himself behind the desk again.
‘At six-thirty or thereabouts, then – managed to pump out that midships comp tank, did you?’
‘Yes. Yes, sir. We did. The pump ran, all right. Might not have, but – thank God… Sounded very loud, after the long silence. Enormous relief initially, but I remember thinking then that if one or both of ’em had stayed up to listen for us, that’s as far as we might get.’ Suppressing another yawn. ‘Another worry – should’ve mentioned – was the battery. Specific gravity frighteningly low, I had to lighten her enough to have her lifting-off before using motors – before trying to use ’em, wasting that effort of battery-power if she was actually immoveable. Using enough on the pumping effort meanwhile – and no certainty that’d last out. Although it did. Took a while – sweating blood second by second, to be honest. Must have been – no, was seven – seven o’clock – before she began to straighten up, lose the list she’d had on her. A sort of quiver – like she’d felt it suddenly – after pumping all that time and damn-all coming of it…’
Despair had been close to setting in. Using a torch several times during that period to focus on the depth-gauge and the bubble, its beam poking this way and that, he’d seen it in others’ faces and – he hoped – had managed to keep the signs of it out of his own. Highly conscious though he had been that at any moment the ballast pump might just stop – overheat, seize up, or simply the battery giving up the ghost, therefore no hope of using motors either. Last resort then – HP air to blow main ballast, the Tauchtanks, of which some – externals – might have been holed, so that trying to blow them you’d only be venting high-pressure air out through them, expending your last resource to no purpose. Lose your reserves of HP air, you’d have nothing; obviously the compressor could only be run when you were on the surface with the hatch open.
But then: that quiver. Pump still running and she was shifting. Hardly daring to believe… Stahl, he remembered, suggesting rather vacuously, ‘Try the emergency circuits, sir?’
Because the LTOs – electrical ratings – Freimann and Schachtschneider – had reckoned to have fixed them by something as simple as replacing blown fuses; so maybe you’d get some dim light if you wanted it that badly – which he didn’t, hadn’t allowed them to switch on, preferring to conserve what vestige of power they might still have. He said no again now to Stahl. Why waste power on bloody lighting? Weak flashlight beams were enough, that and working by feel, knowing as one did (or should) where every vent, valve and blow was to be found. Hintenberger certainly did: that little ape was a real tower of strength. But whether or not there was air remaining in the bottles and groups of bottles – and whether the externals would hold it if/when you gave it to them, which you’d do gently anyway, to reduce the chances of her reacting to it violently, suicidally… In the first place because sea-pressure could have crushed her at any time in the last four-and-a-half hours – without anyone opening a blow or even sneezing – and in shifting her even to the very small extent that had been done, now you were already imposing new stresses. Also because the external tanks were constructed of thinner, lighter steel, were thus more vulnerable.
Better not use externals, he told himself. May well not need them anyway. Blow internals: and even those with caution.
‘Stop the pump.’
‘Stop the pump.’ Stahl, thin-voiced, and the stoker crouched in a machinery-space a few metres for’ard didn’t need to report it stopped, you heard it – or rather, ceased to hear it.
‘Shut the comp’s suction and inboard vent. Boese – you at the panel?’
‘Am that, sir.’
‘Check main vents shut.’
‘They are, sir. Just checked ’em.’
‘Check again numbers five and six – and check their kingstons open.’
Those were the midships internal main ballast (or ‘diving’) tanks. The extra weight in her, in the tower, was directly above this control-room; it made sense to put the lift as near as possible right below it. Kingstons were large valves in the bottoms of some main ballast tanks; water was expelled through them when high-pressure air was blasted in, as long as the vents on top were shut.
‘Fore ’planes to five degrees of rise.’
Leading Torpedoman Bausch was in charge in the TSC, where the ’planes were still in hand control. Acknowledgement came back by word of mouth: ‘Fore ’planes at five degrees of rise, sir.’
In the hope that the motors would respond, by and by. A flashlight beam on the after ’planes’ indicator dial showed that Honeck had them level.
‘All right, cox’n?’
‘Right enough, sir, considerin’.’
‘Boese, listen. Put one two-second puff of HP air in Tauchtank five, and the same in six.’
‘Aye, sir.’
In pitch darkness, using a wheelspanner to wrench number five’s blow open, counting loudly, ‘One – two!’ and jerking it shut; then the same with six.
‘Five and six blows shut, sir.’
You’d heard the blast of high pressure thump into each of the tanks and then cut off. Felt the boat’s lurch – and heard from a distance Hintenberger’s sharp, ‘Ah, the darling!’ A flashlight on the depthgauge simultaneously showing the needle jump from 69 ½ metres to 68, then continue sweeping shakily through 67, 66, 65…
They were applauding quietly. He let it go on for about ten seconds, then called for quiet. Thought of reminding them that she was still a long way below her tested depth, and so forth, but decided they must all be aware of it, weren’t idiots or children, actually were bloody heroes. He told Schwaeble, ‘When I’d nursed her up to less than fifty metres I opened number six’s vent because she was coming up too fast. Left the air in number five while we tried motors slow ahead – which was all right, but she was still too buoyant and I vented five. As well as the normal trim change when rising I guessed she’d have brought mud up with her, and as that fell off she’d have been getting lighter still, so I flooded the buoyancy tank again and that near-enough put us right. The empty comp tank alone was compensating for the flooded tower.’
‘And you were able to surface.’
He nodded. ‘Blind, though. Periscope wouldn’t move; nothing I could do until the tower had drained down. Felt a bit – irresponsible, asking for it, tossing around waiting to be shot at or rammed or – well, couldn’t be helped. And as it happened, we had the place to ourselves. Actually did… Anyway, I guessed the tower would empty itself as far as it could through the hole or holes they’d shot in it, so I gave it time for that before opening the drain.’
Schwaeble recalling, as if to himself, ‘Which is there in case one might be so rash as to dive with the top hatch open.’
‘If one were to be killed – stuck in that hatch maybe – having given the order to dive – those below would slam the lower hatch.’
A nod. ‘Of course.’
‘Both hatches were in working order, anyway. With the tower and standards shattered, the top one at least might not have been, could have been jammed solid. Yet another considerable relief.’
Actually, he remembered a near-screaming, howling sense of relief as he’d unclipped the top one and sent it clanging back, aided by the pressure from inside, and climbed out into the wrecked bridge, found the voicepipe intact – the forefront of the bridge hadn’t suffered – opened it and yelled down, ‘Start main engines! Set standing charge one side! Steer east by south!’ The sea had still been rough and there’d been a
lot of movement on her, spray lashing over in night air like iced champagne – actually bloody nectar as the diesels grumbled into life and UB81 under helm and gathering way swung her fore-casing into the direction of east by south.
‘You all right, von Mettendorff?’
Cheeks wet below the eyes, he realised. Using two or three fingertips of each hand to deal with it as unobtrusively as possible. Head and heart throbbing; heart actually thumping. Telling Schwaeble, ‘I’m fine, sir, thank you.’ He’d nodded, then wished he hadn’t – his skull felt loose. Getting back to the sequence of events, however: ‘Main problem facing us – looking ahead, I mean – was having no periscope. Obviously couldn’t use the tower when dived, and the artificer couldn’t do anything with the big one, it simply wouldn’t budge.’
Schwaeble murmured sardonically, ‘Certainly a slight problem…’
‘Sheer luck got us through. Worked out a straight course for each day’s dived run, went to twenty-five metres and hoped for the best, surfaced at night not knowing what company we might have – same slow business, of course, surfacing, the draining-down of the tower each time. No eyes, no ears, and no other way, did provide several pretty awful minutes – Wednesday, Thursday and Friday nights. In the dark, of course, but still – not comfortable, exactly. While as to mines – couldn’t wireless for information on new fields or recent clearances, just had to take our chances. Did have a charted track through the Dover Strait – courtesy of Korvetten Kapitan Franz Winter – and – well, as I say, sir, just damn lucky.’
‘In my view, a good deal more skill and courage than luck. A degree of it, of course, but we all need that; if there weren’t a certain amount of it about we’d all have been dead years ago. Go get some rest, and eat. Then you’d better have a check-up from the quack. I’ll see that’s arranged – for all of you. Sorry I had to put you through this, von Mettendorff.’ On his feet, with his hand out across the desk: ‘Once again, congratulations.’
Otto shook his hand. Then: ‘May I ask, sir – is there likely to be a job for me now?’
Stark Realities Page 8
