The Trojan Horse

CHAPTER TEN

By the time I had finished examining those tanks the Thirlmere was under way. It was past eight now and I was hungry, dirty and dispirited. I had found no trace of Freya. Presumably she had been removed to another hiding place. It had not been easy to make the search thorough, for in some cases the hatches were difficult to open and some were tucked under steel girders so that I had scarcely been able to squeeze myself inside. However, I had managed to search thoroughly every tank, and now I sat on the back of one nearest the ladder and wondered what the next move was.

The hold was very hot and everything seemed to pulse to the rhythmic throb of the engines. Shortly after eight-thirty we hove to for a while. The silence seemed uncanny. But it only lasted for about a quarter of an hour. I did not know it at the time, but the Thirlmere had stopped for the River Police. MacPherson of the Globe had kept his word, and off Gravesend the police made a hurried search of the ship for David Shiel. On Baron Marburg’s assurance that David had left as soon as he had recovered — an assurance that was corroborated by the evidence of three of the volunteers, who swore they had seen him go down the gangway — the police left.

The next stop was at about nine-thirty off the Nore. This was for the purpose of picking up our escort, a destroyer of the Dover patrol. Thereafter the engines pounded away unceasingly, the whole ship vibrating as she forged ahead at her full ten knots.

I had made up my mind to wait until the early hours of the morning, and then to go up on deck and try to contact Schmidt. Events, however, were rather taken out of my hands. Shortly after ten the trapdoor was opened and a man with a flashlight descended. In one hand he carried what looked like a mess tin. I was certain of this when the light of his torch suddenly flashed full on it and showed me the handle of a spoon or fork sticking out of it.

He climbed down to the bottom of the ladder and, peering from the top of the munition cases, I saw him pass through the door into No. I hold. He was gone about ten minutes. When he returned, he still had the mess tin, but by the way the spoon in it rattled, I gathered it was now empty. As he passed me, I saw he wore the armlet of a volunteer. It was with a beating heart that I swung myself on to the ladder as soon as the trapdoor was shut. At the bottom I pulled open the bulkhead door and passed into the for’ard hold. The rope, I noticed, was not hanging in quite the same position as I had seen it before. After closing the bulkhead door behind me and fixing my torch to one of the buttons of my jacket, I swung myself up on the rope.

The gap between the top of the munitions cases and the deck plates was bigger than it had seemed from the bottom of the hold. In all there must have been the better part of three feet clearance. I went forward on hands and knees. Every now and then I had to duck for a steel girder. At last the beam of my torch showed me the for’ard end of the hold. There was no sign of Freya or of any case that might contain her. Yet I was certain that she was here somewhere. Well, there was only one place she could be and that was in one of the cases across which I was crawling. I examined the one I was kneeling on. It was iron-bound, and fitted flush to the next. The probability was that when I found the right one I should only have to lift the lid. A lock would have showed.

I must have spent the better part of an hour crawling over those cases, and at length I lay down on my back from sheer exhaustion. My shoulders ached with crouching in that cramped position and my knees were sore. I had tapped and pulled at the tops of countless cases. I had called her name. All in vain. And now I had only about ten feet to go to the for’ard end of the hold. And I had a feeling that those ten feet would yield no more than the rest. I was conscious, too, of the fact that I should by now be thinking of how to contact Schmidt and David, and what we were going to do to prevent the ship reaching Germany.

I decided to finish my search of the hold as quickly as possible and then try my luck on deck. I had half risen to my feet, when a grating sound checked me. The bulkhead door was being slid back. I looked wildly about me. There was no cover on those cases. I scrambled quickly to a position against the for’ard bulkhead. I slid along it to the corner, and waited, breathing hard.

But though the glow of the torch showed above the top of the cases, the rope was not pulled taut and no one appeared to be climbing to my hiding-place. The soft murmur of a voice reached me. I crawled across the munition cases. Suddenly I recognised the voice and stiffened. It was Sedel’s. I went on until I could actually peer over the top of the cases. Sedel and one of the volunteers were standing at the bottom of the well formed by the cases and the recess of the bulkhead. The volunteer held a hurricane lantern and its light cast fantastic shadows of their heads on the steel plates of the bulkhead.

But though my eyes took in the details of the scene in that one quick glance, what they centred on was the side of one of the cases opposite the bulkhead door. This had been let down like a flap. Sedel was speaking. His voice was soft and I only caught a phrase here and there. I heard the word ‘bait’ followed by that effeminate titter of his. ‘… the boy friend,’ he said. ‘Your father’ was mentioned, then I heard my own name. He laughed again and said rather louder, ‘I just thought you’d like to know that everything has gone off according to plan, Miss Schmidt. Close her up now, Hans. Pleasant dreams. We shall be in the Reich tomorrow.’

There was the bang of the case being closed and then the light disappeared and the bulkhead door grated as it was closed.

I waited for more than ten minutes before venturing down. The first thing I did was to go over to the bulkhead door. Inch by inch, so that it made hardly a sound, I pressed it back. As soon as there was room I squeezed through. The trapdoor was closed. All was dark in the main hold. The only sound was the slapping of the water against the sides of the ship and the incessant throbbing of the engines. I stood there a while, listening and wondering whether this was perhaps a trap. Supposing they knew I had not left the ship? Supposing they had not gone out by the trapdoor, but were hiding up there among the tanks?

Well, I had to risk that. I slid the bulkhead door back again and switched on my torch. It did not take me long to locate the dummy case. I had marked it carefully and, searching across the surface, I found tiny holes at the corners. The thing was bolted on the inside and the bolts were operated, I discovered, by a large screw in the centre. Fortunately I had a sixpence on me and the groove of the screw was big enough for me to turn it with this.

I lowered the flap. Freya’s eyes were open, but she could not move her head. A canvas gag was stretched tightly across her mouth and fixed on each side of her head to the bottom of the case. Her arms and legs were bound to wooden supports in much the same way as mine had been strapped to the clamps in the deed-box. I told her who I was as I set to work on the gag. I don’t think she believed me, for her first words to me when I had removed the gag were, ‘Will you shine the torch on your face?’ I did so. ‘Then you really are Andrew Kilmartin,’ she said, and smiled. It was only then that I realised that she must have seen the evening papers the day before and had thought me dead. I said no more then, for her eyes were closed.

It took me some time to untie the knots. But at length she was free and I picked her up in my arms and lifted her out of her cramped quarters. Quickly I worked at her hands and legs to restore the circulation. Every moment I was afraid someone would come through from the main hold and discover me in the act of releasing her.

It must have been a quarter of an hour before she was able to move her limbs freely enough to be able to attempt the ladder. I closed up the case and slid back the bulkhead door. We passed through, and closing the door behind us, began the ascent of the ladder. How she managed it, I don’t know. She had been in that dummy munition case for well over twelve hours and her limbs were stiff and very painful. Yet I dared not delay longer than was absolutely necessary. I sent her up first, myself following very close so that she could rest her weight on my shoulder. Even so it was a struggle and once or twice I was certain we must both fall.

At length we were safe among the tanks. I think she fainted with the reaction then. She lay very still for a while, whilst I chafed her limbs. After some time she stirred and sat up. I felt her hand on mine. ‘It really is you, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t dream that?’

‘You thought I was dead?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was all over the papers on … What’s today?’

I glanced at my watch. ‘We’re ten minutes into Monday,’ I said.

‘And on the Thirlmere headed for Germany?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We should reach Norwegian territorial waters about ten in the morning.’

‘Have they got the boat on board?’

‘Yes. And your father is on board, too.’

‘I know. That man Sedel told me before you let me out. Franzie thought he was being so clever, and they knew all the time. Sedel said they also had David.’

‘I’m afraid so,’ I said. And then added, ‘He came on board quite openly for the dedication ceremony as a cameraman. Your father had told him they had brought you on board in a tank and he came to rescue you.’

‘I know.’ She spoke dispiritedly. ‘I was the bait. Sedel told me that. How well their scheme has worked — Franzie, David, and you, too! Why did you come on board?’

‘I was determined to stop the engine from getting out of the country somehow,’ I said.

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘I’m glad it was not on account of me.’

‘I did not know you were on board until I met David,’ I explained. Then I told her how I had escaped from the vaults of Marburgs and of my flight through the sewers. ‘You see,’ I finished, ‘I just had to square up accounts somehow.’

She pressed my hand and in the darkness I sensed that she was smiling. ‘The obstinate Scot in you, Andrew.’ And she gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘Franzie insists that your obstinacy is the key to your whole character.’

I was glad of the darkness. The blood had rushed to my cheeks at her use of my Christian name, and I should have hated her to notice it. ‘How did you fall into their clutches?’ I asked.

Apparently she had picked up an ‘18’ bus and got out at Guildford Street. They had been waiting for her outside the digs. There had been a black saloon car at the kerb and a uniformed chauffeur had come up to her just as she was getting out her key. He was in Bart’s livery. Would she come at once to the hospital? Mr Kilmartin had been brought there and was asking for her. He had been badly cut up in a car smash. She had hesitated. It was the old dodge and she was suspicious. Then he played his trump card. He showed her the evening paper. He had relied on her not reading the story through and discovering where the accident was supposed to have taken place. When she pointed out that I was supposed to be dead, he told her that the journalists were a little premature, that was all. Then she had got into the car. And of course they had to stop and pick up a famous surgeon from his home in Gray’s Inn. Chloroform had done the rest. She did not know anything about being brought on board in a tank. The first thing she had remembered was the cramped feeling of that case.

After telling me this, she asked whether anyone had been able to communicate with the authorities. I told her how far I had got. When I had finished, she said, ‘But you are not hopeful?’

‘Frankly, no,’ I said. ‘But we can’t be sure.’

‘Then if we are going to try anything on our own, we had best wait until we reach Norwegian territorial waters?’

‘If we can,’ I agreed. ‘But don’t forget, even supposing they are prepared to let you have a quiet night, they will be down in the morning.’

‘How silly of me — of course.’ She was on the point of putting another question when she stopped. There was a sudden empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I did not need the rush of cold air to tell me what the sound was that had stopped Freya. The trapdoor had been thrown back.

Then there was a soft thud as it closed again and an instant later a torch was switched on. Freya and I had slid behind the nearest tank. Peering round its gun turret, I saw that two men were descending the ladder. I did not know what to do. Naturally my first thought was that it was Sedel and his companion returning to question Freya about something. And once they discovered that she was no longer there, the hunt would be up. We had no weapons. The position was hopeless.

But the men, instead of climbing to the bottom of the ladder, dropped off it on to the cases. My heart was in my mouth as I thrust Freya farther into the shadow of the tank. For they were coming straight towards us.

Then the beam of the torch swung upward and I saw the face of the second man. It was in profile as the first one, who was much shorter, indicated the tank behind which we were hiding. ‘You see, they have two-pounders like the ones on deck,’ said the little man. ‘We can test down here.’

In the instant that I had recognised the big man to whom the words were addressed, Freya had let go of my hand and rushed forward. ‘Franzie!’ she cried, and flung herself into the arms of the smaller of the two men.

‘Quite a gathering of the clans,’ I said, as I stepped forward. The torch was shone on my face. Then Schmidt put Freya to one side and took my hand. ‘It’s you, Kilmartin, is it?’ he said, and I had a feeling he was going to embrace me. But he restrained himself and said quietly, ‘I was so afraid they had got you.’

‘Andrew has been chased through the sewers,’ Freya explained in a rush of words. ‘Then he got on board as a pressman and has just rescued me from an empty munition case in which they’d imprisoned me. All wonderfully melodramatic. But how did you get down here? Only a little while ago Sedel told me that he knew you were on board.’

Schmidt took off his glasses and polished them vigorously. His big eyes were brilliant in the torchlight. ‘There are certain advantages in being employed in the galley. The volunteers mess together. They are all sound asleep now. So, I fancy, are Sedel and his chief of staff. I took them coffee after they had returned from visiting Freya.’

‘He’s an absolute wizard,’ David said. ‘Drugged the lot of them. Then he came and let me out of the chain locker in which they’d imprisoned me. Now we take control of the ship.’

‘You go too fast, Mr Shiel,’ put in Schmidt. ‘We can only make our preparations to take over the ship. We can go to our action stations, but we cannot go into action until we have dropped our escort.’

‘But with those pseudo-volunteers all unconscious it would be so easy,’ David insisted. ‘Just tie them up, take their guns and have the ship turned back.’

‘You seem to have forgotten our escort,’ Schmidt said quietly. ‘My dear Mr Shiel, we cannot show our hands until they have shown theirs. That is, of course, unless Mr Kilmartin can assure me that the British Government is by now convinced that this ship is bound for Germany.’ He turned to me. ‘You have made attempts to convince the authorities, yes?’

I nodded. ‘Frankly, I am not very hopeful,’ I said.

He put his glasses on again. ‘Then my plan is best,’ he said. ‘We must give them the rope necessary to hang themselves. They will wake up in the morning to find everything just as it was the night before, except that myself and the two prisoners will have disappeared. I doubt whether they will have time to make a thorough search of the ship, for it will be getting late by then. They will say good-bye to their escort and, when she has passed out of sight, they will go through with their plan to take control of the ship. The course will be set for Germany.’

‘And where are we?’ asked Freya.

‘Inside one of the tanks on the deck. Here’ — he waved his hand round the hold — ‘we have ammunition of several kinds. Ammunition for the machine-guns. Ammunition for these two-pounders. We take a stock of ammunition up to our tank and then we have command of the ship.’ He looked at me. ‘You agree?’ he asked.

I nodded. It really seemed most ingenious. ‘It’s essential that they show their hand first,’ I said. ‘It will be clear proof and that’s the only way to convince the British Government.’

‘Good! Then let us get to work.’

Schmidt had done his reconnaissance work well. He could distinguish the markings on the cases, and with the aid of tools from one of the tanks we soon had a case of machine-gun and a case of two-pounder ammunition opened. The cases were bound with light metal bands and these David broke by inserting a large screwdriver and twisting. At one moment, whilst we were standing by watching him break open a case, Schmidt took my arm. ‘I am overjoyed to find you here,’ he said. ‘I cannot thank you enough.’

I laughed. ‘I should thank you,’ I said. ‘You have given me back my youth.’ My eyes were fixed on Freya. She looked tired, but that did not mar the beauty of her features. She was watching David with his broad powerful shoulders bent to the task of breaking the metal bands.

When both cases were open, Schmidt took us over to the nearest tank and we climbed in. Briefly he explained to the three of us the workings of the machine-gun and the two-pounder. As soon as he was satisfied that we knew how to work both guns in an emergency, we climbed out again and set about the task of removing the necessary quantity of ammunition on deck. David had brought two sacks with him and into each of these we dropped as much as one man could carry. Schmidt and I were to do the donkey work. David was to act as escort and effectively silence any opposition, if we were unlucky enough to meet any. It must be remembered that, though the volunteers were presumably all drugged, the crew were still awake. ‘There’s a watch on the bridge,’ Schmidt told us, as we began to climb the ladder. ‘But he should be looking in front of him.’

David led the way, with myself, then Schmidt, and Freya bringing up the rear. The trapdoor was pushed quietly back, making a square of white light. I followed David on to the fo’c’sle to find the whole ship bathed in brilliant moonlight. Involuntarily I paused. It was a wonderful sight after the darkness of the hold. The moon was almost full and hung low over the sea, so that a path of dancing light showed to the horizon. And in the midst of that silver path was the black outline of our escort. The Thirlmere herself was brilliantly lit, every object clear-cut and accentuated by the darkness of the shadow it cast. Beside the open trapdoor one of the volunteers lay dozing. It was bitterly cold after the warmth of the hold.

No one was in sight and David led the way quickly to the well deck, where we were at once swallowed up in the shadow of the high bulwarks. Schmidt had chosen one of the central tanks next to the torpedo boat. His choice, I discovered later, had been governed by its field of fire, which was excellent. It was so placed that from it we could rake the whole of the fo’c’sle and cover one entrance to the hold.

The most dangerous job, so far as discovery was concerned, was getting into the tank. This could only be done through its two small hatches. Freya went first and we spent several uncomfortable seconds as, lying flat on the moonlit surface of the tank, she pulled open one of the hatches and slipped inside. Apparently no one had seen her. She closed the hatch and opened up the driver’s protecting flap. Fortunately this was in shadow and we passed the ammunition through without fear of discovery. Then the three of us went back to the hold. This time we closed up the cases after filling the sacks with ammunition, and when we emerged on to the fo’c’sle again, we put back the trapdoor. We made the well deck without incident. But then David noticed the figure of the man on watch standing on the edge of the bridge. He was gazing in the direction of the destroyer. At length he turned and very deliberately stared the length of the ship. I felt he must see us. But he moved towards the other end of the bridge and disappeared from view behind the chart room. We hesitated a moment and then crossed the patch of moonlight into the shelter of the tanks. After passing the second load of ammunition to Freya, we climbed in through the driver’s flap, closing it behind us.

Schmidt had had the foresight to provide sandwiches. I appreciated this, for I was by now extremely hungry. The quarters were cramped and uncomfortable, though the tank had been designed to hold a crew of four. Freya was marvellous. She was suffering both physically and mentally from her long imprisonment in the munition case. Fresh from my experience of Sedel’s deed-box, I understood how she felt. She was in great need of strenuous exercise to free her cramped muscles, and she was suffering from a sense of claustrophobia.

The moonlight filtered in through the gun vents, casting thin white beams across the dark interior of the tank. Schmidt had taken up his post in the gun turret, whilst David was in the driver’s seat. Placed opposite Freya, as I was, it was not long before I noticed that she was suffering from violent shivers every now and then. It was the sense of being closed up, and at length I leaned forward and gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. She turned and I saw that her face was very pale and that she was biting her lips. She took my hand then and held it tight. It seemed to help her, for after a time her grip relaxed and she fell asleep with her head against the butt of a machine-gun.

We had divided the night up into three watches of two hours each. David took the first watch. I relieved him at four in the morning, having slept fitfully. When he woke me, I found that Freya’s hand was still in mine. Her head was bowed over the gun and her muscles were relaxed. My arm was cramped, but I dared not let go her hand for fear of waking her. Schmidt took over at six.

I woke him by tapping against his legs, which extended below the turret. The moon had set and it was very dark inside the tank, so that I had to feel for them. I was by then becoming very tired of my position. Nevertheless, I slept soundly, and the next thing I knew was that someone was shaking me. It was Freya, and as I opened my mouth to speak, she put her hand over it. It felt warm and soft against my lips. Shafts of sunlight threaded into the interior of the tank, which was now quite light. The ship was alive about us. Orders were being shouted and there was the clatter of boots on the steel deck plates.

‘It’s past nine,’ she whispered in my ear. ‘And they’ve discovered that we’re missing. They’re searching the hold.’

I sat up and looked through my gun sights. I could see the whole of the for’ard part of the ship. The grey superstructure of the bridge shone in the morning sunshine. And beyond was blue sky sweeping down to the shimmering green of the sea. There was not a cloud to be seen and the sun was already high in the sky on the port bow. The position of the sun told me that we were still headed for the Kattegat. Presumably we had not yet dropped our escort. The trapdoor to the hold was open and I saw one of the volunteers come out. He climbed the ladder to the bridge and was met by Sedel. He shouted something and Sedel cursed.

Schmidt came down from his perch in the gun turret. His unshaven chin accentuated the pallor of his face. But though he looked tired, almost ill, his eyes were as alive as ever. He had a word with David, who climbed quietly out of the driver’s seat and joined us in the body of the tank.

‘Freya, you will pass up the ammunition when required,’ Schmidt said in a low voice. ‘Mr Shiel, you will take over this gun, and Mr Kilmartin, you will stay where you are. If they begin searching these tanks before the escort is dropped, we shall have to show our hand. That will be unfortunate. But I do not think they will. It is now nine-forty-five and they are due to part from the escort at any moment. Then they will take control of the ship. The Norwegians will be taken for’ard. When I am certain that all the volunteers are either in the fo’c’sle or on the bridge, I shall open fire. I shall blow away each end of the bridge, and you will both fire a few bursts with your machine-guns in order to test the accuracy of your aim. Under no circumstances must any of the volunteers be allowed to reach the well deck alive. Our only danger is if we are taken in the rear. We shall have nothing to fear from the crew, only the volunteers. The only way they can get aft is by means of the well deck. It is your business, with the machine-guns, to see they do not leave the fo’c’sle. We have plenty of ammunition.’

I cannot begin to describe the impression Schmidt created. It was strange to see this shabby little Jew, unshaven and filthy with oil, issuing precise and elaborate orders for action. And yet it was not incongruous. It was in the character of the man. I remembered the impression I had had of him in my office, a hunted, frightened man, fleeing from justice. Physically he still gave that impression of weakness. Yet there was neither weakness nor indecision in his black eyes. He gave us our orders as though he were arranging the mechanism of a machine. He brought to a scene of action the cool, clear brain of an engineer, and at zero hour he made his dispositions and explained his plan as though he were in a laboratory about to conduct an important experiment.

When he had finished, he climbed back into the turret. I was completely awake now, and I waited, my mind alert and my eyes fixed on my field of vision, with only the slightest void in my stomach to indicate that we were about to go into action.

There was much coming and going in the fo’c’sle. Sedel was constantly issuing orders, and once Marburg himself appeared, his features as expressionless as ever. It was strange to be bottled up in that tank on such a beautiful morning. Stranger still to imagine the burst of action that would break out in this ship as soon as the escort had been dropped. Everything was so bright and fresh, with promise of summer in the warmth of the sunshine. I thought of the battle of the River Plate. Fought in conditions of bright sunlight, the combatants must have felt much as I did at the thought of fighting on a day that was so obviously made for pleasure.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of all the men I could see on the fo’c’sle standing motionless, gazing to port. I guessed that the escort was closing with the Thirlmere, before she came into my field of vision. Very sleek and beautiful, and rather deadly she looked, with the bow wave creaming white against her grey hull. She came up fast to within a stone’s throw. I could see the gold braid on the commander’s cap as he hailed us through cupped hands.

I could not hear what he said. But after receiving a reply from our bridge, the destroyer sheered off and swung away from us in a great arc. The captain had come to the port side of the bridge and stood watching the destroyer as she fell astern of us. His figure, rigid against the cloudless blue of the sky, was joined by two others — Marburg and Sedel.

Five, ten minutes — I don’t know how long they stayed there watching the departure of their escort. Time meant nothing to me at that moment. A minute seemed a lifetime.

Then suddenly Sedel raised his hand to his lips. A whistle shrilled out, loud and insistent above the throb of the engines. The captain turned towards him and then his eyes fell to the thing in Sedel’s hands. Almost involuntarily his hands rose above his head. Then suddenly he swung his right at Sedel’s chin. But the German had anticipated the blow. He stepped back, quickly, precisely, and then deliberately fired two shots. The captain never recovered from his lunge, but plunged straight on and fetched up, sprawled across the railings of the bridge. Then slowly his body slipped from sight, his cap tilted drunkenly over his eyes.

Zero hour! The thing had been planned and I could imagine the precision with which it was executed. The wireless operator would look up as the door of his cabin opened. If he resisted, he would be ruthlessly shot down like the captain. If not … Already they were herding the members of the crew on the fo’c’sle. Several passed under guard along the well deck within a few feet of us. They were searched and bundled into one of the fo’c’sle cabins. Only the engine-room crew were left. Presumably a guard had been placed over them. Meantime, the ship had changed course and the sun was now on the starboard bow.

The minutes ticked slowly by. I thought Schmidt would never give the word to go into action. But I understood the reason for delay. The farther we got off our course in the direction of Germany, the clearer the proof of guilt. There was a great deal of movement on the fo’c’sle. In the bustle of the ship’s capture I had endeavoured to keep check on the number of volunteers now for’ard. As far as I could tell there were eight, besides Sedel and Marburg. That left only two unaccounted for, and they would presumably be looking after the engine-room.

A man came hurrying down from the bridge with a small bundle under his arm. He stopped at the foot of the mast and looped it to a halyard. Then he hauled the bundle up and the Nazi swastika flag was broken out at the masthead. There was a great cheer from the fo’c’sle at this. And then there was the sound of orders being issued and a moment later two of the men came hurrying down from the bridge. They went straight to the trapdoor leading to the hold.

‘Get them covered,’ I heard Schmidt say. My hand closed round the trigger of my gun. The cold feel of the steel was somehow comfortingly impersonal. I held the two of them in my sights. ‘Fire!’ came Schmidt’s voice. I heard the rat-a-tat-tat of David’s gun as I pressed my trigger. The gun chattered in my hand. Both men were thrown against the side with the force of the twofold burst of fire.

Then the whole tank rocked and my ear drums sang as Schmidt fired the gun. Through the narrow aperture of my sights I saw the whole of the port side of the bridge, where the captain had so recently been shot, explode. The flash of the explosion seemed a part of this detonation above my head. The whole side of the bridge burst into fragments. Then the structure subsided gently until it hung draped against the more solidly constructed deck housing. A second explosion followed almost immediately. This time the shot was fired at the starboard side of the bridge, but only the extreme edge of it was carried away.

There followed a complete and startled silence, so that above the throb of the engines I heard a gull screaming imprecations at the disturbance. Then, as though some vitalising force had suddenly brought the ship to life again, it echoed with shouts and the running of feet. Two men swung themselves down the broken superstructure of the bridge, heavy service revolvers swinging from their lanyards.

‘Give them a few warning bursts,’ Schmidt ordered.

We did so, and the two of them dived for cover. The hatch of the gun turret clanged above my head as Schmidt threw it open. ‘I wish to speak to Baron Marburg,’ he shouted.

No one answered him.

‘Unless he comes forward in ten seconds,’ Schmidt called out, ‘I shall put another shell into the bridge.’

I could hear him counting softly to himself. The now derelict-seeming superstructure of the bridge was lifeless. Eight — nine — ten. Once again the tank bucked to the kick of the gun. This time the whole of the starboard end of the bridge collapsed into a mass of twisted wreckage.

‘Do you want me to demolish the whole forward part of the ship bit by bit?’ Schmidt called out.

But Marburg had already made his appearance. He was at the port end of the bridge, his heavy body in silhouette against the sun. ‘Who are you and what do you want?’ The question was put in a cold dispassionate voice. I think at that moment I admired the man. I could well imagine the shock that burst of fire must have been to him, when everything had appeared to be going according to plan. Yet there was no tremor in his voice. He might have been addressing a board meeting.

‘My name is Franz Schmidt,’ came the reply from above my head. ‘I think you may remember it in connection with a new type of diesel engine. As you will realise, we control this ship. We have plenty of ammunition and we can quite easily blast the whole of the upper works of the ship away. As a last resort, of course, we have the means of blowing the ship up.’

‘What do you want?’ As he asked this question Marburg glanced over his shoulder as though to speak to someone. Then he added, ‘I understand the strength of your position. Do you want us to put back to England?’

‘There is no need for that,’ Schmidt replied. ‘I want you to send the crew down into the well deck. They are to come down one by one, and remember that I know them all by sight.’

‘Very well, I will do that.’ Marburg disappeared. We waited anxiously. I was afraid that they would try driving the crew in front of them as a shield. I knew we could not afford to be squeamish, but my whole being revolted at the idea of shooting innocent neutrals down in cold blood, however imperative the reason.

‘Keep the approaches to the well deck covered,’ came Schmidt’s voice.

I, too, had seen the movement of a man’s head that had prompted the warning. The next instant four of the volunteers dashed forward, two from either side of the deck houses. Their intention was to jump on to the well deck. But they hadn’t a chance. Before they had covered the few feet of open deck they fell, riddled with bullets. And to add point to their death Schmidt fired another round at the bridge, demolishing a further section on the port side.

‘Now perhaps you will send the prisoners singly into the well deck?’

After a few moments the first of the crew appeared. Schmidt spoke rapidly in Norwegian. The man came down to the well deck and stopped at a point where he was covered by our guns. He was followed by eight others. Schmidt then spoke for several minutes. Though I did not understand a word of what he was saying, I guessed that he was explaining the situation to them and giving them instructions. At length he dismissed them.

They immediately made their way aft. Three of them had taken guns from the dead Germans. I learned later that one of them was killed in a fight with the two engine-room guards. Both of the Germans were killed. A moment later the donkey engine came to life.

My task of keeping watch on the for’ard part of the ship prevented me from seeing what was happening aft. But I knew well enough what Schmidt’s intention was. He was getting the torpedo boat unshipped. The work took more than a quarter of an hour. By the time he announced that it was completed and the boat lowered over the side, I had sighted what I instantly knew Marburg had sighted when he had spoken with us from the bridge. Beyond the broken superstructure I made out the sharp black bows of a destroyer. The huge wave at her bow told of the engines running at full speed. Close behind her came a second.

Schmidt dropped into the interior of the tank. He had seen the danger. ‘We have only just time,’ he said. ‘Freya, get out as quickly as you can. Get the engine started. You,’ he said to me, ‘and Shiel will follow. Take a drum of ammunition each. They fit the guns on the boat. I’ll keep the bridge occupied.’

‘No, you go,’ I said. ‘Let me stay.’

‘There’s no time for argument,’ was the curt reply.

I realised that his decision was final. Freya was already clambering out. I followed her, with David close at my heels. The first thing I noticed as I jumped on to the deck was the gap left by the torpedo boat. The great derrick boom was swung over the side of the ship. I slipped down at the rear of the tank just as a bullet ricocheted off the armour plating. An instant later the whole vehicle shook as Schmidt fired straight into the centre of the bridge.

No more shots were fired after that. We slid down a rope ladder into the boat. Freya went aft to get the engine going, whilst David and I manned the machine-guns. Close above our heads hung the great girder on which the boat had been lowered. The moments seemed like hours. And every minute the two destroyers were coming closer. I could see the swastika flags quite clearly now.

Suddenly there was a roar overhead and a large plane swept by black against the sun. I looked round the packed boat. It hardly seemed as though we had a chance. As soon as we were clear of the Thirlmere we should be under fire from the destroyers. And now there was this plane. An instant later the engine came to life. Still we waited. Then came the sound of three shots, clear and distinct above the noise of the engine. I looked up just as Schmidt swung himself over the side and slid on to the deck. At the same moment the engine roared again and we began to move, swinging away from the side of the Thirlmere.

I glanced back to see Freya, her hair blowing free in the gathering wind of our movement, holding the wheel, her face splodged with grease and a smile on her lips. Behind her towered the bulk of the Thirlmere. Figures were moving on the broken bridge structure. A rifle cracked and then another. I swung my gun on to these tiny targets and opened fire.

When I next glanced back, Freya had handed the wheel to her father and was moving towards the engine hatch. She caught my eyes as she disappeared. There was the light of battle in her eyes and she lifted the small object that hung from a chain round her neck. For an instant I did not understand the significance of her gesture. Then I realised that this was the key to the special valve. For the first time the Schmidt Diesel engine was to show its paces.

A few minutes later the boat seemed to leap forward in the water, and the high-pitched drone of the engine almost drowned the clatter of my gun. The bows rose high out of the water and the spray swept from them in two great curves that glinted in the sunlight with rainbow tints. In an instant it seemed we were out of range.

As soon as I joined Schmidt in the deckhouse I knew that he was wounded. His left arm hung limp from the shoulder and a dark stain showed just above the elbow. But he refused to hand the wheel to anyone. ‘It’s only a scratch,’ he yelled at me, and his face was a white mask in which his eyes glowed feverishly like coals.

Above the roar of the engine the distant boom of a gun sounded — then another and another. Three great fountains of water shot up ahead of us. Schmidt swung the wheel over and the boat skidded round on her stern. Behind us I could see the bow waves of the two destroyers white and menacing. The hunt was up and I could not believe that we could possibly escape from those sharp-nosed sea hounds. Boom, boom, boom! More fountains of spray, this time only fifty yards on the port bow. Again the boat skidded in a great curve as the wheel went hard over. The water creamed in our wake, a huge half circle of foam-flecked sea. The day was perfect.

Then suddenly a shadow swept like a huge bird across the sea, and down across our stern came the plane. Schmidt swung the boat away to port again. The aircraft swept past only fifty feet above our heads. David had swung his gun on to it. But he did not fire, for as she climbed steeply up into the azure blue of the sky, the sun glinted on her wings, showing us the triple circles of the Royal Air Force against the drab grey and green of her camouflage paint.

More shells, this time astern. Over went the wheel again. With shaded eyes I watched the flight of the aircraft. She had circled in a great bank and was now headed back towards the destroyers. I watched her, fascinated. She had climbed to about a thousand feet. But instead of attacking the German destroyers, she skirted them and swept on to the Thirlmere, now no more than a drab grey toy ship far astern.

When she was no more than a speck in the sky, the size of a gull, the plane dived. She swept over the Thirlmere. Six tiny dots slipped from beneath her. She must have straddled the ship nicely, for an instant later the Thirlmere seemed to burst into a thousand fragments. Even at that distance the roar of the explosion was shatteringly loud. For a while a pall of smoke hung like a cloud over the spot where the Thirlmere had been. When it cleared away, the sea beyond the two German destroyers was clear to the horizon.

A moment later the clatter of the destroyers’ pompoms sounded as the aircraft dived to the attack of our pursuers. But already we were drawing away from them at a tremendous pace, the whole boat shuddering under our feet as though at any moment the engine must shake loose from its mountings. And hull down on the horizon ahead we saw two ships. They grew rapidly larger and Schmidt swung our own boat away to port with the intention of skirting them. But David, who had found a pair of glasses in the control room, reported that they were flying the white ensign. It was, in fact, the Thirlmere’s late escort in company with another destroyer. We closed with them shortly before noon and the enemy destroyers then sheered off. Just before twelve-thirty we were joined by three Avro Ansons of the Coastal Command.

Freya came up the companionway from the engine-room a little later. Her wide eyes were alight with excitement. She went for’ard towards her father who was still at the wheel. As she came abreast of where I stood beside my gun, she paused and looked up into my face. ‘I’m so happy,’ she said. And then suddenly my heart was jumping at the touch of her hand on mine. ‘We owe so much to you,’ she added. ‘I want you to know…’

But her words were drowned in the clamour of the pom-poms on the destroyers. Three black specks swept down at us out of the sun. The roar of them rose to a scream that drowned the thunder of the guns. Huge spouts of water rose all around us. There was no doubt that we and not the destroyers were the target. Suddenly they were no longer black specks but huge winged objects in silhouette against the blue sky as they swept up out of the dive. Three more followed. More spouts of water. The deck was soaked with spray so that the water ran green in the scuppers. They were Heinkels and down behind them came the three Ansons. One of the Heinkels failed to pull out of its dive and hit the water with a crack of broken metal within a hundred yards of us.

And when that first dive was over and we remained miraculously unhit, I found my arm was about Freya and she was clinging to my coat as though for protection from the rain of high explosive. I did not move, and we stood there watching the Avros scrapping with the Heinkels a thousand feet above us in the blue. A squadron of Hurricanes appeared suddenly from the west. The Heinkels broke and with their noses down made off into the sun. The Hurricanes circled above us, and the rest of the way to Harwich we had an escort of fighters. Twice enemy aircraft were sighted, but each time they made off.

The aircraft that had destroyed the Thirlmere was not able to press home her attack on the German destroyers owing to a shortage of bombs. She circled lazily round us like a great buzzard as our little procession made for home. Half an hour later she was joined by three more machines of the Coastal Command.

At the time, I remember, I said to Schmidt, ‘The Government seem determined to make amends.’ I thought the procession unnecessary. But shortly before one, a flight of a dozen Heinkels swept down out of the sun. We were left in no doubt as to the object of their visit, for they avoided the destroyers and dived in formation straight down upon our little craft. Once again Schmidt’s engine showed its paces. The boat skidded to starboard and seemed to crane right up out of the water as we closed with the nearest destroyer for the protection of her guns.

The Heinkel formation was broken up by the skill and daring of our own pilots before the attack could be pressed home. Nevertheless, we seemed to be surrounded by spouts of water. One of these was so close that solid water fell on to us, soaking us all to the skin. The rattle of machine-gun fire could be heard even above the racket of the destroyers’ guns. The action lasted about a quarter of an hour. The enemy was at length driven off with the loss of two machines. We lost one.

Shortly after this, no less than twenty-five aircraft of the Coastal Command joined us. It was borne in on me then that the authorities were suddenly taking the whole thing very seriously. Twice before we reached port enemy aircraft were sighted, but no attack was made.

At Harwich we were met by Sir Geoffrey Carr and Air Marshal Sir Jervis Mayle. Fisher was also there, and it was he who explained to me why the authorities had finally decided to act.

Fisher himself had pressed them to detain and search the Thirlmere, but without success. Sir John Keif had seen the Prime Minister. But the Thirlmere was the toy of big financial interests and no member of the Cabinet was willing to take action on such flimsy evidence. But by Sunday evening Fisher and his proprietor had created sufficient stir in Whitehall for individual inquiries to be made by at least two Cabinet ministers. MI5 contributed an interesting document on the peculiar circumstances of Llewellin’s death linking up with the activities of Sedel. Then there was the trouble at the Calboyd Works at Oldham. Fisher’s local man reported that the body found at Strangler’s Beach corresponded with the description of the missing Calboyd works manager. The Yard’s contribution came from Crisham, who was able to produce the statement I had left with my bank. On top of it all came MacPherson’s story of David Shiel’s capture on the Thirlmere.

Even then no action was taken. But the First Lord decided to keep an eye on the Thirlmere after she had parted from her escort. As soon as the aircraft reported that the munition ship had changed course and was making for Germany, the escort destroyer, together with another, was ordered to capture the Thirlmere by boarding.

‘Keif was with the First Lord at the time,’ Fisher said, ‘and things were apparently pretty tense. Mayle was there with a report from AI about the relative speed of secret German diesels. Combined with the sudden revelation of the attitude of the technical staff at Calboyds, this report had scared him a good deal. From that moment he’d put all his hopes on the engine that was supposed to be on the Thirlmere. Keif says he was almost out of his mind when the message came through that two German destroyers were closing with the Thirlmere. Then, of course, came the news of your getaway. Actual wording of the message was: “Torpedo boat left Thirlmere stop Making tremendous speed due West.” The order was then given to sink the Thirlmere. You know the rest. The quality of that engine was largely measured by the lengths to which Germany had gone to obtain it.’

Fisher was right there. It had needed German initiative to bring the invention of an Austrian Jew to the notice of the Air Ministry. The importance of that invention is best judged by results.