We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [11]
Some sat down on the deck in the midst of the sea of flames, as if clergymen's pulpit warnings about the fires of hell had become reality, while others stood motionless, staring straight ahead, their inner mechanisms broken. Lieutenants Ulrik, Stjernholm, and Corfitz rushed around, screaming into the men's faces: they must act, they were needed more than ever, if complete disaster was to be prevented and the honor of Denmark saved after a battle that they could hardly pride themselves on. But they'd been deafened by the cannons, and only pushing, shoving, and kicking would stir them.
Laurids let himself be herded to the powder magazine farthest astern, but it was slow work throwing the kegs into the water. They were only five men, and whenever a new crewman was forced into the chamber, he'd rush straight back out.
Suddenly came the cry "All men up!"
They knew instantly what that meant. Exchanging looks of alarm, they dropped the bombs and the kegs and raced up the ladder to find sheep, calves, pigs, hens, and ducks out of their enclosures, running on deck among the terrified sailors. A pig rummaged about, sticking its snout into bloody piles of guts, slurping things up.
The men raced about, each on his own urgent mission. Some hunted for their clothes and sea bags, while others climbed onto the rail as though contemplating jumping into the cold water. No one paid heed to the wounded men, who got in the way and were carelessly trampled. Their screams of agony went unheard; most of the crew were still deaf after the hours of intense shelling.
Laurids rushed downstairs to the sickbay, concerned that the wounded might be abandoned. Smoke seeped up through the heavy oak planks. Covering his mouth with his hand, he stepped into the murky room, where an orderly, covering his face with a cloth, came up to him.
"Is anyone coming?" Laurids realized his hearing had returned. "We've got to get the wounded upstairs. We're choking down here!"
"I'll go get help!" Laurids shouted back.
On deck there was no sign of the officers who had kicked the crew and whacked them with the flat side of their blades; instead he saw a crowd of men flocking to an open gangway with a Jacob's ladder, and ran over to them. The evacuation was already in full force. He spotted a couple of the lieutenants slashing through the crowd with their swords as they tried to reach the gangway. The ship's second in command, Captain Krieger, stood to one side, watching it all with an odd, distant gaze, his binoculars slung across his back, a gilt-framed portrait of his wife tucked under one arm, and the other raised in salute.
"You have shown yourselves to be brave men," he muttered over and over again, as if blessing his woeful flock. "You have done your duty. You are all my brothers."
No one took notice of him; each man was focusing on the most important obstacle in his path to salvation: the back of the sailor ahead of him, blocking his access to the open gangway. Laurids made his way to Krieger and screamed into his face:
"The wounded, Captain Krieger, the wounded!"
The captain turned to him, but his gaze remained distant. He placed a hand on Laurids's shoulder. Laurids felt it tremble, but the captain's voice was calm, almost sleepy.
"My brother, once we are ashore, we shall speak like brethren."
"The wounded need help!" Laurids screamed once more. "The whole ship is about to blow sky high."
The captain's hand stayed on Laurids's shoulder.
"Yes, the wounded," he said in the same monotonous tone of voice. "They too are my brothers. When we are ashore, we shall all speak like brethren." His voice disintegrated into mumbling, and then he began again, reeling off the same phrases. "You have shown yourselves to be brave men. You have done your duty. You are all my brethren."
Giving up on the captain and turning to the men who were struggling to reach the open gangway, Laurids grabbed them by the