“I’ll screen you ahead,” said Krause. “Use the modified zig plan. Number Seven.”
“Modified zig? But - - “
“That’s an order,” said Krause. “Modified zig. Number Seven. This is zero minute.”
“O.K. then,” said the speaking trumpet grudgingly.
It was remarkable how nearly every merchant captain resented zig-zagging. The almost universal feeling was that it was safer to get through the dangerous zone as quickly as possible; yet five minutes spent with a manoeuvring board and a pair of parallel rulers working out an approach problem would convince anyone that zigzagging made the attacking submarine’s task considerably harder and postponed the moment when a shot might be got in. And an unpredicted change of course at the moment of firing usually meant a clean miss. Zigzagging lessened very appreciably the chances of a hit; it did not even need Krause’s experience at antisubmarine school of a few minutes in a sub’s conning tower planning an approach to convince a thinking man of that.
“You heard that conversation, Mr Nystrom?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take the conn, then. Screening position ahead of
Cadena
at five hundred yards’ distance.” “Aye aye, sir.”
‘‘Messenger! Bring me a pot of coffee.”
Now that
Viktor
had sunk it was necessary to think again regarding his decision to appeal for help. At dawn he and
Cadena
would be close up to the convoy, so that the situation was greatly modified. And yet there was still the question of
James’s
oil fuel and the general helplessness of the escort. Despite the fact that
Viktor
would cause no further delay tomorrow would be a long day; air cover might make a great deal of difference--all the difference. But London would be endeavouring to provide it in any case. Was it worthwhile now to break radio silence, to incur the incidental risks which he had already debated, for the sake of the difference between certainty and likelihood? Was it? Krause tried to plod about the pilot-house. He had almost to repress a mutiny in his aching legs and feet as he did so. His mind was not mutinous; it was merely unwilling. He drove himself into weighing the pros and cons. The coffee would undoubtedly help.
“On the table, messenger.”
There was not enough light for him to see what he was doing, but he was practised in pouring coffee into a cup in the dark. As always, that first cup tasted like nectar, and the last of the first cup tasted possibly even better than the first sip because of the delightful knowledge that there was a second cup to follow. He drank the last of the second cup lingeringly, like a lover reluctant to part from his mistress. Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow--for within the next hour he had to reach a decision.
“Take that tray back to the wardroom, messenger,” he said.
The personal factor must be entirely disregarded. How Washington and London would be affected in their opinion of him must not influence him at all. It was his duty to think only about the convoy, about fighting the war. He must not spend a moment worrying lest he be thought of as an officer who went crying for help without sufficient justification. A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches; his good name, like his life, was at the service of his country. Promotion cometh neither from the east nor the west--what did he care about promotion? There is no discharge in that war. The Bible texts bobbed up in his mind as he tried to think. He could not ignore them.
Again, was it merely his personal weakness that was inclining him to call for help? Was he subconsciously trying to relieve himself of responsibility? Head up, shoulders back. Krause grudgingly gave himself a passing grade after a short but merciless self-examination. At the same time and equally grudgingly he acquitted himself of the other charge, that he was unwilling to break radio silence because of the possible effect on his own career. “Fitted and retained.” Those words were as painful as the memory of Evelyn, but, for all their damning negation, he would not allow them to influence his decision.
The bell rang at the voice-tube, and Krause forgot feet and legs and the problem of breaking radio silence as he sprang to answer it.
“Captain.”
“Cap’n, sir, there are pips ahead of us.”
“Pips?”
“Pips or a pip, sir. This screen’s getting fuzzier all the time. And the range unit’s acting up.” “But what is it you see?”
“Just something, sir. Thought it was two pips, but now I’m not sure. But it’s right ahead of us, bearing around zero-eight-four--zero-eight-eight sometimes.”
“It’s not the convoy?”
“No, sir. That’s out of range. This pip’s about at the limit.”
“Very well.”
Not so well, of course. A pip. Something on the surface right ahead. A U-boat, going full out to overtake the convoy? Very possibly. A straggler from the convoy? Likely enough. It was something that must be dealt with. “I’ll take the conn, Mr Nystrom.”
“Aye aye, sir.
Cadena s
making all of twelve knots, sir.”
“Thank you. Right standard rudder. Steer course two-four-zero.”
“Right standard rudder. Steer course two-four-zero, sir,” said the helmsman in the quiet of the pilot-house. A pause while
Keeling
turned; long enough for Krause to work out on which leg of the zig
Cadena
would be in three minutes’ time. “Steady on course two-four-zero, sir.”
“Very well.” He had to go out on the starboard wing of the bridge to see the dark form of
Cadena.
“Right rudder, handsomely.”
Cadena
’s next zig was due now. As
Keeling
drew up to her his straining eyes detected her change of silhouette as she put her rudder over. “Meet her. Left rudder. Meet her. Steady as you go.”
To come alongside a zigzagging ship within hailing distance in the darkness called for the most careful handling. The two ships came closer and closer together. Over there a light flashed momentarily. They were growing nervous, unable to guess what
Keeling
was trying to do. Someone had switched on a flashlight and pointed it at her.
“Port look-out reports a light from
Cadena,
sir,” said a talker.
“Very well. Right rudder. Meet her.” He reached the bull-horn just as the speaking trumpet voiced an anxious appeal.
“Keeling!”
“Comescort. I’m going on ahead of you. There’s something suspicious several miles ahead bearing about zero eight six true.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know and I’m going to find out Maintain your present base course and keep a good look-out ahead.” A few more seconds for thought. “I’ll warn you if there’s danger. If you see me fire a gun make a radical change of base course, to zero-four-two true.”
“O.K.”
“Maintain that course for half an hour and then return to zero eight seven if you’ve heard nothing from me.”
“O.K.”
He hoped
Cadena
had understood, and then he remembered that on board her, probably on her bridge at that moment, were the Polish captain and the British liaison officer. They had heard him and would keep
Cadena’s
captain in line.
“Good-bye. Right full rudder. Steer course zero-eight-six. All engines ahead flank speed.”
Krause’s orders were quietly repeated. Up here in the pilot-house everyone was aware of what was going on. Down below in the engine-room they would be ignorant. They would be conscious of
Keeling
having circled; they would not be able to guess what new crisis demanded the increase in speed. Their troubles were minor ones. All they had to do was to obey orders. Krause allowed the engine-room staff to disappear from his mind--a passing-twinge of envy was left there like the passing swirl left by a sinking ship. These next few free minutes, while heading towards the unknown danger, he must think once more about breaking radio silence.
“Permission to change the clocks, sir?” said Nystrom, looming up beside him.
Change the clocks? Krause held himself back from a stupid repetition of the words. It was something he had forgotten all about, and yet something he should have remembered. They had just passed from one time zone to the next; they were an hour further forward into the day.
“Mr Watson’s orders?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Watson, as navigating officer, had been charged by Krause to alter the ship’s time at the most convenient moment.
“Permission granted,” said Krause.
Nystrom could not know that he had broken into an important chain of thought in his captain’s mind. Yet Nystrom’s request had a powerful bearing on the subject of Krause’s thoughts. Now the deadline he had once set himself for appealing for help was long past. He had been a fool not to think of that; even though it was only a nominal change and not an actual change--dawn was no nearer to them in actual minutes than it would have been if the time had not changed--the moral effect was profound. Besides, Krause was now reminded that the night was considerably shorter on an easterly course, heading for the sunrise. In any case, they were heading not only for the sunrise but towards a suspicious object, and at flank speed. He addressed himself to the voice-tube again.
“What do you make of that pip now?” he asked.
“It’s still there, sir.”
“Isit big, or little? Can’t you guess?”
“I’d say it was big, sir. Perhaps it’s two pips like I said, sir. And I think it’s moving, sir. Keeping on the same course as us.”
“But we’re overtaking it?”
“Near as I can tell, yes, sir.”
He would have to identify the thing before he took any further action; not so easy in the darkness. Ten to one it was only a straggler from the convoy. He tried to raise
Dodge
and
James
on the voice circuit, but had to abandon the attempt in exasperated disappointment. They were out of T.B.S. range, unless--unless--that was a horrible thought. He could put it aside in any case. They could not both have been sunk without the look-outs observing some kind of explosion reflected from the high cloud in the darkness of the night.
“Can you estimate the range of that pip now?” he asked.
“Well, no, sir. Can’t say that I can.”
Another voice came up the tube immediately after that unsatisfactory reply. It was Charlie Cole. Krause could not believe he had been asleep; probably he had been prowling round the ship inspecting.
“The bearing’s constant, sir,” said Cole. “And I’d say there are two pips for certain.”
“Thank you, Charlie.”
“And I’d say we’re overtaking them fast.”
“Very well.”
Two pips being rapidly overtaken could only mean stragglers. There was no urgent anxiety, then. Krause reached that comforting conclusion and a second afterwards caught himself from swaying forward unconscious. Sleep was waiting like some half-tamed beast of prey ready to spring the moment he relaxed his vigilance. He was nearing the end of his second day without any sleep at all; two days of almost constant tension and strain. Two days spent almost entirely on his feet, too; there was no possible chance of forgetting that. Krause was glad when the bell pinged again.
“I got it tuned for a second just then, sir. Two pips for certain. And range four miles--that might be pretty accurate. Bearing zero-eight-six.”
“Very well.”
Better not to close too fast. Better to have the sonar working. Wait five minutes.
“All engines ahead standard speed. Resume sonar search.”
“Engine-room answers ‘All engines ahead standard speed,’ sir.”
The abrupt diminution of vibration, the reduction in the sound of
Keeling’s
passage through the water, told their own story, as did the resumption in the steady pinging of the sonar.
“Sonar reports indications confused, sir.”
That would right itself as soon as
Keeling’s
speed fell to twelve knots.
“Forward look-out reports objects dead ahead, sir.”
“Very well.”
That would be three miles ahead, if Cole’s estimate of range had been accurate. The look-out was doing his work well to sight the objects at that distance on a night like this.
“Captain to forward look-out. ‘Continue to report what you see.’ “
Friday. Morning Watch
--
0400-0800
He himself was standing, staring forward. At present he could see nothing there in the darkness. Nystrom was beside him, also gazing forward, and Krause became aware out of the tail of his eye that another figure was standing beside Nystrom--young Harbutt. The watch was changing.
“Forward look-out reports objects appear to be two ships, sir.”
“Very well.”
“Ships for sure, sir,” said Harbutt.
Now Krause could see them, something more than solid nuclei in the darkness. They were just ships, stragglers from the convoy. He felt considerable exasperation at having been subjected to his recent tension merely on their account.
“Forward look-out reports two merchant ships dead ahead, about two miles, close together, sir.”
“Very well. Captain to forward look-out. ‘We have those ships in sight from the bridge.’ “
“Reporting having been relieved, sir,” said Nystrom, and went on through the time-honoured formula.
“Very well, Mr Nystrom.”
“Sir,” said Harbutt. “Have you any orders about general quarters this morning?”
Something else he had forgotten all about. In a hour, unless he countermanded his standing orders as he had done yesterday, general quarters would be sounded and the whole ship would be roused. The reasons that motivated his cancellation yesterday still held good. His men were doing four on and four off; they might as well have all the rest they could. He ought to have remembered it.
“No general quarters this morning unless it’s the real thing,” he said. “Put it on the loudspeaker.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
As they approached the dark ships he heard the announcement made.
“Now hear this. There’ll be no - - “
One of Uncle Sam’s ships had acquired the nickname a few years ago of “the beno ship,” because of the numerous announcements over her loudspeaker beginning that way; but those announcements had given warning that there would be no liberty that afternoon, and similar unpleasant news. This was different.