Convoy (27 page)

Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter a damn out here; the convoy was under way in the proper formation; the three corvettes had managed to refuel and reammunition and join in time; it was getting damned cold as night fell, and there was absolutely no reason why he should stay on the bridge, particularly with a warm cabin and a pile of books and magazines waiting for him. And by now, with the door left open for so long, the smell of the O-Cedar might have gone away, and the Brasso, too. If the price of freedom was eternal vigilance, the price of a polish was an eternal odour, or so it seemed.

Four days later Yorke stood with Captain Hobson in the
Marynal
’s chartroom on the after side of the bridge and looked down at the North Atlantic chart, eastern section, where Hobson had just pencilled a light X and the date and a time and then, taking the dividers, measured the distance back to Londonderry. ‘Just over five hundred miles,’ Hobson said. ‘We’re not making bad time, considering how the weather has deteriorated.’

‘We’re on our own now,’ Yorke said, and when he saw Hobson’s eyebrows rise questioningly added: ‘Well, we’re beyond the range of air cover. For the Sunderlands and Catalinas, anyway, because their maximum range is under 500 miles’ radius – less with these strong westerly winds up aloft. The Liberators can get out about 800 miles, but we’ve so few of them they concentrate on the incoming convoys. We’re in The Black Pit, as it’s known at the Admiralty.’

‘Using those Liberators to meet only incoming convoys seems daft,’ Hobson grumbled. ‘After all, we’re taking out supplies for the Eighth Army. We’re just as important.’

‘It seems different when you’re sitting in the Admiralty. The Government’s first priority is feeding the people in Britain. Don’t forget that even the weekly cheese ration is down to the size of a matchbox.’

‘Aye,’ Hobson said wearily, ‘you’ll have to bear with me. But the fact of the matter is we never see
any
bloody aircraft – except German ones – when we come back, so I don’t really believe the policy. Sounds to me more like propaganda.’

‘You see the German planes because they want to be seen,’ Yorke explained patiently. ‘But if you can see a Coastal Command aircraft it probably isn’t doing its job properly – any German U-boats searching on the surface for a convoy or making for a rendezvous will be miles away, and it’s out there that Coastal Command is looking.’

‘You’re probably right,’ Hobson conceded, ‘but you said yourself, we’re on our own now.’

Yorke cursed to himself: his loose tongue meant a casual remark was now being given far too much importance. Yorke knew that to Hobson he represented the Admiralty in all its wit, wisdom and stupidity. Although the Yorkshireman had no certain idea why he was on board the
Marynal
, he was already beginning to notice that Yorke had a particular interest in the Swedish ship: one could look at the same ship with binoculars only so many times in a day before some wit asked if there was a beautiful Nordic blonde sunning herself naked on the poop. And the answer ‘I’m waiting for the sun to come out,’ would soon begin to wear thin.

‘Beyond air cover, yes,’ Yorke agreed.

Yorke thought for a few moments and then made up his mind. There was no point in keeping it secret, although there was no need to tell too much, either. Yet the men seeing the Swede all the time, if not actually watching her any more than was necessary to keep in position astern of her, were the mate and cadet on watch on the bridge. And, for that matter, there was no reason why he shouldn’t have a DEMS gunner on the bridge as well…

‘It’s that Swede, isn’t it?’ Hobson commented. ‘Something funny about him?’

Curious how foreign ships were usually called ‘him’. Still, no reason to deny it now. ‘We’re keeping an eye on the Swede, but we don’t know for sure he’s up to anything.’

‘They usually bring trouble,’ Hobson said, as if stating a well-known fact.

‘What sort of trouble?’ Yorke asked curiously.

‘Oh – people say there’s usually a Swede in the convoy when a German submarine attacks solo.’

‘Who are “people”?’

Hobson shrugged his shoulders. ‘Other masters – you know, people. Last time I heard it was a few days ago in the bar at Euston Station when I met an old chum o’ mine commanding a tanker. He’d just come in with a convoy that had lost a lot of ships from this one U-boat that got inside. Why, haven’t you heard this latest gossip about the Swedes?’

Yorke nodded knowingly and Hobson winked. ‘Thought you had,’ he said. ‘You coming to the convoy conference, and wanting to sit behind the Swedish master, and then me finding the
Marynal
is stationed next astern of the Swedish ship – I guessed what was up.’

Dismay, that was what he felt, and Yorke admitted it to himself as he rubbed his left arm, which was beginning to throb. Up to now it had just been a word, but now dismay was a definite feeling which he could describe in detail. Yorke with all the facts at his disposal – not to mention the resources of the ASIU, and indeed the Admiralty as well – had taken eleven dockets and several days to spot that there was always a Swede in a convoy attacked by an insider, but Merchant Navy masters had noticed it a long time ago – at least, when the attack was by a single U-boat. To them it was such a commonplace that they gossiped about it over a pint of mild and bitter in the bar at Euston Station. Gossip…for there was one thing about the Merchant Navy men: more than most people they were security-conscious; more than most people they knew it could be very easily their lives. So it was clear enough that the Swedish business was sufficiently commonplace now to be gossiped about… But the gossip had never reached the Admiralty.

It said something for the trust the Merchant Navy had in the Royal Navy that someone like Captain Hobson was only too willing to accept that the Admiralty knew and was fighting it; giving the Royal Navy the credit for having a complex problem to solve, and also accepting that Lieutenant Yorke (and presumably various other Lieutenants Yorke) were now about to do something about it.

Finally Yorke decided that if Captain Hobson had known (in company with many other masters) that the common denominator of each of the attacks (which neither Hobson nor his fellow captains realized was by an insider) had been a Swedish ship, he deserved to be told more. Then a moment later he realized that there was not much more to tell…

‘I’d be glad of some help, Captain,’ Yorke said. ‘We are a bit short-handed, as you mentioned, but thanks to your chief sparks, my two signalmen are working decent watches, instead of watch and watch about. But for the time being I’m damned if I know what kind of help I need.’

‘Well,’ Hobson said tactfully, ‘you just tell me what you think I should know, and no more.’

Yorke shook his head. ‘It isn’t that! We don’t
know
much. I’m here just to keep an eye on this particular Swede. When the next Swedish ship applies for a convoy, another naval officer might be on board her next-astern – that is, if I haven’t…’

‘I see. Well, what’s all this radio business for, then?’

‘So I can keep in touch with the senior officer on frequencies neither the Swede nor the German are likely to be using.’

But you haven’t used the sets yet, have you?’

‘There’s been nothing to say! Wait until the insider starts – if he does.’

‘“Insider.” Aye, that’s a good name for him; come to think of it, he usually attacks from inside. Do you reckon we’ll get one?’

‘From your point of view, I hope not; from mine, yes!’

‘Do you think this Swede is – well, controlling a U-boat? Telling him when to attack?’

‘No – how would he do it? He’s not using his radio – we know that for sure. How else could he pass a signal?’

‘By Aldis lamp in daylight?’ Hobson asked. ‘If he knew where a U-boat was steaming on the surface – out on one of the quarters, for instance – he could use an Aldis to pass a message. If he signalled down a long tube, aiming it accurately, no one would see it unless he was directly in line.’

Yorke had to admit it was a possibility, but a slender one: the chances of the U-boat being in an exact position – and relying on getting the message when there might be a British escort in between – was slight. But Hobson’s idea could not be ignored. Right at the moment Yorke knew he would be prepared to accept that the Swede wrote a message and put it in an empty cherry brandy bottle and slung it over the side for a U-boat lurking astern to find and read.

‘We’ve no idea,’ Yorke admitted, ‘and that’s why we must watch the Swede day and night for anything that’s even slightly unusual. I’d be glad if you’d tell your officers, especially the cadets, who have less responsibility while on the bridge, to call me for the slightest thing. And I’d like to have a DEMS gunner on the bridge too, doing nothing else but watch. The point is a DEMS gunner doesn’t know enough about the routine in a merchant ship to spot anything out of the way, and the mate of the watch and the cadet might have other things to do. Still, between the three of them – and myself some of the time…’

‘And me too,’ Hobson said.

‘Thanks. Well, between us we should be able to keep an eye on them, and I’d like you to have your people call me immediately there’s anything.’

‘You could move up here,’ Hobson said, pointing to the settee running athwartships across the after part of the cabin, between two large sets of drawers in which charts were kept. Above the settee was a large, glass-fronted cupboard in which a dozen or so rifles could be seen clipped to a rack. ‘They’d be more inclined to pass the word about something if you were near. They might be a bit chary of sending down to your cabin. Or you can use the settee in my day cabin. You’re more than welcome to that.’

Yorke shook his head. ‘Thanks for the offer but sending someone down one deck to your day cabin is only slightly less trouble than going down one more deck to mine, so I’ll use this settee, at night anyway. Then whoever it is has only to stick his head into the wheelhouse and call.’

‘Good,’ said Hobson, ‘and I’ll warn the chief steward. Cocoa,’ he added when he saw Yorke’s puzzled expression. ‘The stewards leave out mugs of cocoa already mixed, so that in the middle of the watch the cadet nips down, adds hot water and brings the mugs up to the bridge. But he can’t carry four mugs, so we’ll keep mugs up here and the stewards can leave out jugs of cocoa.’

‘Such comfort!’ Yorke joked, but Hobson shook his head.

‘A cold man is an inefficient man. A shivering man can’t keep a sharp lookout. All he’s thinking about is getting to the end of his watch and the warmth of his bunk or hammock. Put something warm in his belly and he realizes that if he misses seeing a U-boat he’ll be cold and wet in no time!’

Hobson had been twiddling with the dividers and finally put them back in the rack, his eyes following the kinks in the line that showed the convoy’s zigzagging course so far.

He looked up at Yorke, catching his brown eyes watching him. ‘Tell me, what happens when we find this Swede’s a wrong ’un?’

‘If, not when. Well, I’m damned if I know. Depends what he’s doing. It might be us or it might be the escort that has to do something.’

‘I’ll ram him if need be,’ Hobson said quietly. ‘I’d need to catch him on the quarter. Those Baltic ships,’ he explained, ‘often have their bows strengthened for the ice. Hit him in the quarter and I’d probably throw one of his propeller shafts out of alignment so he could manoeuvre only on one screw, with his rudder hard over. Or I can really wallop him amidships and tear him open so he sinks. You just say. But don’t expect me to go back for survivors.’

Hobson’s voice was so low that Yorke knew he was speaking under a considerable emotional strain. Then he realized that officers and masters in the Merchant Navy had much the same kind of bond, or brotherhood, that knitted the Royal Navy: as boys, many of them had started off together at one of the nautical training colleges, like Pangbourne, Conway or Worcester; they had over the years met in distant ports, knocking back strange drinks in smoky bars, come together again for the few months spent at nautical school to swot before sitting for a higher certificate of competency. Obviously there were friendships going back twenty or thirty years which people like Hobson had seen cut short when a ship was torpedoed and sunk, drowning men he had known since his teens.

He watched Hobson make an entry in the log and a minute or two later the second officer poked his head round the door. ‘All right if I wind the chronometer, sir?’ he asked, and Hobson nodded. The man went to the varnished mahogany box, opened the lid and took out the key. He counted to himself carefully as he wound, then put the key back and carefully shut the lid. The day’s ritual of winding the chronometer was over, and the fact would be recorded in the log, along with how fast or slow it was.

The cloud was thickening now and getting lower; another depression coming up fast. The swell pushed ahead of it was already low, making the ship roll. Tonight would be very dark with a cold, lumpy sea. Good conditions for an insider to attack? Marginal, judging from the previous attacks, except for the few U-boats which had attacked on the surface in much worse weather. But if the depression kept south, passing near the convoy instead of turning up to the north-east, tomorrow night would probably be too bad even for a surface attack. So if the insider was already inside the convoy, the first attack would be tonight.

Yorke saw that Hobson had unlocked the safe to one side of the chart table and taken out an unbleached canvas bag which had brass eyelets round the opening and through which ran a thick cord. Hobson undid the knot, slacked it off and opened the bag enough to slip the big log inside. ‘The secret papers – just in case,’ he said. ‘Not that we have many – Mersigs; zigzag diagrams, and the log for good measure. And a six-pound lead weight to sink it all…’

Hobson looked at his watch. ‘Would you like to join me for lunch? After that I’m going to get my head down for an hour or two; the way things look, it might be a long night.’

Yorke was on his second copy of
Blackwood’s
when Cadet Reynolds knocked at the cabin door and came in with an excited: ‘Captain’s compliments, sir: that Swede, the
Penta
, is making some funnel smoke and talking to the Commodore by lamp.’