Waldvogel said nothing as Reubold left. The soft gurgling of the tubes exchanging fluids in the patient next to his bed and the muffled voices in the corridor were all the korvettenkapitan heard. The fregattenkapitan’s visit left him unsettled. Reubold was everything he was not — articulate, brave, strong — a leader that other men looked up to, and yet Reubold came to honor him, to thank him. Throughout his entire life, he had always been invisible, inconsequential, and so he threw himself into work until the world existed only of problems and solutions — twin havens.
He twisted slightly to look out the window, until the pain in his neck and head forbade any further movement. He could see the harbor and vague shapes of the S-boat pens under the pale gaze of a quarter moon. Reubold would lead them out, Waldvogel knew, out into the darkness and into danger because Reubold was a fighter. But what the fregattenkapitan had come to say to Waldvogel tonight was that they were equal; and perhaps Waldvogel was the better of the two. True, Reubold said it for his own benefit, but he admitted as much and that said something for the character of the man. But he had come to the hospital and he had said how he felt and he had done these things out of sincerity.
Waldvogel eased himself back against the pillows, his mind drifting from Reubold’s visit to the boats. He thought of the guns and the foils, and realized with a start that he had completely abandoned all memory of Reubold’s visit. It was all too fleeting, he thought. Perhaps the words remain but they fade with the memories until all that exists is a shadow of the event. I have that, Waldvogel conceded.
Then he noticed the bottle of calvados sitting on the nightstand.
The wind was coming out of the northeast at Force 2 and the barometer hovered around 30.10. The waves were cycloidal — the abrupt, choppy waves that indicated that Firedancer was in relatively shallow water. Of course Hardy knew this because of the charts and the reports from radar and W/T, but he never discounted what the sea told him regardless of machines that said you should be here and these should be the conditions. Four bells had just sounded in the Mid Watch and all that was visible in the darkness were the vague shapes of the LSTs as they maneuvered into position. Hardy had doubled the watch and put Firedancer on Action Stations because he didn’t like being this close to shore. And because the captain of the Huston, a disagreeable man who dismissed Hardy’s concern, sent the terse radio message: “Will stand by to assist in the drill. Do not feel it necessary to go to Action Stations just yet.”
Hardy had read the message and glanced in irritation at Land, and then ordered his Number One to sound Action Stations. By God, drill or not, it was dark out there and Jerry loves to flash about in the dark and get into all sorts of mischief. Hardy knew as well that there was always danger of collision between the LSTs in the darkness or of one of the big slab-sided ships running over one of the little shoebox-size LCMs that carried thirty or forty men. Firedancer went to Action Stations and Hardy stood on the bridge, sweeping the darkness with his binoculars, listening to the chatter over the loudspeaker of the TBS as the LSTs began to form up for landing practice. Talk Between Ships was a short-range radio network that allowed the ships to communicate without giving away their positions by having their long-distance transmissions picked up.
A sharp whistle came from the voice tubes at Hardy’s elbow. Hardy cupped his hand around the brass-tubes mouth and said: “Bridge. Hardy here.”
“W/T. Caine, sir. We have targets fifty miles out, red, amidships.”
“Once more?”
“Targets bearing two-one-zero, distance fifty miles. Red, amidships, sir.”
“How many, W/T?”
“I estimate six or eight, sir. Speed about forty knots.”
“Don’t lose them,” Hardy said, and then turned to Land. “E-boats, Number One. Have the Yeoman of Signals make to the fleet: “E-boats approaching from the southeast. Range fifty miles.” He didn’t wait for Land’s acknowledgment. “W/T? Hardy here. Make to fleet, straight out. E-boats approaching from the southeast. Range fifty miles.” Hardy wanted to warn the convoy by both radio and Aldis lamp — no use taking a chance that someone wasn’t paying attention. He turned back to Land again, keeping his excitement under control. He’d gone into action enough to understand the importance of remaining as dispassionate as possible about combat. Don’t let your nerves lead you astray, he had cautioned Land several times when it seemed as if Number One had let his emotions control his thinking. Cold, calculating, unimpassioned reason, Hardy had informed his junior officers, was the only true antidote to the insanity of combat.
“Kindly inform Guns, Number One,” Hardy said, “that we shall go out and engage the enemy.” Firedancer ’s gunnery officer was stationed in the cramped room that held sonar, radar, and Wireless/Telegrapher so that he could coordinate the fire of the 4.5s, 20mm, and 40mm guns, as well as the twin torpedo mounts, of Firedancer. He was a sensitive man named Foxworthy who was very conscious of his rapidly receding hairline.
An urgent whistle from the tubes caught Hardy’s attention.
“Bridge. W/T.”
“Bridge, here,” Hardy said. “What is it?”
“Several of the targets have broken off from the main body and increased speed.”
“Increased speed?” Hardy said. “How…”
“They’re fanning out, sir. Sixty knots, sir. No, sir. More. Seventy knots.”
“Don’t be daft,” Hardy said, but he knew that the report was true and the admonition came out as a weak hope that the man was wrong. He trusted his radar and sonar operators because they had proved themselves on U-boat duty in the North Atlantic.
“Sir,” Land said, alarmed. “Huston has just signaled that she is coming up to investigate and that we are to hold our station.”
“Is he mad?” Hardy exploded. “Yeoman, make to Huston.” The yeoman of signals steadied the Aldis lamp in his hand and waited for the message. “Do not expose column. I shall take the lead. Maintain station.” The shutters of the Aldis lamp clicked rapidly.
“What is the man trying to do?” Land said.
“Win medals. Charge to the sound of gunfire. That’s the bloody question isn’t it? If we move out we’ll force the bastards to sweep around us and that will keep them off the LSTs’ bows. If Huston maintains position, they can’t come in astern of the ships.” There was nothing sophisticated about the plan; the LSTs were lightly armed but they could still put up a fight. Keep the ships in column so that they could bring every gun to bear, Firedancer protects the head and Huston protects the tail. All very simple. But now Huston had given away the advantage by moving out of position.