“You’ll find them by the supply cabinets,” Doc said when Dosie asked about the ones needing a priest. “Some are dying for certain, some of them are hurt enough that they might die.”
Preacher went down on his knees beside a woman who clutched her stomach, her face pinched with pain. She was bleeding from her nose and her ears. “Hear my confession, Father,” she said.
“I don’t know what to say,” Preacher whispered to Dosie, who was kneeling beside him.
“You’d better figure it out,” she hissed.
He looked to the ceiling as if praying.
“Father, confess me,” the woman said again.
“Yes, my child,” the preacher said. “Montani semper liberi. I will hear your confession now.”
“ ‘Mountaineers will always be free’?” Dosie whispered. “What’s that?”
“The West Virginia state motto.”
The woman gasped a few words and Preacher made a clumsy cross over her. “The Lord God Jesus forgives you.”
The woman subsided and seemed to go to sleep. Her hands fell away from her stomach.
Dosie said, “Keep going, Preacher. You’re not done yet.” She rose to find Josh watching her with a proud expression on his face.
Josh said, “You are one hell of a woman, Dosie Crossan.”
“Dosie,” Doc called. “Need some help here with this one.” Dosie, after a grateful glance at Josh, went flying.
Josh spotted Captain Potts. He’d taken off his coat and his hands were bloody from helping to move the dead. He waved Josh over. “What’s the toll?”
“Sixty-one survivors, sir. I don’t know how many dead. We’ve brought in seventy-five bodies. There’s a lot more still out there. I saw the U-boat that did it. It has a white shark painted on its conning tower. I also observed three other ships out in the Stream that had been attacked. As we came in, we saw a big tanker heading north on fire. We saw another plume of smoke a little after that but couldn’t tell what it was.”
Captain Potts absorbed the information. “You’re planning on going back out, I presume?”
“Soon as I get some diesel in the Maudie Jane,” Josh said. “Request permission to go over to Morehead City and arm the boat from your warehouse, sir. Depth charges for the racks and ammunition for the fifty caliber.”
Captain Potts thought it over. “I haven’t received orders to attack U-boats.”
“They’ve received orders to attack us, sir. I have to defend myself.”
“As long as you are on a rescue mission, I don’t see why they would bother you.”
Josh worked to keep his voice low and steady. “I will tell you why. We’re at war, and the Maudie Jane is a warship.”
Captain Potts raised his index finger, covered with dried blood, and shook it in Josh’s face. “You’re a rescue vessel, Mister Thurlow. Rescue! And that is what you will remain until I receive orders to the contrary.”
Captain Potts went off to join his wife, who was comforting the injured. Preacher, on his knees and holding the hand of a dying boy, looked up. “Josh,” he said. “ ‘He that killeth with the sword must be killed by the sword. Here is the patience and the faith of the saints.’ ”
Josh went over the words. “Preacher, that’s the first thing I’ve heard today that’s made any sense.”
Josh found Phimble and Chief Glendale fueling the Maudie Jane. Phimble gave him a sour look. “Wipe that ugly look off your face and listen up,” Josh said. “We’re going to cross the sound, find Potts’s warehouses, and get what we need to fight.”
Phimble brightened all the way to a grin. “I just happen to have a key to those warehouses, sir.”
“Bring it.”
They waited until dark, then coasted the Maudie Jane next to the warehouses at the supply depot. A guard in sailor blues came out. He was just a boy but he had a pistol on his hip. “What’s going on?” he nervously inquired.
Josh came off the patrol boat, followed by the Jackson twins, Ready O’Neal, and Bosun Phimble. The guard gave a sloppy salute. “Excuse me, sir. The warehouses are closed.”
“You ever hear of a midnight requisition, sailor?” Josh asked.
“Yeah. It’s called stealing.”
“You have bullets in that thing, bub?” Ready asked, pointing at the pistol.
The guard heard the menace in Ready’s voice and shrugged. “Naw.”
“You have your key, Eureka?” Josh asked.
Phimble produced a ball peen hammer. “Sure do, sir.”
“Step aside, son,” Once said to the guard. Then they all pushed past the boy.
The guard kept turning around. “Y’all better stop!” he protested.
The last boy off the boat was Millie. He handed the guard a sheaf of requisition forms. “Here. This makes it legal.”
“You should’ve give me these first!” the guard cried. He shuffled through the forms and hoped they really were legal.
“This is the one, sir,” Phimble said, as the gang of Maudie Janes trotted up to a big wooden warehouse.
“Use your key, Eureka.”
Phimble slammed the hammer down.
30
Krebs took his ease on the tower. Darkness had come in like a cloak. To the east, the lighthouse began to flash. It was an odd comfort to see it. There was a chill in the air but it was crisp, not bone-cutting, and the sea was as flat as a mountain lake. He puffed at a cigar, savoring the taste, letting it transport him back to another, better time. He had picked up the habit of smoking cigars during a tour of duty in Cuba as the naval liaison to the German ambassador. That had been a sweet assignment. He’d been twenty-three then, barely out of officers’ school. It had been his job to keep an eye on the shipping going in and out of Havana, but mostly he’d enjoyed sailing along the coast, usually with a special young senorita.
He lingered over the memory for a while longer, trying to square its pleasure against the now painful memories of Miriam. His mind wandered on. The English pilots who had strafed the crowd of Advent celebrators just to knock out a weather station had accomplished their duty. Likely, when they got back to base, they’d celebrated. But Krebs wondered what they would have done if they had known someone beneath their guns. He suspected they would have been enchanted by Miriam. And likely, they would have given money to the orphans and Father Josef. England, of course, was a seafaring nation. The Britishers in those cockpits probably had relatives who were fishermen, just as the people of Nebelsee. How easy it was to kill when you didn’t know whom you were killing. That’s what made war so insane, yet paradoxically so easy.
Krebs was unsettled and he was trying to grasp why. In American waters, merchant ships had lined up like bowling pins, almost impossible to miss. But he had missed. He was wondering if there was something about his experience with Miriam that had changed him, had taken away his sure touch for battle.
He touched Miriam’s cross beneath his shirt. It was the only thing of her he had left. But was that true? Had she somehow placed in his heart something that was growing, something greater than duty? Family. That’s what Miriam had kept talking about, and Father Josef, too. There was nothing more important than family. Krebs decided that if he survived the war, he would go back to Nebelsee and do what he could for Father Josef and the orphanage, and if God was so kind, perhaps he could find another good woman like Miriam and have a real family, too.
Krebs flicked his cigar overboard, watching its glow fall into the sea. A glimmer of lights to the north was an indication of the island that had sent out the rescue boat observed at the Lady Morgan. He thought of the big man in khakis who’d shot at him. For a reason Krebs couldn’t discern, he thought he’d like that man, that they would be friends if the circumstances were different.
The lookouts had reported the name on the rescue boat’s bow was Maudie Jane. It seemed an odd name for a warship. Then again, was it a warship? It apparently had no working weapons beyond a rifle. The crew aboard hadn’t looked military. They were in all
kinds of clothes, a patchwork of different shirts and caps. Some of them even appeared to be barefoot. The Maudie Jane, Krebs concluded, was probably used mostly for rescue. Still, the depth-charge racks, though empty, on her stern were a worry.
Reluctantly, Krebs came to the conclusion that, should he meet her again, he would need to sink the Maudie Jane, just to be cautious.
Cautious. He’d never thought that way before. He shook his head. What was happening to him?
“Kaleu.” It was the Chief calling up through the hatch. “Signal from BdU. Leutnant Max is decoding.”
“I’ll come down.” Krebs took a last look around. The wind on his cheek seemed different, a little insistent. Then, he heard the Gulf Stream sigh in an odd way. He glanced at the lighthouse and saw it dim, then go out. Then he saw a diffused flash. No, the light had not gone out. A fog or a cloud had covered it. But what kind of cloud moved in so quickly? Then he remembered something he had read about this sea. It was called the Graveyard of the Atlantic and for a reason. Besides the shifting shoals, there were huge waves that could come out of nowhere.
Krebs dived for the hatch, scrambling headfirst through it, grasping the rungs and dangling from them. “Close the hatch!” he roared to a startled helmsman.
The boy lunged for it just as the vast wave struck. A spout of seawater came surging inside, knocking the helmsman down. Others rushed to close the hatch as the U-560 was lifted up and up, then flung down on its side. Pots, pans, wrenches, food, garbage, bedding, and men went flying.
The Maudie Jane was coming out, this time to fight. Josh studied the water and the sky. He didn’t like what he saw. “Watch for rogue waves, Eureka.”
Phimble peered ahead and took a breath. “It smells right airish to me, too, Skipper.”
All the boys aboard the Maudie Jane sensed a change coming. They knew these waters and could feel danger, even when everything looked normal. “It’ll be breezing up right quick,” Stobs predicted, sticking his nose out of the wheelhouse.
“Well, I know you’ll keep yourself high and dry, Stobs boy,” Bobby said, padding by. “How about we join you in the wheelhouse come the blow?”
“Just don’t be dripping on my floor if you boys get too mommicked,” Stobs replied, grinning, and slapped the wheelhouse hatch shut.
Below, in the forward compartment, Ready and Big worked over the fifty caliber, getting it ready for its first belt of ammunition. They could also sense the change in the motion of the boat. “Ever been caught by a rogue?” Big asked.
“No, but my daddy was,” Ready said. “He said it was as tall as the lighthouse.”
“What happened?”
“He drowned!”
Big scratched his head. “Did you have another daddy besides the one you’ve got now?”
Ready rolled his eyes. “It was a joke.” When Big didn’t respond, just stood there with a questioning look on his face, Ready said, “He didn’t die. I just made that up.”
“How come?”
“Just help me with this gun, you goober.”
On the stoop bridge, Josh felt the bow rise, then plunge steeply. “Here it comes,” he said. The first drop of rain hit him. There had been stars across the sky only minutes before but now they were gone. Josh glanced over his shoulder. There was no sign of the lighthouse. Then the wind howled.
Josh yelled to the deck crew. “You boys make sure the hatches and vents are sealed. Tell all the other boys to hang on!”
The deck crew scampered off as a torrent of rain hit the boat.
“What do you think?” Phimble asked, pulling on his slicker.
“We’ve got about fifteen minutes, I figure. I’m going below to talk to Jimmy, see about the sonar.”
Phimble nodded, then went into the wheelhouse to take the wheel there.
In the sonar locker, Josh found Jimmy hard at it, the sound-phones clamped to his ears. Josh leaned inside. There wasn’t room for two people in the tiny closet. “Anything?”
Jimmy shook his head. “Nothing solid, sir. I think I’m getting a lot of fish echoes. It’s there and then it’s gone. When it’s like that, the boys on the Diana taught me it was probably a school of fish or a whale or maybe layers of water all different temperatures.”
“How about propeller sounds?”
“I’ve been listening. All I can hear is us.”
“We’re going to get knocked around in a few minutes,” Josh said. “Go ahead and turn your set off and get yourself wedged in. Afterward, we’ll drift some with the engines off. That should help your listening. Do you think you’d know the sound of that white shark U-boat if you heard it again?”
“I ain’t about to forget that bastard, sir. He had kind of a rattling sound to him as he started up. I’ll bet it’s his propellers or drive shaft or something.”
Josh patted Jimmy on his head and then went topside and into the wheelhouse. “What’s the word, Stobs?”
Stobs lifted the phones away from one ear and shrugged. “Morehead City keeps calling, sir. Captain Potts got back and learned about our midnight requisition.”
“That figures. Listen, Stobs, here’s what I want you to do. See if you can get hold of the Diana. Tell Captain Allison we need help down here.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll try, but in the last few hours, there’s been a lot of traffic on CG frequencies.”
“What are they saying?”
“All in code and we don’t have a codebook.”
“Why don’t we have a codebook?”
Stobs’s face clouded over. “Radio school said headquarters would send one out to Doakes if we ever needed it. I guess nobody ever thought we did.”
“Try to squeeze our signal in. Send it in Morse.”
“What about Captain Potts, sir?”
Josh resisted an inclination to ignore the good captain but then decided to get it over with. “Call him up.”
Stobs made the call and Morehead City answered. It didn’t take long before Potts was yelling. “Thurlow, this is a direct order. You will turn around and bring my depth charges back! Do you understand?”
“I can’t do that, sir,” Josh replied. “We’re in a bit of a storm. If I turned around, I might get rolled over. You’d best batten down your hatches, too. This looks to be a big one and it’s headed your way.”
“Don’t change the subject. You have destroyed and stolen government property. I’m writing up the charges against you now. A court-martial will be assembled within the week. Your career is over.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I left the necessary requisitions with your guard. I destroyed nothing that I know about.”
“You busted a lock!” Captain Potts yelled. “And you don’t have the authority to sign requisitions for ammunition and depth charges!”
Josh heard somebody in the background: “I’m not so sure of that, sir.” Josh recognized the voice.
“Shut up, Glendale! I’ll deal with you later!” Captain Potts snarled.
Josh grinned at Phimble, who was looking over his shoulder. “The good ol’ chief went over to make it right.” Then Josh keyed the microphone and said, “Captain Potts, I know you’re mad and I guess you have a right to be. But my priority is to rescue survivors. I’ll only defend my boat and my crew if I have to.”
“It’s not your boat, Ensign,” Captain Potts growled. “It’s the Coast Guard’s boat.”
“All right, sir. I’ll defend the Coast Guard’s boat.”
“I can’t talk to you,” Captain Potts said. “You are the most insolent officer I’ve ever had the misfortune to command.”
“I’m sorry you think that, sir,” Josh said in a sorrowful tone. “I really am.”
There was a pause, then Glendale came on. “Good hunting, Mister Thurlow. I wish I was out there with you. When do you figure to come in?”
Josh hadn’t thought about it. “I guess when I’m out of depth charges, Chief.”
“Attaboy, sir. Go get ’em. And don’t worry about no court-martial. Captain Pot
ts was just huffing and puffing. He’ll get over it.”
Josh handed the mike back to Stobs and peered through the salt-streaked windows at a gray-and-white sea gone wild. The Maudie Jane mashed through the waves, spouts of froth flung across her bow to slam against the wheelhouse, its bronze shell rumbling like a kettledrum.
Then something huge and dark, lifted by a mountain of water, loomed in front of them. “What’s that?” Phimble yelled.
Though he could scarcely believe it, Josh knew exactly what it was. “Brace for collision!” he yelled.
Krebs and Max were the only men on the tower, the lookouts kept below after the rogue wave had battered the boat. The rain and wind beat on them. Only their safety harnesses kept them from being flushed overboard. “One minute there was nothing!” Krebs yelled above the raging thunder of sea and wind. “Then this! Out of nowhere!”
“It’s the currents, Kaleu!” Max yelled. “Mix all that hot and cold water and it can blow up in an instant!”
They ducked beneath the lip of the tower fairing to get out of the gale. “What’s the bill?” Krebs asked.
“A broken arm. One of the boys in the bow torpedo room. We were lucky the torpedoes didn’t come loose and crush them.”
“It wasn’t the boy Harro Stollenberg, by any chance?”
“No, sir. Torpedoman Dumbacher.”
“I want to make Stollenberg into a radioman, Max. See to it, will you?”
“Of course. But why Stollenberg?”
“I was going to tell you what happened on my leave,” Krebs said. “Stollenberg played a part in it. But later, Max.”
Max frowned, but nodded dutifully.
The U-560 crashed through the waves, shuddered, then plunged into a trough. “We are probably the most seaworthy craft out here,” Krebs commented, rising up to peer through the cascade of torrential rain. For his trouble, he was smashed in the face with what felt like a bucket of cold water. He dropped back down and wrung the froth from his beard.