“Herr Schiffsleutnant Prohaska?” said Vackar.
“Yes, in what may I perhaps be of service to you now that your ruffians have dragged me up on deck?”
“Come with me if you will. I wish to talk with you in private.”
I was tempted to stand on my dignity and refuse. But a rifle muzzle stuck into the small of one’s back is the most pressing of invitations, and in any case the longer I kept the ringleaders of this mutiny preoccupied the longer Nechledil and the rest would have to break out of their prison.
Vackar led me to the fo’c’sle crew-space and shut the door after bidding the two ratings stand guard outside. He sat down at the mess table and indicated that I should do the same. I considered standing, but felt that I could talk better with him sitting down. He seemed very anxious to speak with me.
“Care for a cigarette, Herr Schiffsleutnant? They belonged to Herr Leutnant Strnadl, but he won’t be needing them now.”
“In that case, no thank you. I don’t touch stolen property.”
“Please yourself. You don’t mind if I light up, do you?”
“Feel free.” He lit his cigarette, and turned to face me across the table. “Look here, Prohaska . . .”
“ ‘Herr Schiffsleutnant,’ if you please . . .”
“Prohaska: you’re not in a position to get on your high horse. Look, I’ll come straight with you: I’m inviting you to join us.”
“Join mutineers and murderers ? You must be out of your mind. But why on earth do you think that I’d want to join you anyway?”
“You’re a Czech like Eichler and me, and I think it’s high time you began to consider where your real interests lie.”
“Perhaps you ought to have done some thinking about where your best interests lie—or, rather, lay, since as far as I can see it’s far too late for it now. Mutiny, murder, desertion to the enemy and offering violence to your superiors are all death-penalty offences.”
“So they shoot me four times if they catch me? Come off it: we’re within thirty miles of Italian waters now and it’ll be starting to get dark in an hour. No, we’ll make sure they don’t catch us—one way or another. I think I ought to warn you though that Eichler’s talking of shooting you one by one as hostages if they come after us. He’s a much harder nut than I am, as I think you may already have noticed.”
“But if you’re so sure of reaching the Italian side before nightfall why should it matter to you whether I join you or not?”
“Partly concern for your own long-term interests . . .”
“Thank you. I’m most touched.”
“. . . And partly concern for ours.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was a flying-boat overhead half an hour ago, and it certainly wasn’t Italian. The Wireless Operator managed to get a message off before we took control of the ship. Also the boilers are in bad shape.”
“Why are you telling me all this? You’re beginning to sound as if you aren’t quite so sure of getting to Italy after all.”
He was silent for a few moments. “It’s the stokers down in the engine room. They can’t make up their minds whether to join us or not and they’re just dawdling, waiting to see what happens. If we could get an officer to tell them to do it they’d certainly come over to us and put their backs into it. They’re mostly Croat peasants and used to doing what they’re told.”
“I see. But why should I come over to you? If I don’t your friend Eichler might shoot me and tip me overboard like Fregattenleutnant Strnadl; but if that doesn’t happen the worst I can expect is a spell in an Italian prison camp.”
“Because you’re a Czech like us, that’s why, you and your pilot.”
“I’m sorry; I may have been born a Czech but I became an officer of the House of Austria a long time ago now and gave up my nationality.” “Well, perhaps it’s high time you considered applying to rejoin. Austria’s dead, Prohaska: had been dead for years, even before the war. Now the Old Man’s gone the corpse has finally fallen to pieces.”
“I beg to differ: Austria-Hungary is probably going to win this war.” “Austria won’t win this war, whatever happens. Austria can’t win. But Germany might, and what’s going to happen to us all then?” He leant across the table and stared into my face. “For God’s sake, Prohaska, wake up will you? They say that you’re an intelligent man. This whole precious Austria-Hungary of yours is nothing more now than a way of forcing us Slavs to fight for Germany. What sort of future do you think there’ll be for any of us if they win? Come over and join us, you and your pilot. When we get to Italy we’ll all volunteer to join this Czech Legion of theirs.”
“You seem to know a lot about these things for a petty officer telegraphist, Vackar.”
“I’ve made it my business to know. We wireless operators talk to one another a lot, despite the war. I’ve been in touch with Masaryk and the National Council through Switzerland for a year or more now. There’s a lot of us organising in the fleet and the garrisons, just waiting for the day. It hasn’t come yet, but when it does then believe me there’ll be a lot of us Czechs ready to do what needs to be done.”
“All very impressive. So why all the trouble aboard this ship?”
“The Croats and the Slovenes. We could still get them on our side, but for the moment they’re more frightened of the Italians than of Germany. And anyway, they’re half of them long-service men: heads of solid wood. If an officer told them to jump over a cliff for their Emperor they’d do it.”
I must admit that what Vackar had to say to me in the fo’c’sle there that morning did disturb me a good deal; brought a number of uncomfortable half-formed ideas to the surface about the direction the war was taking.
But please understand that if the pull of my old nationality and language was strong, the bonds of loyalty to Dynasty and Fatherland were still much stronger. Things looked different in those days from how they look now, seventy years on. All of us officers—even first-generation officers like myself from the old peasant peoples—had been subjected to years of very subtle and effective mind-shaping as we went through the schools and military colleges of the Old Monarchy. Loyalty to our Emperor; loyalty to our ruling house; loyalty to our multinational Fatherland and to our ship and service; loyalty to the officer’s code of honour and to our oath; loyalty to the Catholic Church and to our country’s allies: all these were extremely powerful ties. And just because we had been indoctrinated to accept these things does not necessarily mean that they were themselves worthless: in fact, looking back on it now, I think that even if the Habsburg multinational empire was a pretty disastrous affair in practice, not all of its ideals were ignoble ones.
But any inner struggle that I might perhaps have undergone was rapidly forestalled by a shout from the other side of the door. Vackar sprang to his feet and rushed out on deck, leaving a very young Croat sailor with a pistol to guard me. Before long shouting and confused sounds of struggle came to me from amidships as the boat began to lose way. Something was happening in the engine room. I set to work upon my guard, who was clearly very perplexed by it all.
“Sailor,” I said in Croat, “do you hear that?”
“Obediently report that yes, Herr Schiffsleutnant.”
“What will you do now? ”
His voice trembled as he replied. “Obediently report . . . Obediently report that I’ll . . . shoot you dead if you move—by your leave, Herr Schiffsleutnant.”
“Shoot me, sailor? Oh dear, you shouldn’t have said that you know: offering threats to an officer is a death-penalty offence in wartime. ‘Tod durch erschiessen . . .’ Is that how you want your parents to remember you?” The poor lad was almost in tears by now. I held out my hand. “There, there. You’re a young lad and no doubt they threatened you into joining them. Give me that pistol and we’ll say no more about it.” He handed me the pistol almost thankfully and I rushed up the ladder on to the deck abaft the conning tower.