Storm Warning

‘Beg pardon, sir?’

‘Never mind. Just tell Mr Edge I’ll join him on the bridge in five minutes.’

‘Sir.’

Swallow withdrew and Harvey swung his legs to the floor and sat there, yawning. Then he moved to the small desk bolted to the bulkhead, opened the Guardian’s war diary and in cold, precise naval language, started to insert the daily entry.

There were three men on the bridge. Sub-Lieutenant Edge, officer of the watch, a signalman and an able seaman for lookout. The sea was surprisingly calm and there was none of the usual corkscrewing or pitching that a submarine frequently experiences when travelling on the surface in any kind of rough weather.

Edge was thoroughly enjoying himself. The rain in his face was quite refreshing and the salt air felt sweet and clean in his lungs after the hours spent below.

Swallow came up the ladder, a mug of tea in one hand. ‘Thought you might like a wet, sir. Captain’s compliments and he’ll join you on the bridge in five minutes.’

‘Good show,’ Edge said cheerfully. ‘Not that there’s anything to report.’

Swallow started to reply and then his eyes widened and an expression of incredulity appeared on his face. ‘Good God Almighty!’ he said. ‘I don’t believe it.’

In the same instant, the lookout cried out, pointing, and Edge turned to see a three-masted barquentine, all sails set, emerge from a fog bank a quarter of a mile to port.

On board the Deutschland there was no panic, for the plan to be followed in such an eventuality had been gone over so many times that everyone knew exactly what to do.

Berger was on the quarterdeck, Sturm and Richter beside him at the rail. The bosun was holding a signalling lamp. The captain spoke without lowering his glasses. ‘A British submarine. T-class.’

‘Is this it, sir?’ Sturm asked. ‘Are we finished?’

‘Perhaps.’

The Guardian’s gun crew poured out of her conning-tower and manned their positions. For a moment there was considerable activity, then a signal lamp flashed.

‘Heave to or I fire,’ Richter said.

‘Plain enough. Reply: As a neutral ship I comply under protest.’

The shutter on the signal lamp in the bosun’s hands clattered. A moment later, the reply came. ‘I intend to board you. Stand by.’

Berger lowered his glasses. ‘Very well, gentlemen. Action stations, if you please. Take in all sail, Mr Sturm. You, Richter, will see the rest of the crew into the bilges and I will attend to the passengers.’

There was a flurry of activity as Sturm turned to bark orders to the watch on deck. Richter went down the quarterdeck ladder quickly. Berger followed him, descending the companionway.

When he entered the saloon, four of the nuns were seated round the table listening to a bible-reading from Sister Lotte.

‘Where is Sister Angela?’ Berger demanded.

Sister Lotte paused. ‘With Frau Prager.’

The door of the consul’s cabin opened and Prager emerged. He seemed haggard and drawn and had lost weight since that first night in Belém so that his tropical linen suit seemed a size too large.

‘How are things?’ Berger asked.

‘Bad,’ Prager said. ‘She gets weaker by the hour.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Berger addressed his next remark to all of them. ‘There’s a British submarine on the surface about a quarter of a mile off our port beam and moving in. They intend to board.’

Sister Käthe crossed herself quickly and Sister Angela came out of the Pragers’ cabin clutching an enamel bucket, her white apron soiled.

When Berger next spoke, it was to no one but her. ‘You heard?’

‘Yes.’

‘We had a bad night of it, Sister – a hell of a night. You understand me?’

‘Perfectly, Captain.’ Her face was pale, but the eyes sparkled. ‘We won’t let you down.’

Berger picked up a broom that leaned against the bulkhead, reached up and jabbed at the skylight again and again, glass showering across the table so that the nuns scattered with cries of alarm.

He tossed the broom into a corner. ‘See that you don’t,’ he said and went back up the companionway.

There was total silence, the nuns staring at Sister Angela expectantly. With a violent gesture she raised the bucket in her hands and emptied the contents across the floor. There was the immediate all-pervading stench of vomit and Sister Brigitte turned away, stomach heaving.

‘Excellent,’ Sister Angela said. ‘Now you, Lotte, go to the lavatory and fetch a bucket of slops. I want conditions down here to be so revolting those Tommis will be back up that companionway in two minutes flat.’

She had changed completely, the voice clipped, incisive, totally in command. ‘As for the rest of you, complete disorder in the cabins. Soak your bedding in seawater.’

Prager tugged at her sleeve. ‘What about me, Sister? What shall I do?’

‘Kneel, Herr Prager,’ she said. ‘At your wife’s bedside – and pray.’

As the Guardian moved in, Harvey observed the activity on the deck of the Deutschland closely through his glasses.

Edge came up the ladder behind him. ‘I’ve checked Lloyd’s Register, sir. It seems to be her all right. Gudrid Andersen, three-masted barquentine, registered Gothenburg.’

‘But what in the hell is she doing here?’

Harvey frowned, trying to work out the best way of handling the situation. His first officer, Gregson, lay in his bunk with a fractured left ankle. In such circumstances to leave the Guardian himself, however temporarily, was unthinkable. Which left Edge, a nineteen-year-old boy on his first operational patrol – hardly an ideal choice.

On the other hand, there was Swallow. His eyes met the chief petty officer’s briefly. Not a word spoken and yet he knew that the coxswain read his thoughts perfectly.

‘Tell me, Coxswain, does anyone on board speak Swedish?’

‘Not to my knowledge, sir.’

‘We must hope they run to enough English over there to get us by, then. Lieutenant Edge will lead the boarding party. Pick him two good men – side arms only. And I think you might as well go along for the ride.’

‘Sir.’

Swallow turned and at his shouted command, the forward hatch was opened and a rubber dinghy broken out. Edge went below and reappeared a few moments later buckling a webbing belt around his waist from which hung a holstered Webley revolver. He was excited and showed it.

‘Think you can handle it?’ Harvey asked.