CHAPTER XI
THE STRAFING OF U 254
"BOTH bow tubes—fire!"
Von Loringhoven's voice, pitched in a low guttural key, rose through the space of two words to an excitable crescendo. At last was the hour of his triumph; In spite of his ferocious zest at torpedoing helpless merchantmen, he realised in his inmost mind that it was but a sorry business; but now he had dared to torpedo a British cruiser—and had achieved his object.
Almost before U 254 recovered from the displacement of trim as the weapons left their tubes a muffled sound greeted the straining ears of the Huns.
"Only one, Herr Kapitan," exclaimed Unter-Leutnant Kuhlberg after a pause. "The other has missed."
"One will be enough," rejoined von Loringhoven. "Port your helm, quartermaster.... At that."
Blindly, and at a depth of thirty metres, the U-boat forged ahead. The ober-leutnant dared not risk rising, even for a momentary glimpse through the periscope, for the sharp crash of the cruiser's quick-firers told him that the "Tantalus," though sorely stricken, could still bite—and bite hard.
Not until the U-boat was two miles on the British vessel's port quarter did von Loringhoven bring her to the surface.
"They're firing at a piece of wreckage—what good fortune for us!" he exclaimed aloud without addressing his remark to any one. "Himmel! she has received her death-blow."
One by one the crew were permitted to take a peep at the hated English ship as she lay with a distinct list to starboard. Clouds of smoke and steam enveloped her for'ard portion, the wind driving the vapour in front of the slowly moving craft.
"She seems in no hurry, Herr Kapitan," the unter-leutnant ventured to remark. "They are not even hoisting out the boom-boats, although they have swung out the boats in davits."
"If they do not abandon ship very soon they'll have to swim for it," said von Loringhoven. "No sign of any of those cursed destroyers?"
Hans Kuhlberg revolved the eyepiece of the periscope and made a clear sweep of the horizon.
"None, Herr Kapitan," he replied.
Von Loringhoven nodded his satisfaction at the intelligence. He had resigned the periscope to the unter-leutnant and was engaged in fitting a new roll of films to his camera with the idea of taking a series of snapshots of the "Tantalus" in her last throes.
"That's all ready," he remarked, as he snapped to the back of the camera and wound the first film into position. "Isn't it about time we broke surface? How goes the cruiser?"
"She does not appear to be going at all in the direction we want her to, Herr Kapitan," answered the unter-leutnant, after a prolonged look through the periscope, "If anything she is about the same, sinking no deeper in the water. She is steaming ahead."
"Gott in himmel!" exclaimed von Loringhoven furiously, laying aside the camera and pushing his subordinate away from the object-bowl of the periscope. "Must we do our work all over again? Torpedo-room there!" he shouted through the voice-tube. "Launch home both tubes. Set the torpedoes to run at three metres this time.... Stand by."
Taking a compass bearing of the cruiser and ordinating her rate through the water, von Loringhoven gave orders for U 254 to dive to ten metres. Then, running at ten knots, in order to make the surface wake as inconspicuous as possible, he manoeuvred for a chance to deliver another blow.
It was a tedious, nerve-racking business. When at the end of an hour's cautious stalking the U-boat poked the tips of her periscopes above the surface their appearance was greeted with a hot fire from the alert gun-layers of the "Tantalus."
Von Loringhoven shuddered with apprehension as he feverishly tilted the diving rudders.
Not until the submarine was deep down did he heave a sigh of relief. Yet with dogged determination he resolved to make another attempt to give his foe the coup de grâce.
An hour and twenty minutes later U 254 prepared for another torpedo attack, but upon her periscopes breaking surface the ober-leutnant made the disconcerting discovery that a bank of sea-fog had swept down. The laboured churning of the cruiser's propeller could be faintly heard, but whether she was half a mile away or thrice that distance he had no means of ascertaining.
"Stand here, Herr Kuhlberg," was von Loringhoven's order as he stepped aside from the periscope. "My eyes are strained with peering into the object bowl. Report directly you see anything."
"It is clearing somewhat, Herr Kapitan," announced the unter-leutnant after a space of ten minutes. "I can just make out the cruiser. ...Ach! Donnerwetter! The English patrol boats. One is almost on us."
With an oath von Loringhoven shouted for the hydroplanes to be depressed, and for full speed ahead. Under the enormous resistance of the diving rudders the U-boat flung her stern clear of the water as she sought the depths. At a steeper angle than she had ever done before she sank, throbbing under the pulsations of her powerful electric motors.
Suddenly an appalling roar seemed to come from somewhere in close proximity to the hull. Caught by a tremendous swirl of displaced water, the submarine swung round like a straw in the grip of a foaming torrent. Many of the crew were hurled to the deck-plates, while von Loringhoven and the unter-leutnant saved themselves from being precipitated through the opening in the floor of the conning tower by ignominiously embracing the shaft of the periscope. With the concussion every light went out, the fuses being blown by the terrific shock.
Gasping in momentary expectation of finding themselves overwhelmed by an inrush of water the two officers could do nothing but cling tenaciously to their support, while from the terrified crew came a babel of shouts, oaths, and shrieks of dismay and despair.
Hans Kuhlberg was the first to recover to a certain extent from his state of panic.
"We are still alive, Herr Kapitan," he exclaimed, in a broken high-pitched voice.
"For how long?" added von Loringhoven.
"This darkness!... Are the motors still running?... Are we rising or sinking until the hull plates crack like an egg-shell under the exterior pressure? Himmel! Tell me that."
"The chlorine fumes!" exclaimed Kuhlberg, relapsing into his state of blind panic. "We will be stifled like——"
"Hold your idiotic tongue!" hissed the ober-leutnant. "Where is the torch?"
He was groping for a pocket electric lamp that was usually kept on a bracket on the wall of the conning tower. It was no longer there. So great had been the submarine's dip that the torch had fallen on the floor of the armoured box.
"Here it is, Herr Kapitan," said the unter-leutnant. "Ach! What a comfort is this light!"
"Silence below there!" ordered von Loringhoven, shouting to the still frantic crew. "You are making as much noise as frauen clamouring for meat rations. The worst of the danger is past if you will only keep your heads cool."
A glance at the depth gauge showed him that the U-boat was down to seventy-five metres—almost the maximum depth at which the hull was capable of withstanding the enormous pressure of water. A wrench at the diving-plane levers counteracted the tendency to dive deeper, and the submarine rose until she was within forty metres of the surface.
The motors were still running, but far from smoothly. The engine room was a blaze of blue light as the current short-circuited at half a dozen different points. It was indeed an inexplicable problem why the heavily charged air did not explode and complete the catastrophe.
"Both glands in the propeller shafting are leaking badly, Herr Kapitan," reported a mechanic.
"It cannot be helped," rejoined von Loringhoven. "At the depth we have just been, and with the shaking we have experienced, it is a marvel that things are no worse. All joints are sound?"
"No, Herr Kapitan; there is a steady trickle over the motors. It is that which accounts for the sparking across. Miller is taking steps to prevent the water spouting upon the dynamos."
The ober-leutnant flashed his torch upon the binnacle. The compass was useless. The concussion had cracked the thick plate glass and jerked the bowl completely off the gimbals. Nor was the gyro-compass in any better state. For purposes of direction the submarine had to rely solely upon luck. Without means of counteracting the side thrust of the propeller she would have a tendency to describe a succession of wide circles.
The thresh of the destroyer's screws overhead had now ceased. Things were looking a little more hopeful, since the submarine hunters had evidently lost touch with their quarry.
Just as hope was reviving another ear-splitting crash, out-voicing the previous detonation, shook the U-boat like a rat in the jaws of a terrier. Thrown first on one side and then on the other, she hurled her crew about like peas in a box, while everything that was not firmly secured was thrown about to add to the clatter and confusion.
"We are sinking!" shouted a dozen terrified voices. "The hull is giving way."
The hiss of inrushing water showed that the thick steel plates had been strained. Already the U-boat was settling towards the bed of the Atlantic.
There was just one chance, and von Loringhoven took it. At the imminent risk of being pulverised by the shells from the "Tantalus," or being rammed by the alert destroyers, he gave orders for all ballast tanks to be blown, at the same time elevating the diving rudders.
With both hands grasping the cam-action bolts of the lid of the conning-tower hatchway, von Loringhoven waited until the U-boat broke surface. With the perspiration rolling down his face, and in momentary anticipation of a salvo of shells landing on the exposed conning tower, the ober-leutnant darted for the open door, Kuhlberg and the quartermaster tying for the second place.
Less than two hundred feet above the now motionless U-boat floated Coastal Airship No. 144A, manoeuvring to repeat her strafing operations.
Promptly von Loringhoven raised his hands above his head in token of surrender, while the rest of the crew, who had taken their cue from the cowardly commander, stood in line with their arms upraised.