A third shell struck and exploded in the bows in almost the same position as the previous oneâthe already uplifted section of the foâc's'le had heaved up almost another foot.
âThat's where the paint and carpenter's shops are,' Naseby said absently.
âThat's what I've been thinking.'
âWere Ferguson and Curran in the mess-deck when you left?'
âThat's why I've been thinking. Can't remember seeing them, although that's not to say they weren't there. They're such an idle couple they might well have passed up lunch for an hour's kip. I should have warned them.'
âThere wasn't time for you to warn anyone.'
âI could have sent someone. I did think they'd concentrate their fire on the bridge but I should still have sent someone. My fault. Slipping, as I told Jamieson.' He paused, narrowed his eyes in concentration and said: âI think they're turning away, George.'
Naseby had the glasses to his eyes. âThey are. And there's someone on the bridge, captain or whoever, using a loud-hailer. Ah! The gun crew
are working on their gun andâyesâthey're aligning it fore-and-aft. This mean what I think it means, Archie?'
âWell, the conning-tower's empty and the gun crew are going down the hatch so it must mean what you think. See any bubbles coming up?'
âNo. Wait a minute. Yes. Yes, lots.'
âBlowing main ballast.'
âBut we're still a mile away from them.'
âCaptain's taking no chances and I don't blame him. He's not a clown like Klaussen.'
They watched for some moments in silence. The U-boat was now at a 45° angle, the decks barely awash and vanishing quickly.
âTake the wheel, George. Give the Chief Engineer a ring, will you, tell him what's happened and ask him to drop down to normal speed. Then back on the course we were on. I'm going to check on any flooding for'ard.'
Naseby watched him go and knew that flooding was secondary in the Bo'sun's mind. He was going to find out whether, indeed, Curran and Ferguson had elected to miss lunch.
McKinnon was back in about ten minutes. He had a bottle of Scotch in his hand and two glasses and no smile on his face.
Naseby said: âTheir luck run out?'
âAbandoned by fortune, George. Abandoned by McKinnon.'
âArchie, you must stop it. Please stop blaming yourself. What's done is done.' Janet had intercepted him as he had entered the mess-deckâhe had come down with Naseby and left Trent on the wheel with Jones and McGuigan as look-outsâand pulled him into a corner. âOh, I know that's trite, meaningless, if you want. And if you want another trite and meaningless remark, you can't bring back the dead.'
âTrue, true.' The Bo'sun smiled without humour. âAnd speaking of the deadâand one should speak no ill of the deadâthey were a couple of moderately useless characters. But both were married, both had two daughters. What would
they
think if they knew that the gallant bo'sun, in his anxiety to get at a U-boat, completely forgot them?'
âThe best thing would be if
you
forgot them. Sounds cruel, I know, but let the dead bury their dead.
We
are alive: when I say “we” I'm not talking about you, I'm talking about every other person aboard, including myself. Your duty is to the living. Don't you know that every single person on this ship, from the Captain and Mr Patterson down, depends on you? We're depending on you to take us home.'
âDo be quiet, woman.'
âYou'll take
me
home, Archie?'
âScalloway? Hop, skip and jump. Of course I will.'
She stood back at arm's length, hands on his shoulders, searched his eyes, then smiled.
âYou know, Archie, I really believe you will.'
He smiled in return. âI'm glad of that.' He didn't for a moment believe it himself but there was no point in spreading undue gloom and despondency.
They joined Patterson, Jamieson and Ulbricht at the table. Patterson pushed a glass in front of him. âI would say that you have earned that, Bo'sun. A splendid job.'
âNot so splendid, sir. I had no option but to do what I did. Can't say I feel sorry for a U-boat captain but he's really up against a nearly impossible problem, faced with a hiding to nothing. He's under orders not to sink us so the best he can do is to try to incapacitate us as much as possible. We run at him and he hides. Simple as that.'
âThe way you put it, yes. I hear you had a very narrow escape on the bridge.'
âIf the shell had passed through metal and exploded in the bridge, that would have been it. But it passed through the glass instead. Luck.'
âAnd up front?'
âThree holes. All above the waterline. What with those and the damage that the U-boat did to usârather, the damage we inflicted on ourselvesâthere's going to be a fair old job for the ship repairers when we get into dry dock. The watertight bulkheads seem sound enough. That's the good part. The bad partâand I'm afraid this is all my faultâis thatâ'
âArchie!' Janet's voice was sharp.
âOh, all right. You'll have heardâFerguson and Curran are dead.'
âI know and I'm sorry. Damnable. That makes twenty now.' Patterson thought for a few moments. âYou reckon this situation will continue for some time?'
âWhat situation, sir?'
âThat they keep on trying to stop us instead of sinking us.'
McKinnon shrugged. âIt is much more important to the Germans that they discredit the Russians with our Government than that they get the gold. As things stand at the moment they want both to have their cake and eat it. Factor of greed, really.'
âSo as long as they remain greedy we're relatively safe?'
âSafe from sinking, yes. But not safe from being taken over.'
âBut you just saidâ'
âAll they have to do is to bring up another U-boat and they'll have us cold. With two U-boats we have no chance. If we go after one the other will parallel our course and pump shells into us at their leisure. Not the engine-room, of course, they want to take us under our own steam to Norway. The hospital area. First shell in there and the white flag fliesâif we've any sense we'd fly it before the first shot. Next time I go up to the bridge I'll take a nice big bedsheet with me.'
âThere are times, Bo'sun,' Jamieson said, âwhen I wish you'd keep your thoughts to yourself.'
âMerely answering a question, sir. And I have another thought, another question, if you like. Only a tiny handful of people would have known of this operation, the plan to use the
San Andreas
as a bullion carrier. A cabinet minister or two, an admiral or two. No more. I wonder who the traitor is who sold us down the river.
If
we get back and
if
some famous and prominent person unaccountably commits suicide, then we'll know.' He rose. âIf you'll excuse me, I have some work to do.'
âWhat work, Archie?' It was Janet. âHaven't you done enough for one day?'
âA bo'sun's work is never done. Routine, Janet, just routine.' He left the mess-deck.
âRoutine,' Janet said. âWhat routine?'
âCurran's dead.'
She looked puzzled. âI know that.'
âCurran was the sailmaker. It's the sailmaker's job to sew up the dead.'
Janet rose hastily and left the table. Patterson gave Jamieson a sour look.
âThere are times, Second, when I wish
you
would keep your thoughts to yourself. You do have half an eye, I take it.'
âTrue, true. Delicacy? A water buffalo could have done it better.'
Patterson finished speakingâby this time he was getting quite professional at reading burial servicesâplanks tilted and the shrouded forms of Curran and Ferguson slid down into the icy wastes of the Norwegian Sea. It was then that the engine-room noise faded away and the
San Andreas
began to slow.
Nearly all the crew were on deckâthe dead men had been an amiable enough couple and well liked. The cooks and stewards were below, as were the nursing staff and three stokers. Trent and Jones were on the bridge.
Jamieson was the first to move. âIt looks,' he said, âas if we have made a mistake.' He walked away, not quickly, with the air of a man who knew that this was not a moment that called for any particular urgency.
Patterson and McKinnon followed more slowly. Patterson said: âWhat did he mean by that? That we've made a mistake, I mean?'
âHe was being kind, sir. What he meant was that the all-wise bo'sun has made another blunder. Who was on watch down below?'
âJust young Stephen. You know, the Polish boy.'
âLet's hope he's not the next to go over the side.'
Patterson stopped and caught McKinnon by the arm. âWhat do you mean by that? And what do you meanâ“blunder”?'
âThe one thing ties up with the other.' McKinnon's voice sounded dull. âMaybe I'm tired. Maybe I'm not thinking too well. Did you notice who
wasn't
at the funeral, sir?'
Patterson looked at him for a few silent moments, then said: âThe nursing staff. Kitchen staff. Stewards. Men on the bridge.' His grip tightened on the Bo'sun's arm. âAnd McCrimmon.'
âIndeed. And whose brilliant idea was it to let McCrimmon roam around on the loose?'
âIt just worked out the wrong way. You can't think of everything. No man can. He's a slippery customer, this McCrimmon. Do you think we'll be able to pin anything on him?'
âI'm certain we won't. Nevertheless, sir, I'd like your permission to lock him up.' McKinnon shook his head, his face bitter. âThere's nothing like locking the door when the horse has bolted.'
Stephen was lying on the steel plates, covered with oil still gushing from a severed fuel line. There was a rapidly forming bruise, bleeding
slightly, behind his right ear. Sinclair finished examining his head and straightened.
âI'll have him taken to hospital. X-ray, but I don't think it necessary. I should think he'll waken up with nothing more than a sore head.' He looked at the two steel objects lying on the deck-plates beside Stephen. âYou know who did this, Bo'sun?'
âYes.'
âThe Stilson wrench that laid him out and the fire-axe that slashed the fuel line. There could be fingerprints.'
âNo.' With his toe McKinnon touched a clump of engine-room waste. âHe used that and there'll be no prints on that. He looked at Patterson. âThis line can be replaced, sir?'
âIt can. How long, Second?'
âCouple of hours,' Jamieson said. âGive or take.'
McKinnon said: âWould you come along with me, Mr Patterson?'
âIt will be a pleasure, Bo'sun.'
âYou could have killed him, you know,' McKinnon said conversationally.
From his bench seat in the mess-deck McCrimmon looked up with an insolent stare.
âWhat the bloody hell are you talking about?'
âStephen.'
âStephen? What about Stephen?'
âHis broken head.'
âI still don't know what you're talking about. Broken head? How did he get a broken head?'
âBecause you went down to the engine-room and did it. And cut open a fuel line.'
âYou're crazy. I haven't left this seat in the past quarter of an hour.'
âThen you must have seen whoever went down to the engine-room. You're a stoker, McCrimmon. An engine stops and you don't go down to investigate?'
McCrimmon chewed some gum. âThis is a frame-up. What proof do you have?'
âEnough,' Patterson said. âI am putting you under arrest, McCrimmon, and in close confinement. When we get back to Britain, you'll be tried for murder, high treason, convicted and certainly shot.'
âThis is absolute rubbish.' He prefaced the word ârubbish' with a few choice but unprintable adjectives. âI've done nothing and you can't prove a thing.' But his normally pasty face had gone even pastier.
âWe don't have to,' McKinnon said. âYour friend Simons or Braun or whatever his name isâhas been, well, as the Americans say, been singing like a canary. He's willing to turn King's evidence on you in the hope of getting less than life.'
âThe bastard!' McCrimmon was on his feet, lips drawn back over his teeth, his right hand reaching under his overalls.
âDon't,' Patterson said. âWhatever it is, don't touch it. You've got no place to run, McCrimmonâand the Bo'sun could kill you with one hand.'
âLet me have it,' McKinnon said. He stretched out his hand and McCrimmon, very slowly, very carefully, placed the knife, hilt first, in the Bo'sun's palm.
âYou haven't won.' His face was both scared and vicious at the same time. âIt's the person who laughs last that wins.'
âCould be.' McKinnon looked at him consideringly. âYou know something that we don't?'
âAs you say, could be.'
âSuch as the existence of a transmitting bug concealed in the wireless office?'
McCrimmon leapt forward and screamed, briefly, before collapsing to the deck. His nose had broken against the Bo'sun's fist.
Patterson looked down at the unconscious man and then at McKinnon. âThat give you a certain kind of satisfaction?'
âI suppose I shouldn't have done it butâwell, yes, it did give a certain kind of satisfaction.'
âMe, too,' Patterson said.
What seemed, but wasn't, a long day wore on into the evening and then darkness, and still the Germans stayed away. The
San Andreas
, under power again, was still on a direct course to Aberdeen. Stephen had regained consciousness and, as Dr Sinclair had predicted, was suffering from no more than a moderate headache. Sinclair had carried out what were no better than temporary repairs to McCrimmon's broken face but it
was really a job for a plastic surgeon and Sinclair was no plastic surgeon.
Lieutenant Ulbricht, a chart spread out on the table before him, rubbed his chin thoughtfully and looked at McKinnon who was seated opposite him in the Captain's cabin.
âWe've been lucky so far. Lucky? Never thought I'd say that aboard a British ship. Why are we being left alone?'
âBecause we're just that. Lucky. They didn't have a spare U-boat around and our friend who's trailing us wasn't going to try it on his own again. Also, we're still on a direct course to Aberdeen. They know where we are and have no reason to believe that we still aren't going where we're supposed to be going. They have no means of knowing what's happened aboard this ship.'
âReasonable, I suppose.' Ulbricht looked at the chart and tapped his teeth. âIf something doesn't happen to us during the night something is going to happen to us tomorrow. That's what I think. At least, that's what I feel.'
âI know.'
âWhat do you know?'
âTomorrow. Your countrymen aren't clowns. We'll be passing very close to the Shetlands tomorrow. They'll suspect that there is a possibility that we might make a break for Lerwick or some such place and will act on that possibility.'
âPlanes? Condors?'
âIt's possible.'
âDoes the RAF have fighters there?'
âI should imagine so. But I don't know. Haven't been there for years.'
âThe Luftwaffe will know. If there are Hurricanes or Spitfires there, the Luftwaffe would never risk a Condor against them.'
âThey could send some long-range Messerschmitts as escort.'
âIf not, it could be a torpedo?'
âThat's not something I care to think about.'
âNor me. There's something very final about a torpedo. You know, it's not necessary to sail south round Bressay and turn round Bard Head. We could use the north channel. Maryfield is the name of the village, isn't it?'
âI was born there.'
âThat was stupid. Stupid of me, I mean. We make a sharp turn for the north channel and it's a torpedo for sure?'
âYes.'
âAnd if we steam steadily south past Bressay they may well think that we're keeping on course to Aberdeen?'
âWe can only hope, Lieutenant. A guarantee is out of the question. There's nothing else we can do.'
âNothing?'
âWell, there's something. We can go down below and have dinner.'
âOur last, perhaps?'
McKinnon crossed his fingers, smiled and said nothing.
Dinner, understandably, was a rather solemn affair. Patterson was in a particularly pensive mood.
âHas it ever occurred to you, Bo'sun, that we might outrun this U-boat? Without bursting a few steam valves, we could get two or three knots more out of this tub.'
âYes, sir. I'm sure we could.' The tension in the air was almost palpable. âI'm also sure that the U-boat would pick up the increased revolutions immediately. He would know that we were on to him, know that we know that he's following us. He would just surfaceâthat would increase his speedâand finish us off. He's probably carrying a dozen torpedoes. How many do you think would miss us?'
âThe first one would be enough.' Patterson sighed. âRather desperate men make rather desperate suggestions. You could sound more encouraging, Bo'sun.'
âRest after toil,' Jamieson said. âPort after stormy seas. There's going to be no rest for us, Bo'sun. No safe harbour. Is that it?'
âHas to be, sir.' He pointed at Janet Magnusson. âYou heard me promise to take this lady back home.'
Janet smiled at him. âYou're very kind, Archie McKinnon. Also, you're lying in your teeth.'
McKinnon smiled back at her. âYe of little faith.'
Ulbricht was the first to sense a change in the atmosphere. âSomething has occurred to you, Mr McKinnon?'
âYes. At least, I hope it has.' He looked at Margaret Morrison. âI wonder if you would be so kind as to ask Captain Bowen to come to the lounge?'
â
Another
secret conference? I thought there were no more spies or criminals or traitors left aboard.'
âI don't think so. But no chances.' He looked around the table. âI would like it if you all joined us.'
Just after dawn the next morningâstill a very late dawn in those latitudesâLieutenant Ulbricht gazed out through the starboard wing doorway at low-lying land that could be intermittently seen through squalls of sleety snow.
âSo that's Unst, is it?'
âThat's Unst.' Although McKinnon had been up most of the night he seemed fresh, relaxed and almost cheerful.
âAnd thatâ
that
is what you Shetlanders break your hearts over?'
âYes, indeed.'
âI don't want to give any offence, Mr McKinnon, but that's probably the most bare, bleak, barren and inhospitable island I've ever had the misfortune to clap my eyes on.'
âHome sweet home,' McKinnon said placidly. âBeauty, Lieutenant, is in the eye of the beholder. Besides, no place would look its sparkling best in weather conditions like this.'
âAnd that's another thing. Is the Shetland weather always as awful as this?'
McKinnon regarded the slate-grey seas, the heavy cloud and the falling snow with considerable satisfaction. âI think the weather is just lovely.'
âAs you say, the eye of the beholder. I doubt whether a Condor pilot would share your point of view.'
âIt's unlikely.' McKinnon pointed ahead. âFine off the starboard now. That's Fetlar.'
âAh!' Ulbricht consulted the chart. âWithin a mileâor two at the mostâor where we ought to be. We haven't done too badly, Mr McKinnon.'
âWe? You, you mean. A splendid piece of navigation, Lieutenant. The Admiralty should give you a medal for your services.'
Ulbricht smiled. âI doubt whether Admiral Doenitz would quite approve of that. Speaking of services, you will now, I take it, be finished with mine. As a navigator, I mean.'
âMy father was a fisherman, a professional. My first four years at sea I spent with him around those islands. It would be difficult for me to get lost.'
âI should imagine.' Ulbricht went out on the starboard wing, looked aft for a few seconds, then
hastily returned, shivering and dusting snow off his coat.
âThe skyâor what I can see of the skyâis getting pretty black up north. Wind's freshening a bit. Looks as if this awful weatherâor, if you like, wonderful weatherâis going to continue for quite some time. This never entered your calculations.'
âI'm not a magician. Nor am I a fortune-teller. Reading the future is not one of my specialities.'
âWell, just let's call it a well-timed stroke of luck.'
âLuck we could use. A little, anyway.'
Fetlar was on the starboard beam when Naseby came up to take over the wheel. McKinnon went out on the starboard wing to assess the weather. As the
San Andreas
was heading just a degree or two west of south and the wind was from the north it was almost directly abaft. The clouds in that direction were dark and ominous but they did not hold his attention for long: he had become aware, very faintly at first but then more positively, of something a great deal more ominous. He went back inside and looked at Ulbricht.
âRemember we were talking about luck a little while back?' Ulbricht nodded. âWell, our little luck has just run out. We have company. There's a Condor out there.'
Ulbricht said nothing, just went outside on the wing and listened. He returned after a few moments.
âI can hear nothing.'