Authors: Douglas Reeman
‘I’ll be in the hold if you want me, Ralph. In case anythin’ goes wrong,’ he grinned sadly, ‘well, it’s been nice knowin’ you!’
Curtis smiled at him. ‘Thanks, Steve.’
Duncan jerked his hand towards the poop. ‘What about the girl? Are you gettin’ her on deck?’
He shook his head, his eyes clouding. ‘No, I’ll let her sleep. That doctor gave her some dope. It’s better this way.’
Duncan nodded and looked up at the blue sky. The aircraft was a mere silver speck, so high up that it was difficult to recognize its shape. ‘If only we had a flamin’ gun of some sort! We could at least have a go!’ He caught Curtis’s eye and ran to the hold.
Curtis turned to Jervis, who stood stock-still in the middle of the poop, his lips moving soundlessly.
‘You stand there, Ian. We can try the old deception trick again. It might work.’
Jervis looked down dazedly at his crumpled uniform. ‘It’s all up, isn’t it?’ His voice broke. ‘We’re so helpless!’
‘Just keep calm,’ answered Curtis patiently, ‘and remember that I’m relying on you!’
Curtis stepped into the shadow of the big sail, as with an ear-shattering roar the aircraft plummeted out of the sky, to level off only feet from the sea. It flashed across the surface,
so
close to the schooner’s stern, that they could clearly see the goggled head of the pilot as he turned to study them, as a motorist might glance at a passing signpost. Curtis pressed his back against the mast, and to overcome his trembling limbs, examined the aircraft with professional detachment.
‘Messerschmidt fighter,’ he said calmly. ‘Quite a nice looking plane!’
Jervis raised his hand weakly towards the plane and felt the rush of its passage across his face. He turned desperately to Curtis. ‘Do you think he’ll go away?’
Curtis did not answer, he had seen the fighter begin its slow turn, its wings fanning over like those of a drifting gull.
‘Captain! Take the wheel yourself!’ The terrified man gripped the spokes and shouldered the seaman out of the way. ‘Ian, get flat on the deck, he’s coming in!’
He glanced quickly along the quiet deck. When he looked back to Jervis he saw that the boy was still standing motionless, his pale face turned towards the fighter with disbelief.
‘Get down!’ he roared. ‘He means business!’ Then in a quieter voice, ‘Plenty of other people have gone through this, Ian. This is the
real
war!’
He saw Jervis throw himself down, and as he turned to find the plane, he saw that it was cutting over the water and coming straight for him.
As he watched the thin edges of the wings, he saw them suddenly come alive in a line of rippling orange flashes. The harsh rattle of the eight machine guns sounded like a giant tearing sheets of steel in half, and before his brain had recovered, the water near the ship’s side boiled into a savage frenzy, and as the plane drew nearer, the hull shuddered and splintered under the barrage of bullets. He saw the deck planking clawed and torn, and a section of the bulwark rose into the air, as if detached by an invisible hand. With a deep-throated roar, the fighter pulled out of its attack and/zoomed over the masthead. Before its shadow had left the deck, Curtis was across the poop and trying to judge the pilot’s next move. The man was in no apparent hurry. He had, after all, all the time he needed.
Jervis swallowed and peered over the edge of the bulwark. He picked gingerly at the torn woodwork and followed the trail of destruction across the ship, over the sea, until he could see the tiny circling shape of the fighter.
Curtis stood close to the captain. He could almost smell the man’s fear, and he spoke sharply.
‘Alter course when I tell you! Put the wheel hard over, and at once! Hang on to yourself, man! I thought you had nerves of steel?’
The captain’s eyes were wide with misery. ‘My ship! My
Ametisa
! I am afraid for her!’ His body seemed to shrink as the fighter’s engine screamed across the sea once more.
Curtis gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into the boom. He waited, his breath stilled, counting the seconds.
Brrrrrr! Brrrrrr! The guns rattled and whined. He was getting better at it. This time the bullets clawed across the whole poop like a steel whip.
The seaman at the captain’s side spun round, his scream choked short as a heavy bullet smashed into his chest and flung him across the rail like a rag doll. For a moment he hung there, his sightless eyes filled with fear and hatred, and then he toppled slowly over the bulwark into the sea.
Splinters whirred through the air, torn in fantastic shapes from the planking, and Curtis heard the hiss of canvas, as the shots poured through the sails and severed the lamp rigging.
The captain squeaked, as with a clang the brass top to the binnacle, only a foot from his body, jumped from its clasps and rolled across the deck.
The air was full of noise and fear. Curtis shouted above the din of the engine, ‘Hard a-port!’ and saw the stricken schooner tack round with seconds to spare. The fighter was there again, its wings alive with chattering fury, as it plunged recklessly down, the wing tips seeming to brush the bowsprit.
Curtis realized suddenly that the ship’s engine had stopped, and even as he tried to concentrate, he felt the ship slowing down and saw the bow-wave fading and growing more indistinct.
The planks at his feet jumped and shook, and he put his
hand
to his cheek to feel the warmth of blood where a flying wood spinter had caught him.
Taylor clambered over the coaming, cursing, and trying to tie his handkerchief around his wrist. Blood pumped steadily over his clawed fingers, and Curtis ran quickly to his aid.
Taylor leaned limply against the hatchway, his breath whistling between his teeth, as he watched the plane overhead.
Curtis fixed the bandage. ‘Engine finished?’
He shrugged angrily. ‘’Fraid so. All the fuel pipes gone, and Gawd knows what else!’ He watched the fighter with narrowed eyes. ‘Nice bastard, ain’t ’e?’
Curtis thrust Taylor down with his hand, shouting in his ear.
‘Here he is again! Get down!’ He felt Taylor’s body shudder against his own, as the guns roared deafeningly. The shots seemed to come from all round them, and he winced as a heavy block, cut from the mast, struck him across the shoulders.
He blinked and scrambled to his feet. The fighter was growing smaller and smaller, as it tore towards the invisible mainland.
‘’E’s packed up!’ Taylor croaked incredulously.
‘He’s done what he came to do!’ Curtis sounded weary and resigned. ‘The ship’s stopped and helpless. I expect there’ll be a destroyer along soon to pick us all up!’
His searching eyes fell on the captain, and he ran across to where he sat awkwardly on the deck. He had his back against the wheel and one of his short legs was doubled beneath him.
He looked up at Curtis, his face grey. ‘As I told you,
signore
! Boom! All finish!’ He sagged lower, and Curtis saw the widening stain across his thighs. He knelt at the man’s side, feeling helpless.
‘Is there anything I can do?’
A bright scarlet thread wound its way from the corner of the captain’s mouth and dripped off his chin. He shook his head jerkily. ‘My ship! My little
Ametisa
!’ He coughed, and a fresh flood ran from his mouth. ‘Look what they do to her!’
His eyes were still wide with pathetic anger, as he stared
up
at the shattered masts and torn sails, when with a deep sigh his head lolled and his braided cap fell to the deck.
Curtis picked it up and gently replaced it on the man’s head.
Jervis was shouting wildly. ‘He shot us up deliberately! He only shot at the after part of the ship! Just wanted to hold us here to be captured!’ He stared vacantly at the dead captain.
Curtis stood up. ‘Yes, that’s what he had in mind, I expect——’ He broke off, suddenly icy cold.
The after part, Jervis had said. All at once he was running, tearing at the cabin hatch cover. He stumbled down the last few steps and wrenched open the cabin door.
‘Carla!’ He called her name as he burst in, and then found himself staring down at her upturned face. She was lying on the cabin floor, where she had pulled herself from the bunk. A trail of blanket had followed her across the deck, and Curtis’s heart surged within him as he saw her eyes open.
As he dropped to his knees a shaft of sunlight hit him in the eyes, and he glanced up in surprise.
Across the side of the cabin was a line of neat round holes.
He stared unbelievingly at the bunk and at the deck. Beneath the blanket he saw the sunlight glitter on the bright red drops which marked the girl’s progress towards the door.
With a sob he tried to gather her up, but she shook her head with sudden violence, her eyes dark with pain.
He kept his hand under her shoulders, feeling her life seeping over his wrist.
His eyes were misty, and he had to keep blinking to retain the picture of her pale face as she whispered against his cheek.
‘
Sento un dolore—qui!
’ She tried to move her hand behind her, but he held her wrist and tried to smile.
‘You’ll be all right, Carla! You’ll be all right!’
She stared up at him, her eyes exploring his face with sudden intentness.
‘We are together now!’ She smiled as he smoothed her hair from her forehead. ‘This is how we wanted it, yes?’
He waited, staring brokenly at her and feeling the warmth fading from her hand.
He bent lower, as her lips moved again.
‘Do you remember seeing me on my horse? I saw you striding along the beach, trying to look like a German. You were not ver’ good at it!’ She bit her lip, and he tightened his hold on her.
‘I remember. I thought how lovely you looked. And after you had passed, I turned to look back. I shall never forget!’
She moved her hand flat against his face, her fingers touching his eyebrows.
‘Perhaps you will be safe, now that it is night again.’
Curtis glanced fearfully at the bullet holes in the torn planking. The sun was as bright as before.
‘You see, we had no future? Only now …’
He nodded blindly. ‘Yes.’
She stiffened. ‘Hold me! Now!’
But as he gripped her, she relaxed and smiled up at him. When he realized that the smile was fixed and unmoving, he prised her fingers from his hand and kissed her gently on the lips. Her perfume seemed to cling to him as he picked her up and laid her carefully on the bunk.
He closed her eyes and stood back against the bulkhead, unable to leave her. The smile remained, as if she was still holding on to the small moment of happiness.
His limbs were numbed and he stood quite still, staring down at her. Even his breath seemed to have stopped, as if by the slightest movement he might miss something, or if by waiting he might find he was still dreaming.
Duncan lurched into the cabin and stopped dead. His eyes darted from Curtis’s stricken face to the still shape on the bunk, and he stepped forward, his hands half raised, as if he expected Curtis to fall.
‘What is it?’ Curtis’s mouth moved slowly, and his voice seemed to come from far away.
‘Would you like me to take over, Ralph?’ His voice was gruff and very low. ‘I didn’t realize …’ He stared helplessly at the girl’s body.
‘No. I’ll come. There are things we have to do.’
He paused by the door, and Duncan could almost feel the agony in Curtis’s eyes as he looked back. There was an
expression
of complete loss on his drawn features, and something like pleading in his blue eyes. ‘I shall come back,’ he added.
Duncan was not sure if he was being spoken to, or whether the promise was addressed to the girl. He touched Curtis’s elbow, and followed him up the ladder into the bright sunlight.
Curtis stared round the torn decks and only half heard the clank of the hand pumps forward. His glance passed over the soldiers, who were gathering silently amidships, as if they were no longer there, and moved restlessly across the smiling water to where he had last seen the aircraft.
Jervis was about to speak, his streaked face white and strained, but as he opened his mouth he frowned and glanced at Duncan.
Duncan shook his head quickly and turned his eyes away.
Only Taylor spoke. He walked slowly towards Curtis, rubbing his palms against his greased trousers.
For a moment he waited, until the empty eyes were turned towards him, then he cleared his throat, his mouth forced into a smile.
‘I’m sorry, Skipper. Bloody sorry.’ He waited, his face tense and anxious, but Curtis merely nodded and patted his shoulder.
‘Yes, George. Yes.’
He looked quickly over Taylor’s shoulder at the khaki figures who stared listlessly at the sea, or were helping their more badly wounded comrades find a little shelter by the bulwark.
‘Why are these men on deck?’
Duncan seemed to jerk out of his trance and hurried to his side. ‘Hold’s makin’ water a bit. The pumps are only just about holdin’ their own.’
‘I see.’ Curtis tried to guess what all this could mean, and frowned because he could not bring himself to think of an answer.
‘I’ve ordered a meal and some drink for the lads, Ralph. It may be some time before they get another.’ He scanned the
horizon
in a quick furtive movement. The sea was still empty. But not for long, he thought.
Curtis walked right aft to the worn taffrail and leaned back, so that his body hung suspended over the faded gilt lettering on the stern. The ship was already dead. With each sullen roll, her masts sagged and jerked and the broken rigging swung unheeded across the decks, blocks clattering, and me torn sails casting strange shadows with each uneven movement. The pumps worked steadily and monotonously, theirs the only sound, but for the slosh of trapped water in the hold and in the deep bilges.
He let his head drop on to his chest, and Jervis stepped closer. He saw the movement, but had already dismissed Jervis from his aching mind.
Waiting. We are always waiting. But this time not for me.
The ship lurched and settled deeper.
Some of the soldiers were getting restless, and one was heard to say, ‘But there’s no life-jackets or anythin’! What’ll we do?’