The freighter astern of the torpedoed ship was already swinging wildly out of line, the side of her tall hull glowing scarlet in the flames of her burning consort, the fires reflecting in her scuttles and ports so that her cabins appeared to be lit from within.
A destroyer was charging down the lines of ships, and faintly above the grumble of depth-charges and engine room fans Lindsay heard her loud-hailer bellowing, ‘Keep closed up, Pole Star! Do not heave to!’
Stannard said thickly, ‘God, look at her!’
The stricken freighter was beginning to heel over, and in the leaping flames and sparks it was possible to see the deck cargo starting to tear adrift and go crashing through the tilting steel bulwarks as if they were matchwood. Army lorries lurched drunkenly overboard, and from aft another column of fire burst out of a sealed hold, the flames licking along the upper deck and setting several lifeboats ablaze.
The destroyer swept down Benbecula’s side, her- wash surging against the hull plates like a great wave breaking on a jetty. Just briefly before she vanished astern Lindsay saw her gun mountings swinging round and the crouching seamen on her quarterdeck beside the depth-charge racks.
Dancy called, ‘Pole Star’s stopping, sir.’
Someone else said hoarsely, ‘He’s going to try and pick up survivors!’
Lindsay gripped the screen and watched the sinking freighter swinging helplessly abeam in the heaving water. The other ship, Pole Star, obviously intended to ignore the escort’s order, and already he could see a boat jerking down its falls, so clear, in the reflected fires it could have been midday.
‘Starboard ten.’ For a few seconds nobody moved or spoke.
Then Jolliffe said, ‘Starboard ten, sir. Ten o’ starboard wheel on.’
Lindsay watched the bows swinging very slowly towards the burning ship. ‘Midships.’ The bows were still edging round until the motionless Pole Star suddenly appeared in direct line with the stem.
‘Steady.’ Lindsay hurried out on to the wing again.’ Over his shoulder he snapped, ‘Yeoman, make to Pole Star. Resume course and speed. Do not stop.’
He heard Ritchie’s shuttered lamp clicking busily but kept his eyes fixed on the ship ahead.
Stannard exclaimed, ‘We’ll ram her if we keep on this course, sir!’
‘Exactly.’ Lindsay did not move.
Several miles astern a starshell burst almost level with the clouds, and he heard the immediate crack of gunfire. That destroyer must have caught one on the surface.
Ritchie said, ‘Pole Star requests permission to pick up survivors, sir.’
‘Denied!’
Stannard looked at Dancy’s stricken face and shrugged. If Lindsay did not check Benbecula’s onward charge they would hit the other ship fine on her port quarter. At nearly fifteen knots, Benbecula would carve through her poop like an axe into a tree.
‘Pole Star is under way again, sir.’ Ritchie had to clear his throat before adding, ‘She’s turnin’!T ‘Port fifteen.’
Lindsay stayed by the screen, his heart pounding in time with the engines. The Pole Star’s master had ignored a necessary signal to try to save a few lives. It had taken the sight of Benbecula’s massive bows to make him change his mind. As the freighter turned heavily on to her proper course the sinking ship drifted into view down her starboard side. Lindsay watched the blazing hull fixedly as if under a spell. When Pole Star moved clear it was like the opening door of a furnace. Most of the freighter was ablaze now and she was going down by the stern, her poop and after well deck blanketed in steam as the beam sea eddied and swirled over the heated metal.
A signalman called, ‘Sir! There’s men in the water! I can see ‘em by a raft!’
Ritchie said harshly, ‘Just you watch the commodore’s ship, Bunts!’
But the signalman turned towards him, his — voice breaking. ‘But, Yeo, there’s blokes down there! I saw one wavin’ at us!’ He sounded close to tears.
Ritchie strode across the vibrating gratings and gripped his arm. ‘Wot d’you want us to do, lad? Bloody well stop and get our arse blown off!’ He swung him almost savagely. ‘Up at the ‘ead of the convoy there’s two troopers with Gawd knows ‘ow many squaddies on board, see? If we’re goin’ to get through we’ve got to stick together!’
The signalman was little more than a boy. ‘I know that, Yeo.’ He dashed one hand across his eyes and picked up his Aldis lamp. ‘It’s just that….’
Ritchie interrupted gently, ‘You don’t ‘ave to spell it out, lad.’ He sighed as the signalman moved slowly to the opposite side of the bridge. Away from the drifting inferno which was now almost abeam. He could feel the furnace heat on his face through the wheelhouse door, caught the foul stench of charred paint and woodwork. A ship dying. One more for the scoreboard.
The bosun’s mate by the voicepipes said bitterly, ‘Look at the skipper. Just standin’ there watchin’ ‘em fry! The cold-blooded bastard!’
Ritchie pivoted on his heels and thrust his face within inches of the seaman’s. ‘If I ‘ear you talk that sort of squit again I’ll ‘ave you on a charge!’ He turned slightly to watch Lindsay’s head and shoulders silhouetted against the angry glare. “E’s worth twenty of your sort, an’ you’ll eat your bloody words ‘if you lives long enough!’
Lindsay heard none of it. He watched the other ship’s bows begin to rise slowly above the litter of drifting flotsam, heard the dull roar of inrushing water, the screech of machinery tearing free to crash through the burning hull to speed its end. Some sort of fighter plane had broken from its crate and was suspended across one of the blazing holds. In the red glow it looked like a charred crucifix, he thought dully.
With a final roar the ship slid steeply under the surface, leaving a maelstrom of exploding air bubbles and frothing foam. Then nothing.
A messenger said, ‘Captain, sir. From W/T office. Six plus U-boats in convoy’s vicinity.’
Stannard snapped, ‘Very well. Tell my yeoman in the chart room.’
He walked out to the wing, sucking in the cold air like a man brought back from drowning.
He said, ‘Poor bastards. D’you think the escorts will be able to find any of them, sir?’
Lindsay’s shoulders seemed to sag. ‘Listen.’ Astern the depth-charge explosions were rising to a drumming crescendo.
Stannard opened his mouth and then closed it, his mind suddenly sickened. The depth-charges would do what the torpedo had failed to accomplish. He had seen many hundreds of dead and gutted fish left in the wake of a depth-charge attack. Men in the water would fare no better, except they would know what was coming.
Lindsay continued to stare astern, his mind still cringing from the suddenness of death. He should be used to it. Hardened, as his half-trained company imagined him to be. But you never did get used to it. Close the ranks. More speed. Don’t look back. His mouth twisted in a tight smile. That was the most important bit. Don’t ever look back.
Stannard saw the smile and said quietly, ‘I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t understand.’
Lindsay turned his back’on the sea and looked at Stannard’s dark outline against the dazzle paint.
‘Stop thinking about those men, Pilot.’ He saw Stannard stiffen and added coldly, ‘Another few feet and it would have been us. Think about that and about how you would have reacted then.’
An hour passed with nothing to break the regular beat of engines, the sea noises beyond the bridge. In the new darkness it looked as if the lines of ships had drawn closer together for mutual support. Another illusion.
Ritchie found Lindsay in his chair. ‘From escort, sir. No survivors.’
Half to himself Lindsay said, ‘And no U-boat sunk.’ ‘No, sir.’