Dark Full of Enemies(20)
He stood on the pier and watched the motor launch return from the sub. He had checked the house once more to make sure they had left nothing behind, and as soon as he boarded the Viking, the sub would reverse engines out of the bay, make for open water, and once in the sea beyond, cruise northward. They would have fifty-six hours aboard the Viking to rest and make ready. McKay had already prepared his brief for the men.
The launch throttled back and the sailor at the helm slid up parallel to the dock. McKay stepped in, sat beside him, and they were off.
“Beautiful evening, eh, sir?”
McKay had not considered it, but he looked around now and realized that it was. The storm had cleared sometime in the night. He awoke after a few hours of good sleep to hear the wind—even feel it—blow against the creaking house and see moonlight brighten the smudged and dusty windows of the hall. He rose then and paced and watched the moon-silvered isthmus. The submarine glid slowly into view beyond a low, sheltering arm of land at 0230.
McKay nodded to the sailor and put his head down. The storm may have gone, but the wind had remained.
The launch came broadside to the sub and McKay stood, planted one foot on the gunwale and jumped aboard. The sailor saluted and gunned the engine to return to the pier.
Two sailors in peacoats waited with a young Royal Navy officer in a great coat and peak cap. The officer saluted and McKay returned it.
“Sub-lieutenant Hopper, sir. Everything in order?”
“Captain McKay. We’re squared away, Lieutenant.”
They climbed the tower and Hopper stood beside the hatch, awaiting McKay. McKay glanced up at the sky, the moon, and climbed down.
As often as McKay had traveled and in as wide a variety of vehicles, he had never been aboard a submarine before. The silence and bright darkness of the night gave way to crowd, din, and the glare of warning lights, instrument panels, and naked bulbs. Sailors came and went in the cramped chamber, and banks of instruments, dials, and switches—each with a sailor or two bowed over it in concentration—lined the bulkheads. In one corner near a hatch stood a waist-high desk like a sideboard, around which a few gold-braided officers had gathered. In the center stood the great steel trunk of the periscope, the point at which the commander could stand and direct the entire sub as a single weapon and send enemy vessels to the black bottom of the sea. Even as he admired the power of a such a narrow and compact boat and the industry and skill of its crew, McKay shuddered.
As the sub-lieutenant reached the bottom of the ladder behind McKay the knot of officers broke apart and an older man, craggy-faced and standing over six feet tall, unbent himself from the chart table and extended his hand to McKay. The cuff of his sleeve was circled and knotted with gold.
“Commander Treat,” he said. “Officer Commanding on this vessel. Welcome aboard, sir.”
McKay shook his hand. The man had the kind of grip McKay had always imagined a sailor would—sinews of salt-dried rope. “Captain McKay, OSS. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Commander Treat did not roll his eyes, which made his disdain the more devastating. He gave McKay’s hand a final squeeze with an ounce more force than necessary and turned toward the control room.
“If you require anything, you’ll likely find me here.”
“Thank you, Commander,” McKay said. “I’m going to see to my men, and then, if possible, I’d like to have a word with them in private. Do you have a place we could use?”
“Mister Hopper,” Treat said, and the sub-lieutenant appeared. “Reserve my dining compartment for the use of Captain McKay and his men indefinitely. See they know where to go.”
“Aye, sir,” Hopper said.
“Your men are billeted aft. We had just the amount of bunks for you. It’s most fortunate for you we’re shorthanded at the moment.”
“I’m sure we would’ve arranged something,” McKay said, and saluted. “Thanks again, Commander.”
Treat grunted and Hopper led McKay out of the control room, through a low door in the bulkhead, and into a passage barely shoulder-wide. McKay heard the engines rumble somewhere in the back of the boat and felt the floor and walls tremble and move around him. He understood, for a moment, why some people succumbed to motion-sickness.
Hopper squeezed aside after a moment and ahead McKay saw the team. They stood beside or lay on their bunks, talking, but turned and waited as McKay approached.
“We have all your equipment stowed in the forward torpedo room, Captain,” Hopper said.
“Outstanding,” McKay said, and to the team, “Y’all squared away?”
They were. McKay told them to relax, then turned to Hopper and asked him to show the way to the captain’s dining room.
They returned forward from the bunks.
“Commander Treat said y’all are shorthanded?” McKay said to Hopper.
“Yes, sir. Depth-charged by a German destroyer a few weeks ago off the North Cape. Three men with severe concussions—one nearly got his packet. Bally glad we won’t be steaming that far north on this job.” They entered the control room and Hopper knuckled his brow as he passed Treat, then bowed through the forward hatch and continued. “Another three got their packet in port.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Oh! Christ—I mean they contracted, eh, venereal disease. They’ll be back once the surgeon’s put them right.”