Evans turned back to me, looking grim. ‘Those subs are heading straight for us, Mister. Our gun is mounted aft, meaning we will have to swing the ship to bring it to bear, and that will make us an even easier target. Any suspicion that we are preparing to fire on them, they could put torpedoes into each of us just by pulling a lever. If we can wait till they turn away even a couple of points, then we may possibly have a chance.’
I had difficulty in suppressing the note of relief in my voice. I didn't want Charlie's gung-ho enthusiasm to kill us all. Over Evans’s shoulder I caught a glimpse of Curtis staring expressionlessly at the submarines… or was that a trace of relief I could detect in his brown eyes too? And if it was, did it mean he was a coward as well? Or something more sinister? It wasn't the first time I'd questioned our third officer's motivation, but this wasn't the time to allow my paranoia to run riot.
Instead I made like a frustrated martyr. ‘Does that mean we do nothing, Sir? Not a bloody thing?’
The Old Man seemed to sag for a moment, then squared his shoulders and shook his head determinedly. ‘No, by God it doesn’t. But there are more than sixty men aboard this vessel. I don’t intend to throw their lives away over a pointless gesture of defiance… Mister Curtis!’
The Third Mate blinked, ‘Sir?’
‘You will have all deck hands and any engine-room personnel not urgently required below assemble along the port side of the midships accommodation. Life jackets will be worn. If there is any gunfire they’ll stand a better chance down there, away from the enemy.’
I heard the Third Mate clattering down the ladder behind me as I turned to take another look at the U-boats. The last one in appeared to have stopped behind to guard the entrance but the lead boat was much closer now, still bows on to us and about one and a half miles away. It was almost possible, through the binoculars, to make out the blurred faces of her crewmen grouped around the deck gun. A movement on the conning tower of the leading submarine caught my attention and I felt my hands starting to shake — the bastards were rigging a heavy machine-gun in a mounting on the grey painted rails forward of her one-pounder A.A. gun. I started to lower the Barr and Strouds to quiet the growing acidity of despair in my belly. Then I froze.
Athenian! What the…?
She was still moving, yawing round towards the exit channel as if the approaching U-boats didn’t exist. I suddenly realised that only a very short time had passed since the long predatory silhouettes had first appeared. But still…? Samson had had plenty of time to stop engines and put the hook down again. The white water was kicking up high under her stern now as it swung towards us, showing the bright Red Ensign flapping more actively over her taffrail. When in God’s name was Bert going to stop her?
Larabee found his voice at last and I glanced round in surprise as the thin features looked queryingly at the Old Man. ‘I’ll put out a distress call, Captain.’
I could see Evans was struggling with indecision. Whatever the U-boats intended they wouldn’t tolerate our screaming for help while they were boxed in this bloody deathtrap of an island along with us. And Larabee? Now he was acting the hero again. Why? Where was the mutinous radioman of a few minutes before? The man who had refused point blank to venture out into the open sea was now volunteering to go to almost certain death in a steel box that was a one-off shot for any experienced gunner aboard the enemy vessel.
I found myself unconsciously shaking my head as Larabee spoke again, the now animated face looking as keen as mustard on seizing the chance to become a posthumous hero. ‘I’ll get aft to the shack, Captain. Put out an “all ships” call before they realise I’m on the key at all.’
The submarine was closing fast now. I felt the tension mounting on our sun-washed bridge. What was Evans going to do? I started to get sick spasms with fright. One bleep from our W.T. could bring the smashing fury of white-hot Krupps' ordinance crashing into our superstructure, atomising the radio room and bridge. The bridge… where we were all standing. The primary target.
I closed my eyes as I anticipated the shrieking hell of oblivion that would come. Please Captain. Please? Don’t let Larabee be a martyr. Not when it means he’ll have company.
Brannigan’s excited shout cut through my fear. ‘They’re signalling, Sir. The nearest boat.’
We watched as the bright beam of her lamp flickered from the conning tower. Out of the corner of my eye I was dimly aware that Athenian was still forging ahead but, right then, I was more anxious to know what those submarine wolves had in store for us. Behind me the now calm tones of the Second Sparks read out the slowly stuttered message. ‘It’s in English. More or less anyway…'
ACHTUNG… REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE… VESSEL UNDER WAY WILL STOP ENGINES IMMEDIATELY. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO TRANSMIT WITH WIRELESS BOTH SHIPS… GUN PLATFORMS MUST BE ABANDONED IMMEDIATELY…
Someone seemed to be shouting down aft and I looked to see the distant figure of the Second Mate gesticulating vigorously at the dumpier shape of our army bombardier, Allen. Apparently the gun commander wasn’t taking too kindly to the idea of our giving up without even a cough from Phyllis. Then, to my relief, they both moved away under the shelter of the poop and I could concentrate on Larabee’s voice again.
The tone was still flat and matter of fact. ‘…YOU ARE WARNED THAT NOT TO CONFORM WITH MY ORDERS IS VERBOTEN… I REPEAT ANY SHIP ISSUING WT TRANSMISSION OR ATTENDING ARMAMENTS WILL BE FIRED ON.’
‘Mister Kent!’
I swung round startled, until I realised the Captain was calling. He continued, without taking his eyes off the closing U-boat, ‘A word, please.’
Turning abruptly he walked towards the wheelhouse, out of earshot of Larabee and Brannigan. I followed nervously, not liking to lose sight of the approaching guns even for a brief moment. When Evans stopped, his voice was low and urgent. ‘The confidential bags, John.’
‘I could get forr’ad to the strong-room and try to ditch them over the side,’ I suggested reluctantly, not being at all brave but feeling I had to make the gesture.
He shook his head. ‘No point. Why do you think those U-boats are here? This is a deliberate trap, John, and we’ve run right into it like a flock of bloody sheep. Even the blasted Admiralty helped, thanks to their orders to shelter in here. My God, but if I didn’t know any different I’d think that they wanted us to be captured.’
It was beginning to fit together now. Ever since I’d realised that the Kent Star message was a phoney, the pieces of the jigsaw had slowly been knitting together. First, the firm establishment of intent to drive us south, towards Quintanilha de Almeida, and then our own blind stupidity in not realising that we were penning ourselves in the one spot in almost the whole of the South Atlantic where we didn’t have the advantage of speed over the U-boats. The one area where they could board and search us at their leisure instead of having to settle for a quick kill at sea along with the inevitable loss of our compromising strong room bags.
I prayed that Rear Admiral Tryst, RN, would rot screaming in Hell. His orders had been the final clincher that not even the most optimistic member of the Nazi High Command could have hoped for.
Evans was peering down at the glassy water around us and I realised then what he’d meant by it being useless to jettison the bags over the wall. Eight fathoms below the surface the wavering sea bed showed every detail as clearly as through a magnifying glass. Exotic fronds of varicoloured weed waved gently over the submarine contours of the boulder-strewn bottom, while myriads of tiny fish darted hither and thither like shooting stars. Any object lying down there would be as obvious as a sequined dress in a shop window— and just about as available to any navy diver.