“There’s more coming in, sir,” Lerch said. The message was decoded by Zickelbein and given to Lerch.
“Read it,” Reubold ordered.
“‘T-29 sights several ships advancing Guernsey. Dieppe reports parachute attack. Dieppe reports enemy ships forty kilometers from port.’”
“Enough,” Reubold said. He made his way quickly to the bridge, glad to be in the cool air and under the thick clouds that shimmered in the moonlight. It was claustrophobic in the W/T room, and the contradictory messages angered him.
“Kunkel,” he barked, “bring us about. On zero-five-three degrees. Increase to fifty knots.” He slipped the throat mike on and slipped his earphones over his cap. He pinched the small microphones against his throat. “Lerch?”
“Sir?” crackled through the earpieces.
“Signal the other boats. New course zero-five-three degrees. Speed, fifty knots. Form echelon.”
“What is it?” Kunkel said.
“Madness,” Reubold said in disgust. “Absolute madness. No one is sure of anything on shore. We’ll go see for ourselves.”
“Where are we going?”
“Pas de Calais. We might find the invasion fleet. If we’re lucky.”
“Shouldn’t we notify Marine Gruppe West?” Kunkel said.
“And ruin a perfectly good outing?” Reubold said. He sensed Kunkel’s concern. “All right, Leutnant. I promise that if we run across the invasion fleet I will let them know.” He turned and made his way back along the port canvas dodgers, stopping at the amidships doorknocker. The crew looked at him expectantly and he smiled in return. He wanted time to think, so he studied the other boats’ positions. He could see them, or rather their wakes, gleaming in the light provided by the capricious moon. They kept good position and their speed matched S-205 exactly.
Reubold noticed a young matrosenhauptgefreiter watching him.
“Spiller? Isn’t it?” Reubold said.
“Yes, sir,” the man said. He was bundled in his black coverall, with the coal-shuttle helmet clamped firmly on his head, looking like a distressed turtle.
“This is Ramsau’s gun, isn’t it?” Reubold said, knowing that it was and knowing that oberbootsmannmaat Ramsau, the gun captain, was standing next to Spiller.
“Yes, sir,” Spiller said, perplexed.
“Tell me, Spiller,” Reubold said. “Does Ramsau still fuck ugly women?”
The gun crew burst into laughter. Ramsau shook his head, wondering how officers expected him to keep young matrosenhauptgefreiter in line if the officers showed the oberbootsmannmaat no respect.
“I don’t know, sir,” Spiller said, looking around as if he expected the other crew members to help him.
Another wave of laughter swamped the gun and Reubold winked at Ramsau, although he wasn’t sure if the chief petty officer could see the wink in the darkness.
“Fregattenkapitan,” Ramsau said in a weary voice. “Pardon me for saying so, but we would be better served if you were in the skull’s cap.”
“Indeed, Ramsau?” Reubold said, making the decision that he had come aft to consider. Pas de Calais was the shortest route, perhaps the easiest, but Reubold thought that if it were he, and he was expected to do one thing, he would, naturally, have to do the opposite. “I just came back to tell you that British and Americans are out there and we are going to hunt them.” He felt the tension in the gun crew increase. They realized immediately what the implication was.
“The invasion, Fregattenkapitan?” Ramsau said.
“Yes,” Reubold said, and started forward. He turned and said. “But even if it isn’t, we shall make the best of it.”
Chapter 28
Cole hooked the microphone back into its cradle and turned to DeLong. He had just received Firedancer’s message and ordered it passed on to the other boats. “You heard the man, Randy, come about and let’s go find out who these folks are.”
“What are you doing?” Edland said.
“Firedancer reports a fast boat coming this way. They’re not PTs,” Cole explained in a tone that said that the reason for his action should be obvious. “They’re not MTBs, so that leaves just one candidate.”
“I understand that, Lieutenant. Firedancer said that he has contacted Castle for further orders,” Edland said. “Shouldn’t we wait on verification?”
“You know,” Cole said, “not more than five minutes ago you were all ready to take on the Kriegsmarine. Now, you’ve gone cautious on me. You can’t have it both ways, Commander. I’ll just proceed on my own initiative and let the chips fall where they may.” He pointed into the darkness. “That’s where the enemy is, and that’s where I’m going.” And then Cole added: “Sir.” He picked up the microphone and depressed the TALK button. “Let the other boats know, we’re going in. Pass the word to Firedancer.”
“What?” Hardy said into the voice tube. “Going where?”
“The PT boat commander reported that he is turning toward the targets and shall investigate,” W/T said.
“The impetuosity of the man,” Hardy said to Land. “Going off without orders. I would have thought better of Mr. Cole. Well, he’s a disappointment, I can tell you that.”
“Yes, sir,” Land said.
“Never catch me doing such a thing,” Hardy said. “Have I ever done such a thing, Number One?”
“No, sir,” Land said. Countless times, Land thought. We’ve gone off on your order alone and even after we were recalled and chastised, you’ve been less than contrite. The two were cut from the same bolt, Hardy and Cole. Land fully expected what came next.
“W/T? Hardy here. Send to Castle. I’m just going out for a peek. I shan’t be long.” He made it sound as if he were going down to the corner newsstand to pick up a paper. “Not to worry about anything.” He straightened and looked at Land innocently. “Can’t let the boy face whatever is out there alone, now can I?”
“Bridge? W/T, radar here. The enemy formation has just deployed into a wing formation, speed increased to fifty knots steady. Now at forty miles, same bearing.”
“Right,” Hardy said. “Make to Cole. ‘I shall take up position to port and a bit ahead of you. Look for my signal by Aldis lamp. Enemy course, break at double X, enemy speed, double X, distance. Firedancer.’ ” He turned to Land, satisfied. We’re put ourselves between the enemy and Mr. Cole and track them on radar. We’ll be positioned in such a way as to keep our Aldis lamp signals from the enemy’s eyes.”
“That should do it, sir,” Land said.
“Of course it should,” Hardy said impatiently. “Unless we are sunk.” He pulled the bowler from his head, scratched his scalp vigorously, and holding the hat under the soft glow of the binnacle light, examined it. “This hat has occupants, Number One.”
“Sir?”
“The damned thing’s infested.” Hardy handed the bowler to a yeoman. “Set this thing aside until I can have it fumigated. My God,” he said. “Lice at my age.”