‘Thank God we reduced speed, Heuss, whatever our reason! That fellow will eventually overtake us and cross our bows. But for our miserable progress, we should have met!’

  Ebert lowered his glasses. ‘I don’t understand, sir.’

  Von Steiger smiled grimly. ‘Those four little lights are the funnel-tops of a warship! They must be driving her like hell to make such an inferno!’

  Heuss chilled and turned back to watch the distant lights. He even imagined that he could see the four tall funnels, the rakish hull beneath and the long guns pointing into the darkness like rows of teeth. He thought of the Captain’s matter-of-fact explanation, his quick summing-up of the danger, the action to be taken. How could any of us replace him? he wondered. It is not training we lack. It is experience.

  Von Steiger yawned. ‘I am going to walk round the ship, Heuss. You had better turn in.’

  Heuss grinned uncomfortably. His mind and body screamed out for rest, but he felt unable to free himself from the new force within him. ‘I think I will stay on the bridge, sir.’

  ‘As you wish. Make use of my sea cabin. I shall not sleep tonight.’

  He walked from the bridge, his hands thrust into his pockets. I cannot sleep tonight, nor any other night, he thought. He could feel the ship calling to him as he walked the deserted decks and ducked beneath the swinging derricks and canvas dodgers. He paused beneath the high poop and leaned over the bulwark to watch the minute wake. The sea bubbled and slapped against the worn plates, and as he turned his back on it he could see the heavy masts and rigging made delicate against the stars. He tried to relax his mind and shake himself free of the fantasy that this was the last peace he would know. He felt as he imagined Heinz must have felt so many times before the dawn. Waiting in the mud, or crouched on a crumbling fire-step to await the first light. Then the urgent whistles, the blind, scrambling dash over the edge of the trench and into the dawn. Into the merciless wire, the chattering machine guns, into nothing.

  As he sat against the bulwarks he could hear the ship talking, as every ship talked in the night. It was ridiculous, of course, but it happened. The faint, unmistakable murmur of sound. It was the metal expanding and contracting, loose wires, straining deck-beams and countless other normal and explainable reactions. And yet, as he listened, he could identify none of these things. Just a quiet, incessant murmur.

  He paused by the sick-bay and stood just inside the open door. He could see Steuer’s white jacket swinging from a door and hear the painful breathing of Pieck, the boy in the cot. Another figure sat behind the table, his face lowered, his eyes staring at his hands. He did not look up as von Steiger passed, but the Captain heard the weary dispirited voice say: ‘My name is Emil Alder. My name is Emil Alder.’

  The night fire party sat back to back in a solid block of human statuary, their feet sticking out like the spokes of a broken wheel, their heads lolling in time to the rolling ship.

  In the galley the duty cook tended his fire and whistled softly as he groped in the darkness for his favourite pipe and the remains of his tobacco.

  The boatdeck, damp but humid, and the lookouts swinging their long telescopes like guns over the low rails. He spoke to them, although he did not know what he said, but was aware of their dark anonymous faces split by white grins and embarrassed pleasure.

  Nobody in the engine-room saw him looking from the high catwalk, but von Steiger stood for several minutes watching the gleaming, orderly world, where results did not rest or depend upon the strength of mere men.

  Out on the deck again, he shivered and glanced upwards to the square outline of the bridge. It was strange how the threat of failure and defeat had succeeded in drawing them all together at last. Had it been so from the start would things have altered? he wondered. Or would such buoyant team-spirit have driven them to destruction in those first days? In the Denmark Strait perhaps, or earlier when Dehler had wanted to break out into the Atlantic. He thought again of that bitter, misguided man. He had, at least, loved this ship. If he had achieved nothing more in life, he had succeeded in knowing the ship.

  He quickened his pace towards the officers’ quarters, his boots quiet on the damp planking.

  * * * * *

  The girl opened her eyes and stared upwards into the darkness. She did not know what had awakened her, but as sounds arranged themselves for her ears she noticed the slow pace of the engine and deep, uneasy roll of the bunk beneath her. Her limbs were hot and damp, and as she moved her hand across her naked body she could feel the skin soft with perspiration. There was little air in the cabin, and she was conscious of the loud beating of her heart. She no longer awakened from sleep in a panic, with a silent scream on her lips or struggling to free herself from the blankets. She was able to shut her mind to the reality of the outside world and find comfort again from her thoughts.

  There was a click in the darkness, and she sat bolt upright on the bunk. ‘Who is that? What do you want?’ She stared into the darkness, the rough blanket pulled up to her chin.

  The yellow light from the small reading-lamp suddenly enfolded her in a small frame of colour, and she saw von Steiger looking down at her, his eyes steady and calm.

  Without speaking, he sat on the edge of the bunk and pushed her gently back on to the pillow. He smiled as if to reassure her, and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

  ‘I make no apologies,’ he said, ‘for I have no excuse for my behaviour!’

  ‘Is anything happening? You know I do not mind you coming to me. I have waited so long to see you again!’

  He took the blanket from her unresisting fingers and pulled it down to her thighs. For a long while he looked at her body, and then ran his hand gently across her shoulder and around her breasts. She trembled, but did not speak. She watched his face as if mesmerised, while his hand explored her body with such gentle power.

  ‘I cannot stay long.’ He seemed to have difficulty in saying the words. ‘But tomorrow will be difficult for all of us, and I must speak to you before then. I am going to try to steer north, to make a final break through the British squadron. If I succeed I will try to get some more coal. If I fail I shall have to think again.’

  Her lips moved slowly. ‘When you get back to Germany you will forget me!’

  ‘You know that is not true. We cannot help ourselves. It is fate. I will put you ashore, not with those others from the British ships, but alone, with sufficient information and money for you to get back to safety. When the war is over, perhaps you will still think of me as you do now?’

  ‘It will be over soon! It must be! But I shall be an ordinary girl again, while you will be back with your traditions and your own way of life. You will not be able to share it with me.’

  The hand stopped moving, and she could feel the pain of longing like fire.

  ‘That sort of life is over after this. A whole new world will be waiting for those who are strong enough to take it!’ His eyes blazed in the light. ‘I will put you somewhere in safety before I return to Germany. You belong with your own people now. Do not worry about what has happened between us, nothing can destroy that. Whatever you hear said of me you can ignore and keep your own judgement for yourself. I have done my duty, as you would have done yours.’

  He made as if to move, but her hands closed over his wrist. He could see the tears on her cheeks as she cried: ‘Not yet! There is so little time!’

  He smiled sadly. ‘Yes, I have much to do. When the engine-room have completed the repairs I will be permanently on the bridge.’

  He listened to her quickening breathing, and remembered the sounds he had heard on deck. This was the moment of peace. He could not turn his back on it. He dare not.

  She pulled him down to her, feeling his defences crumble. Later, as her body gave a long shudder and the fierceness of their passion had been replaced by a feeling of great calm, von Steiger looked down at her relaxed, childlike face and prayed that he could protect her at least from disillusionment and misery,

  20

  THE MURMUR OF voices died away as von Steiger stepped on to the hold-cover and stood for a moment looking down and around at his ship’s company. In response to the urgent twitter of bosun’s pipes the seamen had thronged aft, and now in the blazing sunlight they stood, packed shoulder to shoulder or clinging to stays and rigging, to watch the slight, white-clad figure of their captain.

  Von Steiger saw the lean, sunburned faces, the dispirited, even sullen, expressions, and felt strangely moved. He wondered if this time his words would be enough. They looked too weary and beaten to be receptive to mere oratory.

  When he spoke his voice was confident yet quiet, so that those men who were furthest away had to lean forward, their strained faces tense with concentration.

  Unexpectedly he said! ‘In a few moments I am sending you to breakfast! After you have eaten you are going to work even harder than you have already, and the first job you must do is to broach Number Two hold!’

  A ripple of uneasiness and resentment transmitted itself through the packed ranks, and Heuss, who was watching with the other officers, felt a pang of alarm. This time von Steiger was asking too much. The men were tired, and they were without hope. It would need more than mere words to bind them together again.

  Von Steiger continued: ‘I want the coal from that hold for a very good reason. I want to fill the bunkers at once, and in addition I want every unnecessary piece of woodwork stripped from the ship and sent to the stokehold: lockers, bunks, doors . . . everything! The petty officers have lists of gear to be chopped down, and you will, I know, do the rest!’

  He paused, and ran his eye over the slowly labouring ship. Since dawn the men had been painting canvas and disguising the ship once again. Deckhouses had been altered, and a false deck cargo had sprung up aft of the bridge. He stared at the empty sea, glittering with a million mirrors, and at the placid sky. So quiet, yet so full of menace.

  He faced his crew once more, picking out individual faces which had come to mean so much to him.

  ‘Men, we are going home, back to Germany!’

  There was an electric silence as the faces changed from shocked incredulity to dumb amazement. Then the ship rang with fierce, crazed cheers and wild, even hysterical, cries of delight. Von Steiger raised a hand, and the silence fell instantly.

  ‘You may know that a British cruiser passed us during the night. I believe she was going to answer an S O S given by a Greek steamer. The cruiser probably thought that the Vulkan was attacking the Greek and wanted to be in at the kill. Whatever the reason, the warship went to her assistance.’ He paused, sensing the anxious faces about him. ‘And that could mean that for a while at least the British steel ring is broken! Give me the coal and the wood, and I will increase speed at once! If required I will drive this ship to the depths! If we return to the Fatherland now, I am sure that no one can speak against us . . .’

  He got no further, his voice was drowned by their excited cheering.

  He watched them disperse before the petty officers, and walked slowly towards the bridge. He smiled as men reached out to touch him as he passed, but as he reached the foot of the steel ladder he faltered, and Heuss saw the emotion laid bare on his worn face. He had never seen von Steiger so moved or so defenceless, and turned away with something like guilt. As if he had intruded on something private.

  * * * * *

  Von Steiger watched the vapour-trail thicken as it billowed over the edge of the stained funnel. Below, the stokers were pouring on the precious coal, mixed with hastily lashed bundles of chopped wood. He could feel the ship shaking with renewed life as the revolutions mounted and the sharp stem flung itself into the lazy water. He felt slightly light-headed, like a reckless gambler who has thrown his last coin on the table. It was all a matter of speed and distance now. Once clear of this closely combed area there was a chance. As a last resort he might touch the African coast and cut more timber for the boilers from some secluded forest-land. And there was always the chance of meeting another collier. He frowned, distrusting his unusual optimism. He was glad that the seamen had burst into a fit of shouting and cheering. The trusting, hopeful faces turned upwards towards him had almost been too much for his reserve, and only those standing near him could have heard the tremor in his voice.

  They gave me the sweepings of the fleet and the barracks. The Admiral thought that a gesture did not need trained, hand-picked men like von Spee, Count zu Dohna-Schlodien or Karl Nerger had commanded on their victorious sorties into the enemy’s territory. Perhaps he was right. Maybe only the captain did count in the long run. But I would not change these men of mine for the pick of the Imperial Navy now.

  He listened to the clatter of shovels and walked to the forepart of the bridge to watch the working party which had been detailed for Number Two hold. He could see the shimmering haze from the coal as it was plucked from the narrow hatchway at the rear of the hold and bundled towards the bunkers. Wet, dangerous and every bag spelling disaster. But the risk was worth while just so long as the work was handled with great care, and he was thankful to see Niklas’s grey head bobbing amongst the crowded figures.

  Von Steiger lifted his cup to his lips, savouring the dregs of the coffee. In spite of his regulated, wire-taut mind, he found himself thinking of the girl and what she had done for him.

  I have changed beyond all recognition, he thought. Now I want to live, to return home, even if only for my men. There has to be some sort of future. Without hope I had nothing, but she has opened another door for me.

  He rubbed his sore eyes and watched the helmsman as he steadied the wheel against the thrust of the madly thrashing screw. I have spent all my life in the Navy, and yet my true memories started to form only with the war. Now they are compressed even further. There is nothing I can recall beyond this ship, this mad, all-demanding search.

  He seated himself carefully in the tall chair and allowed his head to nod forward. He could feel the trembling vibration of the hull like the pounding of life-blood, and to its tune fell into the first real sleep he had enjoyed since he had taken command.

  Lieutenant Kohler watched him for a few moments and then walked slowly to the wing of the bridge. The sun was hot across his face, but he hardly noticed it. Already his mind was busy with possibilities and plans for his return to Germany. It was not quite as he had hoped, but there was still a chance really to distinguish himself, he considered. After all, when they got to Kiel it was almost certain that the officers would be decorated. That honour, plus a few useful introductions, could assure him of a command of his own. He licked his lips at the bright prospect. A command of his own. Where every man would behave and act in the proper manner, as would befit the crew of his own ship.

  High in his sun-baked pod, the masthead lookout peered steadily through his powerful glasses. Port to starboard, and back again. Hellwege, the poop gunlayer, had managed to take over the important position temporarily, after promising some tobacco to Petty Officer Eucken. He grinned to himself and rested the glasses against the lip of the crow’s-nest. Anything was better than humping coal or breaking up woodwork. He blinked as a shaft of sunlight lanced through the lenses and dazzled his eyes. The sea looked very beautiful, he thought. It would be something to talk to Erhard about. I shall ask him again about God. How can we be sure that God really made the sea? He grinned at the prospect of goading that dour bible-scourer.

  The light glared through his glasses again, and he cursed angrily. Then he stiffened. Why should the light be reflected from that quarter? He held his breath and levelled the glasses on the purple horizon. Flash. There it was again. A bright flash through the haze, like the sunlight reflected against glass. . . . The plate-glass of a high bridge, for instance.

  Hellwege, the stocky, amiable gunlayer, whose only serious thought in life had been about the reality of God, had never tried for the rewards of promotion or fame. He had been content to be a good gunner, and to make the most of the friendship offered by the lower deck. He was unimaginative, even a little stupid, but as he lifted the telephone his voice did not hesitate, nor did it falter.

  With his eyes on the horizon he reported: ‘Officer-of-the-watch? Enemy in sight, sir!’

  * * * * *

  Heuss reached the bridge, panting and breathless. The shrill alarm bells, coupled with the urgent twitter of bosun’s pipes, had come with such suddenness that he could hardly remember his wild dash up the ladders from the wardroom, his journey obstructed by careering figures, cursing seamen and vague impressions of startled eyes and tight mouths.

  Lieutenant Kohler greeted him bleakly. ‘Enemy in sight. Bearing red four five. Range about twelve miles.’

  Heuss glanced at the compass and then looked around the bridge, which was rapidly filling with men. Extra signal ratings, messengers, machine gunners and all the rest of the attack team. The Coxswain’s giant body momentarily blotted out the sunlight as he made for the wheel and took the spokes, with hardly a glance at the officers. Petty Officer Heiser opened his telescope with a squeaking sound and calmly examined the horizon.

  Kohler said: ‘I am going below to my tubes. There will be work for them again!’

  Heuss halted him with a raised hand. ‘But the Captain? Where is he?’

  ‘He has been, and gone! He said to tell you he would be a few minutes.’

  Heuss watched the other officer go and half listened to the crackle and bark of voice-pipes and telephones around him.

  ‘Close all watertight doors and scuttles! Down all deadlights!’ The orders were followed by the dull thuds of steel barriers being dropped to seal the ship into separate sections. The men in each compartment prayed that those in the next would be the ones to be trapped and drowned, not themselves.

  ‘Main armament closed up!’

  Twenty-two pounder closed up!’