San Andreas Page 21

  ‘You’re the navigator,’ McKinnon said agreeably.

  In marked contrast to the conditions that had existed exactly forty-eight hours previously when the mass burial had taken place, the weather was now almost benign. The wind was no more than Force three, the sea calm enough to keep the San Andreas on an all but steady keel, and the cloud cover consisted of no more than a wide band of white, fleecy, mackerel sky against the pale blue beyond. McKinnon, standing by the starboard rail of the San Andreas, derived no pleasure whatsoever from the improvement: he would greatly have preferred the blanketing white blizzard of the previous burial.

  Besides, the Bo’sun, the only other attendants or witnesses—by no stretch of the imagination could they have been called mourners—at the burial were Patterson, Jamieson, Sinclair and the two stokers and two seamen who had brought up the bodies. No one else had asked to come. For obvious reasons no one was going to mourn Dr Singh, and only Sinclair had known the two dead crewmen from the Argos and even then as no more than two unconscious bodies on operating tables.

  Dr Singh was unceremoniously tipped over the side—not for him the well-wishing for his journey into the hereafter. Patterson, who would obviously never have made it as a clergyman, quickly read the liturgy from the prayer-book over the two dead Greek seamen and then they, too, were gone.

  Patterson closed the prayer-book. ‘Twice of that lot is twice too often. Let’s hope there’s not going to be a third time.’ He looked at McKinnon. ‘I suppose we just plod on on our far from merry way?’

  ‘All we can do, sir. Lieutenant Ulbricht suggests that we alter course by and by to due south. That’ll take us on a more direct route to Aberdeen. He knows what he’s about. But that will be approximately twelve hours yet.’

  ‘Whatever’s best.’ Patterson gazed around the empty horizon. ‘Doesn’t it strike you as rather odd, Bo’sun, that we’ve been left unmolested, or at least not located, for the better part of three hours? Since all communication from the U-boat has ceased in that time they must be very dense if they’re not aware that something is far wrong with it.’

  ‘I should imagine that Admiral Doenitz’s U-boat fleet commander in Trondheim is very far from dense. I’ve the feeling they know exactly where we are. I understand that some of the latest U-boats are quite quick under water and one could easily be trailing us by Asdic without our knowing anything about it.’ Like Patterson, only much more slowly, he looked around the horizon, then stood facing the port quarter. ‘We are being tailed.’

  ‘What? What’s that?’

  ‘Can’t you hear it?’

  Patterson cocked his head, then nodded slowly, ‘I think I can. Yes, I can.’

  ‘Condor,’ McKinnon said. ‘Focke-Wulf.’ He pointed, ‘I can see it now. It’s coming straight out of the east and Trondheim is about due east of us now. The pilot of that plane knows exactly where we are. He’s been told, probably via Trondheim, by the U-boat that’s trailing us.’

  ‘I thought a submarine had to surface to transmit?’

  ‘No. All it has to do is to raise its transmitting aerial above the water. It could do that a couple of miles away and we wouldn’t see it. Anyway, it’s probably a good deal further distant than that.’

  ‘One wonders what the Condor’s intentions are.’

  ‘Your guess, sir. We’re not, unfortunately, inside the minds of the U-boat and Luftwaffe commanders in Trondheim. My guess is that they’re not going to try to finish us off and that’s not because they’ve been at great pains not to sink us so far. If they wanted to sink us, one torpedo from the U-boat I’m sure is out there would do the job nicely. Or, if they wanted to sink us from the air, they wouldn’t use a Condor which is really a reconnaissance plane: Heinkels, Heinkel III’s or Stukas with long-range tanks could do the job much more efficiently—and Trondheim is only about two hundred miles from here.’

  ‘What’s he after, then?’ The Condor was two miles distant now and losing height rapidly.

  ‘Information.’ McKinnon looked up at the bridge and caught sight of Naseby out on the port wing looking aft towards the approaching Condor. He cupped his hands and shouted: ‘George!’ Naseby swung round.

  ‘Get down, get down!’ McKinnon made the appropriate gesture with his hand. Naseby raised an arm in acknowledgement and disappeared inside the bridge. ‘Mr Patterson, let’s get inside the superstructure. Now.’

  Patterson knew when to ask questions and when not to. He led the way and within ten seconds they were all in shelter except the Bo’sun, who remained in the shattered doorway.

  ‘Information,’ Patterson said. ‘What information?’

  ‘One moment.’ He moved quickly to the side of the ship, looked aft for no more than two seconds, then returned to shelter.

  ‘Half a mile,’ McKinnon said. ‘Very slow, very low, about fifty feet. Information? Shell-holes, say, on the sides or superstructure, something to indicate that we had been in a fight with some vessel. He won’t see any holes on the port side.’

  Patterson made to speak but whatever he had to say was lost in the sudden clamour of close-range fire by machine-guns, in the cacophonous fury of hundreds of bullets striking the superstructure and side in the space of seconds, and in the abrupt crescendo of sound as giant aero engines swept by not more than fifty yards away. Another few seconds and all was relatively quiet again.

  Jamieson said: ‘Well, yes, I can see now why you told Naseby to get his head down.’

  ‘Information.’ Patterson sounded aggrieved, almost plaintive. ‘Bloody funny way they set about getting information. And I thought you said they weren’t going to attack us.’

  ‘I said they wouldn’t sink us. Knocking a few of the crew off would be all grist to their mill. The more of us they can kill, the more they think they’ll have us at their mercy.’

  ‘You think they got the information they wanted?’

  ‘I’m certain of it. You can be sure that every eye on that Condor was examining us very closely indeed as they passed by fifty yards away. They won’t have seen the damage to our bows because it’s underwater but they can’t have helped seeing something else that’s underwater up for’ard—our load-line. Unless they’re completely myopic they’re bound to have seen that we’re down by the head. And unless they’re equally dense they’re bound to realize that we’ve either hit something or been hit by something. It couldn’t have been a mine or torpedo or we’d be at the bottom now. They’ll have known at once that we must have rammed something and there won’t be much guessing about what that was.’

  ‘Dear, oh dear,’ Jamieson said, ‘I don’t think I like this one little bit, Bo’sun.’

  ‘Nor me, sir. Changes things quite a bit, doesn’t it? Question of the German high command’s priorities, I suppose. A question of alive or dead. Is it more important to them that they take us more or less alive or do they take revenge for their lost U-boat?’

  ‘Whichever they choose, there’s damn-all we can do about it,’ Patterson said. ‘Let’s go and have lunch.’

  ‘I think we should wait a moment, sir.’ McKinnon remained still and silent for a few moments, then said: ‘It’s coming back.’

  And back it came, flying at the same near wave-top height. The second fly-past was a mirror image of the first: instead of flying stern to stem on the port side it flew stem to stern on the starboard side, again to the accompaniment of the same fusillade of machine-gun fire. Some ten seconds after the firing ceased McKinnon, followed by the others, left the shelter and went to the port rail.

  The Condor was off the port quarter, climbing steadily and flying directly away from them.

  ‘Well, well,’ Jamieson said. ‘We seem to have got off lightly. Bound to have seen those three shell-holes on the starboard side, weren’t they, Bo’sun?’

  ‘Couldn’t have missed them, sir.’

  ‘They could be gaining bombing altitude before turning back to settle accounts with us?’

  ‘He could bomb us from a hundred feet w
ithout the slightest bit of danger to himself.’

  ‘Or maybe he just isn’t carrying any bombs?’

  ‘No. He’ll be carrying bombs all right. Only the Focke-Wulfs on the big half-circle from Trondheim to Lorient in France round the British Isles, or the ones who patrol as far out as the Denmark Strait don’t carry bombs. They carry extra fuel tanks instead. The ones on shorter patrols always carry bombs—250-kilo bombs, usually, not the smaller ones that Lieutenant Ulbricht used. The pilot of the Condor is, of course, in direct radio communication with Trondheim, has told them why they’re not hearing from the U-boat any more, but still has been told to lay off us. For the meantime, anyway.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Patterson said. ‘He’s not coming back. Funny. He could have spent all day—till nightfall at least—circling us and reporting our position. But no, he’s off. I wonder why.’

  ‘No need to wonder, sir. The Condor’s exit is all the proof we require that we are being tailed by a U-boat. No point in having a U-boat and a plane tailing us at the same time.’

  ‘Isn’t there anything we can do about that damned U-boat?’

  ‘Well, we can’t ram him because we don’t know where he is and we can be certain that there’s no chance that he’ll surface because he’s bound to have heard by now—or will hear very soon—what happened to the other U-boat. We can, just possibly, shake him off but not at this moment. Sure, by shutting off our engines and generators we could make him lose contact but that wouldn’t be for very long—he’d just raise his periscope, traverse the horizon and nail us again.’

  ‘Not at this moment—you mean, after it gets dark?’

  ‘Yes, I thought we might try then. We lie doggo for half an hour, then steam away on a new course at very low engine revolutions—the less racket we make the less chance there is of our being picked up. Might take us the better part of an hour to reach full speed. At the best, it’s only a gamble and even if we do win that gamble it’s still no guarantee that we’re free and clear. The U-boat will just radio Trondheim that they’ve lost us. They still know approximately where we are and a Condor with a few dozen flares can cover an awfully big area in a very short time.’

  ‘You do my morale a power of good,’ Jamieson said. ‘Their tactics puzzle me. Why do they have a Condor fly out here, fly back again and then, as you suggest, fly out here at dusk? Why doesn’t it stay out here all the time and have another Condor relieve it. It doesn’t make sense to me.’

  ‘It does to me. Although we’re still a long way from Aberdeen the German brass-hats in Norway may well be making a decision as to whether or not to try to stop us again. My feeling—it’s no more than that—says they will. No way a Condor can stop us without sinking or crippling us. It’s become quite clear that they have no wish to sink us or cripple us to the extent that we can no longer proceed under our own steam. The U-boat can surface about a mile off, watch carefully for even a couple of degrees deviation in our course—and they’ll be watching for that very, very carefully—then proceed to pump shell after shell into the superstructure and hospital zone until we run up the little white flag.’

  ‘You’re a great comfort to me, Bo’sun.’

  As McKinnon entered the bridge, Naseby handed him a pair of binoculars.

  ‘Starboard door, Archie. No need to go outside. A bit for’ard of midships. Near enough west, I would say.’

  McKinnon took the glasses, studied the area indicated for about ten seconds, then handed the glasses back.

  ‘Mile and a half, I would say. Looks like a mirror only, of course, it’s not a mirror, it’s a U-boat’s periscope reflecting the sun. We, George, are being subjected to psychological warfare.’

  ‘Is that what you call it?’

  ‘Meant to see it, of course. By accident, of course. Carelessness, of course. Slowly, very slowly, George, round to port until we’re heading more or less due east, then keep it on that bearing. While you’re doing that I’ll call up the Chief Engineer and ask his permission.’

  He located Patterson in the mess-deck, told him the situation and asked for permission to head east.

  ‘Whatever you say, Bo’sun. Doesn’t exactly get us nearer home, does it?’

  ‘That’s what will make the Germans happy, sir. It’s also what makes me happy. As long as we’re heading for Norway, which is where they want us anyway, and not to Scotland, they’re hardly likely to clobber us for doing exactly what they want us to do. Come darkness, of course, it’s heigh-ho for Scotland again.’

  ‘Satisfactory, Bo’sun, very satisfactory indeed. Do we make the news public?’

  ‘I suggest you tell Mr Jamieson and Lieutenant Ulbricht, sir. As for the rest, any more talk about U-boats would only put them off their lunch.’

  TEN

  ‘Have I the ward sister’s permission to have a few words with the Captain?’

  ‘The Captain is only two beds away.’ Margaret Morrison eyed the Bo’sun speculatively. ‘Or do you have another secret session in mind?’

  ‘Well, yes, it is rather private.’

  ‘More U-boat ramming, is it?’

  ‘I never want to see another U-boat in my life.’ McKinnon spoke with some feeling. ‘The only thing that heroics will get us is an early and watery grave.’ He nodded towards the bed where Oberleutnant Klaussen was lying, moving restlessly and mumbling to himself in a barely audible monologue. ‘Is he like this all the time?’

  ‘All the time. Never stops rambling on.’

  ‘Does any of what he says make sense?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’

  McKinnon guided the Captain into a chair in the small lounge off the crew’s mess.

  ‘Mr Patterson and Mr Jamieson are here, sir. I wanted them to hear what I have in mind and to have your permission to—perhaps—carry out certain things I have in mind. I have three suggestions to make.

  ‘The first concerns our destination. Are we absolutely committed to Aberdeen, sir? I mean, how ironclad are the Admiralty orders?’

  Captain Bowen made a few pointed but unprintable observations about the Admiralty, then said: ‘The safety of the San Andreas and of all aboard her are of paramount importance. If I consider this safety to be in any way endangered I’ll take the San Andreas to any safe port in the world and the hell with the Admiralty. We’re here, the Admiralty is not. We are in the gravest danger: the biggest peril facing the Admiralty is falling off their chairs in Whitehall.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The Bo’sun half-smiled, ‘I did think those questions rather unnecessary but I had to ask them.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m convinced there’s a German espionage network in Murmansk.’ He outlined the reasons he had given to Lieutenant Ulbricht less than an hour previously, ‘If the Germans know so much about us and our movements, then it’s nearer a certainty than a possibility that they also know that our destination is Aberdeen. Maintaining any kind of course for Aberdeen is like handing the Germans a gift from the gods.

  ‘Even more important, from my way of thinking, anyway, is why the Germans are so very interested in us. We probably won’t know until we arrive in some safe port and even then it might take some time to find out. But if this unknown factor is so very valuable to the Germans, might it not be even more valuable to us? It is my belief—I can’t give any solid grounds for this belief—that the Germans would rather lose this valuable prize than let us have it. I have the uncomfortable feeling that if we got anywhere near Aberdeen the Germans would have a submarine, maybe two, loitering somewhere off Peterhead—that’s about twenty-five miles nor‘-nor‘-east of Aberdeen—with orders not to let us move any further south. That could mean only one thing—torpedoes.’

  ‘Say no more, Bo’sun,’ Jamieson said. ‘You’ve got me convinced. Here’s one passenger who wants Aberdeen struck right off our cruise itinerary.’

  ‘I have a feeling you’re right,’ Bowen said. ‘Maybe one hundred per cent. Even if the chances were only ten per cent we wouldn’t be
justified in taking the risk. I have a complaint to make against myself, Bo’sun. I’m supposed to be the captain. Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘Because you had other things on your mind, sir.’

  ‘And where does that leave me?’ Patterson said.

  ‘I’ve only just thought of it myself, sir. I’m sure that when Mr Kennet and I were ashore in Murmansk we missed something. We must have. What I still don’t understand is why the Russians pulled us into Murmansk, why they were so prompt and efficient in repairing the hole in the hull and completing the hospital. If I had the key to answer that question I’d know the answer to everything, including the answer to why the Russians were so helpful and cooperative, in marked contrast to their standard behaviour which usually ranges from unfriendliness to downright hostility. But I don’t have that key.’

  ‘We can only speculate,’ Bowen said, ‘If you’ve had time to consider this, Bo’sun, you’ve obviously had time to consider alternative ports. Safe ports. Bolt-holes, if you like.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Iceland or the Orkneys—that is, Reykjavík or Scapa Flow. Reykjavík has the disadvantage of being half as far away again as Scapa: on the other hand, the further west we go the more we steam out of the reach of the Heinkels and Stukas. Heading for Scapa, we should be within easy reach, practically all the way, of the Heinkels and Stukas based in Bergen and there’s the other disadvantage that ever since Oberleutnant Prien sank the Royal Oak up there, the mine defences make entry impossible. But it has the advantage that both the Navy and the RAF have bases there. I don’t know for certain but I should think it very likely that they maintain frequent air patrols round the Orkneys—after all, it is the base of the Home Fleet. I have no idea how far out those patrols range, fifty miles, a hundred, I don’t know. I think there’s a good chance that we would be picked up long before we’re even near Scapa.’