Her loud-hailer squeaked and then boomed into life. ‘I have a message for you, Captain!’
Lindsay trained his glasses on the slow moving destroyer. The open bridge with the officers and lookouts standing down from their last battle, their last kill.
Her captain’s face swam into the lenses, reddened by sea and wind, but the same man he had seen in the office at Scapa. He, at least, had something to be proud of. He had sunk a U-boat and damaged at least one other.
Lindsay picked up the megaphone and shouted, ‘Well done, Merlin!’
As he said the words he felt a new upsurge of resentment and despair. To this young destroyer officer Benbecula would not be seen as anything more than just another charge to be escorted and protected. A big, vulnerable liability.
The loud-hailer continued, ‘From the commodore. You will stand by Demodocus and act as her escort. He feels the risk to the troopships is too great to slow down.’ He added almost apologetically, ‘The cruiser too is somewhat naked under these conditions.’
Behind him Lindsay heard Dancy whisper fiercely, ‘What’s he saying? No escort? We’re being left behind?’
The destroyer was starting to gather speed again. The voice called, ‘By dawn tomorrow you should be joined by other escorts. But I’m pretty sure there are no more U-boats in the vicinity now. If there are, they’ll keep after the convoy.’
Lindsay lifted one hand to him. ‘Good luck!’
He watched the destroyer surging ahead. Good luck. That young man certainly had that, and more. But it was hard to hide the hurt, the knowledge that he could have been on that bridge. Being useful.
He turned his back on the other ships. ‘Signal Demodocus to take station astern. Find out her exact speed and reduce revs accordingly.’
Stannard was still watching the oil-tanker. She was drawing away so fast it made it appear as if Benbecula was going astern. Lights were flashing and more signal flags were breaking from the commodore’s yards. The escorts re-formed and the cruiser altered course to lead the single line of merchantmen like an armoured knight watching over his private possessions. In fifteen minutes the convoy was so far away that the,ships which had been old friends had lost their meaning and personality. In an hour there was little to see at all. Just a smudge of smoke on the horizon, a single bright flash of sunlight on the bridge screen of an escort as she turned in another sweep for echoes from below.
Ritchie said quietly, ‘Now ‘ere’s a fine thing, Swain.’
Jolliffe darted a glance at the officers and nodded. ‘I know. A D.S.O. for the commodore, D.S.C. for the escort commander, and medals all round, I shouldn’t wonder.’ He grinned. ‘An’ us? We’ll be lucky if we sees the bloody dawn tomorrow, let alone a soddin’ escort!’
Stannard said, ‘Look at the damage, sir.’
Lindsay followed him on to the port wing and studied the ship astern. It was a great gash, as if another vessel had rammed her at fulll speed. Smoke was still billowing from the hole and the deck immediately above. But there was less of it, and he could see plenty of activity on the forecastle where men were working to clear away some of the debris from the fallen derricks. It must be like standing on one gigantic floating bomb, he thought. And if the fire got out of hand again or the next bulkhead became overheated, that would be that.
He said, ‘Fall out action stations.’
Stannard looked surprised.
‘Well, Pilot, if there is a U-boat about we can’t see it, and we can’t damn well hear it, so where’s the point of wearing everyone down for nothing.’ He touched Stannard’s arm: ‘Anyway, if there was one of the commodore’s Huns about, I think he would have announced his presence by now.’
Stannard nodded. ‘I guess so.’
‘But double the lookouts and keep all short-range weapons crews closed up.’
Stannard hurried away as Goss mounted the bridge ladder and stood breathing heavily for several seconds. Then he swivelled his head slowly from side to side as if still unable to grasp that the convoy had vanished.
Ritchie called, ‘Ammo ship ‘as R/T contact now, sir.’
Lindsay strode quickly to the W/T office where Hussey and his telegraphists slumped wearily in their steel chairs.
Hussey said, ‘Here you are, sir.’ He handed a microphone to Lindsay and added shortly, ‘Permission to smoke, sir? My lads are just about dead beat.’
Lindsay nodded and snapped down the button. ‘Benbecula to Demodocus. This is the captain speaking. How is it going?’
The telegraphists looked up at the bulkhead speaker as a tired voice replied, ‘Thanks for staying with us. We’re not doing too bad. But the collision bulkhead is weeping a bit and I’ve got the hands shoring it up as best they can. There’s still a fire in the forrard hold, — and we’ve no breathing apparatus. Nobody can work down there for more’n minutes at’ a time.’ They heard his sigh very loud on the speaker. ‘Can’t make much more’n four knots. If
that bloody bulkhead collapses the hold will flood. With the weight of cargo forrard it’ll damn near lift my arse out of the drink! Then he laughed. ‘Still, better that way than how the Jerry intended, eh?’
Lindsay said, ‘Keep a good lookout astern, Captain. I’m going to drop a boat and send some breathing gear and extra hands.’
‘I’m obliged.’ A pause. ‘A doctor too if you can spare him. Mine was killed by the blast and I’ve twelve-lads in a bad way.’
‘Will do.’ Lindsay saw Ritchie in the doorway. ‘Tell the first lieutenant. Quick as you can.’
He hesitated and then spoke again into the microphone. ‘At the first sign of trouble, Captain, bale out. I’ll do what I can.’
The speaker went dead and he returned to the bridge wing.
Goss said, ‘I’ve got things going, sir. Boat will be ready for lowering in five minutes. I’m sending Lieutenant Hunter to take charge. Doc’s already on the boat deck.’, He added, ‘I’ll go myself if you like.’
‘No.’ Lindsay watched the port motor boat swinging clear of its davits. ‘I need you here.’
Goss shrugged. ‘Won’t make much difference anyway if another U-boat arrives.’
It took another half-hour to ferry the required men and equipment to the other ship and recover the motor boat. Groups of unemployed seamen and marines crowded the Benbecula’s poop to watch the activity as hoses were brought to bear on the burning hold and a winch came to life and started to haul some of the debris clear of the fore deck.
All afternoon the work continued while the two ships ploughed across the blue water at little more than a snail’s pace.
Aboard Benbecula the atmosphere was unreal and strangely carefree. In close convoy, with U-boats reported in every direction, death had seemed very near. But like most men in war, it had to happen to others, never to you. Now, without escort or aid of — any kind, the mood was entirely different. Men went about their duties with a kind of casual indifference. Like people Lindsay had seen in the London air-raids. They could do nothing, so what the hell, the mood seemed to suggest.
C.P.O. Archer and his men had checked the liferafts for instant lowering, and as the sun began to dip towards a hazy horizon most of the ship’s company appeared to accept the inevitable.
The last dog watch had almost run its course when a signalman said sharply, ‘There’s someone callin’ us up, sir!’
Ritchie had been squatting on a flag locker, legs outstretched as if asleep, but he was across to the open wing before Lindsay could move from his chair.
‘I don’t see nothin‘1’
The signalman pointed. ‘There. On the upper bridge, Yeo.’