Read Between The Hunters And The Hunted Online

Authors: Steven Wilson

Between The Hunters And The Hunted (30 page)

BOOK: Between The Hunters And The Hunted
9.27Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
When the rammer cleared and the spanning tray was pulled back, Statz signaled to the gun controller, a distant man named Gran who never really seemed to fit in, and Gran turned the thick, black knob through the sequences on the gun-indicator of lock-ready-shoot. When Gran signaled that the gun was ready for action, it was up to the gunnery officer in his cathedral high above Bruno to find the target, and compute the half dozen variables that decided the gun's elevation and position. After the speed and course of the enemy vessel, and after
Sea Lion
's speed and course, deflection, the wind, the weight of the shell and the powder charge, even the relative humidity, had been calculated, there remained only permission to fire.
“Is it
Prince of Wales
?” Wurst asked.
“They'll let us know in good time,” Steiner said, stifling a belch. “Just tend to your business.”
“We'll hear soon enough,” Statz said gently, hating to agree with anything that Steiner had to say, but it was true. Someone, probably the
Kapitan
, would come over the loudspeaker and tell them who they faced.
Wurst merely nodded and joined the others in waiting.
In the cluttered room behind the three gun rooms the gun layers, each man responsible for the elevation of a gun, and the turret trainer, who rotated the huge gun housing on the thick rollers secreted in the rings embedded in the barbette, waited. The gun sighters, who peered through the eyepieces, and the gun plotter, who stood by the tur-rine that bore the crude computer, waited. They were a redundancy because all of those actions were firmly and expertly in the hands of the gunnery officers in the forward, amidships, and aft fire-control centers. These three stations together, or any one if only one remained undamaged, could provide the information, sent through the transmitting rooms to the four turrets, that would give a coordinated fire at enemy vessels. Situated far above
Sea Lion
's deck, the gunnery officers peering through their sensitive range finders could see great distances. No enemy ship could hide below the horizon. But if the fire-control centers were knocked out or their links to the transmitting rooms were severed, it was up to the men behind the gun rooms in Bruno to find the targets, calculate the speed and distance, make the necessary adjustments, and shoot the guns.
“I wonder who it is,” Statz whispered.
 
 
H.M.S.
Prince of Wales
 
John Leach, captain of the
Prince of Wales
, handed the message to Prime Minister Winston Churchill but didn't wait for him to read it.
“It's from
Prometheus
,” Leach said. “She's run right into
Sea Lion
.”
Louis Hoffman watched Churchill roll the stout cigar to one side of his mouth, considering the news.
“How far is
Prometheus
behind us?” Churchill said.
“Just about two hours' hard running,” Leach said, dismissing the yeoman who brought the message.
“Then I suggest that you waste no time in turning this vessel about.”
“No, sir,” Captain Leach said. “My mission is to carry you and the others safely to meet with President Roosevelt. I will not deter from that course until you are safely in Placentia Bay.”
“Captain Leach, you seem to forget that I was once First Sea Lord and as such quite capable of making a sound tactical decision, and inasmuch as I am the prime minister and your superior, I order you to turn this vessel about and engage the enemy.”
“With all due respect, Prime Minister,” Leach said, “I will not endanger your life and I will not forfeit my mission. There are seventeen hundred seamen aboard this vessel who would gladly join me in taking on
Sea Lion
, but I am not at liberty to do so. Those poor bastards out there won't have a chance against that behemoth. It will be a slaughter. You will get to Placentia Bay, sir, to meet with Mr. Roosevelt and I will be haunted for the rest of my life by the souls of those seaman.”
Churchill jerked the half-consumed cigar from his mouth and threw it to the deck. “Sir Dudley?”
Admiral Sir Dudley Pound shook his head. “Not this time, Prime Minister. This time discretion is the better part of valor. Those ships might delay
Sea Lion
long enough for us to get away. They might, if one is to believe in miracles, so damage
Sea Lion
that she is forced to turn back. Regardless of the outcome of that contest, John is right. You will meet with President Roosevelt and
Sea Lion
will be dealt with another time.”
Churchill patted his coat, searching for a cigar. “How I hate to turn my backside on the enemy,” he said, giving up the quest. He walked to the port wing, letting the stiff North Atlantic wind wrap around him. Hoffman joined him.
“Do you believe in the Almighty, Louis?” Churchill asked him. “Pray to him in desperate times?”
“Once every four years,” Hoffman said. “In November.”
“I am thinking of your President Lincoln. During the Civil War.”
“The one good thing that ever came out of the Republican Party.”
“After the Battle of Fredericksburg, December 1862. After the terrible losses suffered by the Union Army of the Potomac at the hands of the more skillfully led Confederate Army of Northern Virginia, Lincoln, in deep despair over another Union defeat in a seemingly endless series of Union defeats, uttered, ‘What will the people say? What will the people say?'”
Hoffman listened.
“Sometimes, Louis, despite the public image of my iron resolve in the face of great odds, I despair, at times, as well.”
“Prime Minister, I'm a cockeyed optimist. I don't believe in that bullshit about going down fighting. I believe in winning. Like you. Like Franklin. You can't win if you're not in the game, that's what your captain's telling you. Let those boys behind us throw a few blocks and keep you in the game. Then we'll lick those Nazi sons of bitches. That's what I think.”
“Well, Louis,” Churchill whispered, “I do pray that our chaps behind us live to see the game completed.”
 
 
Home of Admiral Wilhelm Canaris,
Kaiserstrasse, Berlin
 
Captain Eberhardt Godt stood uncomfortably in the library of the home of the
Abwehr
chief. He could hear the sound of a piano and the mingled voices of the guests invited to the Canaris dinner party. He was not a guest. He had come to deliver some rather bad news to his superior.
The library doors were pulled open by a butler and Admiral Doenitz entered, obviously surprised to see his chief of staff. He waited until the doors were closed.
“What is it?” Doenitz said.
“
Sea Lion
is about to engage the
Prince of Wales
escort. We received Mahlberg's message not an hour ago.”
Doenitz looked away in thought. “This message cannot mean that our valiant Mahlberg is about to engage
Prince of Wales
? She has released her escort, has she not?
Prince of Wales
?”
“Yes, some time ago. It appears as if they simply stumbled into one another.”
“Mahlberg plans to engage those vessels before he reaches
Prince of Wales
?”
Godt knew that it was a rhetorical question. He had been with Doenitz long enough to know that the slight admiral simply tossed questions into the air and then studied them as they floated to the ground.
“Does Raeder know?” Doenitz asked.
Godt nodded. “He is livid. He threatened to court-martial Mahlberg when he returns.”
Doenitz shook his head in wonderment. “The gold ring within his grasp and Mahlberg's vision is filled with the gleam of brass. Raeder has every reason to be concerned. The grand admiral knows that sometimes a warrior sees only as far as the point of his sword.”
“Grand Admiral Raeder will surely instruct . . .” Godt offered.
“Oh yes. Yes, he will. But will our headstrong
Kapitan
respond? Mahlberg would not be the first man whose ambitions led him astray. Still,” Doenitz said, “we want to be selective about the concerns that we address. Our world lies beneath the sea, does it not?”
Godt suddenly realized that Doenitz had introduced his own interests into the conversation. “We are,” the vice admiral said carefully, “to concern ourselves only with the U-boats.”
“Are we?” Doenitz said. “We are Kriegsmarine officers, Godt. Our loyalties cannot be divided between branches of the service. Of course we hope that
Sea Lion
accomplishes her mission, Godt. Our role, the U-boats' role, is clearly defined. My hope is that the entire mission be a success.”
It was a lovely speech given with no conviction, and there was the question of hope; it was such a fragile commodity, such an elusive entity—surely one did not rely on hope alone.
“Yes, sir,” Godt said, content to let the discussion die away.
“Besides,” Doenitz said, airily, “how can those tiny vessels stop
Sea Lion
? Destroyers and cruisers. She will crush them and proceed on to
Prince of Wales
. Isn't that what we are told?”
“Your pardon, Admiral, but I detect reservation in your tone.”
“Yes, well,” Doenitz said wryly, “I always approach foregone conclusions with a healthy degree of reservation. What about Webber?”
“Nothing, sir. It should only be a matter of hours before he engages the Home Fleet.”
“One day,” Doenitz said with a look of disgust, “I shall invent a radio that can send messages from deep underwater so that I won't have to wait for U-boat
Kapitan
s to surface when they deem fit and contact me. Raeder has one prima donna. I have dozens. Send for my coat. I've had enough of parties for tonight.”
 
 
Bimble was gardening when Hawthorne brought the news. The admiral asked his wife, a plump, matronly woman who had been helping him tend to the roses, to excuse them.
“
Prince of Wales
is going on?” Bimble said.
“What else can she do, Sir Joshua?” Hawthorne said, sighting a pitted stone bench. The days had been endless for both of them and he had been the one to encourage Bimble to come home for a bit and rest. He knew that the only way that Bimble found relaxation was in the quiet surroundings of his tiny garden. Hawthorne sat down and waited for Bimble's reply.
“If those poor sods can slow that bloody bastard, they might give the Home Fleet time to get to her,” Bimble said, joining Hawthorne on the bench. “Unlikely though. Damned unlikely.” The admiral laid his arms across his round stomach. “God! What will happen to this country if we lost
Prince of Wales
and the prime minister as well?”
“The escorts. A cruiser and three destroyers,” Hawthorne said. “They might offer some resistance.”
“They won't last five minutes under that fire,” Bimble said. “What did Hamilton tell us? Twelve sixteen-inch guns? A score of lesser guns and a hide as thick as an elephant's.”
Hawthorne stood and stretched, letting his mind mull over the situation. Bimble kept a good garden. It was neat and colorful and although he couldn't tell a buttercup from a blade of grass Hawthorne appreciated the care that went into the creation and nurturing of this tiny plot of land behind a modest house surrounded by an ancient brick wall. He noticed a movement in the corner and he saw a pair of ears.
“You have a rabbit,” he noted.
Bimble jumped up. “Is that bloody creature back in here? By God, I'll shoot him next time. He eats everything in sight. Does me no good to toil over this bloody garden if that little furry bastard eats everything. I'll get a gun, I tell you, and lie in wait and when he shows up, bang! I'll spring on him . . .” The words stopped.
“Sir Joshua?” Hawthorne said. The admiral looked at the stone pathway leading to a potting shed, and then to the plants on either side, and then at Hawthorne.
“Sir Joshua?”
“Those bloody bastards! Those deceitful underhanded, bloody bastards.”
“Sir Joshua?”
“It's a trap, Hawthorne. The Home Fleet, by God.”
“A trap?”
“The other twelve U-boats. They're nowhere near
Prince of Wales
or anybody else,” Bimble said. “They're lying in wait for the Home Fleet to go rushing to the rescue.”
“Are you certain?” Hawthorne said.
Bimble gave him an irritated look. “Of course I'm not certain, you silly ass, but I'd be willing to bet my bloody garden on it. Those others, the ones that that W.T. identified, were beaters. Don't you see that? They kept
Prince of Wales
running southerly to give
Sea Lion
a chance to catch up with her. But they convinced us that they were fifteen instead of three. So we calculated the truth but not the location of the other twelve boats. They are hiding, man, lying in ambush for the Home Fleet to steam like great, fat rabbits into their sights. When the Fleet's close enough, they spring the bloody trap.”
BOOK: Between The Hunters And The Hunted
9.27Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

One More Kiss by Mary Blayney
The Crushes by Pamela Wells
Robert B. Parker by Love, Glory
Stage Fright (Bit Parts) by Scott, Michelle
Dealing With Discipline by Golden Angel
Hat Trick! by Brett Lee