We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [314]
"Here's to Jesus," he belched.
FREIGHT SHIPS FROM Archangel and Murmansk joined them along the route back to Iceland, making them a pack of eight in total. A destroyer and two refitted trawlers, both equipped with depth charges, escorted them. It wasn't much protection, but apart from the ballast, they were sailing empty, and the British Admiralty probably assumed that the Germans would think it a waste of ammunition to attack ships with no war matériel on board. They'd soon discover that the Germans took a different view.
It was now October and the ice rim had shifted farther south. They sailed as close to it as they dared, but for the German bombers based in northern Norway, it was still no distance. The autumn gales provided some unexpected help. The weather was severe most of the time, and in heavy winds the aircraft never left the ground. But a storm in the Barents Sea made no difference to the U-boats.
Wally was on the lookout at the bow, and he managed to sound three false torpedo alarms in the course of a single hour. "It's the stripes of foam on the waves," he explained apologetically.
"He's anxious," said Anton, who'd appeared on the bridge from the engine room to moan about all the times he'd been ordered to reverse or stop for no reason.
Knud Erik thought it over. "I'd better find someone else," he said.
"Being up there all on my own with no one to talk to drives me round the bend," Wally said, with a look of gratitude.
Knud Erik went down to the mess. As usual Herman was sitting by the table, holding court. Only Duncan and Helge, who were busy getting dinner ready, were there. Helge had grown used to Herman and called him Old Funny along with the rest of the crew. Sometimes they'd talk about Marstal.
Knud Erik hadn't spoken to Herman since he'd come on board. Now he went up to him and announced, without a greeting, "It's about time you made yourself useful." He ordered him dressed in an Icelandic sweater, duffel coat, and oilskins, and his head wrapped in a cap and woolen scarves. A mitten was put on his hand. His lower body was covered by blankets and a tarpaulin. Then he had him tied to the wheelchair.
Herman was undisturbed. "I feel like a baby being taken for a stroll" was all he said. Not once had he asked the captain what he was supposed to do.
"May you freeze to death," said Knud Erik.
Two of the crew carried Herman up onto the stem, where they secured his wheelchair so the heavy rolling of the ship wouldn't send him flying. The Nimbus didn't plunge deep enough for the bow to be submerged, but an icy spray washed over it. Knud Erik stood on the bridge and looked down on the bundled-up figure, who seemed to occupy the whole bow. The circle was complete. Once, Herman had sent Ivar out on the bowsprit. Now Herman was similarly exposed.
Knud Erik saw him bend his arm and raise something to his lips. Someone had managed to slip him a bottle of vodka. Oh yes, Old Funny was one of theirs, all right.
Two hours later Herman raised his hand: a torpedo was heading toward them.
Knud Erik ordered the ship to reverse, and Anton responded instantly down in the engine room. Knud Erik had time to note the strangeness of their putting unconditional faith in a man who'd once threatened their lives. Then he spotted the stripe of foam just ahead of the bow. Herman's warning had come at the last minute.
The torpedo sped onward, now aiming for another of the convoy ships, the tanker Hopemount. Another foam stripe appeared, parallel to the first. The torpedoes hit the Hopemount amidships just ten seconds apart. The ship broke in two, and the halves drifted in opposite directions in the raging sea; the front half began sinking immediately. The water around the stricken ship was filled with men, with and without life jackets, fighting to stay afloat in the freezing water.
The Nimbus was still reversing at full speed. They were now the last ship in the convoy. A trawler approached; Knud Erik hoped she