Roses of Winter (30 page)

The
Strathcairn
opened fire on the submarine’s other flank. The U-boat’s bow rose and slipped backward into the sea. A lone figure appeared on the submarine’s conning tower.
 
The submarine took the struggling man into the depths, leaving a widening patch of diesel fuel and debris.
 

Hugh spotted several Germans struggling in the water. He ordered the rescue launch lowered. Donald had its engine running before it hit the water. They headed away quickly towards the enemy survivors. As Allan Ballantyne eased the motorboat up close to the Germans, they tried to swim away.

“Whit’s the matter wi’ ye? We’re trying tae rescue ye, ye bloody eejits,” Donald called out.

One of the survivors called back in surprisingly good English, “Please don’t shoot us.”

“Haud yer wheesht man,” yelled Donald. “We’re tryin’ tae help ye, no’ shoot ye. Whit dae ye think we are?”

The German looked puzzled. “Please, what language are you speaking?”

Donald laughed, which only added to the German’s confusion. “Whit’s wrang, ye cannae speak Glesca?”

The Germans soon realized that they were dealing with merchant seamen who had only help in mind. With four German submariners on board, the rescue launch headed back to the
Izmir
.
 
Two of the submariners were badly injured. Davy tried to stop their bleeding with little success.

“Please, help my comrades,” said the German who had called out to Donald.

“Don’t you worry, Fritz, we’ll do the best we can for them,” Donald reassured him. “You’re heading for a rescue ship wi’ a proper operating theater an’ a surgeon.”

Poor bloody devils, even if they are the enemy
, Donald thought. He nodded reassuringly to the German. The submariners were shivering despite the blankets Davy had thrown over them. Donald offered them cigarettes. The German and his uninjured shipmate took one each.

“We thought you would kill us in the water.”

“Is that whit they tell ye Fritz,” said Donald. “Aye well you people have done it often enough tae us.”

“Hans, my name is Hans,” the German replied. “This is Peter,” he said, indicating his friend.

“Well, Hans, we’re no’ savages,” Donald said. “Mind you, ah’m no’ saying ah’m that fond o’ ye. But ye’ll be well treated on this ship.”

Donald had heard surprising tales from merchant seamen who had survived being torpedoed. One told of a U-boat that surfaced along side. “We couldnae believe it,” the survivor had told him. “The captain sticks his head over the side of the bridge and apologizes for having to sink us. Then he sends down bread, sausage and a compass and tells us where the closest land is. He says he’s sorry he doesn’t have room to take us on board and then he wishes us well and sails off.”

That had been early in the war. Subsequent experience had taught the seamen to expect little in the way of chivalry from the Germans. There was angry muttering from several bystanders when the Germans were brought aboard.

“Take them away and lock them up,” Allan ordered.
 

With the launch back on board, the
Izmir
moved ahead to resume its station in the convoy. The two injured submariners had been taken immediately to the operating theater. When Dr. McNicol saw them he just shook his head. Despite his best efforts they died soon after. The other two, unscathed except for some scrapes and bruises, were questioned by the captain. Both refused to provide anything beyond basic information.

The job of telling them about the deaths of their comrades fell to Hugh. He took off his cap as he entered. “I’m very sorry to have to tell you that your shipmates died just a few moments ago. I want you to know we did everything possible for them. They were just too badly injured.”

Hans stood and shook Hugh’s hand.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Is there anything you need?” Hugh asked

Hans shook his head. “What will happen with their bodies?” Peter asked.

“Well, they will have to be buried at sea of course.
 
But we will try to respect your wishes.”

“Might we say a few words?” the German asked.

“Of course,” Hugh replied. “We will do as you wish.”
 

The following day, the bodies of the dead German submariners were delivered to the sea. Their comrades thanked Hugh and the captain at the end of the solemn but necessarily brief ceremony.
It’s a strange war
, Hugh thought,
where the civilities are observed while we are trying to kill each other in the most horrible ways imaginable.
 

The convoy was now under nearly constant attack. The crewmen were worn out. The daily cycle of four hours on and four hours off would have been draining in itself. In an emergency, the watch system went by the wayside. Many of the men, like Donald, had other roles to perform in addition to their usual duties. There was the constant mind-numbing fear of sudden death and destruction that they could not escape while at sea. Many of the survivors were reluctant to sleep below. The fear of entrapment deep in a sinking ship kept them on deck. Many of them had been pulled from the ocean more than once.

On the morning of their fourth day out from Iceland Allan Ballantyne paced the bridge. He tried to ignore the sore spots at his neck and wrists where his wet clothing rubbed and chafed his body. It was the constant dampness that got Alan down as much as any other hardship he had to face. The condensation and chill of the compartments below meant that he could never get his clothes dry. And getting a good wash was out of the question. No one in these frigid and dangerous waters wanted to be out of their clothes even for the short time it took to bathe. For Allan, fastidious about his personal hygiene, this was one of the worst aspects of convoy duty.

He was happy with his assignment to the
Izmir
, though. At first, he had felt intimidated by the close working relationship between the captain and Hugh. They had served together so long that Allan had felt like an outsider. However, they had been helpful and encouraging, recognizing his competence.

 
Allan stopped in his pacing on the port side to gaze over the expanse of the convoy. Over thirty ships sailed in a formation that spread out over several square miles of ocean. Most of them were large cargo ships, some up to 10,000 tons. They carried a wide range of supplies to help support Stalin’s war against Germany. Each was heavily loaded and many carried cargo on their decks. Allan could see tanks on the deck of one nearby freighter. Each ship sunk represented a major loss of much needed materiel.

Among the general cargo ships were several oil tankers. A few rows away was the
Kiev
, a Russian tanker carrying aviation fuel. A huge detonation erupted behind him. The suddenness of the explosion made him jump. He swung around in time to see a huge column of water rise over a large freighter on the starboard flank of the convoy. The ship was the
Burntisland
, a bulk carrier full of metal ores. She was dead in the water and clearly sinking. The men on deck, feeling the ship slipping away, gave up any attempt to lower the boats and jumped in the water. Without warning, the bow and stern of the
Burntisland
folded towards each other and disappeared beneath the surface. Allan was shocked to see how quickly the large ship had vanished. Water swept in to replace the volume of the lost ship, dragging many men into the depths.

From the time Allan had heard the first explosion until the last of the ship had disappeared, scarcely a minute and a half had passed. The stretch of ocean where it had been was now littered with floating debris and pitifully few survivors. Allan hit the alarm bell and ordered the helmsman on a course towards the men in the water. As the
Izmir
prepared to pick them up, the ship was again shaken by a thunderous wave of sound. Thick dark smoke ascended from the
Kiev, rolling
upwards to collide with the low overcast. The tanker emerged from the black mountain of smoke, still under way. Fires were breaking out ahead of the bridge. The
Strathcairn
raised her rescue flag and headed for the
Kiev
.
 

Spilled fuel from the ruptured tanker ignited. A curtain of fire surrounded the front half of the ship. Many of the crew ran aft, trying to find open water where they could jump off. The stern lifted and crashed down as another massive blast engulfed the ship. Moments later she disappeared in a shroud of flame, leaving a floating inferno of burning fuel. Burning seamen and debris flew through the air.
 
The
Strathcairn’s
first officer, Alec McKinnon, scanned the water. He could see nothing living but ordered the launch away to search for survivors. Alec called down to Second Officer Jimmie Atkinson in charge of the launch. “Don’t get too close to those fires, Jimmie. It looks like a lost cause but do the best you can.”
 

The rest of the convoy’s masters, obeying their orders, sailed on. Allan Ballantyne watched the last of the cold, exhausted survivors from the
Burntisland
come aboard. He counted only nine. The
Izmir’s
crew helped the rescued men over the rail and took them below.
 
We’re sitting ducks here
, he thought. Two of the rear escorts were making sweeps off to starboard, searching unsuccessfully for the submarine that had launched the torpedoes at the
Burntisland
and the
Kiev.
 
That U-boat was still out there somewhere. Allan felt the flush of fear spread though his chest.
 

Allan rang for FULL AHEAD. Back came the bell as the engine room acknowledged the command. He felt the deck vibrate in response. The
Izmir
picked up speed. He breathed a sigh of relief. Allan wondered if he could continue to manage the never-ending stress, waiting for the fatal blow that would cast them into fire, cold water or an airless death in a compartment below decks. Cold and monotonous as it was, he preferred bridge duty. At least there was a chance up here.
How the hell did they stay in control of themselves down in the depths of the engine room?
he wondered.
 
Allan had been down to the bottom level of the engine room. To return to deck level required a climb up four separate ladders, wedged in around machinery and hot pipes. He had fought off waves of claustrophobia when the ship had been motionless in dock. How anyone could work in the hot, closed in spaces of the engine room in a ship under way was beyond him.

Later that night, Hugh was mid-way through his watch when a lookout reported a new signal flag on the halyards of the convoy commodore’s ship.

“Sir, it’s a red pennant with a white cross.”

Hugh was puzzled. He fished out the codebook. Finding the correct instruction, he froze in disbelief. “There has to be some mistake,” he told the look out. “Take another look.”

“No question about it, Sir, a red pennant with a white cross.”

Hugh blew down the voice pipe to the captain’s cabin.

The response came almost immediately.

“Yes, Number One?”

“Sir, we’ve received a signal from the Commodore. You better come up right away.”

A few moments later, Captain Llewelyn appeared. “Well, what is it, Number One? Why couldn’t you tell me on the blower?” He stopped short when he saw the look on Hugh’s face.

“Sir, according to the code book, the convoy is to ‘scatter fanwise and proceed independently to destination at utmost speed.’”

“Have they all gone bloody mad?” Llewelyn exclaimed.

“It’s been confirmed, Sir,” Hugh told him.

The captain shook his head in disbelief. “Get McLellan on the RT, I want to talk to him.” McLellan was the captain of the
Strathcairn
, owned by the same company as the
Izmir
. The two men had known each other for many years.

“Iain, I think it would be a good idea if we stick together when the convoy breaks up. We’ll be stronger together as a pair. What do you think?”

“Aye, ah think ye’ve got a guid point there, Dick.” Hugh winced. He had rarely heard anyone dare to address the captain by his first name let alone the diminutive version.

Llewellyn failed to notice. “Very good Iain, maybe some of the others will want to stay with us,” he responded.

"I’ll talk tae MacFarlane, the captain o’ the
Anglesey,
an’ let ye know,” McClellan said. The
Anglesey
was the third rescue ship. A short time later, McLellan was back in contact. “Nae luck on the
Anglesey
,” was McLellan’s terse response. “He thinks he’ll make better time by himself.”

Llewelyn sighed.
The man’s a fool
, he thought to himself, but said nothing to McLellan.

When the order came to execute the maneuver, the convoy broke up as prearranged, fanning out on diverging courses. The
Strathcairn
pulled in to port and slightly behind the
Izmir
. Hugh and the captain watched the
Anglesey
pull ahead.

“Sir, look there!” Hugh pointed to starboard where HMS
Arran
was racing past them at full speed in the opposite direction.

“Where the hell is he going in such a hurry?” Llewellyn grumbled.