He cocked his arrogant head to listen to the coarse laughter from the sick-bay. I have not finished with you, Willi. You cannot hide in the sick-bay and behind your Iron Cross for ever. His grin faded and two small tears of frustration pinched from the corners of his pale eyes. After all, where would you be without me?

  The ship glided into the empty sea, her stem thrusting to meet the brightening stars and invisible horizon.

  * * * * *

  But for the shaded light from a small reading lamp, the cabin was in darkness. He closed the door quietly behind him. She sat on the arm of the big chair, and as he stared at her shadowy outline he thought it was as if she had not moved since his last visit. He was conscious of the stillness in the cabin and the pounding of his heart.

  As he crossed the space between them he could see the pale shapes of her feet beneath the dressing-gown and of her hands as they clasped the arm of the chair. She looked as if she were holding on with all her strength, but she did not lift her head until he placed his fingers beneath her chin and gently tilted her face towards him.

  As he touched her hair he felt a great shiver move through her body, and as if mesmerised she rose to her feet and stood looking up at him, her eyes dark in her pale face.

  ‘I kept my word, you see.’ He tried to smile, but his voice sounded strained and unsteady. ‘Are you afraid?’

  She shook her head so that the loose hair swung across her neck, the movement bringing a stab of pain to his heart.

  He was conscious of her warmth and the soft smell of her body. He wanted each moment to last for ever, and yet he was afraid to wait. Her lips parted in a soft moan as he pulled the cord free from her waist and allowed the dressing-gown to fall to the floor. In the gentle light her slender body gleamed like gold, and seemed to sway as he pulled her towards him. His voice was muffled as he spoke into her hair, and her violent trembling seemed to quiet as he ran his hand around her waist and upwards until it encircled the rich fullness of her breast.

  She could not feel her limbs, and was aware only that he had carried her to the wide bunk where she had so often thought of this moment.

  The hands moved caressingly across her body until she could stand the agony no longer. Her groping angers dug into his shoulders and she pulled him desperately towards her.

  ‘Be gentle with me! It has been so long . . .’ She felt the weight of his body upon hers, and as she covered her mouth with his she drew him to her, her breathing stifled by the pain of exquisite longing.

  18

  BENEATH THE MERCILESS glare of the sun the sea was almost motionless, the motion so small and laboured that it seemed as if it was stifled and could no longer breathe. There was a fine haze across the horizon and the glittering, undulating blue water shimmered like a distorted mirror.

  At slow speed the Vulkan moved across this empty and unprotected desert, the screw throwing up a small wake of churned foam and disordered bubbles, which faded after a few yards as the sea closed in once more to cover her painful progress. On deck nobody moved, and the slowly turning head and shoulders of the masthead lookout and the glint of sunlight on his binoculars was the only sign of life. The decks were dry and cracked, and from the superstructure great flakes of paint had drifted away, and the pitch in the seams bubbled and glowed like black wax.

  There was no air, no breeze and the ship was stifled. On the bridge the still figures stood at their usual stations, but any movement was laboured and any new sound brought a fur rowed frown or a fresh stream of sweat down their strained faces.

  Dehler moved his sodden jacket against his body in weary flapping movements, his eyes squinting as he peered across the helmsman’s slack shoulder towards the gently pirouetting water. Damrosch held both hands on the flag-locker, his chest moving as if he were taking deep-breathing exercises. His white tunic was dark with sweat-stains and his face glowed with heat and the salt-aided burns. He found his head drooping, his chin rasping against his high collar, and each time it became harder to jerk himself out of it, more difficult to fight back.

  He made a great effort as the door of the Captain’s sea cabin banged open and von Steiger walked to the chart-table. He watched the neat bowed head, the calm eyes and the hand that moved like a pointer across the chart. He blinked away some of his fatigue as the Captain said: ‘Bring her round to the south-east, Dehler. We will do one more leg and then lay off a fresh course.’

  Von Steiger watched the dumb bitterness in Dehler’s eyes as he rapped out his orders. The wheel went over, and labouring heavily the ship swung on to her new course. There was nothing on von Steiger’s face to show his gnawing anxiety, and his eyes were controlled to hide the agony he was inwardly suffering. For over twelve hours the ship had patrolled a giant rectangle, first in the dusk, then in the cool of the night and now in this blazing heat. Over twelve hours of waiting and watching, every telescope and glass trained and ready to welcome the first sight of the old collier. But the sea was empty, and even the most hopeful heart on board was heavy and dulled.

  He leaned his back against the wheelhouse door and stared hard at the shimmering sea. The heat enclosed him like a warm blanket after hours on watch, and as such tempted him to fall asleep in a split second. Three days of steaming, three days of hoping and planning. Now there was no collier and the Vulkan moved buoyantly on her empty holds.

  He closed his eyes and felt the sun drying the moisture on his tight lips. He shut out the sounds of the bridge, the occasional creak of the wheel, the heavy breathing of the two lookouts at his side and the mocking grumble of the engine. It all faded, and he was back again in the girl’s cabin.

  He could still feel the smoothness of her limbs and the urgent movements of her body. They had made love with a wild fierceness which only their kind of desperation could bring. Afterwards they had lain quite still, searching for the right words, words which would neither soil nor destroy the perfection of their union. He had waited until she had fallen asleep and had gently moved from her side. For another long moment he had stared down at her in the yellow light of the one small lamp. It was as if she was sleeping for the first time in freedom and security, and there was a small desperate smile on her parted lips. He had pulled the sheet over her naked body, and switched out the light. At the door he had faltered again. The door, through which lay that other world. He had been almost frightened to step on to the deck beyond, and try as he might he could no longer remember his journey to the bridge. He could recall only her perfect beauty in the cabin and the uneasy silence which greeted him on the bridge.

  He felt the door cutting into his shoulders, but was too weary to move. For three days he had driven himself and the ship unmercifully, so that in his mind the collier had become a sort of desperate pilgrimage. It was as if he had told himself that he had been guilty of more than just moral weakness. He felt that he had failed the ship in some terrible way, which only a fresh sign of success would erase.

  The telephone buzzed, and he felt the sweat coursing down his legs as he levered himself from the door.

  Damrosch nodded into the mouthpiece and looked towards him. ‘Masthead reports a ship, sir! Dead ahead!’

  The agony of waiting was replaced by one of cold fury. That fool Wildermuth! I should never have given him such a responsibility! He should have been able to make a perfect rendezvous and not keep the raider steaming round in helpless and vulnerable circles.

  ‘Call Lieutenant Heuss! Break open the holds and prepare the ship for coaling! It will be easier to get alongside in this weather, but speed is essential!’

  He walked to the wing of the bridge and the sun smote at his back like an open furnace-door. He shied away from the thought which had grown steadily in his mind since he had been with Caryl Brett. He stopped in his tracks, as if to face the thought again like an adversary. After all, why not? They had made their gesture, and perhaps more could be gained by turning back to Germany now, before it was too late. He clenched his fists with excitement. They could break the British blockade yet again and steam into Kiel as he had done before. Surely that would dispel the lies and accusations. The return of a victorious Vulkan would be more than enough for Britain and Germany.

  He examined his other plan carefully. They could go back again through the Denmark Strait and make their way to Norwegian waters. His friends he still had in Norway would always help him, would not question his reasons for sending them an English girl to look after and protect until the finale of this bloody war. She had become an outcast of her own country, and there would be little room for such as himself in Germany after their final defeat. He tried to picture what would happen when the Emperor was forced to admit defeat. Peace with honour? He frowned at the water. It would not help the millions of killed and mutilated men, whatever the outcome.

  In the sun-baked crow’s-nest Seaman Hauptmann mopped the sweat from his deep-set eyes and raised his binoculars yet again. At the first sign of the telltale smudge of smoke he had peered fixedly through the glass until his eyes felt red raw, but as soon as he was sure that no tripod mast was lifting through the haze, no sleek grey cruiser was tearing into the silent world of his powerful lenses, he sighed and passed his report to the bridge below him. Thank God it has happened while I am on watch, he thought. It is even better up here than coaling ship in this weather. It will be like ten ovens down in those gaping holds! He peered downwards at the white-capped officers on the port wing and sneered. They would be pleased, too! The damned officers were always glad to get a chance to shout orders to the poor seamen! Perhaps after this we will cross the sea to the African coast. A man could get ashore there, and get a woman maybe. He remembered the girl’s face in the swaying whaleboat as he had moved down its length towards her. But for that oaf Schiller, I would have had her there and then. Well there’s still time, even though they do keep her cool for the damned officers. Perhaps when the collier comes alongside . . . He lifted his glasses and peered with bewilderment at the distant ship. He licked his lips with sudden apprehension. This was no collier. She was a big ship, a cargo liner by the look of her upperworks. With mounting dread he groped for the telephone.

  Von Steiger listened to the new report, his hand halted in mid air as he reached for a cheroot. ‘Cargo liner? Is he sure?’ He could sense the shock and disappointment even in his own voice. ‘Damrosch, get up there yourself, at the double!’ He turned as Heuss appeared on the bridge, his jacket loose across his chest.

  ‘Trouble, sir?’

  Von Steiger did not hear him, he was standing with the brass handset against his ear, watching the vision of snow-capped Norwegian mountains fade into the shimmering heat-haze which still hid the approaching ship from his empty eyes. A cargo liner. Too big to be any use as a prize, but too dangerous to ignore. At any moment she might send frantic wireless signals for the world to hear. I must frighten her away so that I can find the collier. Destroy her wireless and perhaps get some information from her. In his ear Damrosch’s distorted voice said, ‘Cargo liner, sir, British without a doubt.’

  Von Steiger slowly replaced the hand-set. ‘Send the hands to quarters, Heuss. Stand by to engage this ship!’ He walked away from the other officer as the alarm bells rang shrilly throughout the slumbering raider. Please God this British captain will not do anything reckless!

  * * * * *

  The S.S. Fiji Star, of seven thousand tons, pushed her great bulk steadily and unerringly towards the smaller vessel, which moved with deceptive slowness from the low haze. The holds were crammed almost to overflowing with good Argentine beef carcasses and great areas of sugar, while on her spacious decks were lashed some twenty fighter aircraft, being despatched to the Western Front for the use of the Brazilian Air Force. Passengers and crew flocked to the rails and stared at the strange ship, enjoying the sight of anything which might help to break the boredom of the passage to England.

  The saw the signal-light flashing, and a murmur of excited conversation broke out as an officer blew his whistle and a group of seamen ran with unusual alacrity along the upper deck. On her high bridge the old Welsh captain had just ordered his wireless operator to send the urgent S O S, and, with the wheel hard over, the proud ship heeled slightly as she turned away from her distant challenger.

  From behind his screen Lieutenant Kohler licked his lips and peered across his sighting-bar at the lengthening shape of the other vessel, his pale eyes watering with concentration. His petty officer, Weiss, stood straddle-legged behind the inert torpedo-tubes, his fingers locked as if in prayer, his tiny eyes on his superior.

  A forward gun barked out with sudden anger, and a tall column of white water rose within yards of the great ship’s swinging bows and glistened like snow in the bright sunlight before falling back into the calm sea.

  Von Steiger snapped his fingers. ‘The wireless! Shoot down the wireless!’ He was only half aware of the chattering Morse which had started to pour loudly from the wireless-room, and the urgent chant of orders through the maze of voice-pipes nearby. Another shot, but with the sun practically in their eyes the gunners were shooting wild. The frantic Morse bored through the cordite-tinted air like a drill, and von Steiger peered through his glasses at the rapidly turning ship with growing despair.

  Heuss was again at his side, his voice tight but controlled. ‘That S O S will be heard for miles, Captain! Shall I give the order to give her a full broadside?’

  Von Steiger shook his head. ‘Look, Heuss! Her decks are crammed with passengers! After getting this far, do you want me to fire on helpless women and children?’

  In a corner of the wheelhouse Dehler heard them talking and dug his fingers into a voice-pipe to stop himself from screaming. His whole frame shivered uncontrollably and he thought his head would split apart from the staccato squeak and stutter of the Morse which poured from the wireless receivers. He glared with wild eyes at the two officers he hated most, terrified by their calm-sounding voices and their steady hands as they turned their glasses on the British ship.

  They are raving mad! They are inviting death because of their stupid pride. They don’t understand war, they only play at it like all these professionals! To them it is an annoying interlude, a game which allows the poor fools like me and the civilian sailors to get slaughtered by the thousand while they stand and watch and fire criticism at us at every move. His neck swelled inside his collar and the wheelhouse seemed to swim in a red mist before his eyes. He was vaguely aware of a disembodied voice coming to him from the voice-pipe which he held for support.

  ‘Torpedo officer here! What orders?’ Kohler sounded sharp and querulous.

  Dehler stared at the bell-mouthed tube which he held in his hands like a precious flower. His voice shook with thankful emotion, and in a strange, crackled voice he muttered, ‘Fire when your sights bear!’

  Von Steiger tore his eyes from the ship as the thick voice penetrated his racing thoughts. In two strides he was across the wheelhouse, his swinging fist pushing Dehler’s fat bulk clear, so that the man fell like a rag doll on the trembling deck.

  ‘Captain here! Kohler, do not fire!’ He stared with desperate disbelief at the brass tube as the dull thud of the firing charge echoed up into the wheelhouse.

  Kohler’s voice sounded very close, excited and defiant. ‘Torpedo running, sir! I obeyed and carried out my orders!’

  Von Steiger turned without a word and ran back to the wing of the bridge. Perhaps it was a poor shot, and in his eagerness to fire Kohler might have misjudged the range and angle. He stared at the thin white line which ran as straight as an arrow for the distant ship. He forced himself to watch it, punishing himself when his whole body felt twisted with revulsion and horror.

  Heuss whispered! ‘My God! She doesn’t stand a chance!’

  The explosion was strangely subdued, but the great orange curtain of fire which flowered from the ship’s side seemed to dim the sun, and the towering whirlwind of black smoke and falling wreckage blotted out the stricken ship like a solid wall.

  They saw the tall funnels dip towards them as the hull rolled over slowly on to its beam ends, and imagined they could see the tiny figures of the trapped and terrified passengers who, minutes before, had pointed at, and even waved towards, the Vulkan.

  Von Steiger concentrated his stricken gaze upon one single figure. A man was wriggling through a scuttle which had been high up on the superstructure. He held his breath, willing the tiny figure to get free of the ship before it rolled over completely and engulfed him. A drifting bank of smoke covered the scene, and he heard himself say: ‘Lower the boats! Try to find if there are any survivors!’

  Heuss thought of the S O S and the terrible danger they risked by staying in this place. He looked at von Steiger’s face and forgot the danger immediately. As soon as he had stopped the engine and signalled to the waiting boats’ crews, he said hoarsely, ‘I do not think there will be a single survivor, Captain.’

  Von Steiger walked silently to the centre of the bridge and stood looking down at the kneeling figure of Lieutenant Dehler. His lip was hanging loosely and his small eyes were watching him like a triumphant maniac.

  Dehler rested his hands, oblivious of the watching seamen and the white face of Lehr, the Coxswain. He could see only von Steiger’s pain-filled eyes and the slackness of his shoulders as he stared down at him.

  ‘You made me do it! You were prepared to sacrifice the ship because of an outdated idea! But I saved all of you!’ He laughed, the sound loud and obscene in the silent wheelhouse. ‘What will you tell the world now, eh? Who will believe you did not give the order? All your precious admirers will think again now!’