Westbound, Warbound Read online

  Music booming across the water from the Glauchau now was brass-band stuff – reminiscent of the emissions of that other one, at Monte. And if they were listening to that, Andy thought, they were not listening to broadcasts from Monte or elsewhere. From Berlin, for instance; or even, if they had a competent interpreter of English on board, to that Yank. Unless – well, might be listening to news broadcasts down below, maybe? That noise only on deck – camouflage, persiflage anyway – or call it Teutonic bullshit – plainly for the ears of outsiders only, since there was only one Hun on deck. No – two: another had just emerged from the midships superstructure, joining one who had a chair – of sorts, was sitting on something anyway – close to the ship’s side, starboard side amidships, abaft number three hatch. Those two were presumably the watch on deck. Or the one on the chair was – the newcomer taking over from him. Which rather bore out the concept of the rest of the crew congregating elsewhere, listening to the wireless. To the Yank, even – they’d only need one man capable of acting as interpreter. Both of those still there, though: seated Hun still seated, the other leaning against the rail and in the process of lighting a cigarette.

  No gangway rigged. A Jacob’s ladder was all, and not where those two men were, but much further aft – abreast the mainmast, i.e. between hatches four and five. There was a boat close to the ladder’s foot, too. Black-painted, not all that easy to see against the ship’s black hull: motorboat with a shelter for’ard and its engine amidships, engine about the size of a cabin trunk.

  You’d have thought that the quartermaster, or watch on deck, would be stationed at the point of entry to the ship, namely the Jacob’s ladder. It made no sense not to be.

  For a better view, and a possible solution to the puzzle, he went up to monkey island, stopping en route at the chart table to borrow Fisher’s telescope. Up top then he found cadets Gorst and Janner doing bookwork, ‘hearing’ each other on the subject of Regulations for the Prevention of Collisions at Sea, and on the spur of the moment asked them if they’d like to go ashore with him after lunch, climb those hills – maybe have a look at the cathedral on the way. They both said they’d like to, then continued with their studies while he crouched in the starboard for’ard corner and focused on the German.

  Only one man there now – the one on the chair. He was smoking; maybe they had changed round. Blue trousers, paler blue shirt, a round, fat face. Brass band still pumping out martial music: where he was sitting it had to be deafeningly loud.

  The loudspeaker – or a loudspeaker – was fixed to the bulkhead, that for’ard corner of the superstructure, virtually within his reach. Would be, if he tilted the chair over a bit and stretched a long arm. It was the usual box-shaped thing, shiny brown wood showing up clearly against grey paintwork. Nobody in his senses would voluntarily remain that close to such a volume of sound. Had to, obviously. And there’d been music of sorts playing at about that same pitch since early morning – certainly since PollyAnna had slid in past them a couple of hours ago.

  Think about it. Because it didn’t make any sense, and things should make sense. At sea, anyway. Scanning the rest of her now. All five hatches covered and secured. Only that one boat in the water: you could see the davits it had come out of, also two lifeboats secured in theirs. One derrick, the closest to the empty davits, was the only one not lashed down on its chocks. For the purpose of – well, when the boat was hoisted it would surely be brought up on its own falls, so the derrick had been left ready for use for some other purpose.

  For hauling up the engine-spare or spares Mendoza had said they were waiting for?

  Boat collects spares from shore, brings them (or it) to where it can be hoisted on that derrick. Boat itself then to be hoisted. Sounded like sense: but such a state of readiness rather suggested imminent arrival of the spares – and equally imminent departure of the ship? Whereas surely her engineers would fit the spares before departure – if they needed them at all – taking at least an hour or two, possibly a day or two.

  But all right, if they didn’t want contact with the shore – as presumably they didn’t, having chosen to lie at anchor – they’d bring the spares off in the boat, hoist them on that derrick, fit them in however long the job might take, and push off – having paid their dues and got clearance, needing the boat for at least that much shore-going.

  It still looked like a ship just waiting for the ‘off’. The look, the feel of it. Even though there was no discernible heat-haze at the funnel-top. And the band playing on. The guy on the chair lighting another cigarette. Might well need it too, Andy thought, glancing round as Gorst answered Janner, who had the book open in front of him, Gorst with his eyes shut in an effort of concentration: ‘Where by any of these Rules one of two vessels is to keep out of the way, the other shall keep her course and speed. When, from any cause, the latter vessel finds herself so close that collision cannot be avoided by the action of the giving-way vessel alone, she also shall take such action as will best aid to avert collision.’

  ‘Spot on!’

  Andy commented, ‘Common sense, isn’t it.’

  Gorst shrugged. ‘But why couldn’t they have put it in plain English. I ask you – as will best aid to avert…’

  * * *

  They landed soon after lunch – Andy, the cadets, and Howie, fourth engineer – in shirtsleeves and flannels, starting off eastward along the quay for a look at the Brazilian, Volcao, in her smart yellow and brown livery. A heavy-built quartermaster in white ducks came to the gangway’s head and stared down at them as they passed; Andy raised a hand in greeting and the man called something first in Portuguese, then English: ‘Graf Spee – feex her wagon, hunh?’ Showing the right spirit, anyway. Howie called back, ‘Feex it good an’ proper, chum!’ Then they were abreast the Glauchau, Andy seeing that the watchkeeper – a watchkeeper – was still there, same place and still seated, but wearing a hat; the speaker was thumping out a marching tune that he’d heard before but couldn’t have named. She was about a cable’s length out into the stream, with her bow still pointing upstream of course; you could see the strength of the still ebbing tide where it fizzed dirty-white around her cable and sheer stem. Nearer three knots than two, he guessed.

  Janner queried, ‘Particular interest in the Hun?’

  ‘Well.’ Stopping, staring. ‘There’s certainly one peculiarity to my mind. Spot it?’

  Oddly, none of them did.

  ‘See the character in the boater?’

  They’d all noticed him. So what?

  ‘The boat and the Jacob’s ladder? Wouldn’t you expect your gangway watch to be less than two hundred feet from it?’

  ‘I’d say he’s sitting there for the shade he’s got.’ Howie again. ‘If a boat were coming he’d see it, gi’e ’em a shout below an’ nip aft – eh?’

  ‘See the loudspeaker that racket’s coming out of?’

  ‘Aye.’ Double-take then: ‘Crikey. If yon is a –’

  ‘Drive anyone nuts, wouldn’t you have thought?’

  ‘Could be it’s a wireless playin’ inside – not that thing at all. Screen door there’s open – uh?’

  ‘Then anyone inside there would be really deafened – and we wouldn’t be hearing it this loud. I’ll bet they’re cursing it all over town.’

  ‘Aye.’ Howie nodded. ‘Siesta time, an’ all.’

  ‘Surprised someone doesn’t shut ’em up. Port Captain or police, whatever.’

  Andy agreed with Gorst. ‘That is another peculiar thing. Here’s where we start inland, though.’

  Some boys on bicycles flashed past, yelling to each other, the bikes juddering over the quayside’s cobbles: they’d come out of the straight, narrow street Mendoza had pointed out to him. To the left up here, then left again. There were a few perambulating couples and families; would be more later in the afternoon or evening, he guessed. Mendoza’s turn to port came after only about fifty yards. He told them, ‘Left here, then I reckon we head for the cathedral spire. But did you che
ck out the hills?’

  They had, and Janner, who’d made a pencil sketch of them, proposed starting on Morro Sao Francisco – charted height about 300 feet – then pushing on about a mile further inland, down through a valley and up to Morro Frade Leopado.

  ‘Then, return route over this one – Morro do Avezedo. None of ’em’s exactly Snowdon, is it.’

  ‘Still hear that Hun’s racket…’

  Could see Manolo’s, too. White-painted brick frontage with a glass door in it, the name Manolo on that in flowery script, and some iron tables and benches each side of it. No light showed from inside, and with the narrowness of the street it was dark in there: not open for business at this hour, therefore. Well, as someone had mentioned, it was siesta time. There were notices displayed inside the glass of the door which might have been menus and/or given opening and closing times, but he didn’t pause or go close enough to read them, because (a) they’d have been in Portuguese, and (b) he didn’t want to draw attention to the place, risk having Halloran hear about it and queer the pitch. He’d thought of this when Mendoza had mentioned girls.

  * * *

  They were back on board by five-twenty, and Andy was in the saloon by half-past, drinking tea and hearing the American telling his audience, ‘… ‘skeleton crew’ is what we keep hearing about now. Reflecting what I caught on to a little while ago – that it’s men, not stores, that are being transferred, and not out of the Tacoma into the Graf Spee but the other way about, boatload after boatload of Graf Spee crew being shunted over and disappearing below decks in that steamer the minute they get on board. They have their kit with them too, which suggests they’re staying – leaving behind only that aforementioned ‘skeleton crew’. What’s being asked now of course is what for? For instance, a suicidal battle against tremendous odds, Langsdorff taking no more to their deaths than he has to? Or is he putting his ship into internment in Buenos Aires, leaving as many free as possible? That, I’m told, is as good a bet as any – to get her up-river to BA he might only need, say, a couple of dozen men. And he couldn’t fight the ship, man all her guns and control positions, so forth, without a full compliment. So what other choices does he have?’

  Halloran growled, ‘Sneak away. Flat out. Man one turret – and torpedo tubes maybe – crack on thirty knots or more – and she has radar, in other words can see in the bloody dark…’

  The chief engineer was shaking his head, with one hand over his eyes, but not bothering to comment. McAlan murmuring, ‘I’d’ve thought you’d man all your guns. Apart from speed, fire-power’s her big advantage.’

  The broadcaster was saying, ‘Consensus here is that scuttling would not be an option – that the implication of unwillingness to fight, well, wouldn’t be acceptable. On the other hand…’

  Fisher cut in quietly while the Yank continued, ‘Man’s already made it clear he doesn’t want to fight by running for Monte in the first place, hasn’t he. I think he will scuttle.’

  ‘And be shot for cowardice when he gets back?’ Halloran shrugged contemptuously. ‘Want to bet, Fisher?’

  ‘No. But then –’

  Shutting his mouth as the Yank told them, ‘Fresh news now – Langsdorff has expressed the intention of sailing at six-fifteen. Gave this assurance to the Uruguayan authorities, apparently. So in fifteen minutes, ladies and gentlemen…’

  ‘Twelve and a half minutes.’ Fisher asked Andy then – both with one ear to the continuing waffle – ‘Good run ashore, was it?’

  ‘Terrific. Did literally run – down the hills, mind you.’

  ‘… another piece of news is that some tugs have arrived out there in the bay from Buenos Aires. They’re German-owned – a German company in BA. But what part they’ll be playing in this… Yeah, what was that? Ah – something I missed, but I see it now – Graf Spee has hoisted two very large German ensigns, one at each masthead, and – sure, she’s weighing her anchor. To folk outside that’s audible, the chain clanking in. So here’s what we’ve been waiting around for all day – the answers to our questions, climax of this historic naval drama. Yeah, it’s begun, Graf Spee is on the move; and so incidentally is the Tacoma…’

  Steward Jackson meanwhile setting the table. Knives, forks, and side-plates for bread and cheese. Now the pantry hatch was open, there was an aroma of frying fish. Andy guessing that his father might be listening to this commentary; Dewar had told him it was being picked up by the BBC and simultaneously retransmitted in their world-coverage. You could bet the old man would be getting it. So would the cruisers outside there, waiting – as likely as not still only the three of them, awaiting battle, even praying for it. Well – why not? Moving round to his usual place at the table he whispered to himself, ‘God, be with them.’

  ‘Folk – hear this now – the Graf Spee has up-anchored and is on her way out of the anchorage, with the Tacoma following. In fact the Spee is already outside. From where she was berthed, didn’t have far to go, and I guess I was a little slow on it. She’s hauling round to starboard now – that’s to say, turning into the sun which is on its way down, shadows already lengthening, and a fine, still evening. Well, I know there’s a dredged channel out there that leads due south, but Langsdorff seems to be ignoring it. Maybe with three-quarters of the crew out of her – could be light in other respects as well – he’s reckoning to pass clear over the mud shoals. What’s being said now is maybe he’s cutting a corner on his way up the estuary to Buenos Aires – maybe – because if those Royal Navy ships were aware of any such intention you can bet they’d try to catch him between here and there, and I guess they could, if –’

  He’d checked the flow. Background voices intervening, and Jackson with the first plates of fried fish in his large, allegedly heatproof hands, assuring Hibbert, ‘Skipper’s having his up top, sir. Watkins took it up couple o’ secs ago.’ Skipper would have his own speaker on, naturally. This one now blurping back into life with, ‘The Graf Spee has stopped. Tacoma too. Less easy to see now…’

  ‘Spuds this way, Janner?’

  ‘Ah – sorry…’

  ‘Wouldn’t mind being back in that Antepuerto this minute. Grandstand view from monkey island, uh?’

  ‘Hake, is this?’

  ‘Hake it is, sir. Brought in this morning.’ Back to the hatch: ‘Two more ’ll do it…’

  But neither Graf Spee nor Tacoma had stopped, apparently. Error of observation, that last report: but as mentioned, rather tricky light… Nothing else of much interest was coming over now: if the Spee was still underway she’d have to be moving pretty damn slowly, Andy thought, to be still in sight. And still nothing happening, as far as the broadcaster knew… Until seven, anyway – or just after, four minutes past – when a small Uruguayan warship stopped the Tacoma. Probably that little so-called ‘cruiser’ which he remembered seeing in a naval anchorage close to Punta Lobos – from where she’d have been in an ideal position to intercept or overhaul the Germans. Sprat pursuing whale, one might think: but Tacoma having sailed without obtaining clearance, maybe.

  And now the tugs from BA had come into it, or been brought into it: were alongside the Tacoma, embarking Graf Spee crewmen from her.

  ‘Can’t guess why, but that’s what they’re at…’

  It took a while, too. The hake was finished, cheese and fruit in circulation. Then, at about seven-thirty: ‘The Graf Spee has stopped. Definitely has, this time. She’s on her own… No, there’s one tug with her, and boats in the water. Kind folk here are telling me she’s outside the three-mile limit. I’ll take their word for that. She’s lying stopped anyway – black against a reddening sunset, and’ – a two-second pause, then louder, tones of growing excitement –‘She’s hauled down her ensign! Should’ve said ensigns, plural – she had two flying. Hauled ’em down, which surely means –’

  They all knew what hauling down an ensign meant. Jackson had put coffee on the table, no one was speaking, but cigarettes were being lit. Seconds, minutes ticking by: you could have been in churc
h, if it hadn’t been for the drifts of smoke and the coffee jug going round. Then, drowning out a mutter from Halloran of ‘Come on chum, what are the buggers –’

  ‘Oh now, see that! A great shoot of flame – and another – lighting a sky that’s already lit by the kind of sunset you only see in pictures! The heck – another flame – that one must’ve shot up a hundred feet or more – and the sound’s reaching us now – cracking, thunderous explosions! The Graf Spee, ladies and gentlemen, is burning from stem to stern, the sunset’s fiery red beyond her, but believe me her fires are brighter!’

  And that was that. Graf Spee finito. No more RRR calls on her account. She’d founder there where she was burning – if there was enough water under her to founder in. It wasn’t deep, out that way. Andy asked Fisher, ‘Feel like fresh air? Stroll along the quay?’

  ‘Good idea.’ Fisher glanced at Halloran. ‘All right?’

  That was Fisher being tactful: Halloran had the duty anyway. He’d shrugged: ‘Why not?’ To Andy then: ‘Doubt you’ll find a boozer open, Sunday.’

  8

  Sounded like a party going on aboard the Volcao. Danceband music and female as well as male voices – loud enough to be hearing it on the quayside despite the noise still blaring from the Glauchau in midstream. Fisher solved the puzzle of such goings-on on a Sunday evening: ‘This ship’s wireless, Andy. A play or something. Up loud to drown out the Germans.’

  ‘Of course.’ They’d stopped, on hearing it, now moved on again. ‘Thought it might be the Spee’s demise they were celebrating.’

  ‘One thing’s for sure, they aren’t celebrating.’ The Germans – Glauchau – of which having passed the Brazilian they now had a beam-on view, as well as the full blast of her noise: the riding lights at her mastheads were halo’d by sweaty-damp night air and reflected in quivery streaks on dark, fast-moving water, the glow from uncovered scuttles here and there yellowish, less distinct. Having swung with the flood tide it was her port side she was displaying; and there was a source of light from where the watch on deck had been – a floodlight effect across the forefront of the midships superstructure. From this level and angle of sight the watchkeeper wasn’t visible; conclusion being that if he was there at all he’d stayed where he’d been before, starboard side, whereas one would have expected him to have moved to this side, facing the town.