Still, miraculously, he thought they might actually make it. The boat seemed to be absorbing all the punishment the sea could dish out. It was five thirty a.m.--they still had thirty minutes left before the window closed and the U-boat turned away. He had been able to keep the boat on a constant heading and felt confident they were approaching the right spot. And there was no sign of the opposition.
There was just one problem: they had no radio. They had lost Catherine's in London, and they had lost the second to Martin Colville's shotgun blast in Hampton Sands. Neumann had hoped the boat would have a radio, but it didn't. Which left them no means of signaling the U-boat.
Neumann had only one option: to switch on the boat's running lights.
It was a gamble but a necessary one. The only way the U-boat would know they were at the rendezvous position was if it could see them. And the only way the Camilla could be spotted in conditions like these was to be illuminated. But if the U-boat could see them, so could any British warships or coastguard vessels in the vicinity.
Neumann reckoned he was a couple of miles from the rendezvous point. He pressed on for five more minutes, then reached down and threw a switch, and the Camilla came alive with light.
Jenny Colville leaned over the bucket and threw up in it for the third time. She wondered how there was anything left to come out of her stomach. She tried to remember the last time she'd had food. She had not eaten dinner last night because she was angry with her father, and she had not eaten any lunch either. Breakfast, maybe, and that was nothing more than a biscuit and tea.
Her stomach convulsed again, but this time nothing came out. She had lived next to the sea her entire life but she had been on a boat just once--a day sail around the Wash with the father of a friend from school--and never had she experienced anything like this.
She was absolutely paralyzed with seasickness. She wanted to die. She was desperate for fresh air. She was helpless against the constant pitching and rocking of the vessel. Her arms and legs were bruised from the battering. And then there was the noise--the constant deafening rumble and clatter of the boat's engine.
It felt as if it were just beneath her.
She wanted nothing more in the world than to get off the boat and be back on land. She told herself over and over again that if she survived this night she would never get on a boat again, ever. And then she thought, What happens when they get where they're going? What are they going to do with me? Surely they weren't going to take this boat all the way to Germany. They would probably meet another boat. Then what happens? Would they take her with them again or leave her on the boat alone? If they left her alone she might never be found. She could die out on the North Sea alone in a storm like this.
The boat skidded down the slope of another enormous wave. Jenny was thrown forward in the cabin, striking her head.
There were two portholes on either side of the cabin. With her bound hands, she rubbed away the condensation in the starboard porthole and looked out. The sea was terrifying, rolling green mountains of seawater.
There was something else. The sea boiled and something dark and shiny punctured the surface from below. Then the sea was in turmoil and a giant gray thing like a sea monster in a child's tale floated to the surface, seawater slipping from its skin.
Kapitanleutnant Max Hoffman, tired of holding at the ten-mile mark, had decided to take a chance and creep a mile or two closer to shore. He had waited at the eight-mile mark, peering into the gloom, when he suddenly spotted the running lights of a small fishing vessel. Hoffman shouted an order to surface and two minutes later he was standing on the bridge in the driving rain, breathing the cold clean air, Zeiss glasses pressed to his eyes.
Neumann thought it might be a hallucination at first. The glimpse had been brief--just an instant before the boat plunged downward into yet another trough of seawater and everything was obliterated once again.
The prow dug deeply into the sea, like a shovel into dirt, and for a few seconds the entire foredeck was swamped. But somehow the boat climbed out of the trough and scaled the next peak. At the top of the next roller, a squall of windblown rain obscured all view.
The boat fell, then rose again. Then, as the Camilla teetered atop a mountain of seawater, Hurst Neumann spotted the unmistakable silhouette of a German U-boat.
It was Peter Jordan, on the pitching aft deck of the Rebecca, who spotted the U-boat first. Lockwood saw it a few seconds later and then spotted the running lights of the Camilla, about four hundred yards off the U-boat's starboard side and closing quickly. Lockwood brought the Rebecca hard to port, set it on a collision course with the Camilla, and picked up the handset to raise Alfred Vicary.
Vicary snatched up the receiver of the open phone line to the Submarine Tracking Room.
"Commander Braithwaite, are you there?"
"Yes. I'm here, and I could hear the entire thing over the line."
"Well?"
"I'm afraid we've got a serious problem. Corvette 745 is a mile due south of the U-boat's position. I've radioed the captain and he's making for the scene now. But if the Camilla is really only four hundred yards away from the submarine, they're going to get there first."
"Dammit!"
"You do have one other asset, Mr. Vicary--the Rebecca. I suggest you use it. Your men have got to do something to slow that boat down until the corvette can intervene."
Vicary set down the telephone and picked up the handset of the radio.
"Superintendent Lockwood, this is Grimsby, over."
"Lockwood here, over."
"Superintendent, listen carefully. Help is on the way, but in the meantime I want you to ram that fishing boat."
All of them heard it--Lockwood, Harry, Roach, and Jordan--for they were all pressed around the cabin, sheltering from the weather.
Lockwood, shouting above the wind and the roar of the Rebecca's engines, said, "Is he out of his mind?"
"No," Harry said, "just desperate. Can you get there in time?"
"Sure--but we'll be staring right down the barrels of that U-boat's deck guns."
They all looked at one another, saying nothing. Finally, Lockwood said, "There are life jackets in that locker behind you. And bring out the rifles. I have a feeling we may need them."
Lockwood looked back at the sea and found the Camilla. He made a minor course correction and opened the throttle as far as it would go.
Max Hoffman, standing on the bridge of U-509, spotted the Rebecca approaching fast.
"We've got company, Number One. Civilian craft, three or four men on board."
"I see them, Herr Kaleu."
"Judging from their speed and heading, I'd say they're the opposition."
"They appear to be unarmed, Herr Kaleu."
"Yes. Give them a warning shot from the foredeck gun. Shoot across their bow. I don't want needless bloodshed. If they persist, fire directly on the craft. But at the waterline, Number One, not the cabin."
"Yes, Herr Kaleu," the first officer snapped. Hoffman heard shouted orders, and within thirty seconds the first shot from U-509's forward boots-kanone deck gun was arching across the prow of the Rebecca.
Though U-boats rarely engaged in surface artillery battles, the 10.5-centimeter shell of the forward deck gun was capable of inflicting lethal damage, even on large vessels. The first shot sailed well off the Rebecca's prow. The second, fired ten seconds later, came much closer.
Lockwood turned to Harry and shouted, "I'd say that's the last warning we get. The next one is going to blow us right out of the water. It's your call, but we're no help to anyone if we're dead."
Harry shouted, "Turn away!"
Lockwood turned the Rebecca hard to port and circled around. Harry looked back toward the U-boat. The Camilla was two hundred yards away and closing, and there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it. He thought, Goddammit! Where's that corvette?
Then he picked up the handset and told Vicary there was nothing they could do to stop them.
&n
bsp; Jenny heard the boom of the U-boat's deck gun and saw the shell flash along the waterline toward a second boat. She thought, Thank God! I'm not alone after all. But the U-boat fired again, and a few seconds later she saw the little boat turn away and her spirits sank.
Then she steeled herself and thought, They're German agents. They've killed my father and six other people tonight and they're about to get away with it. I have to do something to stop them.
But what could she do? She was alone, and her hands and feet were tied. She considered trying to free herself, sneak up on deck, and hit them with something. But if they saw her they wouldn't hesitate to kill her. Perhaps she could start a fire, but then she would be trapped with the smoke and the flames and she would be the only one to die. . . .
Think, Jenny! Think!
It was hard to think with the constant roar of the boat's motor. It was driving her crazy.
And then she thought, Yes, that's it!
If she could somehow disable the engine--even just for a moment--it might help. If there was one boat chasing them, there might be others--perhaps bigger boats that could shoot back at the German submarine.
The engine sounded as if it was just below her, the noise was so loud. She struggled to her feet and pushed away the coiled lines and tarpaulins she had been sitting on. And there it was--a door, built into the floor of the hold. She managed to open it and was immediately overwhelmed by the thunderous noise and heat of the Camilla's engine.
She looked at it. Jenny knew nothing of engines. Once, Sean tried to explain to her the repairs he was making on his rattletrap old van. There was always something going wrong with the blessed thing, but what was it then? Something to do with the fuel lines and the fuel pump. Surely this engine was different from the engine in Sean's van. It was a diesel engine, for one thing; Sean's van ran on petrol. But she knew one thing: no matter what kind of engine it was, it needed fuel to run. Cut the fuel supply and it would die.
But how? She looked closely at the motor. Several black metal lines ran across the top and converged at a single point on the side of the motor. Could those be the fuel lines? Was the point where they met the fuel pump?
She looked around. She needed tools. Sailors always carry tools with them. After all, what happens if the engine breaks down at sea? She spotted a metal toolbox at the end of the cabin and crawled forward. She looked out the porthole. The U-boat filled her field of vision. They were very close now. She saw the other boat. It had moved off. She opened the box and found it filled with greasy, filthy tools.
She removed two, a pair of bladed pliers and a large hammer.
She took the pliers in her hands, turned the nose toward her wrists, and started hacking through the rope. It took about a minute to free her hands. Then she used the pliers to cut away the rope around her ankles.
She crawled back to the motor.
She put the pliers on the floor and hid them beneath a coiled line. Then she reached down, picked up the hammer, and smashed the first of the fuel lines. It severed, leaking diesel. Quickly, she brought down the hammer several more times until the last fuel line was ruptured.
The engine died.
With the noise gone, Jenny could finally hear the roar of the sea and the wind. She closed the door over the crippled engine and sat down. The hammer was next to her right hand.
She knew that Neumann or the woman would come down in a matter of seconds to investigate. And when they did they would realize that Jenny had sabotaged the motor.
The door flew open and Neumann stormed down the companionway. His face was wild, the way it had been that morning when she saw him racing along the beach. He looked at Jenny and noticed her hands and feet were no longer tied. He looked down and noticed the loose gear had been cleared away.
He shouted, "Jenny, what have you done?"
The boat, now powerless, skidded helplessly down the side of a wave.
Neumann leaned down and opened the hatch.
Jenny grabbed the hammer and rose to her knees. She raised it high into the air and hit him in the back of the head as hard as she could. Neumann fell to the floor, blood pouring from his split scalp.
Jenny turned away and threw up.
Kapitanleutnant Max Hoffman saw the Camilla begin to wobble helplessly in the rough seas and realized at once that it had lost power. He knew he had to act quickly. With no propulsion, the boat would founder. It might even turn turtle. If the agents were thrown into the icy North Sea, they would be dead in a matter of minutes.
"Number One! Take us forward toward the craft and prepare to board."
"Yes, Herr Kaleu!"
Hoffman felt the throb of the U-boat's diesel screws turning beneath his feet as the submarine crept slowly forward.
Jenny was afraid she had killed him. He lay very still for a moment; then he stirred and somehow forced himself to stand. He was very unsteady. She could easily have hit him with the hammer again, but she couldn't summon the courage or the will to do it. He was helpless, holding on to the side of the cabin. Blood poured from the wound, into his face, down his neck. He reached up and wiped the blood out of his eyes. He said, "Stay down here. If you come up onto the deck, she'll kill you. Do as I say, Jenny."
Neumann struggled up the companionway. Catherine looked at him, alarm on her face.
"I fell and hit my head when the boat pitched. The motor's dead."
His torch was next to the wheel. He picked it up and walked out onto the deck. He aimed the light at the conning tower of the U-boat and flashed a distress signal. The submarine was coming toward them with agonizing slowness. He turned and waved at Catherine to join him on the foredeck. The rain washed the blood off his face. He looked up, feeling it beat down on him, and waved his arms at the U-boat.
Catherine joined him on the deck. She couldn't quite believe it. The previous afternoon they were sitting in a Mayfair cafe surrounded by MI5 men and now, miraculously, they were about to step onto the deck of a U-boat and sail away. Six long, painfully lonely years--over at last. She never believed she would see this day. Never really dared imagine it. The emotion of the moment overtook her. She let out a joyous, childlike scream and, like Neumann, turned her face to the rain, waving her arms at the U-boat.
The steel nose of the submarine nudged against the prow of the Camilla. A boarding party scrambled down the U-boat's deck toward them. She put her arms around Neumann and held him very tightly.
"We did it," she said. "We made it. We're going home."
Harry Dalton, standing in the wheelhouse of the Rebecca, described the scene to Vicary in Grimsby. Vicary, in turn, described it to Arthur Braithwaite in the Submarine Tracking Room.
"Dammit, Commander! Where's that corvette?"
"She's right there. She just can't see because of the weather."
"Well, tell her captain to do something! My men are powerless to stop them."
"What should I instruct the captain to do?"
"Fire on the boat and kill those spies."
"Major Vicary, may I remind you there is an innocent girl on board."
"God help me for saying this, but I'm afraid we can't be concerned about her at a time like this, Commander Braithwaite. Order the captain of that corvette to hit the Camilla with everything he has."
"Understood."
Vicary set down the telephone, thinking, God, but I've become a perfect bastard.
The wind tore a momentary hole through the curtain of rain and fog. The captain of corvette 745, standing on the bridge, spotted U-509 and the Camilla one hundred and fifty yards off his bow. Through his glasses he could see two people standing on the foredeck of the Camilla and a rescue party on the deck of the German submarine. He immediately gave the order to fire. Seconds later the corvette's machine guns opened up.
Neumann heard the shots. The first rounds sailed overhead. The second burst clattered against the side of the U-boat. The rescue party fell flat on the deck to avoid the fire as the rounds moved from the U-boat to the Camilla. There
was nowhere on the foredeck of the fishing boat to take cover. The gunfire found Catherine. Her body was instantly shredded, her head exploding in a flash of blood and brain.
Neumann scrambled forward and tried to reach the U-boat. The first round that hit him cut off his leg at the knee. He screamed and crawled forward. A second round hit, severing his spine. He felt nothing. The last shot hit him in the head, and there was darkness.
Max Hoffman, watching from the conning tower, ordered his first officer to engage the diesel engines full and dive as quickly as possible. Within a matter of seconds, U-509 was racing away from the scene. Two minutes later it submerged beneath the surface of the North Sea and was gone.
The Camilla, alone on the sea, her decks awash with blood, foundered.
The mood aboard the Rebecca was euphoric. The four men embraced as they watched the U-boat turn and steam away. Harry Dalton raised Vicary and told him the news. Vicary made two calls, the first to the Submarine Tracking Room to thank Arthur Braithwaite, the second to Sir Basil Boothby to tell him that it was finally over.
Jenny Colville felt the Camilla shudder. She had fallen flat on her stomach and covered her head with her hands. The shooting stopped as suddenly as it started. She was too terrified to move. The boat pitched about wildly. She guessed it had something to do with the dead motor. With no engine to push the boat forward, it was defenseless against the onslaught of the sea. She had to get on her feet and get outside and signal the other boats that she was there and she was alive.
She willed herself to stand, was immediately knocked down by the bucking of the boat, then stood again. Climbing the companionway was nearly impossible. Finally, she reached the deck. The wind was tremendous. The rain slashed sideways. The boat seemed to be going several directions at once: up and down, back and forth, and rolling from side to side. Standing was impossible. She looked toward the prow and saw the bodies. They hadn't just been shot to death. They had been mangled, torn to bits, by the gunfire. The decks ran pink with all the blood. Jenny retched and looked away. She saw the U-boat, diving in the distance, disappearing below the surface of the sea. On the other side of the boat she saw a warship, gray, not too large, coming toward her. A second boat--the one she had seen through the porthole earlier--was approaching fast.