‘Bugger YOU!’ I screamed back in childish frustration.
The loud-hailer ignored me completely. ‘You have ten minutes in which to abandon, Herr Kent. When those ten minutes have elapsed my First Lieutenant will board you with a search party. Any man found remaining aboard will be shot out of hand.’
A bulky black object was being hauled from a deck hatch on the U-boat’s after-casing and I realised that it was an inflatable rubber raft. Grouped round the base of the conning tower we could see several heavily armed sailors, each wearing those peculiarly old-fashioned looking, fork-tailed ‘Barnacle Bill’ sailor hats that the German Navy favoured.
I made one more half-hearted attempt to argue against the inevitable. ‘You have shot up my bloody boats. I have several seriously wounded men aboard an' I’ll be damned if I will…’
The white cap moved sharply in the conning tower and the Spandau racketed immediately, cutting a line of foam three feet away from our side and directly under the bridge where I stood. It very efficiently underlined the message that followed. ‘…and you will most certainly be damned if you don’t, Herr Kent. You now have nine and a half minutes left and, if you find it necessary to utilise your port boats, I will expect them to come round to your starboard side where I can see them. I will allow two extra minutes for that operation. Any wounded you have will be attended to as soon as your ship is abandoned.’
I turned and looked back at Evans inquiringly. I suppose we all did, right then. The Old Man closed his eyes for a moment and I watched his right hand gently, almost tenderly, caress the sanded teak rail, then suddenly the hand clenched into a fist and the grey eyes were staring back at us defiantly. ‘Have the boats lowered, Mister Kent… any that are still serviceable. Mister Breedie.’
The young kid jumped. ‘Sir?’
‘I’m sorry, Mister Breedie, but I must ask you to go aft and ascertain that none of the gun’s crew are still alive. We have no time to do anything with the bodies at the moment but I will attempt to return to the ship later and perform the necessary functions — Mister Larabee!’
Larabee stepped forward into the sunlight and looked queryingly at Evans. His expression was impassive but there was an understandably tense, excited glint at the back of his eyes.
‘Aye, Captain?’
‘Please be good enough to remove any parts of your W.T. equipment you think fit in order to render it inoperative without actually destroying it. You will conceal them in the hope that we may be able to return and send a signal after the enemy have left.’
The Sparks looked cynical. ‘Aye, aye, Sir. Bearing in mind that gear doesn’t work so hot under water.’
Evans spoke as he turned back to me, ‘They will undoubtedly sink the ship, Mister Larabee, but there is insufficient water under our keel to do more than cover the main deck levels. Please be good enough to do as I ask. And now, John. The boats are well provisioned and watered, I trust?’
I blinked at the change in him. It was like going back three days to before this had all started. He smiled slightly as the suddenly much older Breedie and Larabee clattered away down the ladder. ‘Action, no matter how distasteful, John, is infinitely preferable to standing by helplessly and watching men die. I have at least the relief of knowing that the blood has stopped flowing.’
As I turned away to the ladder I heard him arguing placidly with old McKenzie on the engine-room phone, then he hooked it carefully back in its rest and grasped the shiny brass telegraphs for the last time.
The answering clang from deep down below, ‘Finished with Engines,’ seemed very sad. And irredeemably final.
We were still able to use numbers one and three boats, the after lifeboats having taken the brunt of the searching splinters from the Nazi shell. Number one was, of course, already in the water while three port, being already swung out and unbridled, took only half our remaining minutes of grace to lower away.
I leaned over the wing as the crew scrambled down the swaying boat ladders after first carefully lowering the wounded; watching them go in blue jeans or white engineer’s boiler suits under the gaudy yellow and blue lifejackets. Two of the deck hands still wore bizarre, bright silk pyjamas, though God knows how long it had been since any of us had been in our bunks. Most of them clutched pitiful little bundles of personal belongings and I swallowed hard when I saw the quiet dignity and courage shown by even the toughest, hardest A.B.s. I don’t think I’ve ever felt prouder to be a merchant navy man than I did right then.
Breedie came hurrying along the boat deck and stood beside me, looking sick and dazed. I remembered he’d been aft to the gun and was glad it hadn’t been me. Now he was an eighteen-year-old kid with a old man's stare. I lifted an eyebrow and he shrugged helplessly.
‘All dead. The whole bloody lot!’ Then he seemed to get angry and his fists clenched. ‘That fuckin’ gun. It’s still like brand new except… except there’s someone’s foot caught in the… just their foot, Sir.’
His strained voice faded away and his shoulders heaved. I spoke as gently as I could, ‘You take number three boat away yourself, son. Get her forward round the bows to the starboard side as soon as you can before those bastards start getting impatient. I’ll collect the Captain from the bridge and join you as soon as possible; he’ll probably want to take number one with young Conway and the Chief. Pecker up and chop-chop, son.’
I tried to smile reassuringly but failed and turned awkwardly away to check out the deserted decks while Breedie swung over the rail on to the ladder. We couldn’t have long left now. Everyone gone except the Captain. I started to sweat gently as I imagined what was promised to happen to any man fool enough to try and hide aboard after we left. But would they really shoot them in cold blood? This was the twentieth century, wasn’t it…? Then I remembered the Spandau shells smashing into the already-dead Charlie Shell and I knew that the man in the white cap meant every word he said.
Hurrying forward, I climbed the splintered ladder to the bridge.
Evans was standing motionless in the shattered wheelhouse when I pulled myself to the top. I stepped through the doors, feeling the glass shards crunching as I moved and trying not to look at the Fourth Mate’s body lying contorted in a still-glittering pool of blood and jagged crystals. Then a glint of red and white made me look down anyway to see, with a surge of relief, that someone had covered Brannigan's shiny bone face with one of the flags from the signal locker on the after bulkhead.
The flag was the red and white cubed ‘U’: the International Code signal for ‘You are standing into danger.’
Evans half turned as I approached.
‘Well, John?’
I saluted awkwardly, it was a thing we didn’t normally do but, then again, we didn’t abandon ship every day either. ‘Numbers one and three lifeboats lowered and manned, Sir. The other two could be patched up but we don’t really need them. All hands away in them to the best of my knowledge. We don’t have time to search the ship properly.’
He nodded. ‘Young Breedie went up on the poop?’
‘All dead. The gun seems still to be functioning though. Their shell must’ve struck around the emergency steering position. Heat, blast and shrapnel did the rest.’
‘It’s cost a lot of lives, that gun. A lot of lives and bugger all to show for them.’
I glanced anxiously at my watch. We were due to hear a high-explosive alarm clock in about ten seconds unless White Cap accepted our two packed boats as sufficient assurance that we had surrendered. I tapped my wrist watch to encourage the Old Man. ‘Sir — it’s time to go.’