‘The other ship’s going down, sir!’ Dancy was shouting, his voice very loud after; the crash of gunfire.
‘Yes.’
Lindsay watched rigidly as the stricken ship began to tilt over towards him. She must have been hit badly, deep inside the hull, and the fires which he had imagined to have begun on her superstructure had in fact surged right up through several decks. He could see the gaping holes, angry red, the criss-cross of broken frames and fallen masts, and found himself praying there was nobody left to die in such horror.
More distant flashes, and this time he heard the shells pass overhead almost gently, the high trajectory making them whisper like birds on the wing.
Maxwell’s bells tinkledd again, and seconds later Lindsay heard him shout, ‘One hit!’
A fire glowed beyond the sinking ship, just long enough for Maxwell’s guns to get off another round each.
Then it died, and Lindsay guessed the enemy had turned end on, either to close with this impudent attacker or to run, as before.
He would have picked up the short signal and would probably be wondering what sort of ship he was tackling. Benbecula’s name was not on the general list, as far as he knew, and it might take the German time to realise what was happening.
‘Enemy has ceased fire, sir.’ Maxwell seemed out of breath.
‘Very well.’ Lindsay watched the dark line of the other ship’s hull getting closer and closer to the sea. ‘Tell Number One to prepare rafts for lowering.’ Dancy asked, ‘Will we stop, sir?’
Lindsay rubbed his eyes and then raised the glasses again. ‘Not yet.’
A sullen explosion threw more wreckage over the other ship’s side, and he imagined he could see a flashlight moving aft by her poop. One lonely survivor, he thought dully.
‘Slow ahead together.’ He heard men pounding along the boat deck. ‘Starboard fifteen.’ He watched the steam, rising like a curtain, and knew the sea was exploring the damage, quenching the fires too late.
As if from a great distance he heard Stannard say, ‘We can’t stop yet, Sub. We’d be sitting ducks if that bastard is still about.’
‘Yes, I understand.’ But from his tone it was obvious Dancy did not. Like the others, he was probably thinking of the people who were trying to escape the flames only to face being frozen to death in minutes.
Lindsay climbed on to his chair and stared through the slit in the steel shutter. The slit was glowing red from the other ship’s fires, like a peephole in a furnace door. Like a fragment of hell.
He looked at the gyro repeater again. ‘Midships.’ They had almost crossed the ship’s stern when with a great roar of inrushing water she turned over and dived, the fire vanishing and plunging the sea once more into darkness.
Lindsay looked at his watch. Seven fifteen.
‘Prepare both motor boats for lowering, Pilot. Each will tow a raft. Number One will know what to do.’
‘I can see some red lights on the starboard beam, sir.’ Ritchie lowered his telescope. ‘Might be in time for ‘em.’
‘Yes.’
Lindsay heard the rumble of power-operated davits, the protesting squeaks from the falls as the two motor boats jerked down the ship’s side. If their motors would start under these conditions it would be a miracle. ‘Ready, sir.’
‘Stop engines.’
Another set of sounds as the boats were slipped and took the released rafts in tow. Both motors were working, and Lindsay thanked God for an engineer like Fraser who kept an eye on such details.
‘Sky’s a bit brighter, sir.’ Stannard looked at Lindsay’s unmoving outline against the shutter.
The enemy had gone. Lindsay did not know how he could be sure, but he was. Slipped away again. Just like that last time. Leaving death in his wake. Blood on the water.
He stood up suddenly. ‘Yeoman, use the big searchlight. Tell the gunnery officer to expect an attack, but we’ll risk it.’
He walked to the door and then out on to the open wing. The searchlight’s glacier blue beam licked out from the upper bridge like something solid, and as it fanned down across the heaving water where the two boats and their tows stood out like bright toys, he saw the endless litter of flotsam and charred wreckage. Chairs and broken crates, empty liferafts and pieces of canvas. Here — and there a body floated, either spreadeagled face down in the water or bobbing in a lifejacket, its eyes like small stones as the beam swept low overhead.
There was a stench of oil and burned paint, and as the boats moved apart to begin a closer search Lindsay stood and waited, his body almost frozen with cold, but unable to move.
Stannard strode on to the gratings and said, ‘The first lieutenant has reported that Aikman has tried to kill himself. Cut his wrists with some scissors. But he’s still alive, sir.’ He stared past Lindsay as a boat stopped to pull someone aboard.
Lindsay nodded. ‘He couldn’t even do that properly, could he?’
He too was watching the motor boat as it gathered way again towards another dark clump in the water. The other personnel ship was probably further to the northwest, waiting for some light before attempting to brave the ice and the possibility of a new attack. She would have seen the gunfire, and may have thought it was a second enemy ship making the assault.
A torch stabbed across the water and Ritchie said, ‘One boat ‘as got eleven survivors, sir.’ He turned as the second boat’s light winked over the lazy swell. ‘She’s got eighteen, though Gawd knows ‘ow she’s managed to cram ‘em in.’
Lindsay wanted to ask him to call up the boats, to ask what was uppermost in his mind. But he was afraid. Afraid that by showing his fear he might make it happen. She could be in the other ship. Frightened but safe. Safe.
The search continued for a full hour. Round and round, in and out of the, great oil stain and its attendant corpses and fragments.
‘Recall the boats.’ Lindsay wiped the ice rime from his eyebrows, felt-the pain of cramp in his legs and hands. ‘Tell the sickbay to be ready.’
Entry ports in the hull clanged open and ready hands were waiting to sway the first survivors inboard. Goss came’ to the bridge and said, ‘Boats secured, sir. I’ve had to abandon the two rafts. They’re thick with ice.
I’d never get them hoisted.’ He watched Lindsay and then added, ‘There are five women amongst ‘em. I don’t know if they’ll survive after this.’
Lindsay gripped the screen. So the Atlantic had cheated him after all. He said, ‘Take over the con and get under way. I’m going below.’
By the time he reached the sickbay he was almost running, and as he stumbled past huddled figures cloaked in blankets, the busy sickberth attendants, he saw a young girl. sitting on a chair, hair black with oil, her uniform scorched as if by a hot iron, her face a mass of burns.
Boase looked across her head and said tersely, ‘We’ll do our best, sir.’
Lindsay ignored him, his face frozen like a mask as he stared around at the scene of pain and survival. One body lay by the door covered inn a blanket. One bare foot was;thrust into the harsh light, and with something like madness Lindsay pulled the covering from the girl’s face. She was very young, her features pinched tight with cold, captured at the moment of death. The sea water had frozen around her mouth and eyes so that she seemed to be crying even now. He covered her face, and after a small hesitation pulled the blanket over the protruding foot. As his fingers touched it he felt the contact like ice itself.
Without another word he turned and began the long climb to the bridge. The engines were pounding again, leaving the fragments floating and bobbing astern in their wake. She was with them. Back there in the Atlantic. Alone.
Take care, she had said. Will see you in Eden.
He reached the bridge and said, ‘Fall out action stations and secure.’ He looked at Stannard. ‘We will steer northeast for an hour and see what happens.’