The most dangerous job, so far as discovery was concerned, was getting into the tank. This could only be done through its two small hatches. Freya went first and we spent several uncomfortable seconds as, lying flat on the moonlit surface of the tank, she pulled open one of the hatches and slipped inside. Apparently no one had seen her. She closed the hatch and opened up the driver’s protecting flap. Fortunately this was in shadow and we passed the ammunition through without fear of discovery. Then the three of us went back to the hold. This time we closed up the cases after filling the sacks with ammunition, and when we emerged on to the fo’c’sle again, we put back the trapdoor. We made the well deck without incident. But then David noticed the figure of the man on watch standing on the edge of the bridge. He was gazing in the direction of the destroyer. At length he turned and very deliberately stared the length of the ship. I felt he must see us. But he moved towards the other end of the bridge and disappeared from view behind the chart room. We hesitated a moment and then crossed the patch of moonlight into the shelter of the tanks. After passing the second load of ammunition to Freya, we climbed in through the driver’s flap, closing it behind us.
Schmidt had had the foresight to provide sandwiches. I appreciated this, for I was by now extremely hungry. The quarters were cramped and uncomfortable, though the tank had been designed to hold a crew of four. Freya was marvellous. She was suffering both physically and mentally from her long imprisonment in the munition case. Fresh from my experience of Sedel’s deed-box, I understood how she felt. She was in great need of strenuous exercise to free her cramped muscles, and she was suffering from a sense of claustrophobia.
The moonlight filtered in through the gun vents, casting thin white beams across the dark interior of the tank. Schmidt had taken up his post in the gun turret, whilst David was in the driver’s seat. Placed opposite Freya, as I was, it was not long before I noticed that she was suffering from violent shivers every now and then. It was the sense of being closed up, and at length I leaned forward and gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. She turned and I saw that her face was very pale and that she was biting her lips. She took my hand then and held it tight. It seemed to help her, for after a time her grip relaxed and she fell asleep with her head against the butt of a machine-gun.
We had divided the night up into three watches of two hours each. David took the first watch. I relieved him at four in the morning, having slept fitfully. When he woke me, I found that Freya’s hand was still in mine. Her head was bowed over the gun and her muscles were relaxed. My arm was cramped, but I dared not let go her hand for fear of waking her. Schmidt took over at six.
I woke him by tapping against his legs, which extended below the turret. The moon had set and it was very dark inside the tank, so that I had to feel for them. I was by then becoming very tired of my position. Nevertheless, I slept soundly, and the next thing I knew was that someone was shaking me. It was Freya, and as I opened my mouth to speak, she put her hand over it. It felt warm and soft against my lips. Shafts of sunlight threaded into the interior of the tank, which was now quite light. The ship was alive about us. Orders were being shouted and there was the clatter of boots on the steel deck plates.
‘It’s past nine,’ she whispered in my ear. ‘And they’ve discovered that we’re missing. They’re searching the hold.’
I sat up and looked through my gun sights. I could see the whole of the for’ard part of the ship. The grey superstructure of the bridge shone in the morning sunshine. And beyond was blue sky sweeping down to the shimmering green of the sea. There was not a cloud to be seen and the sun was already high in the sky on the port bow. The position of the sun told me that we were still headed for the Kattegat. Presumably we had not yet dropped our escort. The trapdoor to the hold was open and I saw one of the volunteers come out. He climbed the ladder to the bridge and was met by Sedel. He shouted something and Sedel cursed.
Schmidt came down from his perch in the gun turret. His unshaven chin accentuated the pallor of his face. But though he looked tired, almost ill, his eyes were as alive as ever. He had a word with David, who climbed quietly out of the driver’s seat and joined us in the body of the tank.
‘Freya, you will pass up the ammunition when required,’ Schmidt said in a low voice. ‘Mr Shiel, you will take over this gun, and Mr Kilmartin, you will stay where you are. If they begin searching these tanks before the escort is dropped, we shall have to show our hand. That will be unfortunate. But I do not think they will. It is now nine-forty-five and they are due to part from the escort at any moment. Then they will take control of the ship. The Norwegians will be taken for’ard. When I am certain that all the volunteers are either in the fo’c’sle or on the bridge, I shall open fire. I shall blow away each end of the bridge, and you will both fire a few bursts with your machine-guns in order to test the accuracy of your aim. Under no circumstances must any of the volunteers be allowed to reach the well deck alive. Our only danger is if we are taken in the rear. We shall have nothing to fear from the crew, only the volunteers. The only way they can get aft is by means of the well deck. It is your business, with the machine-guns, to see they do not leave the fo’c’sle. We have plenty of ammunition.’
I cannot begin to describe the impression Schmidt created. It was strange to see this shabby little Jew, unshaven and filthy with oil, issuing precise and elaborate orders for action. And yet it was not incongruous. It was in the character of the man. I remembered the impression I had had of him in my office, a hunted, frightened man, fleeing from justice. Physically he still gave that impression of weakness. Yet there was neither weakness nor indecision in his black eyes. He gave us our orders as though he were arranging the mechanism of a machine. He brought to a scene of action the cool, clear brain of an engineer, and at zero hour he made his dispositions and explained his plan as though he were in a laboratory about to conduct an important experiment.
When he had finished, he climbed back into the turret. I was completely awake now, and I waited, my mind alert and my eyes fixed on my field of vision, with only the slightest void in my stomach to indicate that we were about to go into action.
There was much coming and going in the fo’c’sle. Sedel was constantly issuing orders, and once Marburg himself appeared, his features as expressionless as ever. It was strange to be bottled up in that tank on such a beautiful morning. Stranger still to imagine the burst of action that would break out in this ship as soon as the escort had been dropped. Everything was so bright and fresh, with promise of summer in the warmth of the sunshine. I thought of the battle of the River Plate. Fought in conditions of bright sunlight, the combatants must have felt much as I did at the thought of fighting on a day that was so obviously made for pleasure.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of all the men I could see on the fo’c’sle standing motionless, gazing to port. I guessed that the escort was closing with the Thirlmere, before she came into my field of vision. Very sleek and beautiful, and rather deadly she looked, with the bow wave creaming white against her grey hull. She came up fast to within a stone’s throw. I could see the gold braid on the commander’s cap as he hailed us through cupped hands.
I could not hear what he said. But after receiving a reply from our bridge, the destroyer sheered off and swung away from us in a great arc. The captain had come to the port side of the bridge and stood watching the destroyer as she fell astern of us. His figure, rigid against the cloudless blue of the sky, was joined by two others — Marburg and Sedel.
Five, ten minutes — I don’t know how long they stayed there watching the departure of their escort. Time meant nothing to me at that moment. A minute seemed a lifetime.