The Custom of the Trade

by Shaun Lewis

  He went over to the chart. They had plenty of water beneath him. They would need it once the counter-attack started. The target was lying almost broadside to him, anchored forward and aft to keep her in position in the strong southerly current. He calculated that on his present heading he should be able to fire both bow tubes and then, by a sharp turn to starboard, he could, if necessary, fire their last torpedo from the port beam tube. It would leave them defenceless, but he couldn’t afford to miss on possibly his last ever attack. If only he could be sure the precious ‘mouldies’ wouldn’t let him down this time, but would run true. His mind made up, he ordered the port beam tube to be flooded.

  ‘Slow ahead both. Up. Bearing that. Come left. Steer 164.’ Nobody spoke except to acknowledge his orders.

  ‘Standby … Fire One.’ He saw the torpedo leave the submarine and run true. He watched the second hand on his stop watch pass fifteen seconds and then ordered the second torpedo to be fired. Again he silently thanked the Holy Mary, the Mother of Jesus, that this torpedo was also running true. He could see the two parallel wakes quite clearly and only bad luck or one of the destroyers crossing the line could now save the battleship. There was no need to fire the beam torpedo and nor was he going to witness the fish running home.

  ‘Down. Starboard fifteen. Full ahead. Fifty feet.’ He knew the hunters were about to become the hunted.

  Chapter 29

  Oddly, it was Mother Nature that afforded the ship’s company of HMS E9 more bother than the destroyers. Both torpedoes had struck and the explosions and implosions of collapsing bulkheads were clearly audible to the men but, whilst they could hear the high-pitched whine of destroyer screws astern and above, the submarine appeared to have gained too much surprise and enough of a head start to be in serious danger from above. Their problems began at the nets and mine fields strung between Kilid Bahr and Chanak.

  They knew the Narrows to be the most treacherous part of the passage in or out of the Strait and after attacking the Barbarossa, the searchlight operators on both sides would be fully alerted. E9’s officers had, accordingly, timed their run for after nightfall. The boat was at ninety feet, passing beneath the minefield, when the bows were suddenly jerked up and the boat began to rise. Steele immediately flooded the forward trim tank whilst the hydroplanes operators tried to force the bows down. They had just arrested the bow-down angle when the stern suddenly rose sharply. It was like riding an unbroken horse, but at least Richard and Steele knew the reason this time. Steele ordered the internal ballast tanks to be flooded as he had seen done in similar circumstances in the harbour of Constantinople.

  With the extra eight tons of water, they were able to stabilise the angle of the boat at a steady depth of seventy feet, the depth of the layer. However, they could do little about the ship’s ahead. Again the boat swung in all directions before spinning to starboard in the eddies of the current. Ominously, the men heard a loud scraping sound on the port side and then the hull listed sharply in the same direction. Richard could not believe that they had run aground on the European shore. The depth gauge showed seventy-five feet. The ship’s head began to swing to port and the helmsman struggled to maintain his ordered course. The log speed dropped to a knot.

  ‘I think we must have caught some wreckage, sir. It can’t be a net or we would be stuck,’ Steele observed. The boat still leaned to port.

  ‘I agree, Number One. We’d better return to PD for a look.’

  Steele pumped out the internal ballast tank, but it made no difference. The boat’s depth barely changed. Moreover, the fore-planes operator was struggling to bring up the boat’s bows.

  ‘It’s not the trim, sir. Something seems to be holding us down,’ Steele reported. The outside stoker lent the second coxswain a hand at turning the brass wheel that operated the fore-planes and gradually the boat started to rise.

  At twenty feet, Richard raised the periscope gingerly. There was no sound of moving vessels above, but that did not discount a patrol vessel drifting on the surface for this very occasion. Mercifully, he could see no vessels in the vicinity, but the sight of something else turned his blood cold. Snagged on the port hydroplane was the steel mooring wire of a mine. Worse still, floating on the surface and being dragged forward by the momentum of the submarine was the dark, round shape of a moored mine. Were its evil-looking horns to make contact with the hull of the submarine, they would detonate the mine and completely destroy her. The mine was bobbing about in the current and creating a wash that should be easily visible from shore to betray their position. He had to react quickly.

  ‘Keep thirty feet. Down periscope,’ he ordered calmly. There was no point in alarming the ship’s company. ‘Port five, steer 220. We’re through the first mine field, Pilot. A bit to port of track,’ he called nonchalantly, but his brain was working feverishly. He presumed that the sinker of the mine was being dragged beneath the hull. They were approaching the second mine field and needed to go deeper to pass under it. From memory he estimated that the mine was floating at an angle of thirty degrees astern of the fore-plane. If they dived at too steep an angle, it could bring the mine down onto the conning tower or casing with deadly effect. He contemplated surfacing to clear it, but that would be under the vigilant eyes of the gunners ashore. Even a near miss might detonate the mine and eighty pounds of high explosive in close proximity to the casing would be enough to rip the submarine apart. Moreover, the turbulence from surfacing would probably drag the mine into contact with the hull. They were stuck between Scylla and Charybdis, but doing nothing was not an option.

  He could see Steele looking at him searchingly and made his decision. If it was the wrong one, then they would know nothing more of it.

  ‘Right, First Lieutenant. Time to take her back down, but we’ll do it gently. Ten down, keep ninety feet. Flood the auxiliary.’

  As the bows dropped, he imagined the mine above moving closer to the conning tower and held his breath. It crossed his mind that perhaps God was punishing him for all the men he had been responsible for killing. How many men would have died in the Hela, the two Turkish battleships, the Turkish transport and the countless steamers he had sunk in the past fourteen months? Thousands perhaps? Certainly hundreds. Twice he had postponed his wedding to Lizzy and just as he held hope of completing his nuptials at the third attempt, he and his men might be about to die. Could this be Mutti’s prayers being answered. He knew she was only accepting his engagement to Lizzy under protest. But then, he thought, why would God punish men like Steele for his sins? No, God was just. He would not do such a thing. Suddenly, he knew he must survive. He smiled across at Steele.

  ‘I’m not going to come to PD for a fix this time, Number One. We’ll trust to the Navigator’s dead reckoning. Is that all right with you, Pilot?’

  ‘Why certainly, sir,’ O’Connell beamed. ‘We’re all feelin’ a bit lucky tonight. I suggest we come to starboard onto a new course of 245.’

  ‘Very well. Make it so. Call me when you think we’re through. I think I’ll take a little nap in the camp chair.’

  He could see his two officers exchange puzzled looks, but he didn’t care. He knew he was acting strangely, but so might they were they to know what was floating just a few feet above them. He slumped in the chair. He felt tired, but although he feigned sleep, his mind was too alert to the sounds exterior to the submarine to allow him to relax.

  Soon everyone was tortured by the sounds of wires scraping along the hull. They had all experienced it many times now and remained visibly sanguine about their futures. There was nothing they could do about it for now. All the time Richard, however, could not rid himself of the thought that the snagged mine was also being dragged through the mine field. Were one of the lead-covered glass tubes of the horns to smash against a mooring wire, then it would be enough to detonate the mine.

  He must have fallen asleep, after all, because soon after one o’clock, O’Connell shook his shoulder gently.

  ‘I think we’re th
rough, sir.’

  Richard checked the estimated position on the chart. Everything seemed quiet. The men were still at Diving Stations, but seemed relaxed and content. No doubt they were thinking of the hero’s return. Some of the longer serving hands might even have dreams of being relieved to return home. It was an odd experience. When he had fallen asleep he had known that he might never wake up. Now everything seemed oddly normal. Only he knew that the men were not out of the woods yet.

  Two hours later, he recognised that they must now be only five miles from Cape Helles and the exit from the Strait. They were already safe from enemy guns and patrols. Even so, he hesitated about returning to PD. He was nervous of disturbing the equilibrium E9 and her passengers had developed, but it had to be done sometime and the shallower depth would put them into the layer of outflowing water to speed their passage.

  It was still dark when he raised the periscope, but the sky was brightening to the east. The mine was still there, contentedly slewing to one side and the next in the surface current. He recognised that any sharp alterations of course in either direction were out of the question. Now he had to give thought as to how to rid himself of his lethal passenger. On the starboard bow he could see the light of Seddul Bahr and abeam, the forward trenches of the Allied troops. If he disengaged the submarine from the mine now it would be a hazard to other shipping and difficult to find. He resolved to stick with their unwanted companion for a little longer.

  Thirty minutes later several vessels could be heard on the surface and this time everyone on board knew them to be friendly. The mood of the boat lightened. On his next look, Richard could see the drifters and patrol vessels ahead. To starboard, the white cliffs of Cape Helles were washed with red as the early morning sunrise reflected off them. The decisive moment had arrived.

  ‘Take a look, Number One.’ Richard handed over the periscope to Steele. Steele had almost completed his all-round look when he caught sight of the mine forward.

  ‘Heavens,’ he gasped. ‘We’re towing a deuced great mine, sir.’

  ‘I know, and this is how we’re going to rid ourselves of it.’

  Steele listened carefully and impassively to Richard before sending for the signalman and instructing him to bring the biggest ensign he could find. A cry of, ‘Stand by to surface’ was passed through the submarine. Richard and the signalman opened the conning tower lower lid and readied themselves for the surfacing drill.

  On Richard’s nod, Steele ordered, ‘Blow five and six main ballast. Stop both. Full astern both.’

  The way came off the boat and the bows dipped as the stern rose. The water expelled from the after ballast tanks pushed the mine forward of the hydroplane and, as it cleared the submarine, it disappeared, dragged beneath the surface by the sinker suspended beneath the submarine. Richard allowed the submarine to continue astern until he was sure he was well clear of the mine and then altered course for a destroyer he had just spotted coming round Cape Helles. He helped the signalman rig the white ensign and then ordered him to exchange recognition signals with the destroyer. It was the Grampus, E9’s escort back to the depot ship. They signalled that they had just cleared a mine and, a few minutes later, the destroyer dropped a Dan buoy to mark its position so that the minesweepers could sweep it later. Grampus then came up on E9’s starboard quarter and as she overhauled the submarine, Richard could see that the sailors were manning the side. The destroyer’s men shouted out three cheers and waved their caps to the increasing numbers on E9’s bridge. The cheering was taken up by soldiers and sailors on the beach. Richard could not understand the reasons for the fuss, but felt emotional, nonetheless. All that mattered was that he and his men were home at last.

  Chapter 30

  Christmas 1915

  ‘Turn over, Dick. You’re snoring.’

  ‘What?’ Richard replied drowsily.

  ‘Turn onto your side. You’re snoring.’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ Richard duly turned over, taking some of Elizabeth’s share of the bed clothes and causing a draft between them.

  Elizabeth massaged her now-free right arm. It had been numbed by Richard’s weight as they had cuddled up together after another evening of love making. Once the circulation was restored, she grabbed back some of the blankets and turned to look at her husband of less than a fortnight. She patted him tenderly and then, propping herself up on her right side, she gazed down at his sleeping form in the light of the fire. He was sleeping peacefully, but there was nothing angelic about his looks. An ugly, long and curved, jagged scar dominated the left side of his head, from the brow, past the eye socket, to his cheekbone. She kissed it gently. It still stood proud of his face and, no doubt, might have healed better had E9’s complement included a medical assistant capable of some neat stitching. Richard still seemed quite conscious of it, but she loved him no less for it.

  She lay down again and snuggled up close to his back and buttocks. She felt she could not have been happier and reached her left arm over to embrace him. As she did so, the wedding band on her left hand glinted in the fire light. For perhaps the thousandth time she regarded it with pride. Dick had returned from the Mediterranean a hero at the end of the previous month and been gazetted for a DSC to accompany his VC. There had been no time to write to warn her, but Uncle William, now her father-in-law, had seen the signal announcing his return and telephoned her at the shipyard. On the eighteenth they had been married in London by special licence. The short notice had necessitated a quieter affair than her mother-in-law would have liked, but that had suited Elizabeth. Dick had been disappointed that so many of his friends could not be there. Of his brothers, only Paul had been able to attend. John was still at sea in the Mediterranean and Peter on diplomatic service in the Netherlands. It had come as a welcome shock for Dick to learn that Paul was alive, despite being shot down over Belgium. He had been equally pleased to discover that Charles had recovered from his wounds and been awarded the DSC for his bravery on the beaches of Gallipoli. They had looked a gruesome trio in the wedding photograph. Paul bore the scars of his burns to the side of his face and Charles was disfigured through missing an ear and a part of his cheekbone. Then there was Dick with that fearsome scar. She chided herself for her levity. Many a family would be mourning the loss of loved ones and others would have kin in far worse shape than her brother and cousins.

  However, whilst the wedding breakfast in the Savoy might have been considered a quiet affair, the reception in Cumberland Terrace, the Millers’ London residence, only a few days before the wedding, had been a positively grand affair. Dick had been invested with his VC at Buckingham Palace on the same day as Uncle William had received his CB. Even the First Sea Lord had attended the party. Elizabeth had never seen so much gold in one room.

  She had been surprised to learn that Uncle William was on such friendly terms with the King, and all stemming from a cruise they had shared in the Mediterranean. She had been invited to the investiture and presented to the King and Queen afterwards. It had been the most daunting event in her whole life, but the Queen had conversed with her quite normally and taken a great interest in their wedding plans. Indeed, it was Her Majesty who had let slip the honeymoon destination.

  The memories of the excitement of the past two weeks stimulated Elizabeth beyond sleep. She rose from the bed and put on her robe, shawl and slippers. Richard continued to sleep undisturbed. She blushed with the memory of his exertions just a couple of hours before. After adding two more logs to the fire, she rifled his valise to find the leather case containing his VC and sat with it in front of the fire. Dick didn’t seem to place much value on the medal, a trait she had noted he shared with his father with regard to his own VC. Whereas Dick’s VC was hidden away in his valise with his other medals, he regarded with more importance the two framed photographs on his dressing table. One showed him wearing his long chauffeur’s coat on the casing of his beloved submarine. The other was one taken of him sharing a joke with Lieutenant Steele in the wardroom of HM
S Adamant the day he had handed over command of HMS E9 to his successor. Elizabeth wondered if she would ever meet Steele. She felt as if she almost knew him. Barely a day went by without Dick regaling her with tales of Steele’s quirky mannerisms or tales of his heroism and ingenuity. At times she even felt jealous of his obvious admiration for him and the bond that they shared, but which she never could.

  She opened the box and examined the VC. It looked quite nondescript; just a piece of blue ribbon and a metal cross. Elizabeth knew that the medals were reputed to have been forged from the scrap of one of the Russian guns captured at Sevastopol, but she wondered if that was true. The medal she held in her hand could have been made from ordinary iron. What drove men to risk their lives for something so insignificant? She could not imagine herself or any of her suffragette friends doing so. They had fought for, but so far failed to obtain, something more tangible in the cause of female suffrage. That was the answer, of course. Dick hadn’t fought for this piece of metal and that was why he placed so little store by it. He had fought not even out of duty to his country, but for the lives of his men and the honour of his friends and colleagues in the submarine service. He was not alone in that and she admired men for that. Perhaps they were not all pigs, after all.

  She replaced the medal where she had found it and returned to the bedside. She leant down to kiss Richard once more and her long hair brushed his face. He stirred and turned onto his other side, exposing the injury-free side of his face. Her heart swelled with love and pride that she had attracted such a man. She wondered what Christabel would make of her now, head over heels in love with a man, and willing to subordinate herself completely to him. Would she think she had betrayed her sex by doing so? She could hear Christabel saying that she had abandoned the Cause by her actions, but she would be wrong. This war was opening up opportunities for women. In her yard alone, one quarter of the workforce was now female and they were beginning to take on the skilled work. Once the war was over, the struggle would go on, but men were not an enemy. Many of her own men were beginning to treat their female workers with respect and learning to accept that fairness and equality were not unreasonable demands. She was confident that after the war attitudes would change.