Heathersleigh Homecoming (46 page)

 96 
The Fog Lifts

At the sound of the wailing death plunge, Churchill paused. Over the bluff down at the water's edge, the dinghy was putting out across the waters.

“See if there's another boat around here!” ordered Churchill.

Now he spun around and ran toward the lighthouse.

What he found was not a pretty sight. At the base of the slender column of white lay the broken and battered form of his erstwhile colleague, onetime respected member of Parliament turned traitor against brothers and nation.

Churchill stood for several moments, shaking his head in revulsion and sadness.

The echo of steps reverberated from inside. Churchill glanced up just as Lieutenant Langham ran out the door from the tower. He wobbled slightly as his legs of lead tried to reacquaint themselves with level ground.

“I'm sorry, sir,” he said. “There was nothing I could do. He was over the side the moment I entered the gallery.”

“I know, Lieutenant,” replied the First Lord to his young assistant, still shaking his head in disbelief. “I thought I knew the man. I considered him a friend. How could it come to this? What a tragedy—a waste of a good life. How could he let such a worthless cause as this turn him so far from the things he once believed in?”

“War does strange things to people,” replied Langham, in an uncharacteristic moment of reflection in the presence of his superior.

They heard footsteps approaching from behind them.

“So do deceptions like the Fountain of Light,” added Amanda, walking up and joining them. “I speak as one who allowed it to do strange things to my whole outlook.”

One quick glance at Beauchamp's body and she turned away in disgust.

“Ugh . . . that's so awful—oh, I can't bear the thought of it!”

Lieutenant Langham hurried to her side and led her quickly away from the scene.

“How are you otherwise, Miss Rutherford?” he asked as they walked back toward the now desolate house.

“I think I will be fine. But it doesn't look as if we did any good.”

“On the contrary,” said Churchill, now joining them. “We will shut down this operation for good.”

Colonel Forsythe ran toward them from across the plateau.

“They're gone, Mr. Churchill,” he said. “They've taken the only craft available.”

“I was afraid of that. But they won't get far in that little dinghy.—Lieutenant,” Churchill added, turning toward Lieutenant Langham, “it doesn't look like we're going to be able to pursue it from here. You had better radio the base at Whitby immediately and have the Coast Guard dispatch a vessel.”

“Yes, sir.”

Langham ran off to the communications vehicle, while Forsythe instructed some of his men to take care of the body.

Churchill led Amanda back toward the house.

“Once we get back to London,” he said as they walked, “where will you be, Miss Rutherford—er, Mrs.—what
should
I call you anyway?”

“I don't know, Mr. Churchill,” answered Amanda with a sigh. “I will have to sort it all out later. I do apologize for not telling you everything. It didn't occur to me to think all that business about my involvement was important.”

“No harm done,” rejoined Churchill. “I suppose I will just call you Amanda, then. But I feel I need to apologize as well.”

“You . . . whatever for?”

“For doubting you in there,” said Churchill. “I should have known that, however mixed up she might have been for a time, the daughter of Sir Charles Rutherford would come right in the end, and would be a young lady whose word I could trust. But I have to say, I was momentarily quite confused with everything being said. They were so convincing I didn't know
what
to make of it.”

“Ramsay and Mr. Barclay have a way of making anything they say seem plausible,” nodded Amanda. “They twisted my perceptions around so badly I didn't know black from white—as you know only too well from that outrageous pamphlet I helped them write. I am
deeply embarrassed by that now. At the time they had my brain so mixed up.”

“I begin to see just what you were up against. In those few moments in the lounge back in there, that young Halifax blackguard had the thing turned upside down and their whole network sounding completely reasonable. If he hadn't grabbed you, who knows how it might have ended up? They might have had
me
joining the Fountain of Light!”

“I doubt that, sir,” laughed Amanda.

“It hardly matters now. The minute he pulled a gun on you, suddenly the fog cleared and I saw that you had been telling the truth all along.”

“Unfortunately, it took much longer for the fog in my brain to clear.”

“Well, apparently it has now. So,
Amanda
, back to my original question—where will you be in London?”

“Uh, I don't really have any immediate plans,” she answered. “I hadn't thought past just getting back to warn you about what I had heard.”

They reached the now deserted house. Churchill led the way inside. The fire was still burning. Amanda walked into the lounge and glanced about pensively.

“You know,” she said, “this really is a comfortable place. I can see how easy it would be to sit here with a nice fire, enjoying pleasant conversation and tea, and get lulled to sleep by the warm and cozy atmosphere. I wonder if all deceptions begin like that—seemingly innocent, even pleasant and friendly and enjoyable. That's certainly how they wooed me. The deception creeps over you in ways you never see coming. And they were especially clever in never making a full disclosure about what they believed. So I did not have to face squarely what I was slowly becoming part of until I was all the way inside. By then it was too late. It was just all so . . .
comfortable
that I never paused to look beneath the surface for what sorts of things they stood for.”

“Well, I don't know about all that,” said Churchill. “But I do know that it would be a shame to waste a good fire. What do you say we enjoy a cup of tea, like you said, while we are waiting for Lieutenant Langham and the others to wrap it up?”

“It will be my pleasure,” said Amanda, walking into the kitchen. “I'll see what I can find.”

“You know,” Churchill added as he followed her, “there will no doubt be a commendation in this for you, possibly from the prime minister himself. It is impossible to know, of course, but shutting down this channel in and out of England, not to mention destroying the method they were using for signaling German U-boats . . . it may have a significant impact on the outcome of the war. There may still be some submarines lurking along our coast. But I would think that once we get those subs out of our waters, things could begin to turn for us.”

“I am glad my experience—miserable though it was—may serve some use in the end.”

“In any event,” said Churchill, “we will make arrangements for a place for you to stay the moment we arrive back in the city. I will need to be off to Scapa Flow myself. But Lieutenant Langham will handle the details and will see to whatever you need. At some point we will want to talk to you further and get a more detailed statement about exactly what went on in Vienna. We need to make as many identifications as possible. Hopefully by then we will have nabbed all the scoundrels in that little boat out there and have them behind bars.”

 97 
Father and Son

The seas had calmed considerably in the North Sea as the battle cruiser HMS
Dauntless
steamed toward its destination north of Scotland. The calm was only on the surface, however, for intelligence had it that German U-boat submarines were still prowling the entire British coast.

Several British cruisers had been destroyed by U-boats early in the war. And just two months ago, on the first day of the year, the British battleship
Formidable
had been sunk right in the Channel. So the threat of German submarine activity was real enough. But the urgency of their mission in the end weighed most heavily in Captain Wilberforce's decision to make a run for it in spite of the reports. Traveling in convoy, as well as the use of aeroplanes and dirigibles to spot U-boats from the air, had greatly reduced Allied casualties. On this occasion, however, there was no air support, and their mission demanded stealth. They would have to negotiate these familiar waters alone.

They had successfully navigated through the entire Mediterranean with the secret cargo they had picked up in Salonika, past Gibraltar, and north into the Channel without so much as sight of a German vessel. Now they were off southern Scotland and could breathe easier. They should be in Scapa by tomorrow.

The attack fell without warning.

The first hint that enemy submarines were anywhere within a hundred miles came with the explosion of the lead torpedo against the port hull—about two-thirds of the way fore.

The
Dauntless
rocked dangerously to starboard, sending half the unprepared crew off their feet. Black smoke poured into the sky from somewhere belowdecks. Every man on board knew instantly they had been hit.

The ship righted itself as all hands regained their balance. A second torpedo ricocheted off the starboard side dangerously close to the propeller. The opposite angle of approach indicated that they were under attack by at least two U-boats positioned on both sides of them. The situation was precarious.

The shrill announcement of general quarters blared over the loudspeakers. On the bridge, frantic orders followed to the lookout and torpedo room, and a barrage of messages requested damage assessment from various key positions throughout the ship. There was no command the captain could give in the meantime other than full power and a change of direction, until they managed to locate the enemy and begin discharging their torpedoes. Whether they would have time to do so was a dubious question in the captain's mind. Meanwhile, the moment they were on their feet, every man of the torpedo crew was scrambling to their stations to await firing coordinates.

Commander Charles Rutherford, who had been walking near the port rail, picked himself off the deck where the first blast had thrown him. One knee had been badly smashed against a steel ventilation lid. As he struggled painfully to his feet he knew the injury was severe. But he couldn't worry about it now.

His first thought was for George. He had to find him. Immediately he limped off and made for the torpedo room.

Smoke was blackening the sky from fires deep in the ship. As Charles hurried down the metal stairs, cadets and officers were climbing up them in the opposite direction, squeezing past, yelling and running, some for their posts, others to loosen lifeboats from their riggings. After descending two more noisy, crowded stairwells, with great effort Charles reached the corridor at the third level.

Another blast shook the ship. This was no glancing blow like the last, but a direct hit thirty feet below the water line. A dull, thundering echo rippled through every section of the ship, followed by a shuddering tremble. Charles felt the walkway tipping beneath his feet. Within a minute the entire vessel was listing fifteen degrees. Groping for the handrails, he struggled forward, wincing terribly from the pain in his knee. The lights flickered briefly, then resumed power. How long the ship's generators would hold was doubtful.

Charles arrived at the torpedo room.

It was only half manned. Those who remained had begun deserting their posts with the second blast. He saw George at the radio, as he knew he would, awaiting instructions from the bridge. He was only able to nod a brief acknowledgment in his direction before he was nearly knocked off his feet by the commander of the small squadron hurrying his way.

“Everybody out . . . up on the deck!” cried Lieutenant Forbes. “Commander,” he said, seeing Charles enter and running toward him, “help me get them out of here!”

“It's only general quarters, Lieutenant,” replied Charles, trying to remain calm. “No evacuation has been sounded yet.”

“But we don't have a chance, Commander. We've got to get—”

He was interrupted by a blaring command over the speakers.

“Evacuate ship! This is Captain Wilberforce—evacuate at once!”

“There it is!” said Forbes. “Clear the torpedo room!”

In that moment, even the most inexperienced of the sailors knew the hits were mortal, and that the
Dauntless
was sinking.

Another shaking trembled beneath them. Lieutenant Forbes fell. His head slammed against torpedo chamber two, which had seen its last duty of this war. He slumped to the floor.

George jumped from his post with the evacuation order and now ran toward the scene. He and his father met on the floor where Charles had stooped to pick up the unconscious form of Lieutenant Forbes.

“I'll get him, Father,” said George. “It will be easier for me to carry him than you.”

“I won't argue with you, my boy,” replied Charles, rising. “Get him topside. I'll see what I can do to help some of the others.”

In seconds George had hoisted up Forbes' form and draped him over his muscular young shoulders. Quickly he made for the door.

Five minutes later George dropped Lieutenant Forbes into the nearest lifeboat which was about to be let overboard. In nearly the same motion, he turned and ran back in search of his father. Instinctively he knew he would find him amid the worst of it, trying until the very last second to help whomever he could get to safety.

George sprinted for the stairwell he had labored up with Forbes moments earlier, this time not touching so much as a single stair. He seized a moment when the walkway was empty, gripped the smooth handrails firmly in both hands and glided to the first landing
belowdecks in a single motion. The instant his feet landed, he dashed off again in the direction from which he had recently come.

“Rutherford . . . Petty Officer Rutherford!” came an urgent cry as he ran past a lieutenant moving in the opposite direction. “Get out! Our orders are to evacuate. Don't go—”

“I've got to find my father!” cried George without pausing.

“But it's—”

Already George had turned into another corridor, making for the next stairwell down, and was gone from the lieutenant's sight.

The lights dimmed again. Suddenly darkness engulfed the corridor. George slowed. He could not go far in total blackness.

“Father . . . Father!” he called. “Commander Rutherford, can you hear me . . . Commander Charles Rutherford!”

Suddenly came a flicker . . . then on came the lights again, but only to about half strength. Smoke began to infiltrate the corridor now, pouring up from below. The clanking echo of footsteps on metal, accompanied by continuous yells and shouts throughout the ship, sounded from all directions in mingled panic, confusion, and desperation.

With the return of the lights, George darted for the next stairwell.

On level two, just below where George was searching desperately for the only face among hundreds he now cared about, the eldest man aboard and third in command stood in one of the main corridors near the base of a narrow flight of stairs. The calm on his face contrasted noticeably with the panic of the few sailors left around him, half his age and less, who were running in terror but seemed to have lost their sense of direction. Amid the confusion, the older man was pointing the way to the stairs in the decreasing light, calmly giving directions what to do and which way to go.

Suddenly behind him a young petty officer flew down the stairs. His boots clanked onto the grate of the landing. The two men met in the corridor two seconds later.

While still outwardly calm, the panic around him, along with the smoke and yelling and continued rumble of explosions below, had taken their toll on the younger of the two. His eyes could not hide the fear in his pounding heart. A sigh of anxious relief crossed his face at sight of the older man.

The next moment they were in each other's arms.

“George,” whispered the elder, “I love you.”

“I love you, Father.”

They stood a moment. Then again the ship shook dangerously. Charles felt his son tremble in fear.

“We are safe, son,” he said. “Our heavenly Father is with us.”

“I am afraid, Father.”

“As am I, George. But you remember what he said about sparrows. We are in the palm of his hand even at this moment. But let us go. There yet may be time.”

They fell apart. Even in the moment they stood together, two or three more sailors squeezed past. The echoing steps of the last of them sounded up the stairs. It grew ominously quiet around them.

“Come, Father,” said George, pulling him toward the stairs.

“You, go, George—get up to the deck before it is too late.”

“Not without you, Father.”

“I will be right behind you. Go.”

Hesitantly, George turned and made for the stairs. Glancing back, now for the first time he saw that his father was injured. Halfway up, he paused to wait. Charles was behind him, though moving slowly, taking each rung of the steep climb with gritty deliberation.

“Hurry, Father . . . please hurry!”

“George—don't wait for me. Go, my boy . . . get up there! I'm right behind you—go.”

Torn with such emotion as he had never felt in his life, George climbed to the landing, stopped, got to his knees, then flat on his belly, and stretched his hand down as far as he could reach it.

“Just a little more, Father . . . you're almost there—take my hand, I'll pull you—”

Suddenly another great convulsion rocked the ship, throwing all those who remained aboard off their feet.

As their hands met, Charles' footing gave way. Immediately he disappeared from sight, bumping and clattering down the steep stairs. It was too obscure to see what had happened, but from the landing above George heard a cry of racking pain from the smoky darkness below. He was on his feet the next instant clamoring back down the stairs. Charles lay in a heap at the bottom.

“Up, Father . . . here, take my hand.”

“My knee is broken, George,” panted Charles in agony. “Go, my boy—get up on deck!”

“No, Father, not without you.”

George's eyes were weeping freely. He stooped and gently took his father in his arms.

“I'm going to drape you over my shoulders, Father,” he said. “I have to keep one hand free to get up these stairs. Here we go!”

With a great thrust he hoisted Charles over his shoulder, extending his right arm firmly around his torso, then began struggling up the narrow stairway. But it was tilting badly, and George could barely keep his feet.

Above in the outside air, the final blast had tossed many of those near the edge of the deck like helpless ants into the sea.

For a few seconds a great silence replaced the sounds of explosions. Then came a deep lurching groan, as of some monstrous inanimate giant giving up and exhaling its final breath.

Slowly but with awful force the crippled vessel rolled the rest of the way onto its side. The last of the lifeboats were struggling desperately to get away before being sucked down with the mother ship.

It did not take long for the end to come. Within minutes the bow of the
Dauntless
disappeared into the chilly waters of the North Sea.