Free Go In and Sink! by Douglas Reeman Page B

depth, sir.’ Gerrard’s voice was a whisper.
    Crablike, Marshall edged round the well, blinking as the spray doused the lens. Nothing.
    ‘Raise it completely.’
    He straightened his body with it, feeling the others watching his face, hearing them murmur as he halted his slow inspection.
    ‘It’s a ship. Motionless.’
    He clicked the lens to full power and held his breath. It was a medium sized freighter, listing badly, with a gash in her hull you could drive a bus through.
    The petty officer who was recording the bearings on the periscope ring called, ‘Ship bears Green three-five, range——’
    Marshall interrupted him. ‘She’s sinking. There are two boats in the water alongside.’
    He held the small drama in his eyes, unable to let it go. The heaving grey sea, the tiny scrambling figures sliding down falls and nets into those two pitiful boats. A straggler from a convoy, her crew must have given up the fight to save her. He thought of all the miles before they could reach help or safety. It looked like the beginnings of snow or sleet across the lens. He stood back.
    ‘Take a look, Number One.’
    She was a British ship. Old and worn out. Probably dropped from an eastbound convoy to effect repairs. Then, out of the blue, a torpedo.
    He heard himself say, ‘That H.E. you heard, Speke. Most likely the U-boat. She must have been hanging around just in case another ship came to help.’ He looked at Gerrard’s bowed shoulders. ‘Two for the price of one.’
    Gerrard asked thickly, ‘What’ll you do? About
them
?’
    ‘The U-boat may still intend to stay in this area. If we surfaced she’d be on to us in a flash.’ He said in a quieter tone, ‘It’s no go, Bob.’
    There was a sudden silence, and even Starkie turned on his chair to look at him. As if they had all been frozen by his words.
    Devereaux exclaimed, ‘You’re not going to leave them sir?’
    Marshall took the periscope handles and made a quick all-round search of sea and sky. Cold, bleak and empty, When he looked again at the ship he saw her rusty stern was already lifting clear of the sea, as if being raised by invisible hawsers.
    He slapped the handles inwards. ‘Down periscope.’ He crossed to the chart. ‘Take her down to twenty metres again and alter course to two-four-zero. We’ll increase speed in an hour and make up what we’ve lost by this alteration.’ He listened to his own words. Cold, flat, without feeling. How could he do it when every fibre was screaming to surface and drag those poor frightened wretches aboard.
    Devereaux began, ‘But, sir, if——’
    He swung on him. ‘No
ifs
or
buts
, Pilot! D’you imagine I’m enjoying any of it?
Think
, man, before you start playing the bloody hero!’
    The gauges turned slowly. ‘Twenty metres, sir. Course two-four-zero.’
    A rumble sighed against the hull. It was followed by a drawn out scraping sound which seemed to go on and on forever. A ship breaking up as it took the last plunge.
    Gerrard’s eyes met his. He understood. Better than any of them. It was all there in his eyes. Sadness and shame. Pity and awareness that no one else could take the responsibility.
    ‘Fall out diving stations.’ He walked past them, the silence following him like a cloak.

4 ‘Start the attack!’
    MARSHALL ENTERED THE wardroom and pulled the curtain across the doorway behind him.
    ‘All right, make yourselves comfortable.’
    He waited for the four officers to seat themselves and for Warwick to weight down the corners of the chart which he had laid on the table. Beneath the solitary deck-head lamp their faces looked strained and tense, their movements lethargic.
    Beyond the gently vibrating curtain he could hear Buck’s sharp tones as he reprimanded one of the planesmen, but otherwise the boat was completely silent, and with her motors reduced to an economical four knots could have been hanging motionless in the water.
    He glanced round at their faces again, trying to gauge their