When the ship was close enough, Cole saw ropes shoot lazily into the air, uncoiling against the pale sky. He caught a line as Johnny pulled one out of the water next to the raft.
“Pull yourselves in, can you?” a faint voice asked from the ship. “Or shall we come and get you?”
Cole waved off the second question as Johnny and he began to pull. When they were close enough to the vessel Cole realized that it was going to be tricky getting aboard. The sea was moderate and the swells unimposing when the life raft was on her own. But when she got close to the destroyer, there was a fair chance that she would be thrown against the hull and ripped to pieces by the barnacles that ran along the ship’s side. There was a good chance as well that Johnny and he could be seriously injured.
“You chaps need to leave the dinghy,” an officer shouted through a voice trumpet. “Hang on to the ropes and we’ll pull you in.”
“Well, that’s that, then,” Johnny said, stripping off his flying suit. “In we go.”
Cole did the same. He felt confident enough pulling his own weight up the ropes, but the thought of a bulky flying suit saturated with water concerned him. Still, it would offer quite a bit of padding if he ended up slamming into the hull.
“Hang on tight,” the officer called. “We are going to pull you up now. Mind the hull, will you? We don’t want you injured.”
“Who’s he kidding?” Cole said as he and Johnny slipped into the icy water. He wrapped the rope firmly around his hands and immediately felt the line tighten. There were two brawny sailors on each rope, pulling away in unison. The rolling destroyer began to fill his vision as he glided through the water. He tried to keep his head up; one mouthful of the North Atlantic was plenty. They were several feet from the rust-stained hull when the sea tried one last time to kill them.
A burst of wind caught the destroyer’s bow and drove it to port while a stiff wave caught them from behind and threw them against the hull. Cole felt it happen; felt the waves grab him and throw him at the ship, so he pulled his legs up, bending his knees, and landed against the hull with the balls of his feet. His legs took the force of the wave and other than the impact on his feet, he was uninjured. He heard Johnny cry out.
Cole twisted on his rope to see Johnny’s deathly white face.
“I’ve broken my bloody hip,” the gunner gasped. “All of this just to end up a cripple.”
“He’s been hurt,” Cole shouted to the men above him. All he could see were their heads peering anxiously over the side.
“Can you tie him off?” the officer called through the voice trumpet.
“Yeah,” Cole said, making his way to Johnny. “Give me a minute.”
“Do you need a hand?”
Cole didn’t answer. He had the rope looped under Johnny’s arms and tightly knotted in a matter of seconds. He knew that he had to work quickly; he was losing the feeling in his hands from the icy water. Finally, he gave a thumbs-up and shouted: “Okay.”
Cole watched Johnny magically rise out of the water as the sailors pulled him up. He felt his rope grow taut and he walked up the side of the vessel as he was hoisted aboard. A dozen hands grasped him and lifted him over the cables and stays. When they set him down Cole was amazed to find how unsteady he was.
He looked over to find Johnny on a stretcher, unconscious, being examined by a sailor that Cole could only hope was a corpsman. “Is he okay?” he asked.
“Banged up a bit, I’m afraid,” the sailor said, examining Johnny. He pushed the gunner’s damp hair off his forehead. “Nasty bump here. Broke his leg, I suspect. Don’t you worry, sir. He’s in good hands now. Wouldn’t hurt a bit for you to get out of those wet clothes and get a spot of rum.”
“What is this ship?” Cole asked.
“H.M.S. Firedancer,” the pitifully young officer with the voice trumpet announced with dignity. “Captain George Hardy, commanding.”
“My compliments to Captain Hardy,” Cole said as a sailor threw a musty-smelling blanket over his shoulders. “My thanks as well.”
Cole was startled at the flat crack of a rifle. A seaman, his cap pushed back off his forehead, carefully aimed an Enfield over the side. Cole followed the line of the weapon and realized what the sailor was shooting at. The life raft. It could not be left floating about the ocean — it was decreed a hazard to navigation once it was abandoned. There was another report and a small column of water jumped into the air near the edge of the raft. It looked as if the man had completely missed his target, but it was only an illusion. Cole watched as the raft slowly lost form and seawater rushed into the interior over the deflating walls.
He felt a twinge of regret as the sea consumed the little craft that had given him life. It had been part of N-for-Nancy and now it too was going to disappear into the depths. He was alive, he remembered, and in war that was the ultimate triumph.
“Come along, sir,” the sailor said. “We’ll have you fit in no time.”
Chapter 26
Mahlberg leaned over the chart, resting his hands on the chart table. He studied the calculations generated by his navigation officer — neatly written letters and numbers that nearly filled one page of the navigation log. He compared those to the course settings on the chart for Sea Lion and Prince of Wales while his officers waited.
The log was a history of the movements of the two ships, a record of a closely followed chess game in which each action was dutifully recorded. Time, speed, course; knight to bishop one, check… checkmate. Mahlberg straightened and accepted the numbers with a sharp nod.
“Just over three hours,” he confirmed, glancing at the navigation officer for a response. He wanted the officer to answer the statement. He wanted the calculations to be sure and without error and he wanted the navigation officer’s answer to be strong and unhesitant.
“Yes, sir. Three hours.”
Mahlberg turned to Kadow, who had been watching the drama from the other end of the table. “Three hours and Prince of Wales is ours.”
“And the Home Fleet belongs to the submariners,” Kadow said.
“Cheer up, old friend,” Mahlberg said. “If we’ve done quickly with Prince of Wales we can turn and take on the Home Fleet as well.” He saw that the idea troubled Kadow. It was apparent that his first officer was uncertain if Mahlberg was jesting.
“Of course,” Kadow said, keeping his opinion to himself.
“You don’t think it beyond us, do you? Pick up a load of fuel on the way to the party and show those U-boats what high-seas action really is.”
“We had not planned for that. We have no instructions regarding the Home Fleet.”
“Nor had we planned to encounter that British cruiser so early in the voyage. We did and we are still on schedule. We simply radio Group North with our intentions and location and have a tanker meet us.” He turned to his navigation officer. “There are two tankers, about here,” he said, tapping the chart. “Am I correct?”
The navigation officer nodded. “Yes, sir. At last reports, undetected. I can contact them and arrange a rendezvous if you so order, sir.”
“Don’t be premature,” Kadow reprimanded the navigation officer.
Mahlberg smiled. “Don’t tell me that you’ve grown cautious, Kadow. Between Frey’s guns and Sea Lion’s speed we can accomplish our mission and still give the Home Fleet a bloody nose.”
“I was not being cautious,” Kadow said, obviously stung by Mahlberg’s comment.