Roses of Winter (31 page)

“Signal from
Arran
. Sir….the escort force.” He stopped reading and looked at the captain. “The destroyers are leaving us.”

Llewelyn looked shocked. “Well you were right, Hugh. There
was
something they weren’t telling us about this convoy.”

The armed trawler
Grimsby
came up to starboard in company with an American merchant ship, the
Ocean Voyager
.

“Looks like they want to join us,” Hugh observed.

“The more the merrier,” Llewelyn said.

They were interrupted by a cry from a lookout. “Aircraft, astern!”

“Here we go again,” muttered Llewelyn under his breath.
 

The aircraft ignored the
Izmir
and its companions and headed for a group of ships some distance away. The leading plane swooped down on a large cargo ship. Explosions erupted around it. The next aircraft, lining up on the second ship in the group, scored several hits on its superstructure. The ship lost way, its bow drifting from its former course. The remaining bomber renewed the attack on the first ship. Two bombs burst in the sea astern but the remainder landed on its fully loaded decks.

“Aircraft attacking,” yelled the lookout. A second group of bombers raced towards them from dead astern.

“Hugh, follow the movements of these planes and let me know the minute there’s any change in what they are doing.” The captain turned to the helmsman. “Follow my directions exactly and right away when I give them.”

The helmsman, a laconic Yorkshire man named Wentworth, looked totally unruffled, as if German bombers were all in a day’s work and no great concern to him.

“Aye aye, Sir,” he replied.

Llewellyn called down to the engine room to pour on all possible speed. He wanted the ship to be as responsive to the helm as possible.

Llewellyn tried to gauge when the attacking planes would drop their bombs. As the first bombs left the leading plane he ordered, “Hard to port!” Immediately Wentworth spun the wheel through his hands. The ship swung away from its previous course. Hugh and the captain watched the sinister dark objects racing towards them. Time seemed compressed, the bombs in slow motion, until they rushed over the ship, exploding thirty yards away. In the engine room, Donald felt the ship shake violently.
 

The second Ju-88 adjusted its course towards the
Izmir
. Coming from astern, only the Bofors gun was able to attack it with concentrated fire. Waiting until what he judged to be the last moment, Llewelyn ordered the wheel hard to starboard. The bombs overshot the ship, exploding fifty yards off the port bow. The Bofors gunners were directing accurate fire at the third bomber. It turned away and roared off without completing its attack.

“Signal the
Strathcairn
. Tell them we will be offering assistance to those burning freighters. Invite him to join us.”

Right away, the
Strathcairn
signaled back in agreement. They maneuvered with the
Izmir
to a course that would shorten the distance to their goal.

Lifeboats littered the sea around the burning and wrecked ships. The
Izmir
and the
Strathcairn
hove to and waited for the boats. They lined up astern of both rescue ships, waiting their turn to come on board. Donald waited by the rail to help bring survivors aboard. The men in the first boat, cold but uninjured, came aboard quickly. When Donald looked down into the second boat, he saw that several of the men were in a very bad way.
 

He spotted Davy Jones and another member of the rescue launch crew, Peter Bell. Peter, a canny fisherman from Arbroath, seemed able to remain calm in the midst of anything.

“Davy, swing that stretcher out. Those men are no’ gaun tae make it out of there on their own. Peter, come doon intae the boat wi’ me and help me get them on the stretcher.”

While Davy quickly rounded up more crewmembers, Donald and Peter climbed down the scrambling net. They waited for the lifeboat to rise towards them on the swell before stepping in. Donald made a quick survey of the survivors.

“Peter, we’ll take this wan first.” He indicated a badly injured youth who was groaning in agony. Blood welled from his shirt.
 

Peter reached out to grab the stretcher.
 
It was a rugged metal frame of metal tubing supporting a heavy mesh platform.
 
Blankets provided padding. Peter swung it in and made it secure.

Donald leaned over the injured seaman. “Whit’s yer name?”

“Andy,” the man replied. He spoke with difficulty.

“Well, Andy, we’re gaun tae have tae move ye on tae the stretcher so we can get ye aboard. It’s probably gaun tae hurt but we need tae get ye tae the doctor right away.”

Peter and Donald lifted Andy. He screamed and lay still in the stretcher. They tightened the restraints.

“Davy, bring him up. Carefully now,” he cautioned as the stretcher swung towards the
Izmir’s
hull. “Make sure he gets seen by the doctor right away.” Davy waved an acknowledgement and he and the others hauled on the ropes to raise the stretcher slowly to the deck.

Davy called out to one of the medical assistants. “Mike, we have a bad one here. Needs attention right away.”

Mike Cope came over and looked at Andy. Without hesitation he summoned two seamen. “Take him down to the operating theater on the double.”

Davy swung the basket out to lower it back to the lifeboat. For a moment, he gazed in turn at the burning freighters, the string of boats waiting to be unloaded, and the
Strathcairn,
where the scene at the
Izmir
was being repeated. He suddenly felt overwhelmed by the enormity of the task, the extent of the misery and waste. Just as quickly he shrugged the feeling off. All he could do was handle his one small part of it, he thought. An important part, he knew, but seemingly miniscule compared to the need. Working efficiently together, he, Donald and Peter evacuated the lifeboats.
 

The men had learned to steel themselves against the terrible injuries, pain and misery that surrounded them. They were not hardened but knew that they needed to push their feelings aside to be able to function. The frenzy of action helped numb them. It was in those few moments of calm, the brief lulls between one crisis and another, when they found their hands shaking as they lit a cigarette or tried to hold a mug of cocoa.

The uninjured were brought below where they were given blankets, warm drinks and cigarettes. The injured were brought to the sick bay where the most serious cases were prepared for the surgeon. The Izmir had a fully equipped operating theater. Here, Peter McNicol, worked feverishly on Andy, well aware that there were other critically injured survivors awaiting his attention. He looked up from the table and spotted Donald by the door.

“Will he be OK doctor?” Donald asked.

“I just don’t know,” Dr. McNicol said wearily. “It’s pretty bad.”
 

As Donald turned to go, the doctor called him back. “Do you have a strong stomach son?”

Donald grunted. “Ah helped lift him oot o’ the boat didn’t I?”

The doctor nodded. “Get one of the attendants out there to show you how to wash up. Then, get a mask and gown and come back here right away.”

Donald looked at him in disbelief. “Whit dae ye want wi’ me? Ah don’t know a thing aboot this kind o’ work.”

“Don’t worry about that,” the Doctor replied. “I’ll show you what to do. I need help and the attendants have their hands full. Hurry now, I need you right away.”

A few minutes later, Donald was by the surgeon’s side, looking into Andy’s open abdomen. He was surprised to find himself more fascinated than squeamish. Dr. McNicol was busy inserting sutures.

“What I need you to do is hand me instruments,” the doctor said.
 
As the surgeon worked he indicated the instrument he required. Soon, Donald was getting the hang of it.

“Are your sure you haven’t done this sort of thing before?” the doctor asked.

“Ach well it’s no’ that much different from working on an engine is it?” Donald replied.

“No, I suppose it isn’t really,” the doctor said. “Except that engines don’t die.”

“They can if they’re no’ looked after,” Donald said. “And, if mine does, then auld McAllister will kill
me
.”
 

The surgeon laughed, knowing the chief engineer’s temperament.
                       

“Well, that is all I can do for him,” McNicol said, finishing the last suture. “Now we will just have to wait and see.”

“He’s just a wee boy,” Donald said looking at the seaman’s youthful face. The surgeon laughed.

“And how old are you?” he asked.

“Twenty, but ah’m beginning tae feel like an auld man on this trip,” Donald replied.

The surgeon nodded grimly and sighed.
 
“Would you ask them to bring in the next one?”
 

The
Izmir
and the
Strathcairn
made a sweep around the sinking freighters to make sure no survivors had been left behind. They set off eastward again with their companions. Several uneventful hours passed with no attacks or sightings of other ships. On the bridge, Allan Ballantyne paced backwards and forwards, trying to stay warm. At frequent intervals, he would stop and scan the horizon. Since the convoy scattered they had sighted few ships. There was no trace of the convoy that had once covered many square miles of sea.

An hour into his watch, he lowered the glasses to rub his eyes. He blinked hard, trying to relieve the strain. His forehead ached from the constant assault of the wind. Allan resumed his search of the horizon. He scanned slowly then hesitated and scanned back the other way. Doubtful, he called out to one of the lookouts.

“Bob, almost due east. What is that? Can you see anything?”

The lookout scanned the eastern horizon. “Could be smoke sir. Hard to tell.”
 

Allan ordered a course correction to make their heading the same as that of the sighting. Their doubts were soon removed when a long plume of smoke appeared above the horizon. A half hour later they could clearly see the superstructure of a ship on fire. Allan called down to the engine room and got McAllister.

“Chief, can we get any more out of her?”

 
A terse reply came back. “Oh aye, if ye want tae rip the guts oot o’ her.” Then McAllister muttered, “Ah’ll see whit ah can dae.”

Allan looked back at the burning ship.
 
A swarm of dark objects surrounded it. The flashes of distant explosions flickered and died. He sounded the alarm.
 

Hugh appeared. “What’s up Allan?”

“Ship on fire. Under attack, Sir.”

Hugh looked at the other three ships in their little convoy. “Let’s put some distance between the four of us,” he told Allan. We’ll make a harder target and we’ll be able to use the guns more effectively.”

The alarm brought up Llewellyn. He pointed his binoculars at the burning ship. “It’s the
Anglesey
,” he said. “It looks like Macfarlane is paying a heavy price for his stubbornness.”
 
A wave of attacking aircraft turned towards the
Izmir
. “And I think we are expected to pick up our half of the bill.”

Chapter 10

Too Close for Comfort

Maryhill, 1941

Hughie Gow looked at the clock. “Ah think ah wid rather take mah chances in mah bed,” he said but made no move to get up. He looked at his wife who said nothing. Mary came over and placed a hand on Ida’s shoulder.

“Wid ye like another cup o’ tea?”

Ida shook her head.

“Ah think maybe ah’ll have some masel’ then,” Mary said. She went to the range and was picking up the kettle when the building shook with the rolling sound of a huge blast.

“God Almighty, whit was that?” shouted Hughie. Pearl gave out a little scream. Jimmie, for the first time that evening, awoke from his trance. Chips of plaster and a fine haze of dust descended from the ceiling. The ornaments on the mantel rattled and moved along its surface.

“That’s no’ that far away,” Jimmie said, rising from his chair.

Mary, all thoughts of tea forgotten, looked at the kettle in her hand and placed it back on the range. She turned back to the others and stopped, uncertain what to do next. They remained in place for a moment, like a waxwork tableau, wondering if there would be more explosions.
 

They let several moments pass, waiting anxiously for some confirmation that the danger was past. Jimmie broke the spell by sitting down again. The others relaxed, deflating in unison. Ida made them start again with her first spoken words for hours.

“You know, ah think ah will have some tea.”

There was a murmur of agreement. Mary filled the kettle and put it on to heat. She went over to the box bed and pulled aside the curtain to look down at Alastair and Elspeth.
How had they managed to sleep through that?
she wondered.