Decoy (27 page)

‘He’s a candidate for the torpedo room?’

‘Carried unanimously,’ the Croupier said. ‘He probably has dhobi rash and crabs as well as fetid breath, and he’d be the kind of golfer who’d move the lay of his ball when you weren’t looking.’

‘A real bounder, eh?’ Ned said in a pukka-sahib voice as a Marine came down the ladder carrying the Schmeisser.

‘An absolute cad,’ the Croupier echoed.

‘Very well, who’s next?’

‘The fourth man from the left, he’s the Second Officer. Seems a quiet type.’

‘Just check he’s also responsible for the wireless. Make it casual.’

The Croupier made a comment to the First Lieutenant, and then said something in a similar tone of voice to the Second Lieutenant.

‘Yes, I checked with Barbarossa as well. Usual division of duties – First Lieutenant responsible for torpedoes and gunnery; the Second is wireless – which covers the box of tricks, I assume. The Sub-lieutenant is navigator.’

The red-headed First Lieutenant barked a question, but the Croupier appeared to ignore him, telling Ned in a conversational tone: ’He’s asking where his Captain is.’

‘Tell him, at a suitable time, that he was accidentally shot dead by the blond German with the Schmeisser.’

‘Nothing will give me greater pleasure. Who’s next?’

‘The Engineer.’

‘Ah, a very intense little chap with a thick Hamburg accent. He’s aft with Yon, and ERA Brown’s keeping an eye on him. Then there’s the Sub-lieutenant – the red-faced kid next to red whiskers.’

‘Who comes next – a warrant officer?’

‘Yes, the
Obersteuermann
. The portly character, seventh from the left, who looks like a cartoon of a chief petty officer. Quite a lad, I suspect; one of the seamen boasted that beer-belly served with Schepke but was down with VD so he missed the last trip from which Schepke didn’t return.’

Again the red-headed First Lieutenant barked his question and the Croupier answered him casually, as though dealing with a persistent small boy.

The effect was extraordinary: with an enraged bellow the First Lieutenant dragged an automatic from his pocket, pulled back the slide to cock it and aimed at Ned, who was between him and the ladder, towards which he prepared to make an awkward leap.

The metallic squawk of the Croupier’s Sten was deafening in the confined space and the red-headed man’s body crashed against the foot of the ladder as Ned moved to one side. Ned picked up the pistol, slid over the safety catch, and said calmly to the Croupier: ‘Thanks, I didn’t expect anyone to have pistols: we’d better search the rest, but I was getting tired of his interruptions. Now, we need the wireless operator.’

‘Wait a moment,’ the Croupier said, eyeing the body of the First Lieutenant. ‘He’s dead all right, isn’t he?’

‘Very,’ Ned said. ‘Don’t go for a head shot next time, though: too risky. At that range, hits in the chest or stomach solve any problems.’

‘I was just showing off,’ the Croupier admitted. ‘I noticed he was tensing up for a leap, and the ladder seemed the obvious destination. Sorry about his automatic.’

‘Sitting birds,’ Ned chided.

‘Yes,’ the Croupier admitted, ‘but I don’t think we’ll have any more – hello, the Second…’

He broke off as the white-faced and swaying Second Lieutenant fainted, bouncing off the
Obersteuermann
’s stomach as he fell.

Ned said: ‘Ignore him. Let them think we’ll kill ’em all without compunction.’

‘This mother’s boy will, too,’ Jemmy commented, having just arrived from the engine room. ‘I wondered what was going on. Ned, let me have that pistol. I can keep a watch for the odd joker while you and the Croupier have your gossip. What did red whiskers do, use bad language?’

Ned handed over the pistol and reminded the Croupier: ‘The wireless operator.’

The Croupier spoke rapidly in German and a small, round-faced youth with protruding teeth stepped nervously forward.

‘Well, there he is, the Third Reich’s answer to Marconi and Samuel Morse. Looks about eighteen years old.’ He asked a question in German and then said to Ned: ‘Sorry, nineteen. Bavarian, from his accent.’

‘Right, I want the Second Lieutenant (when he recovers), wireless operator, cook – or chief steward, or whatever they call him – and
Obersteuermann
to stand fast; the rest can go forward to the torpedo room.’

‘Not all at once,’ Jemmy said. ‘Send half, and the rest once we’ve dived. We’ll never trim a strange boat if we start with all that weight forward. Might even store some of ’em in the after torpedo room.’

‘You’d better see how many torpedoes are left,’ Ned said. ‘We might as well fire ’em off and save the weight.’

‘I wish you’d asked the First Lieutenant before the Croupier potted him,’ Jemmy grumbled, and then questioned the pot-bellied warrant officer.

‘He says five left out of the fourteen,’ Jemmy said. ‘Four in the forward tubes, one in the stern tube.’

‘Fire ’em when you get bored,’ Ned said.

He beckoned to two of the boarding party, Ordinary Seamen Keene and Beer. ‘Get the duffels and suitcase wireless transmitter out of the lifeboat and bring them down. Don’t bump the wireless too much: it’s supposed to be shockproof and waterproof, but… And then pull the bung out of the boat and cast off the painter.’

Jemmy pointed at the dead First Lieutenant. ‘Some of his mates can hoist him up the ladder. Giving ’em a funeral?’

Ned suddenly had second thoughts. ‘What do you think?’

‘Those two up in the conning tower are thugs and this fellow is the same. Funerals for bastards who can massacre survivors in a lifeboat? Leave ’em on the casing, so when we dive…’

Jemmy had echoed his own ideas. He ordered a couple of Marines to go up the ladder and guard the Germans hauling up the body. ‘Perhaps you would be so kind as to order half the Teds forward, and a trio to take their late lamented Lieutenant aloft and place him beside his late Captain?’ he asked the Croupier with mock formality.

As half the prisoners in the control room stood up and shambled forward, herded by Marines holding Stens, three German seamen began hoisting the First Lieutenant’s body up the ladder, cursing because it was so flaccid, some limb flopping and jamming in the steps the moment it was not held.

Ned said to Jemmy: ‘I see the Second Lieutenant has recovered. Is Yon going to give me fuel reports, and so on?’

‘If you want, but I got the answers from the German Engineer.’

‘Before we do that, shall we dive?’

As Ned said it, he knew his unfamiliarity with submariners made it sound like an invitation to dance.

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ Jemmy said thankfully. ‘I feel more naked with this boat surfaced than ever I did in the lifeboat.’ He pulled Ned’s arm and led him over to the wireless cabin out of earshot of the rest. ‘Ned, have you thought of dumping two thirds of these Teds in the lifeboat? Having to guard the sons of bitches twenty-four hours a day is going to be a strain.’

Ned shook his head. ‘I had thought of it, but suppose another U-boat finds them, just like this one spotted us? Dönitz would know at once that we’ve got a Mark III Enigma, the Triton manual – the lot. So he’d change the Triton cipher. It’d only take him a month – until all the boats now on patrol get back and are given new books – and we’d be even worse off.’

‘There’s another way.’

‘Yes, I thought of that too.’

‘Why so squeamish?’

‘Putting thirty or forty Teds in a lifeboat and then ramming it is just the sort of thing we’re supposed to be fighting this war to stop, Jemmy.’

‘They were going to mow
us
down with that Schmeisser.’

‘The Captain and the blond seaman were, and they’re dead.’

Jemmy shrugged his shoulders, his head jerking in twitches which indicated that the depth of his feelings belied his quiet voice. ‘You’re the boss, Ned, but warn the Marines that they should shoot the moment there’s any trouble. A Sten bullet won’t go through the hull plating. Just keep clear of the gauges.’

‘I was going to tell Keeler that anyway. Stopping that crazy First Lieutenant dead in his tracks was a lesson to the Teds: you saw how the Second Officer passed out at the sight!’

‘Yes, but he’s a thinking man. Yon Cassius with a lean and hungry look. Remember Caesar’s warning – such men are dangerous.’

‘The thinkers sometimes outsmart themselves!’

‘By the way,’ Jemmy said, ‘we can put twenty prisoners in the after torpedo room.’

At that moment three thuds and a hail from the Croupier warned that the Marines who had guarded the German seamen as they hoisted the red-headed Lieutenant’s body up the ladder were now back below again.

Ned walked over and told the Croupier: ‘We’re going to dive, and as soon as Jemmy has stuck a trim, or whatever he calls it, we’ll shift the rest of these chaps aft – Jemmy’s offering the after torpedo room.’

The Croupier looked round at all the dials and gauges. ‘What happens if I accidentally put a bullet into one of these dials?’

‘Jemmy will be very cross. I’ve just been talking to him about it. The hull plating is all right, though, but if you shoot as well as you did with our red-headed late friend, the bullets will stay in the target.’

‘Can’t guarantee it,’ the Croupier said cheerfully and then added, an anxious note in his voice: ‘Have you ever been down in a sub before, Ned?’

‘No, and I’m not looking forward to it. Flying in the face of Nature as far as I’m concerned. Submarines and aeroplanes. Fins and wings, ughh!’

Yon came through the narrow space leading from the engine room, a small corridor lined with bunks on each side, and grinned at Ned. ‘All tickety-boo, Ned; both diesels ready to start purring, all the gauges poised to say the right things, ammeters and voltmeters show the batteries are fully charged and topped up. So as far as the engine room is concerned, we’re ready. The Blohm and Voss diesels are fantastic.’

Ned listened carefully. Yon’s voice was confident – in fact this would be how he reported to the commander when serving in a British submarine. Since he too spoke German, he had no trouble reading gauges and labels on valves.

Ned turned to Jemmy, nodding towards the group of Germans who were now sitting in a corner of the control room and watching the Croupier with all the paralysed fascination of a rabbit trapped by a stoat. ‘You don’t think these fellows will try to rush you as you take her down?’

‘No, but let’s see what the Croupier thinks.’

The Croupier was more than confident. ‘I’ve been telling them such horrifying stories that their blood is running cold. So cold it is nearly coagulating. They hardly believed their eyes when I got that red-headed bird on the wing. I gave you credit for doing in the Captain with the Schmeisser, Ned. I’ve told them we are a special anti-U-boat commando, and this is the first time we’ve ever taken prisoners…’

‘Carry on, Jemmy!’ Ned said, grinning at the Croupier’s story.

‘Diving stations!’ Jemmy bellowed, and the seamen among the prize crew went to various levers and gauges at the forward side of the control room.

Yon said: ‘I’ll go and see how my chaps are getting on, and be ready to turn the wick up when you’re ready. By the way,’ he told Ned, ‘this Jerry Engineer is good, and co-operative. Although one of my chaps keeps close to him, I think he’s the sort of dedicated man who doesn’t really care who owns the diesels as long as he’s allowed to look after them.’

‘Mind he isn’t scheming to drop a spanner into a set of vital gears,’ Ned said.

‘He’s been warned,’ Yon said. ‘I told him his only hope of living, let alone ever getting back to Germany after the war, depends on those diesels and batteries. He understands that quite well.’

A klaxon screeched and Yon hurried aft. The group of prisoners looked first at the British seamen at the controls and then at Jemmy who, to their obvious surprise, was commanding the submarine, not Ned.

For a few moments the boat seemed strangely dead; then the conning tower hatch slammed shut, and Ned looked up and watched a seaman securing it. A red light winked out on what seemed to be the control panel, which Jemmy was watching closely, to be replaced by a green beside it.

Jemmy spoke quietly, levers were pulled, valves spun, and a seaman watched what seemed to be an elaborate vertical spirit level, the Papenberg. There was a deep humming noise from aft as the batteries started to turn the electric motors, and Ned heard the screws begin to turn.

Ned said to the Croupier: ‘I want to talk to the Second Lieutenant as soon as you can listen and check my understanding of German: it’s a bit rusty.’

Ned beckoned to the man, who scrambled to his feet and stood uncertainly, obviously alarmed at having been picked out.

‘You speak some English, I believe?’

‘Very little, sir: it is several years –’

‘Come with me.’

Ned led the way to the wireless cabin on the starboard side just forward of the control room. The Marine guard stood to one side as Ned reached for the curtain.

‘You can help guard the prisoners in the control room,’ Ned told him, and gestured to the Second Lieutenant to follow him to the cabin, where the other Marine guard stood smartly to attention.

‘Take over outside for the time being,’ Ned told him, and as soon as the curtain closed sat down on what seemed to be a typist’s seat in front of the Enigma machine, and swung round to face the German.

‘Sit over there, on the wireless operator’s chair.’

The German sat perched nervously on the edge. The colour had come back to his face but his movements were hesitant. Highly strung, or scared stiff, Ned decided. Perhaps both, but much more important, he was not the bluffing arrogant Nazi.

‘Tell me your name and describe yourself.’

‘Heinz Wellmann. Born in Kiel. I’m twenty-six. I studied physics and was teaching until the July of 1939, when I began naval training.’

The man stopped, as though those few words described his life so far.

‘Born in Kiel, eh? So you know the Navy war memorial, and the Tirpitz Pier.’

Wellmann’s face became more animated. ‘Oh, you know Kiel, then?’

‘I’ve been there. Sailing in regattas in Kiel Bay before the war.’