The Grafton Girls - Annie Groves [67]
By the time Diane had finished her shift on Saturday, the ops room had been humming with the long-awaited and dreaded news that the German support vessels had joined the Tirpitz in Altenfjord, ready for their ‘knight’s move’, though at that stage the intelligence sources had not been able to confirm whether or not Convoy PQ-17 was to be the target.
‘It seems the Tirpitz and the others are still in Altenfjord.’
‘So the convoy is safe?’ Diane asked with relief.
‘No,’ Pauline told her shortly. ‘Like I said, the First Sea Lord gave the order for the convoy to scatter, and each ship to make for the nearest Russian port as best it could, thinking that Rösselsprung was underway, when it wasn’t. That left the whole convoy vulnerable to U-boat and air attack with no support vessels to protect it. So far we’ve lost nine ships, all sunk.’
‘And the men?’ Diane asked shakily, once she had absorbed this shocking news.
‘We don’t know, but the chances are…’ Pauline shook her head, unable to say the words.
‘Oh, no,’ Diane protested, well aware of how slim the chances were of anyone surviving in such cold seas.
‘Oh, yes,’ Pauline confirmed wearily.
‘How’s Susan taking it? Her husband’s ship was with the convoy, wasn’t it?’
Pauline nodded. ‘She’s doing her best, of course, and she says she’d rather be here where at least she can first-hand info on what’s happening.’
Diane turned to look round the room. No wonder people were only speaking in terse whispers, their faces set and expressions withdrawn. A list of the ships sailing in the convoy had even been written on a new board, and Diane could now see the nine names that had been struck through.
The Commander and the rest of the top brass were leaning over the chart tables and the telephones, whilst messengers rushed in and out carrying transcripts of Morse code messages. As Diane watched, a new order was given and a young Wren crossed through another name, her hand shaking. She had barely finished doing so when someone called out again. It was impossible not to be aware of the mute, shocked horror gripping everyone in the room as more losses were chalked up.
The long day wore on without any respite, as vessel after vessel was sunk. It was pitiful and cruel. The merchant ships were defenceless targets and the U-boats and German planes were picking them off as easily as though they were targets at a fairground shooting range.
Shock had now given way to a low murmur of angry bitterness that such an ill-judged order should have been given, and at one point the Commander himself bowed his head, and they could all see the trickle of tears as he wept for the loss of so many brave and unprotected men.
Through the short dark hours of the July night the losses mounted relentlessly until the air inside the Dungeon was thick with unshed tears and heavy with a grief too terrible to voice.
Susan, white-faced and as stiff as though she were a puppet, held them all to the line with a professionalism Diane suspected she could never have emulated when the news came in that her husband’s ship had been torpedoed. Only the merest tremble of her hand betrayed what she had to be feeling.
As though she sensed Diane’s thoughts she told her jerkily, ‘At least with the almost constant daylight they have up there at this time of the year there’ll be more chance of any survivors being picked up.’
Diane couldn’t bear to say anything. Her throat closed up with compassion for Susan, knowing, as they all did, that the chance of there being any survivors was pitifully small.
When the new shift came on at 4.00 a.m.