‘Kaleun?’ It was Ziegler. Lorenz raised his collar before pulling the curtain aside. ‘You wanted some aspirin?’
‘Yes,’ said Lorenz hoarsely. ‘Thank you.’
The wind had abated and a dull, dejected light filtered through a ragged canopy of cloud. White lines spaced at regular intervals traveled across a malachite sea. Falk was looking through his binoculars, listening to Engel and Krausse’s conversation. He was about to remind them of the need for constant vigilance, when curiosity got the better of him and he chose to remain silent.
‘So,’ said Engel. ‘I was lying on a sofa in the Casino Bar, and Hauser — do you know him? — Commander of U-395—he asked Madam to show us one of her films. I’d heard about them but I’d never seen one. Hauser was very drunk and waving a bottle of champagne in the air. Madam said no and made some excuse or other; something about the girls not having had an opportunity to perform, I don’t know. Anyway, Hauser wasn’t put off. He kept on and on at her, begged and pleaded, said that his men had been at sea for so long they’d all forgotten how to fuck. “We need to be reminded,” he said. Eventually, she gave in, and when Hauser and his crew went upstairs I followed them, just tagged along. Madam set up the projector, the lights went out, and the film started. Well, how can I put this? It was a real education. Perhaps the women in this film were freaks, you know? Like you’d find in a circus? Because they got themselves into positions that I didn’t think were possible. And there was this incredible scene, set in what looked like a respectable drawing room, in which several large objects were laid out on the floor in front of this little brunette, she was tiny, no bigger than a child, and she…’ Engel stopped. ‘Are we turning?’
‘I believe so,’ said Falk.
‘Shit! I hope we’re not going back into that storm.’ Engel spat over the bulwark.
‘What’s that?’ said Sauer. ‘Starboard quarter forty-five degrees. In the water.’
The watchmen turned so that they were all facing in the same direction.
Falk raised his binoculars. ‘I can’t see anything, Number One.’
‘Nor me,’ Krausse agreed.
‘What did it look like?’ asked Falk.
Sauer hesitated. ‘I thought I saw something…’
‘What?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘But not a periscope,’ said Falk.
‘No,’ Sauer responded, ‘definitely not a periscope.’
‘All right,’ said Falk. ‘Probably just flotsam. Stay alert.’
After a few minutes of silent observation had elapsed, Sauer heard the ladder thrumming — the sound of someone ascending. He stiffened and announced: ‘Captain on the bridge.’ Lorenz climbed out of the conning tower and stood next to Falk: ‘New instructions from headquarters.’
Falk wiped the lenses of his binoculars. ‘A convoy?’
‘Over twenty ships. All U-boats: maximum speed. We’re likely to get there first.’
‘How long will it take us, sir?’
‘Fourteen hours. Twelve hours if we’re lucky. The weather forecast says the storm is moving north.’
‘Will you look at that,’ shouted Engel. ‘God in heaven! Look at the size of it!’
Next to the boat the waves had been parted by something immense, rising up from below the surface — shiny, bluish-grey. It arched out of the sea and produced a waterspout that rose higher than the conning tower. A small dorsal fin preceded the appearance of broad, notched flukes. Within seconds the whale had disappeared, leaving only a transparent mist over a wide eddy.
Falk called down the communications pipe. ‘Hard a-port!’ Lorenz nodded his approval and said, ‘A sensible precaution. We should give that monster a very wide berth. One swipe from that tail and our rudder will be off. Very good, Falk, I have the conn.’
The boat veered away but the creature almost immediately closed the gap. It could be seen through the transparency of the waves, a long, aquamarine shadow almost thirty meters in length. Once again, it surfaced and forced air through its blowhole.
‘Shoo, shoo,’ said Engel, flicking his hands in the air as if he were trying to discourage a troublesome fly. They were all still laughing when Krausse hollered, ‘Aircraft, dead astern!’
Lorenz was about to shout ‘Alarm!’ but the pilot had already commenced his attack run and it was far too late to dive. He grabbed the communications pipe: ‘Right, full rudder.’ Falk leapt to the rear platform and manned the 2 cm flack cannon. The plane was coming at them low.
‘Oh, fuck,’ hollered Falk. ‘The cannon’s jammed.’ He worked the charging mechanism to load the new round in the chamber. It still didn’t work. Sauer calmly detached the magazine, smacked it on the breach and reseated it in the welclass="underline" Falk jacked the action and swept the weapon around to track the fighter. With uncharacteristic agility, Sauer skipped out of the way and retrieved a spare magazine.
‘Evasive maneuvers,’ Lorenz shouted into the hatch. The boat turned sharply and crashed into a high wave as the useless cannon traced a silent arc. Through a curtain of shimmering spray they watched the unhurried descent of four bombs. Three of them exploded off the starboard saddle tank, creating a line of tall fountains. The effect was ornamental, like a water feature in an eighteenth-century landscaped garden. A loud splitting noise made Lorenz look down from the bulwark in horror. The fourth bomb had landed on the painted wooden grating and was now bouncing toward the bridge. A shower of splinters followed each impact, and the bomb’s progress was recorded by a trail of gouges in the deck. As the boat heeled and rolled, the lethal device slowed, swerved, and slid off the port side, its nose propeller still spinning madly. The pilot had flown so low that their faces had been momentarily warmed by hot exhaust fumes. So low, that the bomb hadn’t fused. Lorenz gazed at the receding plane in stunned silence. He had expected it to bank and return, but instead the pilot followed a straight course over the sea.
‘Why isn’t he coming back?’ asked Engel.
‘He’s used up all his bombs,’ Lorenz answered.
‘God, that was close.’ Engel took off his woolen hat and raked his hair.
‘It certainly was,’ Lorenz agreed.
‘That last one,’ said Sauer, ‘fancy it being a dud.’
‘A miracle,’ said Engel.
‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far,’ said Lorenz. ‘However I…’ As Lorenz looked up he was struck dumb by the appearance of another Martlet dropping out from beneath the cloud cover.
Krausse was screaming: ‘Aircraft astern!’
Again, it was too late to dive. Lorenz called into the communications pipe: ‘Hard a’starboard!’
Falk repositioned the flack cannon, took careful aim, depressed the firing lever, and swore: ‘You fucking hopeless piece of shit!’ In frustration, he smacked the top of the breach with his fist and was rewarded with a satisfying clunk. When he depressed the firing lever again the cannon roared to life, and a quick three-round burst was directed harmlessly into the ocean. He raised the barrel and emptied the rest of the magazine without even bothering to aim as the fighter flew past. The boat was turning quickly enough to ruin the pilot’s attack run, and the plane passed at a safe distance. No bombs were released. The pitch of the plane’s engine suddenly altered. There was a spluttering sound, then some distinctly unhealthy mechanical coughing, before the engine cut out altogether.
‘I got it!’ Falk exclaimed. ‘I fucking got it!’
Lorenz watched, transfixed, as the Martlet’s canopy slid back. ‘Get out,’ he whispered. ‘Get out!’
The pilot negotiated a tight circle as he fought to maintain control, but the plane lost altitude, and one of its wing tips touched the water. It tumbled across the surface, disintegrating, and the pilot was ejected from his cockpit. He was still airborne when the fuel tanks exploded, and his body was engulfed by flames. Burning debris showered the bridge.