Roses of Winter (39 page)

Hugh struggled to contain his anxiety. It was unnerving to be on a stationary ship in enemy waters. He imagined the sudden blast of a torpedo. If he survived that, there was the short trip to unconsciousness and death from hypothermia. Far fewer of the men they pulled from the water survived the experience than those lucky enough to get to the boats.
 
Hugh thought of the men down below in the engine room.
How do they stand it? It must be clear to them how poor their chances of survival are.

If this question had been posed to Donald McIntyre at that moment, Hugh would have received a terse response.

“Whit choice dae we have? It’s mah bloody job isn’t it?”

The engineers below were well aware of the risks.
 
They pushed the thought aside by concentrating on the task at hand. In Donald’s case there was also the toughness inculcated in the hard world of the shipyard that discouraged any display that might be regarded as weakness. Brought up in a world of steel and iron, worked upon by men who were harder still, Donald had learned to survive by masking emotion. Above all, it was stubbornness and pride that kept these men below.

The decks, already crowded with survivors, became even more so, as more men found reasons not to be below. An hour passed, then two. They looked out on an ocean devoid of any other sign of human activity. A long swell rolled under the ship. The water’s surface appeared strangely opaque, almost solid, as though made of rippled glass. Wisps of fog curled off its surface. At least the weather was cooperating by remaining calm. These were unpredictable waters where winds could blow up without warning and turn the sea into roiling, dangerous canyons.

In the engine room, the work proceeded steadily but never fast enough to please McAllister. Yet he knew it was important to work methodically despite the urgent need to complete the repairs. In these confined spaces, fixing problems was a task akin to completing a Chinese puzzle. Achieving the solution required working through a series of related tasks, some requiring finesse, others brute strength. It was amazing how quickly the men from different ships had merged into a team dedicated to a common task. The older, more experienced chief engineers, used to ruling their own engine rooms with an iron hand, deferred to Tom Wilkinson and Donald McIntyre and their intimate knowledge of the
Izmir’s
equipment.

The hours passed slowly. Impatient to find out the situation below, Hugh had called down to the engine room only to be savaged by the impatient McAllister.

“We’re daein’ the best we can,” the irascible chief had barked. “And it’ll go a damn sight faster if ye don’t bother me wi’ silly questions. Ye’ll know soon enough when we get it sorted.”

Hugh had felt his temper rising but suppressed the impulse to respond. Under normal circumstances this rudeness would have been too much to tolerate even from McAllister. But Hugh was trying to understand the enormous strain under which McAllister labored and held his peace.

“Any word?” Llewelyn asked.

Hugh shook his head. “But if stubbornness and bad temper are what are needed to get us going again, McAllister has both in good measure,” Hugh said.

Llewelyn nodded and smiled in agreement. “Of that you can be sure.”

The
Izmir
continued its drift across the surface of a forbidding liquid desert. Hugh had lapsed into a fugue state in which he imagined himself sitting at home with his wife relating the events of his voyage. His daydream evaporated when McAllister clumped onto the bridge.

“Ah think she’ll work noo.
 
We’re lucky that the main engine wisnae touched, as far as we can tell. But ah widnae try anything fancy wi’ her for a while till we see if it’s all right.”

Hugh placed his hand on the chief’s shoulder. “Well done, Chief. I knew you could do it.” The chief merely shrugged and went back to his engine room.

Hugh called down to Llewelyn. “The chief says we can get under way.”

He heard Llewelyn say, “I’ll be right up.”

A few moments later Llewelyn appeared.

“The chief says she’ll work but to go easy on the engine until he’s sure it’s all right,” Hugh told the captain.

“I don’t think we can afford that luxury,” Llewelyn replied. He moved the telegraph lever to SLOW AHEAD and almost immediately heard the answering bell. The
Izmir
slowly moved ahead to a chorus of cheers from the men on the deck.

The
Izmir
picked up speed. Encouraged by its steady progress, Llewelyn rang for HALF AHEAD. The vibration under their feet increased as the ship responded. The captain kept the
Izmir
at this speed for half-an-hour.

“Well,” he said to Hugh, “we won’t catch up with the others at this speed,” and moved the lever to FULL AHEAD.

“What are your plans, sir?” Hugh asked.

“I’ll try her at this speed for a while,” Llewelyn said. “If she holds up, I’ll ask McAllister to get as much out of her as she’ll give and try to catch up with the others.”

Hugh covered his nervousness about this with a smile. “Well if the
Izmir
doesn’t blow a gasket, Mr. McAllister will.”

An hour later, Llewelyn called down to McAllister to get whatever extra few knots he could out of his engine. Hugh looked aft to where dark smoke billowed from the funnel.
We must be visible for miles
, Hugh thought.
It wasn’t the careless firing that brought complaints from other ship captains in the convoys
, Hugh reflected. The Izmir was overdue for a boiler refit and there had simply not been time to accomplish this before their rapid departure.

The
Izmir
sailed on, each mile traveled easing the crew’s anxiety about the durability of the repairs. Llewelyn insisted on personally thanking his engine room crew and the volunteers who had lent their support. Without their efforts, the captain knew, the
Izmir
and all aboard would have faced a very dubious future. Now underway again, Llewelyn was determined to bring her safely to Archangel.

Once again, Hugh marveled at the transformation that occurred when Llewelyn stepped on to the bridge of his ship. His iron will and determination were forces that inspired every member of his crew to give their very best effort. Yet, despite the captain’s expectation of superior performance, his manner was such as to command respect and admiration rather than resentment.
 
The Izmir was a happy ship
, Hugh reflected, and much of that resulted from the personality of its captain.

Llewelyn tapped the end of his pencil on the chart. “As I see it, Hugh, we have few options. We can try to catch up with the others but that may well be difficult given their lead.
 
We know what their approximate course was when they left, and the general course they must take to reach Archangel. However, it is a big ocean and we have no idea what they might have run into in the meantime. I think we must assume they have faced interference from the enemy.”
 

Llewelyn stopped and looked at Hugh, inviting his opinion. Hugh scratched his chin, thinking carefully about his answer.

“Sir, I think the best we can do is to head for Archangel along the most direct route and hope we can spot them on the way.”

Llewelyn nodded his agreement. “Yes, I don’t see any other alternative.”
 

      
They raced for the mouth of the White Sea.
 
Archangel lay another two hundred miles beyond. Hours stretched to a day and then two. The empty sea, a watery wilderness that made Hugh think of his childhood fascination with the story of Jason and the Argonauts, provided no frame of reference by which to measure their progress. Staring ahead at the empty horizon he could imagine that the
Izmir
was careening towards the unseen edge of the world.
 

      
In the engine room, the distraction of his duties no longer worked to push back Donald’s anxiety. The stress of conducting the repairs under such trying conditions had left its mark mentally in sleeplessness and physically in a gnawing ache in his stomach. To his everyday miseries was now added the lowly but compelling uncertainty of diarrhea. McAllister, impossible to deal with at the best of times, was beyond unbearable. While he seemed to reserve his most extreme wrath for Tom Wilkinson, no one was spared.
 

      
For the survivors who crowded the ship, the initial exuberance brought by the relief of getting under way again had dissipated. The seemingly endless emptiness of the ocean reinforced their fear and uncertainty.
 
It manifested itself in petty quarrels and disputes. Even Llewelyn’s patience was wearing thin, his manner withdrawn and distracted.
 

It was the routines of the ship that kept them going, the rigid requirements of watch keeping, the tending of engines, the rituals of the sea. They were the habits of a long sea career, as natural as breathing, and as unnoticed. The men remained ready, not taking for granted the unaccustomed lack of attention from the enemy, not trusting it. The lookouts maintained their watch on the horizon, looking for a threatening presence, hoping for sight of their friends.
 

The lack of a proper day and night was wearing on Hugh. He had lost any real sense of time. Morning was a theoretical concept at best, in the perpetual daylight of the north, announced only by the chronometer. On this morning, their third since resuming passage, Hugh was feeling particularly disoriented. He wiped the back of his hand over his eyes, hoping to remedy the bleariness, the soft fuzz over his vision.
 

Hugh raised his binoculars and swept the ocean ahead of the
Izmir
. Turning his attention to starboard, he moved the glasses carefully over the horizon. He stopped and moved them left again, adjusting the focus ring. For a few seconds he stared, convincing himself that something was really there, before calling out to the nearest lookout. “Andy, about ten degrees to starboard off the bow. Do you see anything?”

The lookout scanned back and forth before halting his traverse. “Looks like smoke sir. Can’t see a ship. Hull must be over the horizon.”

Hugh ordered a course change. Before he could summon Llewelyn, the captain was on the bridge, alerted by the ship’s motion. He was in time to hear the lookout confirm the presence of a ship. Within an hour, several more ships were reported and it was soon possible to confirm that they had rediscovered their colleagues. Before long, the flashing of Aldiss lamps provided evidence that they had been sighted.

The news energized the crew and survivors. The
Izmir
closed quickly as the group adjusted their course and speed to shorten the distance. As the
Izmir
approached, the
Hengist
detached from the group and swept in towards them.

“What the hell is he doing?” Llewelyn asked. The Hengist continued in a great arc towards the
Izmir
, adopting a parallel course only at the last moment. Men were spilling out of hatchways all over the ship and lining up on the rail. As the Hengist matched speed with the
Izmir
, Llewelyn saw Pettigrew on the bridge waving his hat above his head in salute.
 

The purpose of the wild maneuver was now clear. “They’re manning ship, Sir,” Hugh said, his voice catching.

“By God, so they are,” Llewelyn exclaimed, deeply touched by the tribute Pettigrew was paying them.

Pettigrew hailed them on the RT. “Welcome back, happy to see you.”

“We are happy to be back. And quite the welcome you’re putting on for us,” Llewelyn replied. Then Llewelyn heard McLennan’s voice.

“What kept ye man?”

“We were unavoidably detained,” Llewelyn responded in kind.

With the
Izmir
back in station the group raced ahead for Archangel. Llewelyn discovered that he had much to thank McLellan and Pettigrew for. They had insisted on course and speed adjustments designed to give the
Izmir
a fighting chance to
catch up. Unable to stall any longer, they were increasing speed when they had sighted her.
 

Early on the following day, a lookout on the
Strathcairn
reported a strange sighting to McLellan. Hovering upside down in the air, a mirage born of the arctic air, were the images of two ships. They set course for the phantoms and maintained it for an hour after the apparitions vanished from sight. Soon the originals hove into view. They identified themselves as British minesweepers that had set out from the Russian port of Iokanka in hopes of finding surviving ships.

Captain Murray of the minesweeper
Galatea
informed them that their position was thirty miles northeast of Svyatoy Nos on the Russian mainland, near the entrance to the White Sea. After a quick consultation, they changed course for Iokanka where they could refuel and find some respite before attempting the final leg to Archangel. Murray also passed on what was known of the fate of the larger convoy. The news was grim, a litany of distress calls received and ships sunk.
 

The respite from the enemy ended abruptly. Aircraft were sighted approaching from the west. As the men prepared for combat, a second group of aircraft approached at speed from the southwest. Hugh surveyed this group with his binoculars.