He said, ‘Tell Lieutenant Ullmann to take charge below, then report all damage and casualties. I cannot leave a single survivor behind, Rudi. To do so might endanger this ship, our people. We must manage. We shall manage.’
Petty Officer Fackler called, ‘Lieutenant Ruesch has signalled that he is in command of the prize, sir.’ He flinched as a man shrieked in sudden agony, the sound hanging over the bridge like something obscene.
Rietz said, ‘Signal him to get under way and follow us. I will send him further orders for a rendezvous when he has listed the ship’s cargo.’
‘Gunnery officer requests permission to open fire, sir.’
Rietz climbed on to a grating and looked down as the first life-boat came alongside. ‘Stop engines.’ He watched the shocked and dazed men scrambling up ladders to the entry ports. ‘Will this impress Berlin and Vogel?’ He turned and looked at Storch.
Storch replied, ‘It is what we came to do, sir. And it will be remembered.’
Rietz crossed through the wheelhouse to the opposite wing, needing to be alone with his thoughts before, like the engines, he was set in motion once more.
Remembered? He thought of the little corvette, knowing it was how he would like to be remembered when his time came.
The first gun crashed out, the explosion swift and echoing as it found an easy target on the nearest abandoned ship.
Perhaps he was no different from Vogel after all. His pride had been his weakness, the need to prove he was better than Vogel before Storch and his men had drawn him away from his usual caution.
He heard a step behind him and he knew his moment of peace was over.
Orders, requests, the need to plan. As Storch had said so clearly, it was what they had come to do.
9
News from Home
THE ROOM WHICH had been given over to the investigation into the German raider’s movements and intentions was cool when compared with the dusty humidity which seemed to enclose the rest of Melbourne. Even the sounds of traffic and everyday noises were dull and vague, so that Blake had to force his mind to concentrate on what a lieutenant-commander from the intelligence department was saying.
Smashing through the sea or enduring the violent roar of gunfire had no place here, he thought. The Catalina flying-boat, the young American called Billy, the girl with her tanned body showing through the borrowed tunic, none seemed to belong to the officer’s even tones, the occasional rustle of his notes or a quiet question from one of the other people present.
Blake glanced at Commodore Rodney Stagg. In spite of the room’s size and the fact that he was seated, Stagg seemed to dominate it with his presence.
They had met only briefly when Blake had been driven straight from Williamstown within an hour of docking. He had said little, curt to a point of rudeness. Blake had sensed his anger, apprehension too.
He wished Quintin had been here, but was equally thankful he was not. Any sudden strain or excitement might have irreparably damaged his amazing recovery.
Blake looked around the room. A beautiful model of a ship of the line carved out of bone fragments by French prisoners of war maybe a hundred and fifty years ago. On the opposite wall a fine painting of Cook’s ships lying in Kealakekua Bay. Blake jerked his head up as the drowsiness swept over him again.
The officer was saying, ‘In spite of intensive interrogation of the Bremse’s survivors and the released prisoners after their landing at Port Elizabeth by Andromeda,’ he paused as several faces turned towards Blake, then continued, ‘no further information of use to our operations against the raider was discovered.’ He flipped over a page of his notes. ‘This latest attack on an escorted convoy can only add to our difficulties.’
Blake recalled his own feelings when he had received the signal about the complete destruction of a northbound convoy. To date no survivors had been picked up, and in spite of intensive patrols over the area no further evidence had been found.
The officer from intelligence added dryly, ‘The Swedish government has already made strong representations to London and to the Royal Australian Navy. One of their ships, the Patricia, was ordered to join the convoy by the Fremantle. Left alone, they argue, she would be afloat and at her destination, Port Said.’
Commodore Stagg rose to his feet and stared at the lieutenant-commander as if he would strike him.
‘That’s great, coming from you! Sitting nice and snug in your plush office while the men doing the job are getting their backsides shot off!’
The younger officer said patiently, ‘I am only repeating the collated information, sir. Captain Quintin might have done it better, but I have my work to do, too. The Americans are preparing a new offensive against Japanese-held islands, they cannot spare any carriers for a full-scale ocean search. Likewise, the Royal Navy are under pressure in the Atlantic, to say nothing of the proposed invasion in Europe.’
Stagg’s face glowed as if his white tunic collar was growing too tight.
‘I’m not talking about the Americans or the British, dammit! I’m speaking about us, right here!’
Blake saw the discomfort moving round the room. He was still not sure if Stagg was respected or feared.
Stagg rasped, ‘I was given the job of finding and destroying the raider. I know the man himself, how he works. He’s trying to get you all in a panic. From the look of it, he’s succeeding without too much sweat! No raider can survive without supply ships. We’ve done for one, and I’ll make damn sure we scupper the rest!’
A small rear-admiral who was representing the First Naval Member, whose face looked like tooled leather, said mildly, ‘But all told, Commodore Stagg, the enemy have destroyed or captured fifteen ships including, for good measure, the cruiser Devonport, which, I might add, was larger than your own flagship, and a couple of escorts! I hardly think you can expect a fanfare of optimism for your efforts so far?’
The little admiral was mildly spoken but each word hit Stagg like a sledge-hammer.
He said thickly, ‘I need time, sir. I’ve ordered an increase in vigilance, more patrols, and with luck some air cover over part of the shipping lanes. But I can’t be expected to carry everyone. It’s a tough job, but one I’m equal to.’ He unexpectedly sat down and stared grimly at the floor.
The rear-admiral looked directly at Blake. ‘Captain Blake. We have all seen your reports, which in view of your recent misfortune were clear and helpful. However . . .’ the word hung in the air like a threat. ‘Captain Quintin has already informed me of your personal opinion about the raider.’ He leaned back, a small sunburned hand tapping gently on the table. ‘Perhaps you would enlighten the rest of my department?’
A door opened quietly, and from a corner of his eye Blake saw the girl slip into the room and sit in a vacant chair. She was watching him between two officers, but was wearing dark glasses, as she had since the Catalina had crashed. Andromeda’s surgeon had kept her heavily sedated, ‘guarded’ would have been a better description, Blake thought. He had barely spoken to her as the ship had hurried back to Williamstown, with the air filled with news about the massacred convoy and the elusive raider.
He stood up and looked at the faces around him. All but Stagg and the girl were total strangers. They were looking at him in that same unreal fashion. He could almost feel the crimson ribbon on his breast like a burn.
Blake said, ‘Like everyone else, I have been keeping a close check on the raider’s movements. I have not met the German referred to by Commodore Stagg, but naturally I have read all I could discover about the man.’ He looked round very slowly. ‘The man.’ He knew he had their attention and said, ‘A professional naval officer, gentlemen. Someone fighting for his country, not necessarily his beliefs. Like we do.’ He saw one of the heads nod, another officer exchange a quick glance with his companion. ‘As I see it, he is trying to inflame us, to make us so desperate to destroy him that we will make mistakes, miss opportunities. We know from one source and his past record that this Captain Riet
z is conscious of his duty to others. I will not dwell on it, but it is there. It is also totally at odds with the butcher, with the man who machine-guns helpless people in the water, who leaves them to suffer and die without hope or mercy.’
He glanced at the girl and saw she was clasping her hands tightly together. Even the neat white uniform and the dark glasses could not hide her emotion, or what her memory must be at this moment.
He thought suddenly of Fairfax as he had seen him when he had left the ship that morning.
‘Why not let it drop, sir? If you’re wrong they’ll crucify you later on for wasting time and delaying convoys. Even if you’re right, we could be too late, the bastard may have gone elsewhere?’
Blake had been touched by Fairfax’s simple loyalty. He was the one who should have kept quiet, just as he should have left them to die when the plane had been shot down.
Blake said quietly, ‘I believe there are two raiders. I think they are working together and in conjunction with their high command in Germany.’
The little admiral showed no change of expression, but some of the others stirred in their chairs, as if uncomfortable with the change of direction.
Blake guessed they had been expecting an encouraging and rousing speech. A promise of victory, a link with some of the portraits around the room, Cook, Nelson or Bouganville.
He said, ‘Our present search system is in my opinion inadequate. The enemy has always had a good understanding of our codes and movements, there are spies in every major seaport, and plenty of so-called neutrals ready and willing to sell information to the right buyer.’
The admiral asked, ‘Have you proof?’
‘Not yet, sir. But the German’s quick change of location, his apparent disregard for fuel economy are firm indications that there is more than one raider at large. As I have already said, I think there are two different kinds of man we are up against.’
Stagg got to his feet, his face composed, even calm.
To the rear-admiral he said, ‘I have naturally heard of Captain Blake’s suggestions, sir. As he has admitted to us here, they are only suggestions and without proof. Of course the German hurries about, disregarding his fuel bills and the strain on his machinery.’ He looked round the room, his face suddenly transformed by a great grin. ‘I’d sure as hell do the same in his shoes! And of course he changes his methods. Germans write beautiful music, or so I’m told.’ The grin vanished. ‘They also butcher women and children. I don’t go along with Captain Blake’s ideas, not one bit, gentlemen!’ He stooped slightly and added, ‘Captain Blake has been in the thick of the naval war. We know that. And we have seen his record, the decoration of the Victoria Cross which anyone will envy if he’s telling the truth.’
For the first time he looked at Blake, his eyes steady and relaxed. ‘I’d not like to think that Captain Blake is under the impression that just one raider is too small a reward for his services. I’d hate even more to believe that the second invisible German is being put on record just in case we can’t deliver the goods!’
The admiral snapped, ‘That’s enough, Commodore Stagg. This is a discussion, not a court martial!’
Blake felt the room closing in around him, the faces of the spectators merging into a blur with Stagg’s at the centre.
He heard himself say, ‘I’ll stick by my opinion, sir. In wartime you have to put up with a lot. Putting up with an insult like Commodore Stagg’s doesn’t happen to be one of them!’
The admiral rose lightly to his feet, like a cat. It was over. For the present.
To the room at large he said severely, ‘We will destroy the raider, and any other which comes our way. I will tolerate no interservice recriminations.’ His eyes flitted between Stagg and Blake. ‘From anyone!’
The officers moved obediently to the door, but Stagg said abruptly, ‘A word, Blake.’
They stood a few feet apart by one of the broad windows.
Stagg said calmly, ‘Sorry I had to do that. But I’ll not beat about the bush. I’m straight, always am. In a matter of weeks you’ll be sent out of here. Probably to a plushy appointment, somewhere where your background will be useful. An Australian officer will command Andromeda, and things will be as our masters intended. But in the meantime you and I have got to get along, see? The war is beginning to go our way, and neither the Yanks nor the Brits are going to take over from me. You start to throw rumours about and some desk admiral in Washington or Whitehall will get in a panic. We’ll have flotillas and squadrons out here we’ll never need, and not one will be under Australian control!’
Blake nodded. ‘And that’s what you care about?’
Stagg grinned. ‘That, and getting the German raider. So think about it. You’ll be sitting pretty, it won’t be your problem any more.’
As he made to leave, Blake called after him, ‘Suppose we don’t win the war?’
Stagg looked at him coldly. ‘Then neither of us will have to worry, will we?’
Alone in the big room, Blake walked to the glass case which contained the bone model. Carved with such care, such accuracy.
Even in those days there had been such men who put personal advancement before all else. He felt the anger burning his insides like acid. Did Stagg really see him as the glory-seeking hero? A man so full of conceit that he needed to invent an enemy?
The door opened and she stood there watching him.
‘Thought you’d be coming out with the others?’
He walked across the polished floor and faced her. ‘It was good of you to wait.’
She tossed her head, the movement drawing Blake from his anger like a balm.
‘They were rough on you,’ she said. ‘But the admiral’s no fool. He’ll be thinking about it. He’s right.’
In the corridor Blake felt as if they were both invisible. Sailors and civilians bustled from door to door with pieces of paper, files of signals, while they stood unmoving amongst them.
She asked, ‘Are you staying?’
He thought of Fairfax, the much-needed repairs which Weir intended to complete before leaving again.
She added slowly, ‘If you are, maybe you’d like to meet my family? Like you said.’ She looked away, withdrawing, like a stranger. ‘I’ll quite understand if you’ve better things to do.’
He reached out and took her elbow, turning her towards him.
‘I’ve not, and I’d like to very much.’
She nodded and said, ‘That’s settled. I’ll get a car.’
She removed the dark glasses and suddenly it was all there. The dinghy, the sea rising around them like a restless range of hills, his arm around her as the plane had come looking for them, the shark.
She said, ‘By the way, the name’s Claire, in case you’d forgotten.’ But she could not keep it up. ‘I’ll be ready as soon as you’ve telephoned the ship.’ She watched his expression and said simply, ‘You’ve been through it. Now I think I can understand what it’s like.’
Then she turned on her heel and walked swiftly through the door of her office.
Commander Victor Fairfax sat at his desk in the ship’s office, his feet up and his shirt unbuttoned while he drank a cup of black coffee and held the telephone to his ear at the same time.
Even being alongside again felt different, he thought. Feet clattered overhead, and through an open scuttle he saw the wooden piles of the pier, some dockyard workers dragging equipment towards the brow. In a few moments it would all be confusion once more. People came and went from the office, speaking to the writers or leaving forms for him to sign.
The telephone line buzzed and crackled in his ear. But he was lucky to have got one direct to the shore, he thought.
Suddenly he heard her voice, as if she was in the ship with him. Sharing her.
‘Hello, Sarah!’
‘Oh, Vic, it’s you!’ She was laughing and crying together. ‘Can I see you?’
Fairfax said, ‘Is the car okay? If not, borrow one and drive down here. I’ll fix a dockyar
d pass for you. I’ve missed you so much, Sarah!’
He knew that all the writers had stopped work and were listening intently but he did not care.
She said, ‘I’ve been so worried about you.’ She sniffed. ‘God, I do love you!’
The line clicked and a weary voice interrupted, ‘Call coming in from HQ, sir.’
Fairfax snapped, ‘Get off the line!’ In a calmer tone, ‘Soon as you can, Sarah.’ He replaced the telephone carefully, as if it were made of crystal.
Gross, the paymaster commander, peered through the door. ‘We should have a party. How about it?’
Fairfax grinned. ‘A great idea.’ He thought of Blake and added, ‘I wonder what the hell is going on in Melbourne?’
Gross shrugged his plump shoulders. ‘The skipper will come through. He always does.’
‘You like him a lot, don’t you?’
The paymaster commander thought about it. ‘He’ll do me.’
He turned as the chief telegraphist entered the office, a signal pad in his hand.
Fairfax frowned. It was not like the chief petty officer to bother himself running errands.
‘What is it, Pots?’
Lougher, from Fairfax’s home town, almost the same street, said bluntly, ‘From the Admiralty. For the cap’n.’ He glanced at the paymaster commander. ‘His father’s dead. Tough, ain’t it, sir?’
Fairfax stood up, pictures of an old man he had never seen crowding in on him.
The paymaster commander asked, ‘Will you tell him at once?’
Fairfax took the pad and glanced at the brief signal. One bloody thing after another.
‘We’d better forget the party.’
Gross lifted one foot over the coaming. ‘Don’t do that. He’d not wish it. You asked me just now if I liked him. Don’t you see? We’ve all got him up there on the bridge, somebody to rely on. Now he’s got nobody. That’s why I say don’t duck the party. It wouldn’t help.’
A Ship Must Die (1981) Page 14
