“‘German commerce raider in the Denmark Strait. Believe to have sunk Nottingham. Course and location undetermined. Stand by for additional orders.’ That’s all, sir.”
“A commerce raider?” Hardy said to Land. “Surely they aren’t talking about a Q ship, are they? Nothing like that could have sunk Nottingham. This is nonsense. Was there anything else to that message, Dove?”
“No, sir. Nothing.”
“Nonsense. Make to Prometheus, ‘Do you suspect capital ship?’ Send it off. Aldis lamp. And don’t bother encoding it. If Prometheus can do it, so can we.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hardy stroked his upper lip with the side of his index finger as Land had noticed him doing when he was thinking. Hardy had every reason to be perplexed. A commerce raider could be anything from a battleship to a heavily armed merchantman — one could do Nottingham in, but the other would be chewed to pieces by the cruiser’s guns before she got close enough to launch an attack.
“Message from Prometheus, sir,” Dove said. “‘You are to stand by for additional orders.’ End of message.”
A sour look crossed Hardy’s face. “Well, that’s plain enough if absolutely worthless. That means they don’t know either, Number One. Do you have any suggestions?”
“I recommend that we double the watches. I’d like the pleasure of Firedancer spotting this elusive raider before anyone else does.”
“But we don’t know where it is, Number One.”
“Yes, sir. But that works both ways. No one else does as well.”
“I applaud your ambition, Number One,” Hardy said. “But we’ll be traveling in that big cow’s wake off her port quarter.”
“‘At a reasonable distance.’ ‘At a reasonable distance, ’ is what our orders were. Suppose we were out far enough to have a good view of the horizon. Doesn’t that improve our chances of seeing the commerce raider first?”
Hardy rubbed his lip again. “How dare you suggest that I patently ignore the spirit of my orders simply to be the first one to catch sight of the enemy? Do you think me capable of such a thing?”
Land let silence speak for him.
“You know me too well, Number One. I shall have to trade you in on someone whose ignorance plays in my favor. We’ll do it your way.”
“Yes, sir,” Land said, trying to suppress a smile. Here was the Hardy that he had grown to admire. He did not like the other man at all. The finger on the lip again, his mind was working rapidly.
“Number One? What has gone on in the Denmark Strait?”
“Sir?”
“It’s bad enough that Nottingham is sunk, but now we are pulled away from escorting Prince of Wales and sent packing.”
“Returning to Scapa Flow.”
“So we are told. But we have to come close to the southern end of the Strait, don’t we? What goes in must come out and it might come out when we cross close to the Strait. What is it then? Big ship or little ship? My money’s on a big ship, perhaps a cruiser or pocket battleship sent after convoys.”
“Our being pulled away leaves little protection for Prince of Wales,” Land said. “What has she left besides her own guns, which, I admit, are a considerable deterrent?”
“Her speed. She is a greyhound and if her speed serves her, well and good. There isn’t a ship afloat that can run her down. You look perplexed.”
“I’m preparing my case for His Lordship and the jury as I always did before entering the courtroom. In my previous life, that is.”
“Enlighten me.”
“One of reasonable doubt, Your Lordship. We know of convoys to the north and south of us. Incoming and outgoing.”
“One moment, Number One,” Hardy said. “Helmsman? Port ten. Take us out an additional five hundred yards off that big cow’s port quarter and hold us there.”
“Port ten,” the helmsman replied. “Wheel ten of port, sir.”
“All right, Number One. Continue.”
“We are told off to Scapa and as you rightly pointed out we pass to the southwest of the Denmark Strait. Precisely where this unknown vessel is expected to enter the North Atlantic.”
“Or has done so,” Hardy said, eyes on the binnacle.
“Exactly,” Land said. “But for what purpose? Suppose she has speed to match Prince of Wales? This does her no good because Prince of Wales has a head start. Suppose her intentions are to pitch into convoys? The moment she does she gives away her cloak of invisibility. We know where our convoys are, and if she attacks them we know where she is.”
Hardy crossed his arms over his broad chest and studied Land for a moment. “It’s not a pleasure cruise, Number One. She’s out here for a reason.”
“Of course, sir. But you see I’ve laid out the information, as we know it. If I were defending the enemy vessel I suggest that the jury would find her not guilty because of insufficient evidence.”
“Wheel amidships.” Hardy shook his head. “This is surely the first time in the Royal Navy that an enemy vessel has appeared before members of a King’s Bench and been declared innocent of harmful intentions. I don’t fancy signaling the results of this inquiry to Prometheus.”
“It is not something that I recommend you do, Captain,” Land said, but then he added: “I wonder what the devil she is up to. And where the devil she is. And what the devil she is.”
“That’s the first thing you’ve said to me in the last thirty minutes that makes sense,” Hardy said. “The devils in this business make no mistake about that. But Coastal Command will be up if they’re not already and they’ll find that elusive creature soon enough. I’d bet your commission on it.”
Chapter 21
The U-boat surfaced silently, accompanied only by the soft rush of water rolling from its deck. The teak decking glistened in the moonlight as the boat settled low in the water, gentle swells caressing its bow and traveling along the rust-stained hull until they slapped playfully against the conning tower.
The tower hatch creaked open and fell back on its stops with a clang. Two dark forms quickly emerged in the moonlight and took their positions atop the periscope mast. They began scanning the pale gray sky with high-power binoculars. A U-boat on the surface under a bright moon was a tempting target for British Coastal Command. Even at night the bees came and carried with them death.
Hans Webber, Kapitan of U-376, a Type-VII U-boat, followed the two men through the hatch. He swept the horizon as well.
“Lookouts up!” he called down into the hatch. “Ventilate the boat. Disengage E-motors, engage diesels.” Webber knew that everything would be done quickly. The crew realized the danger of remaining on the surface a minute longer than they had to. Under normal circumstances the night would have given them sufficient cover — but God had seen fit to bless them with a pale moon that could draw every British bee in the area straight to them. Still, things were in balance — with a little luck they could see the approaching planes in the moonlight.
“Grubb,” Webber called to his executive officer, “tell me the minute that Funker picks up anything.”
Grubb’s pale face appeared out of the darkness of the hatch leading to the control room. “Yes, sir.”
“Have two more lookouts come up. I don’t like sitting under a spotlight.”
“Yes, sir.”
Webber heard the additional lookouts clambering up the aluminum ladder and he pushed himself to one side of the narrow conning tower platform to allow them to pass.