He peered at Pieck again and gestured with his thumb towards the thin, scarecrow shape of Seaman Alder, who still stood staring at the barred window. ‘Give me a hand with him, he doesn’t seem too well.’

  The authorities alleged that Alder was a coward, and therefore a menace to the morale of the Navy. It was also said that he was saved from the firing squad only by his past record. The clemency of the court martial had moved everyone almost to tears. Except Alder, and the doctor who tried to explain that the man was mentally ill, shocked almost to a point of insanity.

  Alder had been the last survivor from a torpedo boat which had blown up on a mine near the Dogger Bank. They had found him frozen to the tiller of a small boat with eight dead men for companions. An Iron Cross had been recommended, but he had broken out of the hospital and had run away.

  Such crass ingratitude should have been punished by death, said the President of the Court. It was an insult to the Emperor, and a betrayal of his dead comrades.

  Alder rarely spoke, and seemed indifferent to the small acts of kindness which Pieck and Schiller had shown him.

  The fourth man, Hahn, was a convicted thief. He was a small, sullen-mouthed seaman who had been caught selling blankets and clothing to civilians. He said suddenly, ‘What do you think of our chances aboard the Vulkan?’

  Schiller eyed him with open belligerence. ‘Shut your mouth, and get our things together!’ And to the van at large he added: ‘Listen, the lot of you. Vulkan is just a ship and von Steiger is an officer, see? Whether he is a big bastard or a little one, I do not know . . . yet! When I find out I’ll tell you what I think. Until then, keep yourselves out of trouble. They’ll be watching us!’ Suddenly he grinned, his white teeth brightening his battered face. ‘Still, it could be much worse, they might have sent us to the Western Front!’

  * * * * *

  Lieutenant Heuss stretched his cold fingers towards the glowing wardroom stove and winced as the feeling returned to his limbs. From first light that morning he had been on the Vulkan’s maindeck supervising the loading of additional stores, his eyes watering in the relentless north wind, his teeth gritted against the nausea of the previous night’s beer. Ebert had been working with him, but unlike Heuss had managed to stomach a good breakfast, and now stood staring into the fire at his side.

  The wardroom had originally been used exclusively for the ship’s passengers, and was a large rectangular space which ran the full width of the vessel. A long green curtain divided it in two and separated the recreation space from the dining compartment. The curtain swayed gently to the slow roll of the ship, and Heuss listened to the rattle of loose gear as the hull lifted to the unaccustomed motion. That morning the paddle-wheeled tugs had warped the Vulkan from her berth, and she now lay alone at a buoy, well out in the harbour. He could sense the new urgency about him, the whine of dynamos, the steady whirr of fans and the noisy movement of seamen about the upper deck, constantly harried and goaded by the hoarse shouts of the petty officers.

  He eyed the other officers with interest. They had all been summoned to the wardroom to meet the Captain. To be told their orders. He shivered in spite of himself. This time there was no doubt about the signs.

  Lieutenant Kohler paced restlessly across the worn carpet, his pale eyes watching the small door through which the Captain would come from his quarters. A dangerous man, Heuss mused thoughtfully. Eager, dedicated and cruel. There were the two elderly Reserve sub-lieutenants. Wildermuth and Seebohm, who were being carried as boarding officers to supervise the unloading of possible prize ships and, if necessary, to sail them independently back to Germany. Both ex-merchant navy mates, they seemed uneasy about their new companions and rarely left each other’s side. Of the Chief Engineer, Niklas, and his assistant, Schuman, there was no sign, and the growing plume of smoke from the Vulkan’s tall funnel told their story for them. Below, in the bowels of the hull, they were making their last checks on the maze of machinery which would be their salvation throughout the voyage. Heuss sighed. How like the High Command in all their wisdom to choose a single-screwed ship for such a hazardous cruise. No margin for error.

  Another officer joined him by the fire. Sub-Lieutenant Max Damrosch was tall and slim, with an open, boyish face. At twenty-two he was the youngest officer aboard, and had joined the ship only the previous day. He had already been detailed to assist Heuss in the Captain’s Attack Team on the bridge, and bombarded him with questions at every opportunity. Heuss liked him for it, and enjoyed his open enthusiasm. Heuss glanced at the brass clock. ‘We shall soon know now, Max. Our fate for a month or two!’

  Damrosch rubbed his hands over the fire and frowned thoughtfully. ‘The First Lieutenant told me last night that with luck we might be down in the sunshine within a month.’

  Heuss replied with a non-committal grunt. He did not like the First Lieutenant. His name was Erich Dehler, a man of forty-five, old for his rank, and a Reserve officer to boot. During his six months aboard the Vulkan Heuss had crossed swords repeatedly with Dehler, for as the next senior officer aboard Heuss had to consult him on every irritating matter of routine and preparation. Dehler was an ex-merchant navy officer like the boarding officers, but unlike any other man aboard had actually served in this ship in peacetime as second mate. His knowledge of the vessel, his undisputed efficiency as a navigator and his qualifications as a seaman had won him the coveted post of second in command. But as a man he was hard to get on with. He was poorly educated, and showed his resentment by blaming the regular officers and the snobbery of the Navy for his own lack of advancement. Several times he had cornered Heuss, his heavy red face angry and bitter. ‘I should have had this command, Heuss! Just because I don’t belong to the right clubs and haven’t the right accent is no reason for this bloody unfairness!’ If he speaks in that line to von Steiger he had better watch out, he thought.

  The door opened and von Steiger entered the wardroom, followed by Dehler, whose heavy, broad shoulders seemed to tower over the Captain’s slight figure.

  Von Steiger gestured for them all to sit down, and threw his cap carelessly on the table. He was still wearing his immaculate shore-going uniform and decorations, and Heuss had the impression that he had not slept the previous night.

  Von Steiger stood for some moments as if deep in thought, his eyes on the polished table. He seemed to shake himself free from his inner distraction, and ran a brief glance along their waiting faces. ‘I will not keep you long. You have a great deal to do, and there will I hope be much more time later on for getting better acquainted.’

  Heuss watched him from beneath lowered lashes. He took in the bright decorations on von Steiger’s tunic, the Iron Cross, First and Second Class, the Order Pour le Mérite, the three gold bands encircling his sleeves which to the Navy and to the world symbolised his complete hold over the ship and all who sailed in her. He stood as if completely relaxed, yet Heuss’s sensitive appraisal told him that, like the calm expression on the Captain’s face, this appearance of self-control was a mask, even a guard, against some new force which he was only just holding under control. Heuss knew of von Steiger’s recent loss, and yet it did not seem to fit the pattern of such a man that he should be turned from his set path by a personal disaster. He watched the neat brown hands which rested on the table; capable, competent hands. There was a latent power about the man, mixed with arrogance, and yet was there not humility? He frowned, and concentrated on what von Steiger was saying.

  ‘We shall sail tonight on the tide. By this time tomorrow we shall pass through the Skagerrak and keep close inshore to Norway. Absolute vigilance is essential at all times, and for that reason I want the best lookouts available They are among the most important men in the ship.’ The gold-flecked eyes moved slowly along their faces. ‘I have had a copy of my new Standing Orders printed for each officer. Read them, they are important. This is no ordinary warship, gentlemen. Once clear of the minefields we shall be completely alone. Every ship we meet will be hostile in one way or another. Our colonies are gone, even the neutrals are fewer and less willing to help than in earlier days. Nevertheless, we shall behave like part of the Imperial Navy, which we are, so long as we are alive. We will be branded as pirates perhaps, but let no stain on our actions and characters add to a mere reputation. The men are largely untried and untrained. You must rectify that as soon as possible. With a ship fighting alone, the discipline must be regulated to suit the occasion. The men are human beings, not useless cannon-fodder, as some people believe!’

  Heuss stiffened at the sharpness of these words. There was bitterness unconcealed in von Steiger’s tone.

  ‘Over the last years, even months, we have seen great strides in our war machine. When I joined the Navy I was trained in sail, yet that was only twenty years ago. . . .’

  Heuss made a rapid calculation. Von Steiger was thirty-nine, or soon would be, yet the mark of command was clearly etched on his tanned face. There was a youthfulness, too, about his trim figure which clashed with the authority invested in him.

  ‘Now the war is fought with weapons which were only dreams in those days. However,’ his eyes flashed with sudden anger,’ ‘many changes are not for the good. Humanity and honour have been shelved. Poison gas and unrestricted submarine warfare have seen to that! Men have been struck down not by valour and unity of effort, but by the weapons of loathsome cowardice and human degradation!’ He became suddenly calm. ‘In this ship there will be no additional burden to that shame. We will fight with honour. That at least we can do.’ He halted, and Heuss saw a small bead of sweat on his brow. Von Steiger thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘Any questions?’

  Kohler stood up, his heels clicking together. ‘Yes, Captain! With the might of Germany behind us, how can we fail?’

  Von Steiger was unmoved. He looked at Kohler with cold eyes. ‘I will answer that question, Lieutenant, when we are safely back in Germany!’

  Heuss grinned, and stood up to cover Kohler’s confusion. ‘Captain, I should like to thank you for your confidence. After this war it will be remembered how it was won rather than who won it. To tarnish the record of the Navy would only——’ He faltered as von Steiger lifted his hand.

  ‘Thank you, Lieutenant! Some other time I should be delighted to hear your views, but now I have signals to dictate!’ He ignored the flush which spread across Heuss’s face. ‘That will be all, gentlemen! Lieutenant Dehler will give you your watchkeeping duties and other extra appointments. Let me just say this. This is not a mere escapade, this is real war. Those of you who were at Jutland or in the Dogger Bank battles may have thought you had seen war at first hand. Forget it all! Those battles were planned by amateurs for an occasion which can never arise. They rank with the folly of sending cavalry to charge into machine guns and barbed wire, or of sending half-trained soldiers to attack tanks. Those episodes may be well remembered by the historians, but our war is the one which will count!’ He picked up his cap and nodded to Dehler.

  Heuss watched von Steiger lift his foot to step over the door coaming and then pause. He turned. ‘If any of you wish to send a last letter, my steward will take them ashore in an hour. I expect those of you who are married would like to——’ He stopped and bit his lip, and then hurried through the door.

  In spite of von Steiger’s earlier curtness and brusque interruption, Heuss clearly saw the anguish on the Captain’s face. My God, he thought, he is being torn apart. He is like a man being driven to the edge of despair.

  Damrosch said quietly: ‘He is a really great man, Heuss! I have never seen anybody like him!’

  Heuss arose from his thoughts, confused and angry, but at the sight of the young officer’s serious face he relented. ‘Yes, Max, our Captain is a man.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘I think he has really taken a liking to me!’

  At that moment the deck started to vibrate with slow insistence beneath their feet. Eighty feet below them the great engine began to rumble with steady confidence.

  Ebert seized them by the shoulders, his pink face shining. Hear that? She is alive! Tonight we sail for Germany! For the Fatherland!’

  Then they were all shouting and cheering, their voices echoing around the spray-soaked decks outside. Only Dehler did not smile or cheer. As he watched their excitement he felt the weight of his age and the incessant smouldering of his own failure.

  * * * * *

  The wind, which had gone round to the east, was mounting in force, and the open expanse of the main harbour was lined with fast-moving cream-coloured crests which contrasted with the angry grey water and the dark evening sky.

  Von Steiger stepped from his sea cabin at the rear of the bridge to look briefly at the bustling decks below him. Seamen in oilskins shining like beetles scurried to and fro in orderly confusion, and here and there an officer stood aloof and watchful, his voice whipped away by the wind. The harbour was in shadow, the moored and anchored fleet silent and brooding. He could almost sense the invisible binoculars and telescopes trained on his lonely ship, just as he knew the hopes that rode with his journey.

  He readjusted the strap of the binoculars about his neck and pulled his cap tighter on to his head, then stepped into the wide wheelhouse.

  He ignored the formal salutes, the quick, darting stares of the men who thronged the place, and walked to his tall, scrubbed, wooden chair which he had caused to be bolted on the port side. He knew from hard experience that it was unlikely he would be far from either the chair or his tiny sea cabin throughout the voyage. His spacious quarters were deserted now, he would not need them.

  He sat on the chair and stared down at the wide foredeck beneath him. His vision was split in two by the tall foremast with its tiny black pod from where the masthead lookout would keep constant watch. The lookout could see five miles farther than anyone else aboard. That could be a margin of life or death for friend and foe alike.

  The decks looked neat and secure, and only the carpenter and his mates still moved about the two forward holds, checking the lashings of the covers and hammering in a few more wedges to make sure.

  He thought of the precious coal stored in those holds. The most valuable stuff aboard. Full holds and bunkers, and even the passageways and unused cabins were filled with the gleaming material of power.

  He watched the small group of seamen in the high bows. He could see the bulky shape of Lieutenant Dehler as he supervised the last preparations for letting go from the buoy. The cable had been unshackled, and only a slender slipwire held them to the last link with the land.

  A few traces of blown spume floated across the thick bridge windows, and he half turned to watch the busy scene around him. Heuss stood by the rank of brass voice-pipes at the rear, whilst Damrosch waited out on the open starboard wing of the bridge, his face glowing in the ice-fingered air. The Coxswain, a giant Berliner called Lehr, stood heavily behind the polished wheel, his chin resting on his chest as his eyes dreamily watched the compass in its bowl. A seaman waited by the big-dialled telegraph, his fingers on the handle, his eyes nervously avoiding his captain. Petty Officer Heiser watched over his signalmen, his long telescope open and tucked under his arm in readiness. They all stood and waited, their bodies swaying and staggering to the uneven motion, surrounded by a vapour-cloud of their own breath. The varnished woodwork glistened with condensation, and a constant light spray drifted over the front of the bridge like fine rain, so that the lookouts on either wing had to shield their powerful Zeiss glasses and wipe their streaming faces before the ice rime could form.

  An eery green light flickered through the gloom, and von Steiger heard a young signalman draw in his breath.

  Petty Officer Heiser snapped his telescope shut and said quickly: ‘Signal from flagship, Captain! Proceed when ready!’

  Von Steiger heard Heuss say, half to himself: ‘They certainly believe in letting the whole world know! A brass band on the jetty would have been the thing!’

  Von Steiger smiled without humour and sat up in his chair. ‘Stand by!’

  The telegraph jangled, the noise making them all start.

  Far below, the old Chief Engineer, Niklas, looked at the repeater dial as the demanding needle jerked from its long sleep. He grinned at his young assistant through the steam and noise, and felt something like relief. Below his high catwalk the naked stokers toiled and sweated with their shovels and trimmers, their eyes blinded with dust, their ears deaf but to the hungry roar of the furnace doors.

  Von Steiger sighed. The open sea again, and God alone knew what danger lay beyond the Vulkan’s corkscrewing bows. Slow ahead!’

  The ship shuddered, and a mounting white froth surged from beneath her high counter. Damrosch dropped his arm, and the distant fo’c’sle party were galvanised into action. The wire hawser was slipped from one side, and as the men hauled like demons, the long snaking halter flashed through the ring on the buoy and emerged dripping through the fairleads. They were free.

  ‘Half ahead! Coxswain, steer straight for the boom gate! When we pass through the boom, bring her round to the north-east!’

  ‘Very good, Captain!’ Lehr’s thick legs were straddled as if he was riding the ship, and his deep eyes glowed softly in the binnacle light.

  The revolutions mounted, and the land began to slide into the darkness until it was merged into one purple shadow. A small harbour launch curtsied past, and they saw upturned faces and waving hands.

  The boom-defence vessel drew abeam, and a light began to stammer across the black water. Heiser read the message, his lips moving with practised ease. ‘Good luck, Captain!’

  Von Steiger nodded absently. ‘Make to them, “We will do our best!”’

  The Vulkan passed from the harbour approaches and thrust her stem into the first angry roller. The ship shuddered and plunged forward to meet her natural adversary. A seaman messenger clamped his hand across his mouth and turned green, whilst from all around came the clatter and creak of loose gear. The ship was coming awake again from her long rest, and threw off her fetters with contempt, so that men were running across the streaming decks once more to lash down the gear which threatened to throw itself into the creaming wake.