The soldiers jumped to their feet, their eyes fixed on the fast-approaching Junker Ju-88 bombers. Then they heard the loud reports of the anti-aircraft guns from the top deck, followed by a swift response from the bombers that opened up with sprays of machine gun fire.
The first rounds struck the ship’s stern. The next ones pierced steel walls, bodies, wood, and anything else in their path, ricocheting into another deadly flight path and ripping through the deck. Within seconds, the area transformed into a writhing mass of panicked soldiers, sprayed blood, and agonized cries for medics.
The flight of nineteen aircraft closed in over their targets and released their deadly cargoes. The bombs whistled through the air as they plunged. All around the ship, columns of water sprang out of the sea.
At midship, a huge explosion rocked the Lancastria, followed by three more as the projectiles found their targets. The shock sent a shudder through the hull.
Lance and Horton stared. Soldiers sitting on the rails dropped onto the hard deck or tumbled into the water far below. The air filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder and burning oil.
“Direct hits,” Lance muttered. “Four of them.”
The entire mass of soldiers stood stock-still momentarily as the impact sank in. Then, the clamor started up again at a fever pitch.
Unable to see beyond the heads of those in their immediate vicinity, Lance turned to Horton. “What do you think we should do?” he yelled above the din.
Horton shrugged. “I don’t know. Stay here for now, I guess. We don’t know how bad the ship’s been hit.”
No sooner had he uttered those words than the Lancastria began a slow roll to its starboard.
“Bollocks,” he said. “It’s bad.”
Lance agreed. They held their position, standing against the wall while soldiers struggled to move away from the danger, perceived differently by individuals and thus resulting in frantic men pushing against each other in search of safety.
Then, the Lancastria righted itself. The soldiers paused in their struggles, looking skyward and exchanging wondering glances.
Above them, the ship’s anti-aircraft guns continued to bellow. The drone of Junkers faded away forward, a view of them blocked by the ship’s superstructure.
At first barely perceptibly, and then with increasing rapidity, Lance felt the deck under his feet canting to port. Then, as he and Horton stood with their backs against the wall and facing aft, they sensed that the stern had begun to rise. The bow must be sliding toward the sea.
“Where to?” Horton called.
“Get to the rails,” Lance replied. “That way.” He pointed to the starboard side.
“Why there?”
“If the ship stays afloat, that side will be high.”
“I don’t know,” Horton said. “If she sinks fast, we’ll have a very long jump to have a chance of swimming away from the suction.”
“What’re the alternatives?”
Horton closed his eyes and shook his head. “No good ones. If we go to the other side and the ship goes down fast, we could still be pulled in by the drag.” He exhaled. “I guess we go to starboard.”
They headed diagonally across the deck, struggling against men who had decided that their best options were elsewhere. At last, they reached the rail forward of the stern. They felt the deck rise further and saw it sloping toward the bow while the ship continued to list to port at an increasing rate. Already, soldiers leaped into the sea, some with life vests, others without, some wearing full kit, others stripped down. Black oil coated the surface of the water.
“We might have guessed wrong,” Horton quipped, forcing a grin. “This doesn’t look good.”
“Hard to say,” Lance replied. Because the ship sank faster on the opposite side, instead of a vertical drop, the hull sloped away. In the water, heads bobbed, bodies floated, and soldiers swam in an expanding arc.
Horton nudged him. “Look.” He indicated the hull, which, in the short time they had clung to the handrails, had raised its starboard side to an obvious slant. “We’d better get on the other side of these rails, or we’re going to be hanging on to them.”
Other men had the same thought. They clambered over to the other side of the rail and pressed against it.
The Lancastria’s roll accelerated, and then, unbelievably, the propeller lifted into the air. It hung there, supported by its shaft with its casing clearly visible above the water line.
“The shaft tube forms a shelf,” Lance exclaimed. “We can slide to it and have a shorter jump.”
“On the way,” Horton yelled as the roll continued at a slower pace. Wearing only their field uniforms, they lowered their legs over the side of the hull, turned onto their backs, and let go.
The angle of the hull now was such that gravity had to be assisted. By sitting on their buttocks and pulling with their legs, they descended at a controlled rate, but they felt every bump, nick, and scrape of the Lancastria’s rough surface that had seemed so smooth from a distance. To their left and right, other soldiers saw them and followed. When they reached the shaft casing, they rested as other soldiers spread out on either side of them. There, the noise of the chaos had faded, punctuated by faint cries for help from above and below.
Horton peered over the edge. “Clothes on or off?”
“We can swim better without them,” Lance replied, “and they would weigh us down, particularly the boots.”
A voice behind them cut into their conversation. “I’m keeping mine on,” its owner said. “They’ll keep me warm.”
Lance scoffed, but Horton reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small waterproof bag containing a single cigarette and a box of matches. Lance stared at him in disbelief.
“What are you doing? I didn’t know you smoked.”
Horton sat back against the hull and took his time to light his cigarette. His eyes closed to slits as he inhaled and then sighed in satisfaction.
“Mind if I join you?” the man who had broken in on their
