The Straits of Tsushima: An action-packed historical military adventure (Marcus Baxter Naval Thrillers Book 1)

by Tim Chant

  “If we were to make a sharp turn, we could bring our full broadside to bear!” Alexeev said urgently.

  “And would then not to be able to come back on course. Doomed, perhaps forever, to sail the world as some sort of Flying Russian. No — we will see what they want. It would be churlish not to. What do the signals say, Koenig?”

  “It … it appears to be gibberish, Graf. It must be coded, signals meant for nearby allies rather than us.” Koenig let his glasses drop. “Why don’t they just get on with it?” he snapped furiously, tears glittering in his eyes.

  Baxter quirked a smile. “It’s plain alphabet, Mr Koenig, and not gibberish — English.”

  “Close enough,” Juneau said with a slight smile, demonstrating once again that peculiar upper-class habit of being able to find humour in any situation. “Let’s see — yes, they are in fact demanding our surrender.”

  Baxter felt a trickle of cold sweat down his back. There were any number of reasons why the Japanese would be signalling in English, the most likely being they didn’t have any French or Russian speakers, and knew their quarry probably didn’t speak Japanese.

  But … some instinct told him something else was going on here. He raised his glasses again and scrutinised the Japanese ship. She was still coming up fast from astern, just far enough off their beam that they could make out her signals but still carefully placed to be outside the firing arc of the guns in the stern barbettes. They were at point-blank range now, and he directed his particular attention to the bridge that sat proud on the ship’s tall superstructure.

  Ekaterina got there first. “I do not think there are only Japanese sailors on that bridge,” she said, her voice hard. “Look to the right of who I think must be the captain.”

  The ship’s commanding officer was easy enough to make out, a silvery haired man standing bolt-upright dead centre of the bridge, returning their own stares. They were still too far away to make out much more detail than that, but Baxter had to concur that at least one of the men on the bridge was European. And there was something about his frame, his posture. “Well — we know the English Navy has observers aboard some ships.”

  “More signals going up, Graf.” Koenig, now he knew what he was reading, was able to make them out this time. “Reveal … no, release British subjects. Unharmed.”

  A new, tense silence fell across the knot of officers. Baxter didn’t drop his gaze from the closing ship, but he could feel accusatory stares boring into his back. “Arbuthnott,” he spat, feeling a sudden hot rage boiling up within him. It must have shown on his face, as everyone stepped back slightly as he turned to face them. He glowered at Juneau. “We should talk privately.”

  Privately, of course, meant Ekaterina as well. At some point, Baxter had come to the same conclusion as Juneau obviously had — this was far more her world than it was theirs.

  “This is the ublyudok who first set this up? Who sent you out to attack us?” she asked, not even trying to hide the scepticism in her voice. “You are sure?”

  Baxter nodded sharply. They had not retired below decks, which would have ensured them full privacy, but huddled in the corner of the bridge away from the Japanese ship. He was acutely conscious of the fact that he cut a distinctive figure, and it perhaps would not go well with him if he was seen conspiring with Russians. However, none of them wanted to be away from the centre of command for any length of time. “Well, I couldn’t make out his face clearly — but I’m pretty sure it’s that scrawny bastard.”

  “Language, Mr Baxter,” Juneau said, voice distracted. “But how could he even know you were here?”

  “He must have been receiving reports from Yefimov.” Juneau flinched at the name — they’d all been careful not to use it since the second officer’s unfortunate demise. “And this is a distinctive ship.”

  Juneau rubbed at his forehead, a sure sign of the pressure he was under. “That could be the cruiser that shadowed the fleet off the Malay peninsula, her true colours revealed at last.”

  “It does not matter how he has found us, just that he has,” Ekaterina, practical as ever, cut in. “What shall we do about this?”

  Juneau stared out to sea, thinking. It was oddly peaceful as the Yaroslavich chugged towards her destination. For the first time since early the previous morning, there was no significant gunfire to be heard — the enemy cruiser just seemed content to close with them, sure of her eventual triumph without needing to fight. The grand drama of the main fleet’s surrender was already done and forgotten, as they faced their own crisis.

  “It seems to me,” the captain said eventually, “that if we hand Mr Baxter over, then he is as good as dead.”

  Ekaterina’s eyes were cool as she gazed levelly at Baxter. “If we try and fight, we risk many more deaths. Perhaps…”

  She didn’t finish the sentence, but even so Baxter felt like he’d been kicked in the guts. He’d always known she was ice-cold, ruthless when she had to be, but to be on the receiving end when he’d thought he might have meant something to her…

  “She’s right,” he said, his voice sounding flint-hard to his ears as he struggled to hide any emotion. “No point risking the ship or the crew on my account. Best just to…”

  “I will not just hand him over without a fight, after how much…” Juneau broke in hotly.

  “If I might finish,” she interrupted them both icily. “Perhaps it would be best if Mr Baxter and a few others attempt to make a break for it in one of the pinnaces. If he was to leave now, he might be able to put sufficient distance between the cruiser and himself to go unnoticed as we surrender.”

  “He would not be doing it alone,” Juneau said quietly, his own voice matching hers for firmness. “You will be going with him, my love, as will Tommy and others. We have no way of knowing how the Japanese will treat prisoners. As you said yourself, they do not understand the concept of surrender.”

  Baxter shook his head. “There is only a slim chance of me getting away in the pinnace,” he said flatly. He couldn’t escape the suspicion that Ekaterina had been about to suggest handing him over without demure but had realised her husband would not brook it. “It is best, if we are to try this, if I go alone. He won’t be interested in Tommy.”

  “Your Arbuthnott will not be best pleased when he discovers you have fled the ship,” Juneau pointed out. “It is perhaps best if the countess is safely away at that point — particularly as she was a target for the initial … operation.”

  Baxter smiled grimly at the way Juneau had avoided using the word ‘attack’, though they all now knew that was what had brought him aboard. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. There was a mute appeal in Juneau’s eyes, and Baxter realised he had no intention of surrendering — or at least not without a fight. And Baxter had made a promise to him.

  “That’s a good point,” he said, avoiding her gaze. She was a perceptive woman and he was sure she would guess what both men were thinking. “Very well — we’d best be about assembling everyone who will be going. Quick as we can.”

  “I will not abandon my husband,” Ekaterina said, not for the first time, and Baxter doubted it would be the last. “I will…”

  Baxter rounded on her. “I don’t want to go either!” he snapped. “But…” He struggled for words, as he always did at moments like these, with everything boiling away inside him. “But I have my orders,” he said quietly. “As do you.”

  “I am not to be ordered around by my husband, or by you, or by any man!” she flared.

  “The orders come from the captain of this ship,” he said softly. “And at sea, that transcends everything else. Even any deity you should chose to name.”

  She stared at him, eyes bright with furious tears, then turned without another word and stalked away. He hoped to gather whatever essentials she needed, as time was so terribly short.

  The pinnaces were in the water, Vasily a reassuring presence in the wheelhouse of the one he was to take charge of. Mr Koenig had been given charge of the s
econd, a steady pair of hands and — according to Juneau — no longer vital as he was planning on surrendering the ship. Men were streaming down the sides into those vessels, along with Juneau’s dog Maxim and the other wardroom animals to have survived. There were walking wounded amongst them, but after some discussion with Andropov it had been decided that the seriously injured were better off remaining aboard. Tommy sat disconsolately in the stern, a pitiful sack of possessions between his feet.

  The Japanese cruiser was hidden from his view by the Yaroslavich’s superstructure, but she was making her presence and impatience known with the occasional, peremptory gun dropping shells closer and closer to the Russian ship. They were no longer short of time, Baxter knew, but out of it.

  He looked around, telling himself his eyes were burning because of fatigue and the waft of smoke from the funnels. The ship had been home to him for seven months, even if that has started with imprisonment aboard, and he found himself loathe to depart her now. More of a home that anywhere he had been for years, and this crew of mad Russians more of a family than he knew he deserved. The bluejackets and officers who remained aboard looked on now, no resentment in their eyes even though some at least must have guessed they were going to fight to cover this escape.

  “We are fully loaded,” Koenig called up to him.

  “Stand by.” Baxter turned and found Ekaterina with his eyes. She was speaking with low urgency to her husband, who once again shook his head firmly. She turned away from him suddenly, shot Baxter a furious glare and, without another word to either of them, stepped into the bosun’s chair that would lower her into Mr Koenig’s pinnace. Juneau had been holding his hand out to her as she moved away, and he stood for a disconsolate second, looking down at the pleading appendage, before shaking himself and walking over to Baxter.

  “She is barely a mile away — you had best go,” Juneau said quietly. “I will give you as much time as I can.”

  “By stalling before surrendering?”

  “Something like that. But remember, Mr Baxter, anything I do, I do for the honour of the Imperial Russian Navy.”

  It was a benediction, of sorts, an instruction to Baxter not to carry any burden. He held out his hand. “Well.”

  Juneau shook it. “God speed, Marcus. Get everyone to safety.”

  “If luck is on my side,” Baxter said. Lady Luck was the sailor’s god, cruel and fickle, and he’d long since let go of the notion any other higher power paid heed to him.

  There was nothing more to be said, and with a last look around the battered and scorched deck he swung himself over the side and descended into his command.

  CHAPTER 25

  “Why are we doing this if Mr Juneau is just going to surrender?” Tommy asked as the two little boats chugged away from the Yaroslavich.

  Baxter hadn’t been surprised to find the lad in his boat, even though he’d been sticking like glue to Ekaterina for the last few weeks. He’d been grateful for it during the fighting, as she’d managed to keep him out of harm’s way.

  “Well, for one we’re mostly taking able-bodied and competent seamen to Vladivostok, which will help the ships stationed there. We also don’t know how the Japanese will treat their prisoners,” Baxter said, trying not to sound evasive. “Particularly the countess — they didn’t seem overly keen on even allowing the main fleet to surrender, mind.”

  “But they specifically asked for us to be handed over,” Tommy protested.

  Baxter sighed — he’d been hoping that information wouldn’t have reached the lad’s ears. “True, and that’s why we’re running for it,” he said. “I don’t trust the men who want us to be handed over.”

  “But I’m just a wain, and an … innocent?”

  “You’re neither of those things anymore, lad, and more than that you’re a witness.” The gnawing guilt of bringing Tommy along on this mad adventure again bit hard at Baxter when he said that. The boy should not be in this situation, but there was no helping that now. “Once we make it to Vladivostok I’ll find a way to get us both home quietly.”

  He was fairly certain Arbuthnott was operating without official consent or probably knowledge, and he did not therefore risk the censure of the law if he did reappear in the British Isles.

  “Wha’ makes you think this Arbuthnott won’t keep after you?” Tommy said, his nasal and slightly wheedling tone at odds with the sharpness of his questioning. “He’s got pull, else he wouldn’t even be here.”

  “There will be British observers on a number of Japanese ships, as we’re allies. And he might have pulled some strings to get here, but the fact he’s obviously pretty desperate to get us both now suggests he doesn’t want this to go any further. And you have a nasty and suspicious mind.”

  Tommy lapsed into silence, but obviously wasn’t happy with any of the responses.

  Baxter ducked into the wheelhouse to save himself from further questions. “How is the engine holding out?” he asked Vasily. They’d been pushing the little boat to its limits over the last few days.

  “Well enough,” the big petty officer replied dourly. “Though Anton will not vouch for it all the way to Vladivostok if we maintain this speed.”

  “Once we’re well enough clear we’ll reduce speed and try to nurse her the rest of the way. The important thing is to get far enough away that when the captain hauls down the colours we’ll go unnoticed.”

  “You do not actually think he’s planning on surrendering?” Vasily asked, his expression and tone remaining level and stolid.

  “Everyone seems to be a bloody mind-reader,” Baxter muttered. Everyone but him always seemed to know what others were thinking. But, he admitted to himself, he’d known all along that Juneau wasn’t planning on surrendering.

  He turned and found Koenig’s vessel, keeping station twenty yards to starboard. They’d talked about splitting up as quickly as possible, reducing any chance of detection, but had agreed that remaining within mutual support distance would be more important. Ekaterina was a splash of lighter colours in the stern, no doubt taking a break from her self-appointed duty of caring for the lightly-wounded packed into the flimsy hull.

  She must have seen him looking and straightened up. He felt his heart surge at the sight of her, tall and proud in the bobbing boat, her challenging gaze felt even sixty feet away. He knew they weren’t out of danger, that despite the Yaroslavich’s valour there was little chance the armed merchantman wouldn’t run them down, and the thought of her wounding or death filled with him with far more dread than the thought of his own demise.

  “Ah, fuck it,” he said, then raised his voice. “Mr Koenig, close on me if you please!” he roared across the gulf of water, then turned to Vasily. “Reduce to one quarter.”

  Behind them, the Yaroslavich opened fire.

  The two little boats chugged along close enough that their fenders occasionally crunched together. Baxter stood with one foot on the rail, leaning forward to confer with Koenig and Ekaterina. They were far enough away from the battle developing between the two cruisers that he didn’t have to raise his voice much.

  “Technically, Mr Baxter, I am in command,” Koenig said, voice mildly reproving. “And as the senior…”

  “Well, consider this an act of mutiny, Mr Koenig,” Baxter said. “You also have wounded aboard, not to mention the countess.”

  The young officer closed his eyes. Baxter knew he wanted nothing more than to return to his ship, as Juneau had without doubt engaged in battle by this point rather than firing a few rounds for the honour of the flag. Glancing back, he could see geysers rising around the Russian ship. Juneau had put his helm over and slowed almost to a crawl, and either the Japanese gunners had been thrown off by that or weren’t as well trained as the battleship crews.

  “Very well. We will maintain course towards Vladivostok but at a slower…”

  “You’ll go hell for leather and don’t wait for us,” Baxter broke in, his voice hard. “Get these people to safety. Oh, and one more thin
g…”

  He turned and grabbed Tommy’s collar in one smooth motion, lifting him easily. The boy let out a startled urk and didn’t even try to fight it, astonished perhaps by Baxter’s strength. Before anything more could be said, he hoisted the lad over the intervening water and dumped him in an undignified heap at Ekaterina’s feet. They all chose to ignore the stream of invective coming out of him.

  The men aboard Koenig’s pinnace had obviously gathered some notion of what they intended. There had been no calls for volunteers, and no man had been detailed to change vessel. There was a spontaneous movement, though, men jumping from the pinnace that would be going to safety onto the one that was about to charge into danger. He felt a stir of pride at that, particularly as no men tried to go the other way.

  “Hard port, Vasily,” Baxter snapped over his shoulder, as he saw walking wounded men trying to join his own command. He turned back to the other vessel. “Good luck to you, all of you!”

  The distance was already opening between them. Ekaterina remained silent, but raised a hand as Vasily took the pinnace round in an arc back towards the fight. Baxter raised his cap in salute as Koenig’s crew cheered them on their way.

  “We’re not returning to the ship?” Vasily asked. As Baxter’s de facto second in command, he seemed a lot more conversational than normal. Which, to be honest, was not saying much.

  “No.” With the men who had joined them, Baxter had thirty sailors aboard. Returning that many able-bodied sailors would not change the outcome of the battle. He had something altogether riskier in mind. “We’ll attack the enemy cruiser directly.”

  “With what — that popgun on the front? Not many shells left.”

  “With everything we have, including our fists.”

  A slow smile spread across the normally impassive bluejacket’s face. “That I would like to see, you punching an enemy ship.”

  “Then get me close enough, Chief Petty Officer.”