Greta came hurrying breathlessly into the bridge in boots and oilskins. She looked alarmed. "I thought we were simply going to warn him off!"
"I tried," Drexler said. "He ignored me."
"My God, Jürgen, I thought you were going to sink both our ships!"
"There was never any danger and no need to break off your biological investigation. Everything is fine." He swung around to the pilot. "As for you, Hart, I must remind you again that you're a hired aerial consultant, an American national, and have no say, and no right to comment, on the operation of this ship. And I told you to stay off the bridge."
But Owen wasn't listening. He was staring out the bridge's side windows at the Norwegian whaler. "He isn't giving up," he said quietly.
Indeed, the Aurora Australis had renewed its course for the receding whales, its bow wave steadily climbing again. They could recognize Jansen on the wing of his bridge, making an obscene gesture.
"Unbelievable." Drexler frowned. "Ridiculous obstinacy. Well then. Full speed ahead!"
"Jürgen, no," Greta said. "We've made our point."
The political officer ignored her and picked up the engine room intercom. "Speed, dammit! I asked for speed!"
"Jürgen, you've made your gesture— "
"Quiet!" Too late he tried to bite it back. She looked stricken. He took a breath, laboring with his emotions. "Please, Greta. It's time to establish claim to these waters and fulfill what the Reich Minister sent us down here for.
I'm not afraid of a few damned whalers. We'll have it out now, and then it will be over."
"Jürgen…" she pleaded.
"Captain, a course to intercept," he ordered. "Hart, get out."
The pilot went to the bow again, his jaw clenched. Everyone a damn fool, as Fritz had said. He didn't see the little sailor but the German pilots, Lambert and Kauffman, joined him as spectators. The ships were racing on more parallel courses this time, the Schwabenland angling toward the Norwegian whaler and the spume of the whales a gossamer lure to the surging vessels. The sky continued to darken and the horizon was shrinking. "Snow," Hart predicted to himself.
The German ship was straining to cut the Aurora Australis off. Again the gap of water narrowed between them, but more slowly this time. The harpoonist was back, Hart saw, and the side of the whaler that had sustained damage was facing away. Like a recurring nightmare, nothing seemed to have changed; the collision seemed doomed to happen all over again.
Then Jansen appeared on his bridge wing like a huge black crow, oilskins flapping in the wind. He lifted his hands in warning.
He had a gun, a rifle or shotgun.
Hart looked up at the bridge. Greta was gone. Drexler appeared calm, looking at the Norwegian with amused scorn.
The two ships came closer, the foamy black water between them like a rushing chute. They were going to collide again.
Jansen aimed.
"Get down!" Hart shouted, lunging for Kauffman. There was a rattle like hail and a boom snatched away by the wind, the noise reaching them after the pellets had. The Norwegian had fired.
Lambert had fallen on top of them, howling. "Shit! Oh, damn! Damn, damn, damn!" He'd been hit. There were bright drops of blood on the deck and the pilot's parka was pierced by several dark shotgun holes, some welling red.
Hart jerked up. The gap between the ships was widening, the Schwabenland finally swerving away. The crazy Norwegian fired another blast, this time toward the bridge. Hart couldn't see anyone up there and supposed they'd ducked. More pellets rang against the steel.
"Jesus, it hurts," Lambert groaned.
Then there was a deeper report, and then several more. The SS mountaineers had emerged with semiautomatic carbines and were firing back. Now the Norwegians were scattering, Jansen ducking into his bridge and others sprawling on deck, either from being hit or in a scramble for cover. "Christ on a crutch," Hart breathed. Drexler and Jansen had started a war.
"Help me, Owen!" It was Kauffman. The German pilot wanted to carry his injured friend below. Nodding, the American took Lambert's legs as Kauffman did his shoulders and they carried him to a hatchway. They could hear heavier bullets striking the Schwabenland: more of the Norwegians were firing back, probably with hunting rifles. The two pilots accidentally slammed Lambert's shoulder into the hatch coaming as they were dragging him through and he yelped in pain.
"For God's sake, let me walk to the infirmary, you idiots! It's not that bad unless you finish me off."
They set him down. "Sorry, Siegfried," Kauffman said, gasping for breath. "We weren't prepared for this."
"Now I have to face that animal doctor Schmidt. Of all the luck…"
The companionway steps rang from pounding feet above and Drexler was on top of them, breathless and excited. "You two!" he shouted at Kauffman and Hart. "Get to the planes! The one with the working radio! We need to use the advantage we have; you're going to take some of my troops up with you and end this once and for all!"
"What?" Kauffman asked.
"We have some grenades, some explosives. We're going to attack from both air and sea and end this as quickly as we can, before more Germans are hurt!"
Hart groaned. "Jürgen, you're going to bomb them? For Christ's sake, let's break this off before someone gets— "
"Silence! Another word from you and I'll have you tossed overboard! If you don't want a part of this, coward, then get below!"
"I'll be damned if I'm going to bomb— "
"Fine. You're out of it. You!" He pointed at Kauffman. "Get the plane warmed up. That's an order."
Kauffman had paled. "Jürgen, Owen is right— "
"Now, dammit! They fired first. They're lunatics! Crazy men! Do you want more of your shipmates hit?"
Kauffman bit his lip, agonizing. "Is this an order?"
"On the authority of Hermann Göring and the SS!"
"I want it in writing."
"I'll carve it in stone! Now go!"
He nodded unhappily. "All right."
"Go back on the starboard side in case there's more gunfire. You'll be shielded."
"Yes, Major." He left for the plane. Drexler bounded back up to the bridge.
Hart helped Lambert walk down to the infirmary and then stood inside the ship, undecided. The Schwabenland tilted first one way, then another, swerving as it danced with the Norwegians. He was tired of being called a coward. He walked aft to where the seaplane catapults were. The propellers of Passat were beginning to spin and the Aurora Australis appeared headed for them again. Hart ran to the airplane's hatch and climbed inside. Looking down the dim fuselage he saw four of the mountaineers crouched there, sorting out hand grenades. One had a submachine gun. Everyone has gone mad, he thought. Kauffman was studying his instruments in the cockpit. "I'll co-pilot, Reinhard," the American offered grimly. "It's wrong to stick you with this lunacy alone."
The German glanced back and shook his head. "No, get out of the plane, Owen. I appreciate the gesture but better that only one of us has to live with this. With any luck, I'll end this quickly and chase them away."
"If they shoot and hit you…"
"They won't. All they've got is a few rifles. Get out."
"I'm not leaving, dammit."
"Get out now! Now! Look, they're approaching, I need to get us off! Please!"
Hart looked. The whaler was looming closer again. Gunfire crackled. For God's sake, what was Jansen doing? He hesitated just a moment longer.
"All right." To hell with it. Let the Germans have their war.
Hart dropped out of the plane's belly and a sailor slammed the hatchway shut. The engine howled and the airplane shivered, ready to go. Hart backed away toward the Boreas. Kauffman glanced outside, grinning fiercely, and gave a thumbs-up. Beyond, the American could see the looming hull of the Aurora Australis. A crewman reached to fire the catapult.