Cuttlefish by Dave Freer Page A

later the vibration of the Stirlings' feed compressors cut in too as the boat angled down into the fiord. In the meanwhile Clara, various submariners, and two of the Faroese from the coaling barge untangled themselves and hastened to where they were supposed to be. Well, except for the two Faroe Islanders—big, blond-bearded, scared-looking men who didn't seem to speak much English. They were confused and afraid. Clara tried with her few words of German to help. The last place they'd be welcome right now would be the bridge, but short of their cabin she couldn't think of where else to take them. Fortunately, Tim came hurrying by. “Where shall I take these people to?” she asked, grabbing his arm.
    He blinked at them. “Oh. The mess, I reckon. I'll ask the mate. He speaks their lingo.”
    So Clara led them down to the mess. The sub was not diving anymore, but was plainly moving as fast as possible. There was a far-off boom of explosions, but they were some distance away. They waited. Clara tried to explain the “all quiet” light to the two Faroese. Quietly. It didn't stop her feeling guilty when the mate, Mr. Werner, came down as she was speaking.
    â€œSorry,” she whispered. “Was trying to explain.” She pointed.
    â€œI think you should get back to your cabin, miss,” he said sternly. “But it's not likely that the enemy are listening.” He spoke to the two Faroese in their own language while Clara slunk off, feeling guilty. She met Tim again, this time carrying a tray and several empty cups. Whistling as usual.
    â€œShh!” She looked up pointing and saw that the “all quiet” light she was pointing at was off. “Oh. Sorry.”
    He grinned. “As Cookie says, no worries. Sparky got his aerial up and picked up their transmissions. The wind is getting up and they report that they can't keep their station. Probably halfway to Norway by now. Said they were going to try to drop some troops, and they were talking to a ship. A dreadnought yet!”
    â€œHowever did they find us?” asked Clara.
    â€œThat's got the captain in fair sweat too,” said Tim. “He thought we'd lost them at the Shetlands. And the Invincible George —the dreadnought—was steaming towards Bergen, so maybe we had. Anyway, I better run. Got to take those Faroes men up to the bridge, and bring more coffee. We've got a busy night ahead—got to get the rest of the coal dust on board and get gone.”

    Tim found himself assigned to the loading crews as the submarine slipped back to where they'd left the barge. The captain had out-thoughtthe airship crew. In the narrow fiord, it seemed obvious that the submarine would flee for the open sea. So Captain Malkis had made it look like that…and then headed farther up the fiord, while the airship wasted its small stock of drop-mines on the mouth of the fiord.
    Well…that had saved them. But the barge had no such options. And right now, when they surfaced, it wasn't there.
    â€œMust have sunk her,” said the lieutenant, waiting with them to start the reloading. “Hell's teeth. We need that fuel!”
    â€œLoading crew to the deck to look for survivors,” said the captain's voice through the speaker-tubes.
    So Tim found himself up on deck scanning the dark water. The captain decided to even risk a spotlight, and that shone out across the water. Someone spied floating debris, towards the shoreline. The submarine turned in towards it. And someone flashed a light from the shore. The spotlight swung over, to show three men waving. They edged closer, with the two Faroese on the submarine calling out to the men onshore.
    A small boat was pushed into the water, and they paddled out. The Faroese sailors hugged each other…well, two of them did. The third man was one of their own crew, who had been down on the barge, collecting the next sack. “They shot up the barge, Lieutenant. Holed her.