Vanessa de Haan - The Restless Sea

‘Spot on!’ says Mole.

‘Thanks for the shower,’ says the Kid.

‘You were beginning to smell.’

‘That’s it. We’re all out,’ says Charlie.

The sub is on the surface again. The German crew are scrambling to get off the captured ship and back to their submarine. There is a kerfuffle, and the British airmen leap off the ship and into the water, yellow blobs in the dark sea.

The Kid yells from behind, ‘Take us in closer, Charlie. Let me have a go.’ But Charlie doesn’t dare. It’s a mess down there. The submarine is trying to pick up her German crew, who in turn are trying to grab the British men from the water. Training doesn’t prepare you for this.

Mole is in his ear. ‘Here comes back-up, boyo.’

Frank and Paddy are here at last. But too late: the greedy shark has swallowed its German crew and its British prize. Charlie is relieved that he doesn’t have any more bombs to drop. He doesn’t want to make that decision. Frank and Paddy go in for the kill. But the submarine sinks back into the ocean with its catch. As a final goodbye it sends its own torpedo to take out the merchant ship. Charlie spots the track of the missile under the water but there is nothing he can do. The merchant ship flinches, spewing black smoke up into the air. Her back is broken, and, as dark clouds cascade into the sky, she too sinks deep into the sea.

It is as if she were never there.

Mole doesn’t sing on the way back to the carrier. There is just the sound of the air rushing past, and the hum and rattle of their aeroplane. Charlie has kept his crew and his plane safe, but seeing a ship die leaves a bitter taste in their mouths. He tries not to dwell on the captured airmen, men whose hands he grasped only moments ago on the flight deck, who will either never wake again, or find themselves in an enemy camp.

They are about eight miles from the rest of the fleet, close enough to see the carrier in the distance, when suddenly Charlie hears Mole’s breath catch in his throat. At the same time, Charlie sees it too.

‘Forty-five degrees starboard,’ says Mole.

Charlie presses the foot pedals to operate the rudder. The plane responds immediately. He dips the starboard wing. There is shadow, and above it a mark like a white scar in the water. Charlie feels a shiver of anticipation. There’s no mistaking the track of a periscope.

The U-boat is heading straight for the rest of the fleet, approaching at a ninety-degree angle. It is almost close enough to attack. The British ships won’t have seen it yet, but Charlie can’t warn them: radio silence must be kept at all times in case the Germans pick their messages up. They have no bombs left, either. There’s only one thing to do.

‘Take me in!’ yells the Kid.

Charlie doesn’t even have to think about it. It’s the only way they can alert the fleet. He feels the gunner’s weight shift as he leans out over the side of the plane, searching for his target. The hunter is about to become the hunted.

Charlie has his own gun in front of him. Its barrel gleams gold in the afternoon sun. He drops as low as he dares, the plane’s wheels almost skimming the dark crests of the waves. Charlie opens his gun. As they pass, the Kid lets rip. Clack-clack-clack .

‘Diving!’ says Mole, and, although the Kid fires a little longer, swinging the gun as they bank around, the U-boat has gone. In its place is a mass of seething green. They may not have done the slightest damage, but at least they have warned their ships that the enemy is on the prowl.

The aircraft carrier is now close enough to make out the tiny figures on the high deck. She is still sideways on to the U-boat, the worst position to be in if you’re about to be fired at. But she is beginning to turn. The three airmen look down over the edge of the cockpit. At the same moment they spot the telltale streaks of white under the water. The submarine has fired, but the carrier is still turning, turning, and she manages to swing her great mass head-on to the submarine, and the torpedoes pass either side of her and safely into the empty water behind.

At once, the destroyers that have remained with the aircraft carrier go on the attack, like a herd of grey sea elephants rounding on the enemy. The sea is churning foam as they drop their charges, and the air is bursting with noise that dies away as the ships stop. They wait. Charlie’s blood pumps in his ears.

The sea settles back to a ripple, and then the submarine slowly breaks the surface. Its conning tower has been damaged. White horses break against its monstrous sides. But it is broken. Charlie sees men jumping into the water.

Charlie needs to land: he is very low on fuel. The carrier signals with its lamp. The Kid signals back. The great ship turns head to wind. Her wake is a foamy ribbon fluttering out behind her. Charlie approaches alongside. He glimpses the pink faces of his fellow sailors looking up as they pass. He swings the plane one hundred and eighty degrees, lines himself up, considers wind speed, direction. The flat of the landing deck stretches before him. He can see the white stripes. The metal wires strung across it. The batsman with his ping-pong bats. He slows the engine right back. The ship slices through the water ahead of him, the V of the waves spreads out, ever increasing.

He pulls a lever on his right to lower the hook beneath the plane. The batsman holds the bats out level. He is on line. About fifty yards to go. He drops the tail. Nose up. It is just the deck and the plane, the batsman, and Charlie. And then he is over the deck, the batsman gives ‘Cut’, and, as the plane’s wheels make contact, the crew lurch against their harnesses and bounce and scrape as the arrester hook tugs at the wires that slow the plane down, and they finally come to a standstill. Charlie unclips himself. His legs are stiff as planks of wood.

Mole squeezes his shoulder. ‘Top landing, boyo,’ he says.

The plane’s propellers slow and stop. They clamber out, back on to their version of solid ground, the steady, humming mass of their aircraft carrier. He has grown accustomed to the rumble of the engine and the rush of the air. But now there is the sound of the sea and the Tannoy and the shouts of men. The ship is manic with activity as the other Swordfish come in to land. The flight deck crew clear the way as they manoeuvre the planes back towards the lift.

Charlie heads for the island. He removes his helmet and goggles as he goes. His legs are coming back to life. He is desperate to pee, but he has to report to the captain first.

Captain Turnbull is a man of determination. He acknowledges Charlie as he approaches, but keeps his head cocked to the side as he listens intently to the pilot of the Skua that returned earlier and to Paddy, who has made it here already. The captain’s eyes are bright above the black bags. He has a shock of white hair, although he must be in his mid-forties – about the same age as Charlie’s father would have been. And Charlie is the same age as his father was at the beginning of his own generation’s Great War. Life gone full circle.

‘Nice work, pilot,’ says Captain Turnbull as Charlie reaches them, and the other pilots nod a welcome.

‘Thank you, sir,’ says Charlie. He ruffles his hair up with his fingers, where it has been plastered to his head beneath the leather helmet.

‘Your first operation and our first prisoners-of-war,’ says the captain, indicating to the destroyer that is picking up the men from the submarine. ‘And not a casualty among them. Not from the U-boat, or among our fleet, thanks to you.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Keep it up and you’ll go far.’

‘I hope so, sir.’

‘Shame about that merchant ship.’

‘Yes, sir.’