The Piper turned around and stopped. The old destroyer’s stacks belched smoke, an orange glow swirling up from them like embers tossed up from hell. Then she began to move again. Another diamond pattern was dropped, and multiple deep thumps and flashes of underwater lightning left behind pools of blue-white foam. She turned and stopped once more, her old boilers seething.
Again had closed his eyes after the first run. Now he opened them and listened. All he heard was the low moan of the wind across the destroyer’s bow cable. He could still see Germans in the water but they were quiet. They all looked as if they were resting, some on their stomachs, some on their backs, their arms spread wide, just drifting peaceably across the waves.
Again made his way back to Mudball’s crew but they weren’t at their gun. It was as if everybody aboard was in some sort of trance. General quarters had not been suspended, but the sailors were leaving their duty stations. They weren’t talking. They were just wandering around or looking out at the floating bodies.
Again went back up to the wheelhouse to find it was also eerily quiet. Captain Dekalb was slumped in the duty officer’s chair. Lieutenant Flagston stood nearby, his head bowed, his hands in a clenched knot behind his back. The radar operator had switched off his set. A bosun’s mate, the one who’d said the Germans were going to get what they deserved, was staring at the deck, as if there were something of great interest there amongst the steel plates and rivets.
Captain Dekalb finally stirred. “Call it in. We have sunk a U-boat which attacked us first.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” the radioman on duty replied without enthusiasm.
“And tell them,” Lieutenant Flagston said, his hands working behind his back, “that we will be bringing in the U-boat crew.”
“Who drowned,” Dekalb said immediately, staring defiantly at his executive officer.
A staring contest ensued until Flagston finally gave in. “Who drowned,” he said with resignation.
When the Piper stood into Norfolk the next day, she was met by four Naval Intelligence officers who ran up the gangway to inspect the Germans, all of whom had been piled on the bow and covered with a big square of canvas. After they were finished, soldiers with stretchers came to carry the Germans off. Armed troops ringed the dock, their backs turned to the scene. Two covered trucks waited. As soon as the bodies were loaded, the trucks sped off. At a command, the troops formed up and marched away. Soon, the dock stood empty except for Piper hands who’d come down in an undisciplined mob. Again found Mudball. “I’m leaving, Mudball,” he said.
“Without orders?” Mudball asked.
“Mister Thurlow told me to come home in a week. It’s been two weeks plus three days.”
Mudball frowned, then a tear welled up and trickled down the man’s ugly face. “I think we did a bad thing last night,” he said, his lips twisted.
Again looked around and saw a lot of other stricken faces. He didn’t know what to say except what he said. “I guess it was wrong what happened but I’m not sure how. It’s war and those Germans tried to kill us but we killed them instead.” He tried to think his way through it. “Of course, they were trying to give up. Maybe that’s what was wrong with it.”
Mudball’s tears increased. “Do you think I could go with you? I don’t want to be on the old Piper anymore. Our captain is sick and I think so’s the rest of us, too.”
Again shook his head. “Naw. They’d track you down and probably hang you for treason.”
Mudball wiped the tears off his cheeks. “But I’d be working on a Coast Guard boat!”
Again smiled sadly. “That’s the main reason they’d hang you. The Big Bum, he don’t always care much for his little brother, you know.”
Mudball dug into his pea coat and handed Again a round medallion on a chain. “You want this? One of the guys what went out to pick up the bodies took it off the U-boat captain. I knocked him down and took it for myself. Now, I don’t want it no more. I don’t never want nothing to remind me of last night ever again.”
Again didn’t want the thing, either, but he took it, anyway, just to be polite. Mudball nodded, then turned away to join his fellows still milling about on the dock. Again suddenly felt a surge of pure joy. He was through with the blue-water navy! He glanced at the medallion and determined that it was actually a German-navy version of a dog tag. He read the name on it: KL Plutarch Froelich. “You poor dumb son of a bitch,” Again muttered, then tossed the tag into the water.
PART THREE
BUT THERE
THE SILVER ANSWER RANG . . .
40
The Maudie Jane hugged the starboard side of the tanker SS Orville Stokes, which was slogging north, fully laden, at the western edge of the Stream. Josh worked the wheel of the patrol boat, staying just outside the water churned up by the ponderous ship, though catching the flowing pressure wave off her bow for a boost. Millie and Fisheye were at the depth-charge racks. Preacher, taken aboard as an auxiliary, was manning the machine gun, which had moved to the top of the wheelhouse. Ready was the gun captain and Bobby the crew of the retrofitted three-inch gun bolted on the bow. Only Jimmy, on the sonar, and Big, in the engine room, were below.
Bosun Phimble had transferred aboard the Stokes and was at her wheel. Once was on the outer bridge of the tanker, scanning the water toward Killakeet. They were all part of a trap designed to catch a U-boat. Rex Stewart had spotted the U-boat with the white shark painted on its tower earlier in the day sniffing around Miracle Point. So had several island workboats making short runs out to fish. Chief Glendale had found Josh at the Crossan House, sitting with Dosie sipping yaupon tea. It had been the break Josh had hoped for.
Josh, for all his focus on what was about to happen, still couldn’t help but smile when Dosie crept into his mind. She had been so excited about her new job. Lounging in bed, she’d teased the curls on his chest with her finger and looked so pleased with herself. “What is it?” he’d asked.
“Nothing. I’m just happy, that’s all.”
At first, Josh thought she meant he had made her happy, but then she had gone on to explain herself. “Do you remember Willow said I should protect the sand? Well, I guess I am.”
Disappointed, Josh came close to sulking. “Willow also said you’d find him in the sand,” he pointed out. “Found any ‘hims’ yet? Maybe they’re ‘hymns,’ like to sing.”
Since he thought he was being clever, Josh felt better, not that it mattered. Dosie wasn’t paying any attention to him, anyway. “My land, I nearly forgot!” she exclaimed, and sprang naked from the bed to dig into her pants once she found them on the floor. She produced a scrap of paper, then bounced back on the bed. Josh was more interested in her than the paper, so he wrapped his big arm around her waist and brought her down for a kiss. “Stop it. This is important!” she said, although she allowed a long smooch and added to its warmth considerably.
After a while, they broke free and Dosie convinced Josh to have a look. He perused the wrinkled paper. “Damn!” he exclaimed. “Dosie, this is a radiogram off a U-boat! It’s even got the name of the U-boat captain on it. His name is Krebs! We should be able to find out more about him, maybe figure out what he’s up to, or his tactics, or something.” He looked at her disapprovingly. “You should have turned this in sooner.”
Dosie pouted, then pulled Josh back down beside her. “I’ve been busy, bub. You know, protecting the sand. And I guess I found him, didn’t I?”
Josh took Dosie into his arms. He just couldn’t get enough of her. “I’ve been wondering what kind of schedule you’ve been keeping,” he said. “Guess I was lucky to catch you at the house tonight.”
“You surely were. Rex and I go twelve hours on and twelve hours off for six days, and then on the seventh day, whoever’s still riding after midnight extends three more hours. That way our shifts move round the clock.”
Josh didn’t think much of their schedule. It was his experience that after six hours, lookouts weren’t worth much. B
ut it was Beach Patrol business so he wisely stayed out of it.
“Sometimes Willow shows up and rides along,” Dosie added. “She’s good company except she doesn’t say much.”
“What does she say when she says it?”
Dosie thought for a moment. “One time, she was looking out to sea and she said, ‘And then the silver answer rang.’ ”
Josh pondered the words but nothing came to mind. “Does that mean something to you?”
Dosie shrugged. “I’ve heard it somewhere but I can’t quite place it.”
Josh kissed Dosie on the nose. “You have a cute nose. I like the way it has a little turn-up at the end of it.”
“It’s my absolute worst feature,” Dosie complained. “So’s your nose, knocked all askew. How’d that happen, anyway?”
“Some woman in a bar in Ketchikan,” he said. “I forget which one.”
“Woman or bar?”
“Both.”
“Wait a minute,” Dosie said. “I remember where ‘the silver answer rang’ comes from. A college education is a wonderful thing, ain’t it? Sonnets from the Portuguese. It’s an Elizabeth Barrett Browning love poem and the silver answer part is about when a ghost grabs her. She’s sure it’s the grim reaper. Only it turns out to be a love spirit instead.”
Josh was far more familiar with the Browning automatic rifle than Browning poetry. “I don’t know about love spirits,” he said, “but they say old Blackbeard’s ghost still walks up and down the beach in these parts. You ever see him out there carrying his head under his arm, Corporal Dosie Crossan of the Coast Guard Beach Patrol?”
“No, but if I did, he’d absorb some lead from my trusty Remington thirty aught six rifle.”
“You’re a feisty girl, ain’t you?”
“Feisty enough to handle the likes of you, Josh Thurlow.”
“Well, let’s just see about that,” he said and grabbed her just as she grabbed him back.
• • •
A few hours later, Josh and Dosie were on her pizer, rocking placidly, when Chief Glendale arrived in the jeep, Purdy sitting alongside. “News, Mister Thurlow!” the chief cried. It was news, indeed, of the white-shark sub nosing around Miracle Point.
Josh had given Glendale the radiogram, asked him to find out what he could about this Krebs character, then hitched a ride back to Whalebone City to gather up the Maudie Janes. He was ready to put into play the plan he’d outlined to Bosun Phimble some weeks before. To prepare for it, they’d taken the patrol boat over to Morehead City, bowed and scraped to Captain Potts and made their request for a three-inch gun to be bolted to the bow. This time, Potts had been more accommodating, although he made Josh sign another requisition with an official stamp on it. Josh would have been happy to sign a hundred of them.
Preacher had caught Josh on Walk to the Base. “You going out to sea?” he asked.
“Sure am, Preacher,” Josh said, looking the man over. His shoulder seemed to be drooping more than ever and there was a hangdog look about his entire aspect. Josh was direct with his question. “You still struggling with your faith? Lots of people are worried about you.”
“So many poor dead men,” Preacher said angrily, “and no answer from God.”
“We Maudie Janes are about to give our own answer, Preacher,” Josh said, then had an inspiration. “I’m going to be a little short-handed. You know anything about guns?”
“What West Virginia boy don’t? I was hunting nearly afore I could walk.”
“Can you cook?”
“You should taste my corn bread.”
“You want to come along, man the machine gun sometimes? You could also help Millie in the galley and with the first aid kit.”
Preacher raised his shoulder and put his Bible down on the church steps. “I’m your man,” he said fiercely, and so it was that Preacher joined the Maudie Janes as an unpaid auxiliary coastguardsman, assigned as a machine gunner, assistant cook, and back-up pill-pusher.
Josh cleared his mind and got back to business. He had to maneuver the Maudie Jane carefully. In order for the ambush to work, the patrol boat had to stay completely hidden behind the tanker bulk. Finding the tanker had been a piece of luck. Josh had moved the Maudie Jane south, hoping to find anything big. When they’d spotted the tanker lumbering along, Once blinkered a message for her to heave to. When she didn’t, Josh ordered Preacher to fire the machine gun across the tanker’s bow. He did a good job of it. The captain of the Stokes immediately cut her engines. Phimble and Once had then gone across in the raft and clambered up a side ladder to secure the tanker’s bridge.
In the wheelhouse, Phimble had to deal with a very upset tanker captain. “This is a Panamanian ship, mister,” he railed. The captain had a white beard, a pink face, and was dressed stiffly in an old-fashioned blue uniform with lots of brass buttons. He also had an accent that sounded a lot more Yankee than Panamanian.
“I don’t care about your papers, Captain,” Phimble retorted. “You’re American and so is most of your crew. There’s a U-boat up ahead waiting to sink you and we’re going to do something about it.”
The tanker skipper replied that he hadn’t heard anything about U-boats along the Outer Banks. Phimble shook his head. Was no one in the merchant marine paying attention? He informed the captain that there had been sixty ships sunk off the Outer Banks in the months of January and February and no let-up in sight for March. “You might survive,” Phimble said, “if you do exactly what I say. What’s it to be?”
After considering the statistics of the sinkings, the captain became more agreeable. “I reckon we’ll do what you say,” he said. “What do you have in mind?”
“We’re going to make you the biggest, fattest target any U-boat ever saw,” Phimble replied, and for some reason the captain went back to being disagreeable, not that it mattered. Once came inside with the Enfield, patting it like he knew how to use it, which he did. The merchant crew and the captain looked at the rifle, then meekly started taking orders. The trap was set.
41
The U-560 sat brazenly on the surface a mile off Miracle Point. Its crew moved freely about its conning tower and its deck. They owned this sea, and now that their U-boat had four torpedoes aboard, they were confident they would soon claim more victims.
Krebs, Max, and the lookouts were studying a tanker trundling up from the south. Even in the dim light provided by a pink sunset over their shoulders, the tanker was clearly a big one, heavily laden, and almost begging to be torpedoed. It was not only completely lit up, it was also swinging in close to shore. This was more than a little peculiar. To avoid the U-boats, most tankers had been going farther out, some of them as much as two hundred miles offshore. It hadn’t helped. A few U-boats had parked themselves that far out, too.
“Look how big she is,” Harro said to Joachim, both lookouts. The two friends didn’t get to see much of each other these days with Harro mostly in the radio room, so they enjoyed it when they got to be lookouts together. They talked too much, however, and were often reprimanded, not that it stopped them.
“We have three eels forward and one in the stern,” Joachim said. “I bet the captain uses the one in the stern. It’s an electric and won’t make any bubbles.”
“No, he won’t,” Harro said. “He’ll use a bow torpedo. He likes to keep a stinger, just in case he has to make a run for it.”
Joachim chuckled. “Run from whom? Nobody around here to chase us.”
“Hush,” Max said, walking behind the boys. “The captain is making his plans.”
“Yes, sir,” Harro and Joachim whispered in unison.
The tanker plowed on. Very soon, it would be broadside to the bow of the U-boat, as simple a shot as there was to make. Krebs watched it coming almost as if he were in the middle of a dream. More than anything, he wanted to read and reread the letter that had come from Father Josef. The letter made him feel so close to Miriam, almost as if she had written it rather than the old priest. In it, Father Josef h
ad written that Miriam had told him how much she was in love with “her U-boat captain.” There was so much more, about Miriam’s childhood in the orphanage, her marriage, her life as the housekeeper, how she was so artistic, even the purpose of the design in the cross she had made. The letter was all that Krebs had thought about since he’d received it. He kept it in an inside pocket of his leather jacket. As soon as he got another chance, he would read it again. Krebs suspected he would be reading it over and over for the rest of his life.
Max touched Krebs’s arm. “Sir? She’ll be past us soon.”
Krebs tried to focus on the tanker, then gave up. “You take it, Max,” he said.
Max was not surprised. Krebs had become increasingly detached after receiving a letter from the priest on Nebelsee. He leaned over the tower hatch. “Chief, ready one of the bow torpedoes. Fire on my mark.”
Harro elbowed Joachim. “You see? I told you he’d use a bow eel.”
“It wasn’t the captain. It was Leutnant Max.”
Another lookout hissed at them, “Pay attention. You’re supposed to be watching for airplanes.”
Joachim and Harro reluctantly turned their eyes away from the rapidly approaching tanker to look skyward. The sun was low and the evening star had popped out, bright against the blue-black bowl that stretched forever above. Harro suddenly felt very small, caught beneath heaven and the sea. When he considered it, the arguments of men against other men that had caused this war seemed ludicrous. He had a sudden longing for peace, and for a reason he couldn’t quite discern, he thought of the strange but beautiful girl on the wild horse.
Pretch poked his head through the tower hatch. “Message coming in.”
Max sighed. “Another postcard from BdU. I’ll go decode it.”
“No,” Krebs said. “Bag the tanker. Pretch, decode the damned thing. We’re a bit busy at the moment.”