Claire sat on her bag. Her head rested on her arm, which was draped across the tiny table. Beside her, Aunt lay stretched out along the captain's bunk. She had slept so for a very long time. Claire yawned and lifted her head. Her neck hurt and her head ached fiercely. Searching for her wristwatch, she hoped it would be late, very late, and that the first day of their long trial at sea would be over. Claire found her wrist starkly bare and realized she'd left without her timepiece the previous evening.
Claire's eyes scanned their tiny prison. The paneling was a cozy reminder of better spaces in the low light. Pictures decorated the space above where she rested-one of a woman, another of men on the deck of some boat. Papers written in German were stacked and pressed to the wall, some hung here and there. More random gadgets and dials poked from the bulkhead. The view from a narrow part in the curtain lead into the sinister dark beyond the hatch, like the basement of some ancient hotel. Sailors scuffled back and forth in the dark while others manned stations. Carsten appeared to be asleep, propped against the bulkhead between the curtain and hatch. She smelled the cigarettes he liked to smoke lingering in the air.
The atmosphere of the sub grew thicker. The boat listed, making Claire nauseated. She stood, too anxious to suffer in stillness. Her legs cramped and she needed to move before she screamed. She paced the pair of steps and turned and paced and turned. The engine noise beat her brain. She placed a hand on her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She struggled to fathom surviving nearly two weeks like this.
"Is there something I can get you?" His voice disrupted the whir of the engines.
Claire snapped her chin around. Her wary gaze found Carsten contemplating her movements. She clasped her hands together.
"Any chance this tub has a restroom?" she asked. She forgot the last time she'd emptied her bladder.
"Come with me," he instructed.
Carsten escorted her through the control room, another hatch, and what stood in for a kitchen, all under the scrutiny of the crew. They muttered words she didn't understand and feared their meaning. Claire rubbed her arms and assessed the surroundings with concern and disgust. Muddy water streamed along the floor grates, swirling and rolling back the way it came with the motion of the boat. Her heart thumped.
"Here you are," Carsten said. He noticed her glimpse the water under the floor grates. "Just bilge. We are not sinking."
"Small consolation," Claire mumbled.
Claire studied the dim passage before her. She hardly believed she and her aunt rode inside this tin hulk, living as captives, like some fantastic movie. She snickered, wondering who the hero was, as her mind suggested the man before her. The idea was laughable. However, things might turn out quite differently than she surmised. Even the horrendous smells had become less noticeable as they adjusted to their environment.
Carsten took no notice of her humor. He was focused on guiding her to the toilet through a throng of interested sailors. The space was tight. Paneled bunk beds and cabinets lined the bulkheads. Someone leaned between them, smoking. Perishable supplies hung along the pipes among various unidentifiable items. Then she made out the shape of a torpedo hanging above one of the few sleeping crewman. The reminder of war sent a shiver up her spine and did wonders to remind her that Carsten Reiniger was no hero. She imagined the straps letting go.
Carsten opened the door to the toilet.
"Knock when you're finished," Carsten instructed.
Claire entered as he shut the door for her. A glass porthole allowed them to see one another. He grinned at her helplessness. Beyond Carsten's shoulder, the galley cook also grinned devilishly at his steaming pots. Carsten took off his jacket and hung it over the glass, blotting out the view as curious crewmen drew nearer. Claire hurriedly did what she needed to do. Straightening her dress back over her legs, Claire noticed a small shaving mirror over the sink. She took the first glimpse of herself since the night before. Her makeup had all but rubbed off and her hair was disheveled where it hadn't gone completely flat. A small frown curled the corners of her mouth down. Besides that, her new hat was missing and the once beautiful dress she wore badly needed restoration. She exhaled and tried to dismiss her despair at being in such a state. Claire gave up on the mirror and lifted her fist to bang on the iron door.
A sound like distant fireworks echoed beyond the din of the engines. Claire stilled, listening for more. Her eyes searched. It came again.
Carsten suddenly opened the door. They eyed each other tensely. She lowered her raised hand.
"What was that sound?" Claire asked.
A man cried something from the control room. An alarm blasted. The engines roared and the sub jolted. Claire braced herself in the doorway. Carsten reacted without hesitation to grasp her arm and pull her out of the toilet.
"What's happening?" Claire demanded amidst the rising panic and rush of men.
The passage became impossibly tight with two passing at a time. Carsten hurried Claire into the control room, fighting to get back to the captain's bunk and put her out of the way. They drew up short as a crewman slid down the ladder from the bridge. His trench coat dripped sea water all over the deck. His haunting eyes caught Claire's for a moment before he faced the captain, his mouth full of Teutonic curses.
Carsten pulled Claire along as the drenched man received shouted orders. Carsten pushed her through the hatch and toward the bunk. She hopped on one foot, trying to find her balance before collapsing on the seat. Aunt sat up bewildered by the excitement, throwing her arms up to catch her.
"Stay here. This will be over soon," Carsten ordered them.
More fireworks thundered outside. An explosion. The sub shuddered.
"What's going on?" Aunt asked.
"We're under attack," Carsten replied. "Sit down and stay here. The captain will dive to avoid them and then we will wait. Not a peep, if you know what is best for you. They can hear everything," with that Carsten pointed to the man across the way with the headphones.
Claire nodded, stricken with fright. Aunt motioned her to sit close and circled her arms tightly around her. The curtain slid back into place, hiding Carsten's stony face. Then he was gone.
A moment later the screeching alarm ceased. Claire clung to her aunt, expecting something awful to happen. The sub tipped. The vessel rattled and the engines cranked to a halt. Her ears plugged and popped. Men trampled the passage outside, rattling the floor like tin.
The angle of the bunk flattened once more. Aunt squeezed her close, breathing hard against Claire's cheek. Silence encapsulated the sub. The riveted iron panels groaned under the depth pressures. Claire shut her eyes, praying they be spared a horrible death.
***
In the fore section of the sub, Carsten raced to find Mr. Healey. He pressed sideways between the flow of crewmen and at last reached him. Claire's father inspected the emptied petty officer bunks. Shadows moved in the dark of the next section where crew manned a torpedo tube in the bow.
"Mr. Healey," Carsten called above the noise. "It is vital you remain calm right now. Please make no noise."
Healey appeared confused. Fatigue drooped the lids of his eyes. He finally shook his head.
"Please sit down," Carsten said, helping him back to one of the bunks. "The captain is likely to dive any moment."
Healey swept a wide-eyed gaze over the dim paneling, and Carsten wondered whether he comprehended what was happening. Since boarding the sub, the man's sharp tongue had subsided. He smirked at the idea of something so simple shutting Herr Healey up. Still, Carsten distrusted him and wondered exactly who he was dealing with.
The alarm stopped, along with the cadence of engines. Healey drew up his shoulders and held onto the rail of the bunk. He leaned forward to see the passage from around the cabinets. The uptight bearing which epitomized the executive returned.
Carsten grasped the bunk rails on the opposite side. He switched his gaze between the torpedo men, Healey and the passage. His ears pricked up to listen for more attacks. All was quiet except for the sound of a distant ping, followed by another. Carsten hoped the women took his advice and were keeping silent in his absence.
"What the devil?" Healey blurted.
Carsten jumped at Healey, pressing him to the bulkhead and pinning him. He held a hand tight over his captive's mouth. With his other hand, he put one finger up to his own lips. Healey nodded and Carsten reluctantly released him.
Healey glared. With deliberate movements, the older man straightened his jacket. He tore his glower away, unwilling to acknowledge Carsten any longer.
The men held to their silence, daring each other in a test of wills. The sound of something large dropping into the water, then another, broke their concentration. The breadth of a moment passed and then the sub violently rocked. A depth charge erupted a small distance off, followed by more pings and more depth charges.
Carsten carefully observed the crew, trying to guess what happened from their expressions. Sweat beaded on his forehead and slid down his temples. He squeezed his grip tighter on the bunk rails. The captain kept his voice low. They had switched to batteries to propel the engines. The pings sounded distant. Another charge dropped and exploded farther away. The sub gave a gentle groan this time. Their attackers lost track, randomly dropping charges to regain the scent.
Carsten held his breath, waiting until the sound man conveyed the absence of engines. He crouched down to see through the hatch into the control room. The captain mumbled another order. He paced near the navigator's table, arms crossed, waiting. When the haunting pings finally faded, Carsten's eyes searched the distance. The captain gritted his teeth and waited for several tense moments. He spoke in a low voice to his men. The soundman spoke next.
It was very unlike the Allies to bungle a pursuit so badly. Something else must have called them away. Whatever it was, Carsten was thankful.
The captain stepped out of sight, grinning proudly. He shouted orders, giving the all-clear, and Carsten started toward the control room. He needed to leave Healey before he planted his fist in his face. However, the man followed him, demanding answers. Carsten halted and slowly turned, causing Healey to hesitate and then return to his hiding place.
Carsten continued to the control room, stifling his anger. The battery-powered engines purred quietly, which gave him something else to focus on. Popping through the hatch, Carsten joined the captain. The commander looked tired.
"We'll wait until dark to surface again a couple hours from now," he told Carsten. "I am afraid they may have found your friend's boat and were lucky enough to guess our direction. Not so lucky to keep it."
"Your watch saw no planes?" Carsten asked.
"None-until they were on us," the captain said. "This doesn't bode well for your mission. Although, they backed off-for some reason. Whatever it is, I'll take it."
Carsten surveyed the crew working at their stations. He took out his pack of gum and put a piece in his mouth. His eyes caught a glimpse of the curtain the women still hid behind without a word from him as to their situation, and he scowled at the captain.
"The devil was on their side." He smiled. "They won't be so lucky again."
The captain grinned broadly. He patted Carsten's shoulder. "I appreciate your confidence. Let's hope you are correct."
Carsten's eyes went back to the curtain that obscured the women from view.
"Why don't you check on your women," the captain said. "They must be unused to such affairs."
Carsten's gaze questioned him.
"She's very lovely, Herr Reiniger, and quite brave," the captain said, crossing his arms. "If your luck holds out, you may win her over and not have to see her interned. What a terrible waste that would be."
Carsten wondered just what his attention to duty suggested to the crew. First his mate and now the captain made mention of the girl's figure and how it should be a factor in what was to become of her. The unspoken words behind all of it left him even more sour than dealing with Herr Healey. He worried about what kind of men the captain led and merely wished to keep things orderly. He wasn't so hardened by war that he didn't care to keep the women safe until his superiors decided what would be done with them.
"A terrible waste," Carsten repeated as a doubtful smile flickered on his lips. His words were coldly sarcastic.
The captain was taken back.
Carsten went to the hatch and swung through, annoyed that his attention toward Claire was being misconstrued. He knew he would give both women to his superiors and intended never to see or think of them again. He hesitated in front of the curtain. But he'd failed to prepare for anything like Miss Healey. Steeling his nerves, he pulled back the barrier and peered in. The women still huddled on the bunk. Claire's owlish eyes looked to him, pleading with an uncharacteristic helplessness. He drew his breath to speak and tucked his thoughts away.
"We're safe for now," he told her, shucking his suit jacket. "Blind hunters are easily fooled," he added, settling his jacket on her shoulders.
Claire guarded her thoughts. The attack had not stripped all her senses. She closed her eyes and rested her head against her aunt's shoulder.
"You said this was going to be how many days?" Aunt asked. She was frayed, but also strangely energized.
Carsten smiled at the older woman's resilience.