‘Not too far,’ said the navigator, opening a compass on the warped, mildewed paper.
‘We could be there by tomorrow morning,’ Lorenz remarked.
Müller picked up a pencil, the end of which had been heinously chewed, and made a few calculations in the margins. ‘Only if the weather stays calm and we can maintain maximum speed.’
Lorenz looked at Graf who nodded and said, ‘I’ll go and see Fischer.’
U-330 raced through the night, bouncing from one foamy crest to the next, the noise of the engines penetrating all compartments: thumping, straining — pistons, crossheads, connecting rods, cranks — intake, compression, combustion, exhaust — prodigious mechanical power pushing the bow forward. The sea had the appearance of ruckled silk, and a crescent moon was encircled by stars. They arrived at their designated position earlier than expected, just as the sun (still buried and burning beneath the ocean) began to hemorrhage crimson light into a clear sky. Only a few rounded heaps of cloud floated above the horizon. Lorenz was just finishing a strong, bitter coffee when Juhl called down from the bridge, ‘Smoke, bearing three hundred.’ Leaving his empty cup on the chart table, Lorenz climbed up the ladder and inhaled the fresh, antiseptic breeze. He aimed his binoculars dead ahead and saw an indistinct smudge. As they drew closer the smudge broadened, becoming a thick charcoal band, and soon after, it was possible to discern mastheads and stacks.
‘They didn’t tell us it was going to be an armada,’ said Juhl. Lorenz counted the destroyers. There were three of them zigzagging ahead of the convoy. Juhl’s voice shook with frustration. ‘The message from U-boat command said they were lightly defended.’
‘Yes,’ Lorenz replied, ‘excellent intelligence.’
‘Perhaps we were given the wrong coordinates?’
‘Ah!’ Lorenz extended the exclamation enough to communicate not only surprise but also apprehension. ‘To starboard, thirty-three degrees relative. If I’m not mistaken that’s a fourth destroyer.’
‘What? Over there?’ Juhl raised his binoculars and made a whistling sound through his teeth. ‘Yes, that is a fourth destroyer.’ After a thoughtful pause he added, ‘And we’re on our own?’
‘Indeed.’
‘No more messages from headquarters?’
‘No more messages.’ Lorenz called down the hatch. ‘Half speed.’
U-330 was low in the water and approaching from the east. The rising sun would hide the conning tower in its glare. Lorenz considered the situation to be relatively safe and judged that he had sufficient time to establish positions and identify targets before diving. The sun duly appeared and was obligingly bright. He was keeping a judicious eye trained on the fourth destroyer when Juhl said, ‘God, they’re fast.’ The other three warships were considerably closer and producing high bow waves.
‘Yes,’ Lorenz answered, revising his plan and deciding to err on the side of caution. ‘Perhaps we’d better get out of their way.’
‘Shit!’ The voice belonged to Voigt, and its tone was incredulous.
Lorenz wheeled around and saw a thick black cloud rising from the back of the boat. Below, men were coughing and shouting: more smoke started to rise out of the hatch. Lorenz drew back and watched a swirling cyclone of smuts twist high above his head.
‘They’ll see us,’ said Juhl, looking anxiously over the bulwark.
More smoke welled up from the hatch, almost liquid in its consistency. Lorenz watched it flowing through the rails and cascading onto the deck. It ran over the sides of the boat and dispersed over the water. The air became inky and opaque. Lorenz could hardly see Juhl, Voigt, and the other two lookouts, and within seconds his eyes were blind and stinging. The boat was still traveling toward the convoy and the shouts from below were beginning to explore new registers of desperation. Lorenz snatched the communications pipe, removed the stopper, and hollered, ‘Chief? Chief? What’s happening?’ There was no reply, the hull juddered and the engines fell silent. Lorenz waved his hand impotently from side to side, trying to create an opening in the obfuscation through which he might see the destroyers. ‘They’ll fire at us soon as we’re in range.’ Only one course of action would prevent them from being utterly obliterated by heavy shelling. He leaned over the hatch and cried ‘Alarm!’
Voigt was just about to jump into the tower when Graf’s head appeared at his feet like a ghoulish creature emerging from a cauldron. The engineer’s face was coated with filth. ‘Kaleun, the boat’s unfit to dive!’
‘Unfit to dive?’
‘Yes. There’s a fire.’
‘Where?’
‘Somewhere aft — the engine room, I think. I was trying to get there when you called.’
‘We’ve got to dive!’
‘But we’re on fire.’
‘Listen: there are four destroyers heading our way. We can’t just sit here sending up smoke signals. We’ll just have to put the fire out when we’re submerged.’
‘But we need to keep the hatch open, Kaleun. The men will suffocate.’
‘Then distribute the emergency breathing apparatus!’
When Lorenz landed in the control room he could see very little. The lights were glimmering weakly, emitting a dull brownish glow. Men were holding handkerchiefs or hats over their mouths. Everyone was coughing or retching. Contorted faces, eyes streaming, came forward out of the darkness and vanished again. The atmosphere became even more impenetrable now that the bridge hatch was closed. Lorenz grabbed Sauer. ‘Where’s the breathing apparatus?’ For a moment Sauer appeared to have lost the ability to comprehend German. Lorenz shook him and said firmly, ‘Number One! Distribute the breathing apparatus. Do you understand me?’ Sauer nodded and as he stumbled away the smoke closed behind him like two stage curtains. Lorenz’s mouth tasted of oil and his lungs felt as if they had been filled with concrete. A fit of coughing seemed to dislodge an obstruction from his throat and he was finally able to shout ‘Flood!’ He hoped that the crew had returned to their posts.
Graf’s disembodied voice initiated the dive protocol. ‘Clear air-release vents.’ Lorenz felt a wave of relief when the reports followed.
‘One.’
‘Two clear.’
‘Three — both sides.’
‘Four.’
‘Five clear.’
‘All vents clear.’
Lorenz couldn’t see anything. He felt disoriented and then strangely isolated. The status reports and general commotion were growing fainter. His convulsive breathing swamped the other sounds, and the blackness became absolute.
A figure stepped out of the pitchy void; an apparition bathed in the flickering illumination of its own dim aurora. Its long open coat was garlanded with thick rubbery straps of sea weed and a squidlike creature had made a home in its exposed ribcage. A thin tentacle slithered out from beneath its sternum, which was encrusted with conical limpet shells. Its skull retained remnants of loose, swollen flesh around manically grinning teeth, but the orbital ridges and frontal bone were covered in barnacles. This massy, bulging extrusion suggested deformity or the projecting forehead of a Neanderthal. There were no eyes, only holes through which it was possible to see the interior of a blasted, incomplete cranium. Lorenz’s mouth opened involuntarily, and he expected his giddy terror to become a scream; however, as in a nightmare during which all cries for help are stifled, he produced only a long, wheezy exhalation. The horror that he experienced was extraordinarily physical and resembled a sustained electric shock. It passed through his body and welded his feet to the deck. The present moment, usually so fluid and motile, became fixed and obdurate. He feared that he might become trapped in this dark limbo, doomed to keep Sutherland’s rotting, skeletal remnant company for all eternity.