Codes of courage, p.23
Codes of Courage, page 23
He tested the water again. “Jake, try this. I think we’ve run most of the salt off.”
Jake let the water rinse his hand, then he let the trickle fill his cupped palm and brought the water to his mouth. “That’ll do.” He moved across the boat to fetch their water containers to catch the runoff.
“Billy, go ahead and slake your thirst.” Karl switched his hold on the sail so the water ran toward Billy.
As Billy put his mouth by the dribble and guzzled as much water as he could, Karl closed his eyes and said a quick prayer of gratitude. The rainwater would keep them alive a few days more. The squall had saved them.
* * *
“How many days has it been?” Billy asked.
Karl couldn’t remember. “Around twenty, I think.” The weeks all ran together, a blur of days lit by harsh sun and nights of lonely starlight. They had eaten most of their tinned food and biscuits. Once, they’d caught a few fish and cooked them over wood from an extra oar. They’d kept the fire in one of the pails, and the flame’s black stains remained. They were rationing their water again. A few more days, and then they would need another rainstorm if they were to survive.
“Do you think they’ve reported us dead yet?” Everyone had sore, dry throats, so Karl couldn’t tell if dehydration or emotion had made Billy’s voice crack.
“First delayed, then missing. Probably not listed as dead quite yet.” Karl glanced at Jake, who sorted through their supplies again. Thus far, the process had yet to reveal anything new. Karl had a feeling that the alternative was loss of sanity, so he never said anything when Jake started sorting.
Karl took out the old compact he’d gotten from Millie and ran his fingers along the ends. He’d yet to snag his finger along the broken mirror inside, even though some days he’d been so bored that the thought of watching a few drops of blood dry in the sun sounded like a valuable option for amusement.
“Who will they report you missing to, Billy?” Karl asked.
“Me mum. And me stepdad, but I doubt he’ll care much.”
“Is he the one who gave you all those bruises I saw the first time you came aboard?”
Billy nodded.
“And did your mum lie about your age to get you on board, or did he do that too?”
Billy met Karl’s eyes for a moment, then looked away. “Mum. I told her I didn’t want to live there anymore, and she understood. He hits her too. So I escaped to sea, and I thought that maybe if I could earn enough, I could help her get away from him too.”
Neither of them spoke for a long time. Karl fingered the compact. Jake sorted the supplies again. Billy watched a group of dolphins until they swam out of view.
“The woman who gave you that.” Billy pointed to the compact. “Do you think she’ll cry when she hears you’re missin’?”
“I imagine so. But she’s lucky. Her family is strong. They’ll help her if she has a hard time shaking the sadness.” Grief was still grief, but she wouldn’t be alone.
“Me mum will have to grieve by herself.” Billy’s voice cracked, and this time, Karl suspected it was from pain of loss, not pain of condition.
Karl asked a question he’d wanted to ask the boy for a long time. “How old are you really?”
Billy shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know when you were born?”
“I know me birthday. August 15. I’ve just lost track of how many days we’ve been in this here lifeboat. I might be fourteen. Or I might still be thirteen.”
Thirteen. Maybe fourteen. Karl thought it was probably Billy’s birthday, but it might have been the day before. Or the day after. Karl had been begging God for more time, but maybe he’d been selfish. Billy was the one who needed more time. Enough time to reach his full height. Enough time to experience the wonder of falling in love. If Karl looked at his life from the right angle, he could see how blessed he’d been. He’d lost his family, yes, but before that, he’d had their unconditional love. To have that love, even just in memory, was something he would always treasure. And Millie . . . even if he never saw her again, even if he died in a few days when they ran out of water . . . he’d been loved by the most amazing woman he’d ever met. That was powerful, even if it had been far too brief.
“Who will they report that you’re missin’ to?” Billy asked.
“Maybe no one.” He had no next of kin listed in the company offices. Millie would wonder why it had been so long since his last letter, and then she would worry. Eventually, her letters would be returned to her, and she would write to the Torlin Line, inquiring after an ordinary seaman on the Hillingdon. She probably didn’t suspect anything was amiss yet because she hadn’t known his destination, could only now be hoping to receive a letter sent from whatever port he’d gone to.
“What about the woman who gave you that?”
Karl clasped his fingers around the compact. “I asked her to marry me, and she was going to think it over. Nothing was settled, and I don’t think the company tracks down girlfriends.”
Time and the heat stretched on. Another day with a few wispy clouds that gave Karl hope but that didn’t build into anything strong enough to give them shade, let alone rain.
The day after that, a shark stalked their boat, ramming into the hull. Jake tried to beat it with an oar, and he almost lost the oar for his trouble. Eventually, the shark gave up. Karl felt like it was almost time for him to do the same. If no one had found them after twenty-some days in the lifeboat, how could they hope that anyone ever would?
A glorious sunrise gave way to another stifling day without a breeze to cool their burned skin or fill their limp sail. What he wouldn’t give to send one final letter to Millie, one final letter to leave at the church in case Ingrid ever arrived.
Karl tried humming the Austrian National anthem. He wasn’t sure anyone would have recognized it because his voice was so scratchy, but it gave him something to do. He had told Papa that he would be red-white-red until he was dead. Red-white-red, the colors of the Austrian flag. An Austrian patriot, even if Austria no longer existed. Maybe the words of the song floating through his mind as his lips attempted to make music were his way of fulfilling that promise because death seemed to be circling the lifeboat, not unlike the sharks. He managed to voice the phrase that ended each verse. “Gott mit dir, mein Österreich!”
For better or worse, he sang it in his native tongue. Jake glanced at him but didn’t say anything. God with thee, my Austria. It was hard to see God’s hand when Karl’s country hadn’t been protected. Nor had Papa or Anna. Maybe not Ingrid either. And it was hard to feel blessed while sitting in a lifeboat running low on water and even lower on hope.
No, that wasn’t true. He’d had Millie, and that proved God still had a hand in Karl’s life because finding her, falling in love with her, that had been a miracle. Karl took her compact from his pocket. It wasn’t anywhere near as good as holding the woman, but it was as close as he could get.
He dozed in the early morning light, and memories of Millie, of his sisters, of his parents all swirled through his head. They ebbed and flowed with the swell of the waves. Karl wanted to find Ingrid, he wanted to return to Millie . . . but a desire to see Papa, Mama, and little Anna wound its way around his heart. Even while sleeping, he knew he couldn’t survive much longer. Death was coming, but reunion would be consolation for a life cut short.
It’s not yet time, Karl.
Karl jerked awake. Papa’s voice. Just a memory, no doubt, like that time he’d heard it after the Gracechurch was sunk. That statement—part plea, part promise. He had to cling to life a little longer, even though pain engulfed his throat and his body felt limp and his mind could barely focus.
As the sun rose higher, Karl shielded his eyes against the stark brightness. The glare of sunlight, direct and reflected, made a headache form just behind his forehead. Or maybe that was the lack of water. Regardless, his head hurt, and the small speck in the distance might be his imagination. Maybe a bird . . . and that could mean they were nearing land, though the ocean could easily pull them past the shoreline without revealing anything other than water.
Or maybe the speck, slightly larger now, was an airplane.
The ocean made a constant sound against the lifeboat, but it was an easy sound to ignore after being on ships for so long. Karl could hear it when he concentrated but could also tune it out when needed. He closed his eyes for an instant, hoping to hear the sound of a plane’s engine, but the speck, if it was a plane, was too far away.
Karl opened Millie’s broken mirror and used it to reflect the light, sending out a series of bright flashes. Given the right conditions, signals from a mirror could be seen ten miles away.
Jake put a hand over his eyes. “Will you cut that out?”
Karl pointed to the speck. “I think there’s something up there.”
Billy had been in a stupor most of yesterday and all of that morning, just lying in the bottom of the boat, staring at the lifeboat’s wooden frame, but he blinked and looked in the direction Karl had pointed.
The speck grew larger, and gradually, the sound of an engine grew audible, so soft at first that he couldn’t be sure if his ears or his imagination detected the purr. He kept up his signals, and when the plane drew close enough, they all waved their arms, making sure the pilot could see that living men occupied the boat below. Caution might have told them to wait until they knew if the plane was friend or foe, but few people on either side of the war would waste ammunition on men stranded in a lifeboat.
The pilot circled their lifeboat and wagged the flaps of his wings at them as he flew over, acknowledging that he’d seen them. The plane bore American markings, but the pilot would have no way of knowing which side of the war the men below were part of.
“Now what?” Billy asked.
“We hope he radios our position to someone who can help.” Karl swallowed. They had hope again, but being sighted didn’t guarantee rescue. Not every captain would risk his ship and his men for the chance of rescuing a few survivors. In the vast scheme of the war, three sailors mattered very little.
Time morphed into something different after the airplane. They still waited, but an urgency worked its way into each hour. Somewhere, someone was making a decision about whether or not the men in the unknown lifeboat were worth saving. The pilot would have counted. Billy might pass for a child from the air, especially since Karl and Jake both had beards now to contrast with his smooth face. Two men and a child. That might improve their odds.
Karl ran his fingers over the now-closed compact. How many miracles could he expect in a lifetime? He might have already used his quota, but still, he mumbled prayer after prayer. It was as good a way to pass the time as any other, and maybe God was listening. Maybe God would show him mercy for just a little longer. A chance to see Millie again. Maybe even a chance to marry her.
Chapter 33
From the bedroom, Millie heard the knock on Mrs. Twill’s front door. She ignored it and tried to go back to sleep. She rarely enjoyed the night watch, and for a reason she couldn’t quite name, this week was harder than usual.
No, that wasn’t true. She could name the reason. Grief over Karl plus a series of unbroken ciphers equaled despair. His death wouldn’t be official until he’d been missing for six months, but the vast majority of men missing at sea for weeks on end did not turn up again.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the pillow over her head. She missed him. His letters all lay together in a box beneath her bed. She wanted to reread all of them but didn’t dare. The last time she’d done that, she’d ended up in tears, and the resulting headache had lasted her entire shift. Better to think of something else. Or to sleep longer. Time was supposed to help with grief, so if she slept through a few days, did that mean she was still progressing toward a future when it didn’t hurt every time she saw anything that reminded her of ships or blue eyes or love letters?
Dad had told her to keep her spirits up, but he hadn’t suggested Karl might still be alive. Sometimes she wished someone would tell her exactly that, even if it were a lie. Sometimes lies were more comforting than the truth, that men were dying every day of this war, and men on merchant ships were dying at a faster rate than most others.
She didn’t want to get out of bed. Nor did she want to face the choice of telling her father she was handling her grief by staying in bed all day or of telling him a lie. He had promised to take her to lunch on Saturday. Mum would probably come too. Mum, who would mean only the best for her but who was likely to suggest Millie take an interest in one of those smart chaps she worked with or in one of those Air Corps officers Irving had brought by the London apartment when he’d last had a London pass.
She forced herself from bed and went to her knees for a prayer—longer and more desperate than her usual prayers because she felt like she needed divine help to get through the day. And Hut Eight needed divine help to break the ciphers so men like Karl wouldn’t be torpedoed anymore. And Karl . . . was it any use praying for him? Surely he was dead by now. No, he could be alive. He might have been rescued by a ship on its way to Australia. And there was the story of the lifeboat that had drifted all the way across the South Atlantic—with survivors. Or maybe he’d been captured by the enemy, and eventually, she’d get a Red Cross postcard saying he was in a camp somewhere. They would put him in a camp with other sailors, wouldn’t they? Or would they discover his birthplace and execute him for treason? She pushed that thought from her mind. His English was quite good now. He could pretend he wasn’t Austrian. And she would keep praying for him until all hope was lost.
When she went into the kitchen, Shirley and Mrs. Twill both looked at her, then at a telegram lying on the table.
“It’s for you, Millie.” Shirley gave her a wary smile.
Millie hesitated. So often telegrams carried bad news. She wasn’t next of kin, so Karl’s company wouldn’t send her notice if they found out he was dead. But if Uncle Silas heard something, he might send a telegram. And Irving was flying missions all the time now. Any day, he might not come back from one. Or maybe that rescue ship from her imagination with a distant destination had finally arrived in port . . .
Millie opened the envelope and pulled out the telegram.
SHIPWRECKED AND RESCUED IN SOUTH ATLANTIC STOP HEADING BACK TO ENGLAND SOON STOP LOVE KARL LTF
Millie gasped, and in an instant, Shirley was reading over her shoulder.
“He’s alive,” Shirley said, and Millie was glad she spoke because emotion made it hard for Millie to breathe, let alone speak. Strange how emotions so different—relief instead of grief, joy instead of sorrow—could both elicit nearly the same reaction from her: tears, a tightened throat, and tremors in her hands.
“Well, what happened?” Mrs. Twill asked.
Millie lowered the paper and inhaled deeply, trying to force calm into her voice. “Another shipwreck. No details.” LTF. Letter to follow. The letter would tell her more. For now, it was enough to know that God had answered her prayers. Karl was alive, and he was coming back.
* * *
Karl leaned against the rails of yet another steamer, the SS Minstrel. The Torlin Line had sent the Hillingdon’s three survivors on the first of its ships heading north. Jake could have waited for one going to Canada instead, but a week in a Gibraltar hospital had done wonders for them, and now, as Liverpool came into view, the three had recovered enough from their ordeal to plan their next voyages.
Jake rested his back on the rail near Karl, looking across the ship and out to sea rather than facing land. Jake’s shirt hung poorly on him because the warehouse where they’d gone for replacement clothing had offered limited choices, and they had yet to gain back all their respective lost weight. “Billy might sign on to stay with the Minstrel.”
Karl had suspected as much. The captain had taken Billy under his wing since their boarding. This trip wasn’t a working one for them; they were passengers recovering their health, not sailors with duties and watches. But by about day two of their trip north, Billy had grown bored, and the captain had found things for him to do, then followed up with him. “He could use a father figure in his life. One who doesn’t hit him. And the crew seems like a good one.”
“But not good enough to tempt you to stay?” Jake asked.
“Plan the first is still the Royal Navy.”
Jake nodded. “I thought so. I saw how you watched the men on the corvette that picked us up. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you do belong in the navy. Someone has to hunt those U-boats.”
Karl assumed that meant Jake wasn’t upset about Karl’s plans anymore. Karl tried to build on the reconciliation. He and Jake had, after all, survived three ship sinkings together. “And someone has to bring all the materials over so the hunters have what they need to do their work. Someone with the sea in his blood.”
Jake glanced at the deck. “And if the Royal Navy won’t take you ’cause you’re a Kraut?”
“Then I guess plan the second is to keep on sailing with ships that will have me. With crews that welcomed me when no one else would. I overheard some of the men say the Minstrel might lose one of its officers.”
Jake nodded. “I heard the same rumor. And someone needs to keep an eye on Billy, so I suppose I’ll apply. It’s not exactly a passenger liner, but twenty cabins for guests and a dining room . . . ought to keep the chow decent, I suppose. I hate to judge it by this voyage—anything would have tasted like heaven after nothing but tinned food and pemmican for so long.”
“Good food goes a long way toward making a grand voyage.” Karl held out his hand, and Jake shook it. “Good luck to you, Jake. I can think of prettier people to be shipwrecked with, but maybe no one else who can keep a level head as long as you did. Thanks for bringing Billy and me back alive.”
