‘That’s no answer! I want to meet one man who can explain it all to me! Here we are, the damned British, us and probably every other country that’s in the war, all quite convinced that his cause is the just one! Each quite sure that God and Right are on his side! It makes me sick, and I’ll bet that God is a damned sight sicker of the whole lot of us!’

  Erhard sighed and opened his book at the chapter he required. ‘He has His ways,’ he said calmly, and ignored the others from then on.

  Schiller sighed contentedly and puffed at the cigar stub, while Schwartz re-dealt the cards. ‘God is waiting to see who wins before He passes judgement!’

  Schwartz cursed obscenely as a sudden lurch of the high bows made some enamel mugs clatter noisily along the deck. ‘Keep still, you cow! How can I concentrate?’ As he examined his cards, his heavy-lidded eyes sharpened with satisfaction. Aloud he added: ‘Not that I am complaining as yet. We’ve had a nice smooth trip so far. Two ships sunk, and only two of our boys killed!’

  Gottlieb put two matches tentatively in the little pile opposite Schiller and looked up quickly. ‘You aren’t including poor Braun as a casualty of war?’

  ‘Certainly! It always follows like that. The officers get so keyed up with their own wind and importance that they have to kill off a few of the boys now and then just to let off steam!’ He eyed Gottlieb with a cruel grin. ‘If I were captain, I’d delight in polishing you off, you fat slob! You are a disgrace to the Fatherland!’

  Schiller nodded gravely. ‘That’s what I think, too. All the poor people at home tempting their guts with nettle soup and water beer, and this pig looks as if he had just attended an admiral’s banquet!’

  Gottlieb laughed nervously. ‘I’ve always been fat. I don’t seem to be able to help it!’

  ‘Well, don’t be so damned proud of it!’ Hellwege nudged his companion. ‘Otherwise you’ll be the next one for the firing squad!’ He pointed with a spatulate finger. ‘Bang! Another pig for the pot!’

  Schwartz yawned and shifted in his seat. ‘All the same, we’re lucky to be here as I see it. Some of the boys from the barracks in Wilhelmshaven were taken away and conscripted into the stinking infantry! What do you think of that?’

  Gottlieb blinked. ‘Really? What good would a seaman be in the firing line?’

  Schwartz threw down his cards with relish. ‘There! Me for the bank!’ He gloated over the matches. ‘Nobody’s any good in the firing line, mate. You just fill up a space, and when some snotty little officer blows his whistle you just gallop over the top! They say that Flanders is chock full of corpses. Layer upon layer of them. And for what? A few yards of mud that nobody wants anyway!’

  Schiller clicked his tongue with mock sadness. ‘Nobody wants? What about the General Staff, heh? They must fight their little battles while the Navy is winning the war for them!’

  ‘Do you think we will win?’ Hellwege lowered his voice so that the men in the other mess could not hear. ‘I mean that it’s so difficult for us to know what’s really happening.’

  Schwartz smiled with his thin mouth. ‘Perhaps we have won already and don’t know!’

  ‘Of course we shall win!’ Gottlieb’s pink face glowed with indignation. ‘We have seen what we can do. The British are worn out by war, they have no stomach for it!’

  ‘You at least are one up on them there!’ Schiller grinned at the other man’s hurt expression. ‘Just because things have been easy so far, it doesn’t follow that it’ll always be so!’

  Gottlieb half rose from the bench. ‘You are defeatist! You forget you are a German. Your tongue will get you into trouble!’

  ‘And who’s going to tell what I say in my own mess?’ His voice was deceptively calm. ‘You? Because if so’—he paused and tapped his knife significantly—‘you won’t be around to collect your Iron Cross. A wooden one will be more suitable!’

  Their laughter floated out of the screened door and on to the windswept deck outside.

  Hahn twisted his head to listen as he leaned against the smooth barrel of a five-point-nine, his mouth sullen.

  Fools. Laugh away and play at being brave sailors. You are gay enough now, but let us see how you behave in a little more time. He began to hum a sad little tune, and stood for a long while staring out at the creaming, restless waters.

  * * * * *

  Reeder, the Captain’s servant, moved quietly and efficiently around the sea cabin, his long hands moving deftly as he endeavoured to maintain the appearance of both order and comfort in the small space behind the bridge. Occasionally his deep-set eyes settled on von Steiger, who sat behind the table, his face thoughtful as he studied the chart before him, his fingers tapping against the half-filled coffee-cup.

  Reeder halted by the door, his smooth face worried and apprehensive. His fair hair was shaved so close to the skull that his appearance was deceptively aged, and even his shoulders had a premature stoop, as if he was endeavouring to ignore the Navy and its ways and concentrate on being the perfect family retainer. ‘Will that be all, Captain?’ He glanced meaningly at the bulkhead clock. ‘May I suggest that the Captain tries to get a little rest now. It is well past midnight.’

  Von Steiger looked up and stared at him. ‘You are like an old maid, Reeder! Go to bed if you will, but I have work to do!’ He was used to his pernickety ways, and secretly enjoyed the way the man was able to ignore his captain’s rank and authority. ‘We’ve been together a long time now. Five years, isn’t it?’

  ‘Five years and two months, sir. Very happy times we have had, too, if I may say so, sir. Until our recent unhappy loss, I think I might say that no one could have been happier than either you or, in my small way, myself, sir.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Perhaps it is as well for you to have this task before you to drive away your memories.’

  Von Steiger cleared his throat. ‘Thank you, Reeder. Go to bed. Bring me coffee at first light in the wheelhouse. We may sight something soon after that.’

  The door closed silently, and only then did von Steiger begin to relax. His slight body seemed to ache in many places at once, and, as he poured another cup of coffee, he wondered if he was the only one aboard to be feeling the strain. Absently he leafed through the pages of his personal logbook, and wondered. They had been at sea for two weeks already, and yet about half of that time had been spent either in creeping up the Norwegian coast from Kiel or making that nightmare passage round Iceland.

  He pulled out a cheroot and lit it with methodical care. Dehler thinks that I should not have made such a detour. He is a strange man. Full of violent impulses and as tense as a wild animal. One of these days he is going to lose control of himself if he is not careful.

  He smiled wryly. If I am not careful, that means. There is such an unusual feeling throughout this ship, almost a type of gaiety, at present. I should be moved by their blind faith in my ability, but instead it frightens me. At any single second we might be surprised by an enemy warship, and what then? How will they react, I wonder? Right at this moment a light cruiser, or a patrolling destroyer, may be shadowing us; maybe the shells which will kill all of us are already lying in their breeches. He frowned. Ridiculous. I am tired and strained beyond my resources. For three weeks I have moved like a prisoner in this small world of my own choosing. The wheelhouse—where they watch my every move and speculate my every mood. Or in here—where the cabin walls already seem closer, and where loneliness and want make sleep an escape which is denied me. Yet all the time my officers wait and watch, and enjoy the comfort of their own alleged invulnerability. And the crew? They are better now than when we sailed. They have brushed with death and have emerged victorious. A man has been shot because of his ignorance, and the fact that an officer’s word must be upheld above all else. Yet still they sing and argue, curse and hate, as sailors will the world over. Their protection is the basest of all: ‘It cannot happen to me, only to others!’

  I wonder how little Rudolf is getting on? Since we sailed I have tried so hard to rediscover my faith and hope in his memory. They say that a man can live on his own image after the loss of his wife. I want to believe it, but already it is difficult to picture him as being any different from any other small boy. Perhaps if I had had more time with him it might have been otherwise. Instead, when we did meet, during brief leaves, Rudolf was more interested in my exploits as a captain than as a father. He could see only the image created by separation, and the legend built up by others. I wonder if he will look up at the paintings in the gallery with pride and wonder, as I did? Or will he marvel at his forefathers’ passion for duty and death?

  The voice-pipe squeaked at his side and he lifted the cover almost before the sound had died.

  ‘Captain speaking!’

  ‘Masthead lookout reports a red glow on the horizon to the south-west, sir!’ Heuss’s voice sounded formal and guarded. ‘He also reports that he has heard what he thinks was an explosion. A long way off, sir. About ten miles, perhaps more.’

  He nodded to himself. ‘Most likely a convoy, Lieutenant. Being attacked by our U-boats.’

  There was a silence as the two officers listened without comment to the moan of the wind. Von Steiger frowned. How curious this was. Had he made such a remark to any of the others there would have been jubilation or excitement. But Heuss had merely accepted his captain’s word without comment, as if he knew and understood von Steiger’s detachment.

  ‘Any orders, Captain?’ The voice was weary.

  ‘Yes. Bring her round two points to the south-east. Keep the alteration of course until that red glow has dropped away. We do not want to get mixed up with a convoy.’ He paused. ‘What is our position at present, Heuss? In relation to the Irish coast?’

  ‘Six hundred and fifty miles west of Fastnet, sir.’ The answer came without hesitation, and von Steiger smiled. ‘Wind’s freshened a bit, but the visibility is still hampered by the rain.’

  ‘Very good. Call me at once if you need me.’

  He forced himself to sit on his bunk, the tiredness within him making his eyes raw. It will do no good for me to go out there. There is nothing to add to that report, and I must not cause more excitement than necessary.

  He stared across at the folded chart. It was strange how they had cut across the steamer routes without seeing anything but the Cardiff Maid. Once, during the afternoon, they had sighted a long pall of smoke hanging motionless along the western horizon. Another convoy. They had altered course away, as they were doing even now. A year earlier those same ships would have probably been sailing singly, or unescorted. It was all changed now. An empty sea. A desert in which a commerce raider could thirst in vain. It would be different in the South Atlantic, he knew. The ships would be unsuspecting at first, although they would be more scattered and harder to find perhaps.

  He watched a cockroach scuttle down the varnished door and disappear into a crack. Two weeks at sea. One boarding steamer of little value, one hospital ship, and the Cardiff Maid. All those men, and all that waste. Would the world ever be able to recover from all this? The flower of its manhood dying and fading with each day that passed.

  Had he been right to dispose of all the mines at once? he wondered. It was often argued that one large field across shipping lanes was better than small scattered ones. He shrugged with tired irritation and levered himself to his feet. He switched off the light and opened the deadlight which covered the scuttle. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass and felt the vibration of the distant engine pulsing through his head like life-blood. Every turn of the screw takes us farther south. Every turn of the screw means more coal. All the time, day or night, the stokers are flinging the precious stuff into their fires without thought or understanding. I must try to capture a good collier as soon as we strike south, and keep her in reserve. Whom shall I put in command of her? Heuss or Kohler? Or perhaps it would curb Dehler’s ambitions to be given a ship for a while, and so learn his own limitations.

  Some of the men are growing beards already. To save their ration of fresh water, or to copy me? They are a willing lot at the moment. So damned trusting.

  He crossed to the voice-pipe as it squeaked once more.

  ‘Lookout reports that the glow in the sky is fading, sir. Dropping astern now.’

  ‘Very well. Bring her back on course, but tell the lookouts to watch for any signs of patrolling destroyers. They might be sweeping for stragglers. We do not want to be one of them!’

  He returned to the bunk and gingerly lowered his shoulders on to the newly made-up sheets. He stared up at the damp deckhead and tried to rest his mind. There was so much to arrange and watch out for. Yet all the time he seemed to falter, as if to look over his shoulder.

  Freda. I feel that you are so close to me, yet because you are unattainable, the pain is less bearable than ever. How much longer can I stand it?

  Reeder moved silently into the cabin and stood blinking in the lamplight. With a petulant frown he covered the Captain with a loose blanket, and toyed with the idea of pulling off his seaboots. Von Steiger’s eyes were still open as he switched off the light and moved silently into the passageway, but he knew that he had not even seen him.

  He shuffled along the swaying corridor, his white jacket disembodied and unreal in the watchful darkness.

  He ignored the collapsed bodies of the duty fire party and the Maxim gunners, who squatted like statues on their ammunition boxes. These men were nothing. Clay to be moulded by the Captain just as he pleased, and as such needed no consideration. He shut himself in his tiny pantry and climbed up into his solitary hammock. All the same, he decided, the Captain would have to watch himself. In the darkness his fingers groped for the bottle of plum brandy, and he sighed with contentment. This was the life. They can all have their duties and their ambitions for my part. I shall outlive them all.

  * * * * *

  The petty officers’ quarters were built into the rear of the Vulkan’s bridge superstructure, abaft and slightly below the small boatdeck. Originally they had been used as passenger cabins for company employees, and now made a snug and isolated haven, secure from the crowded life of the rest of the ship.

  The main messroom was in darkness but for a tall oil-lamp, which swung easily in its gimbals over the green-baize-covered table, and which cast a circle of friendly yellow light over the two men who sat unmoving by a chessboard. Otto Lehr, the Coxswain, puffed thoughtfully at a large meerschaum and watched the concentration of his opponent’s face. Petty Officer Weiss, the torpedo gunner, lifted his hand towards his bishop and sensed the big Coxswain stiffen. He immediately withdrew his hand and shook his head.

  ‘No, Otto, not yet!’

  A cloud of blue smoke floated free from the silver rim of the pipe, and Lehr chuckled. ‘There is plenty of time, friend. Months if necessary.’

  They kept their voices low, for the mahogany bunks which lined two of the bulkheads were occupied by silent, blanketed figures. It was almost midnight, and sheltered from wind and weather the small messroom was a peaceful place to be in.

  There was a faded portrait of the Emperor hanging over the stove, and along one side of the messroom stood a gleaming rack of pistols and bayonets. By the rack sat two more figures, Petty Officers Brandt and Heiser.

  Heiser was in charge of the signals section, and watched with mystified eyes as Brandt strapped a Luger to his hip and patted his uniform into position.

  ‘Where are you going now? Why don’t you just take the weight off your feet?’

  Brandt bared his teeth in a grin. He was a hard, muscular man, who gave the impression of permanent watchfulness and energy. As if every ounce of surplus fat and useless weight had been stamped and sweated away on the barrack square.

  ‘I have to muster my watch. I cannot trust my subordinate to do it correctly. Eucken is too soft with them. He is a fool, and wants to be popular with the men!’ He glanced at himself in the mirror and put on his cap at the correct angle.

  ‘I suppose you think that you alone are carrying the ship, heh?’

  ‘Just remember this, Heiser.’ He thrust his sallow face close to the other man’s. ‘We are the backbone of this ship, as in any other. Without us and our like the Navy is nothing! It is the same in the Army, too. Who keeps the men at their posts when the officers are scared of their own shadows? Answer me that! I will tell you. The N.C.O.s!’

  ‘You worry too much. What do you hope to get, an Iron Cross?’

  ‘All I want is the satisfaction of having done my duty!’

  An unshaven red face rose above the edge of a nearby bunk, and Elmke, a man noted for his ability to sleep under most conditions, glared balefully down at them. Either shut up, Brardt. or get out! I was just dreaming of my little girl in Bremen, when I recognised your damned nonsense!’

  Brandt sneered. ‘I am going. When you are torturing your mind with such childish dreams I shall be watching over you, so sleep well!’ He turned back to Heiser, his thin face triumphant. ‘See what I mean? Weak as gnats’ water!’ He clicked his heels at the Coxswain, the senior member of the mess. ‘Permission to leave the mess, Coxswain? I have to muster my watch!’

  Lehr took the huge pipe from his lips and nodded sadly. ‘Carry on!’

  Heiser pulled the black curtain across the door after the other man and walked tiredly across to the table. ‘What is the matter with Brandt? He makes me nervous with all his spit and polish! You would think we were all in the Admiral’s flagship instead of this!’

  Weiss moved his bishop and sat back hopefully. Lehr tamped the embers of his tobacco and looked at the chessmen. ‘Brandt is doing his duty as he sees it.’

  Weiss granted. ‘I don’t like the man, or any of his kind!’ He was a husky little man with a face that was all nose. A great curved beak, which made his close-set eyes seem small and merely incidental.

  Lehr didn’t look up from the board, but he wagged his pipe-stem in rebuke. ‘You know you must not speak like that in front of me. It is incorrect!’