were at Possession that night! If Gousblom heard gunfire, you must have-too.'
Perhaps it was the distorting effect of the fog, but there seemed to be a dead-fish gleam in his eyes which I couldn't get past. He'd got control of his voice since his tension-shot whisper earlier: it was dry and flat now,
'I heard it'
'Go on, man!'
'It was heavy gunfire ...
somewhere south of the island.
The sound was carried on the wind. It was very loud–louder . than tonight – and frightening.'
'Did you see the gun flashes?' asked Jutta.
`No. It was a dark, stormy night'
I said, 'It might have been guns in wartime but it couldn't be guns tonight'
Ìt couldn't be guns tonight,' he echoed.
'Don't stand there repeating what I say,' I snapped. Ìt 84
could have been some side-kick to the main event–then. What is it now?'
'I don't know.'
'You've been fishing here for thirty years and you don't know . . .?'
He remained silent under my stare. Breekbout and Koch joined us.
Breekbout said-'It's that ghost leaping up out of hell. It happens when she comes.'
'Bly stil– pipe down!' ordered Koch. 'What are you talking about guns for? All that's over–years ago.'
I went closer to Kaptein Denny- as if that way I might get at what he knew ... if he knew. There were new dark stains under his eyes, which were as unreadable as fog-clouded lenses.
'Let's have it!'
'I've heard it now and I heard it then. I don't know what it is any more than you do.'
It was impossible to get anything more out of him. I didn't believe him. The man's duplicity underlined my belief that the decision to break up the Jutta-Denny party the next day was a right one.
We all stood around near the door in uncomfortable silence-until it became too cold. There was no repetition of the sound. I told myself there must be some explanation for itbut what? Sonic boom? Not in the pre-jet era of 1943. Thunder? It never rains on the Sperrgebiet. Man-made? If so, how? After all, you don't mock up a 16-inch broadside on an uninhabited coast just in order to entertain the birds and seals. They'd never heard of Nelson.
Finally we all went inside and had coffee. At 1.30 a.m. the human brain is supposed to be at its lowest ebb and I couldn't get anything out of mine to make sense out of my suspicions about Kaptein Denny, though I was broad awake and on edge. We all were Jutta decided to come to the bunkhouse for what remained of the night, and I fetched her blankets and shoes from the cottage. We kept a light going. Even indoors the condensation dripped from the lamp-glass and made a mini-sound which jarred in the silence. None of us slept much.
It wasn't much of a way to start our passage to Luderitz next day. Kaptein Denny remained uncommunicative and 85
dampened any breakfast sparkle Koch or Breekbout might have been capable of. Jutta and I said perfunctory goodbyes to the others. Breekbout ferried us out to my official boat, the cutter Ichabo. The anchorage was blotted with fog and layers of cloud lay low down on the south-western horizon. A slight northerly breeze rippled the channel. The Ichabo was a sharp contrast to Kaptein Denny's boat. She was spartan, neglected and dirty. The diesel hadn't been cared for and it sounded pretty rough after I'd battled to start it. I headed for the gap between the Kreuz shoals and Possession's northern tip: Gousblom's short cut to get at U-160. Making it dangerous was Broke Rock, an evil fang which stuck like a bone in the throat of the passage. Jutta was distant and unco-operative. She stood on deck all the time I was busy with the preliminaries of getting under way; staring at what she could make out of the liner wreck and shore, with the intentness of a lovesick teenager. I was working my way past the reefs before standing off the coast to avoid squalls as Kaptein Denny had advised, when the engine died.
'Jutta!' My temper was shot to hell–by the danger combined with her attitude.
'Forget that view: lend a hand here with the
Perhaps it was the distorting effect of the fog, but there seemed to be a dead-fish gleam in his eyes which I couldn't get past. He'd got control of his voice since his tension-shot whisper earlier: it was dry and flat now,
'I heard it'
'Go on, man!'
'It was heavy gunfire ...
somewhere south of the island.
The sound was carried on the wind. It was very loud–louder . than tonight – and frightening.'
'Did you see the gun flashes?' asked Jutta.
`No. It was a dark, stormy night'
I said, 'It might have been guns in wartime but it couldn't be guns tonight'
Ìt couldn't be guns tonight,' he echoed.
'Don't stand there repeating what I say,' I snapped. Ìt 84
could have been some side-kick to the main event–then. What is it now?'
'I don't know.'
'You've been fishing here for thirty years and you don't know . . .?'
He remained silent under my stare. Breekbout and Koch joined us.
Breekbout said-'It's that ghost leaping up out of hell. It happens when she comes.'
'Bly stil– pipe down!' ordered Koch. 'What are you talking about guns for? All that's over–years ago.'
I went closer to Kaptein Denny- as if that way I might get at what he knew ... if he knew. There were new dark stains under his eyes, which were as unreadable as fog-clouded lenses.
'Let's have it!'
'I've heard it now and I heard it then. I don't know what it is any more than you do.'
It was impossible to get anything more out of him. I didn't believe him. The man's duplicity underlined my belief that the decision to break up the Jutta-Denny party the next day was a right one.
We all stood around near the door in uncomfortable silence-until it became too cold. There was no repetition of the sound. I told myself there must be some explanation for itbut what? Sonic boom? Not in the pre-jet era of 1943. Thunder? It never rains on the Sperrgebiet. Man-made? If so, how? After all, you don't mock up a 16-inch broadside on an uninhabited coast just in order to entertain the birds and seals. They'd never heard of Nelson.
Finally we all went inside and had coffee. At 1.30 a.m. the human brain is supposed to be at its lowest ebb and I couldn't get anything out of mine to make sense out of my suspicions about Kaptein Denny, though I was broad awake and on edge. We all were Jutta decided to come to the bunkhouse for what remained of the night, and I fetched her blankets and shoes from the cottage. We kept a light going. Even indoors the condensation dripped from the lamp-glass and made a mini-sound which jarred in the silence. None of us slept much.
It wasn't much of a way to start our passage to Luderitz next day. Kaptein Denny remained uncommunicative and 85
dampened any breakfast sparkle Koch or Breekbout might have been capable of. Jutta and I said perfunctory goodbyes to the others. Breekbout ferried us out to my official boat, the cutter Ichabo. The anchorage was blotted with fog and layers of cloud lay low down on the south-western horizon. A slight northerly breeze rippled the channel. The Ichabo was a sharp contrast to Kaptein Denny's boat. She was spartan, neglected and dirty. The diesel hadn't been cared for and it sounded pretty rough after I'd battled to start it. I headed for the gap between the Kreuz shoals and Possession's northern tip: Gousblom's short cut to get at U-160. Making it dangerous was Broke Rock, an evil fang which stuck like a bone in the throat of the passage. Jutta was distant and unco-operative. She stood on deck all the time I was busy with the preliminaries of getting under way; staring at what she could make out of the liner wreck and shore, with the intentness of a lovesick teenager. I was working my way past the reefs before standing off the coast to avoid squalls as Kaptein Denny had advised, when the engine died.
'Jutta!' My temper was shot to hell–by the danger combined with her attitude.
'Forget that view: lend a hand here with the
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