Battle Ensign

by Thomas E. Lightburn

  I hope this letter is not too distressing, and reaches you fit and well.

  My very best wishes, to you and your crew.

  Yours, Jonathan Trevethick.

  Holding the letter, Manley slumped back into his chair. ‘So that’s why she hasn’t written,’ he muttered to himself. Suddenly he imagined Laura sitting, in her room, staring out of a window in pain and worried about her future – the thought made him sick with worry. However, after reading the letter again, the details of the accident seemed vague and it was clear she was protecting someone. He took a deep breath and sat back in his chair, determined to find out who it was.

  The sound of the galley door opening startled him. He looked up and saw Morris, holding a mug of steaming hot coffee. ‘I’ve put a tot in it, ser,’ he said, placing it onto the large leather-bound blotting pad on Manley’s desk. ‘Just to celebrate yer promotion, like, ser.’

  ‘Thank you, Morris,’ Manley answered, as the aromatic smell of alcohol suddenly played around his nostrils, ‘I’ll be leaving the ship at 1330, and I expect to be away most of the afternoon.’

  ‘Right then, ser,’ Morris replied, ‘that’ll give me time to take your best doeskin overcoat and cap to Gieves for that extra half stripe and scrambled egg.’

  ‘As usual, Morris, your timing is perfect.’ After taking a welcome sip of his drink, he picked up an official looking envelope lying on top of small pile of envelopes. ‘Now what,’ he muttered to himself as he tore it open and removed a solitary sheet of thick paper. As he finished reading its contents, a wry smile played around his mouth. Still holding the letter, he picked up the telephone and pressed the quarterdeck buzzer.

  ‘Quarterdeck, Leading Seaman Sammy Smith.’

  ‘First Lieutenant, kindly pipe for Sub Lieutenant Baker to come to my cabin.’

  The pipe was made and seconds later Baker arrived. ‘Ah, Pilot,’ Manley said, ‘do come in, you’ll be pleased to hear I’ve some good news for you,’ he added with a warm smile. ‘I have received a letter from Chief Constable Smithers in Wallasey, apparently, this fellow, Wainwright, with whom you had this altercation, has dropped the charges.’

  ‘That’s wonderful, sir,’ gushed Baker, ‘maybe I can get back with my fiancée again. That’s if she’ll have me.’

  ‘I’m sure she will,’ Manley replied, placing both hands on his desk. ‘In the meantime I suggest you go to Wallasey and find out. Kindly ask Brownlow to make out a travel warrant for you. Then ask Lieutenant Powers to come and see me.’

  Not long after Baker left the cabin Lieutenant Powers knocked and came into the cabin. ‘Do sit down, and relax, Number One,’ said Manley indicating to one of the two brown, leather armchairs facing his desk. ‘The C-in-C wants to see me at 1330, so please arrange for a tilly to pick me up at thirteen hundred.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Powers said, fiddling with the brim of his cap, he asked, ‘what about leave, sir?’

  ‘I’m coming to that,’ Manley replied impatiently. ‘Both watches from 0900 from Monday to Friday. Men living locally to take preference. Ask for volunteers, to form a skeleton crew.’

  ‘And the officers, sir?’

  ‘All except you and myself, I’m afraid,’ Manley answered shaking his head, ‘but, rest assured, I’ll try and make it up to you. Now,’ said Manley, sitting forward and interlacing his hands. ‘I’ll be leaving the ship directly after colours tomorrow morning. I’m going to Truro by rail and will be back early the next day. I will leave a telephone number where I can be reached with the officer of the watch. Kindly arrange for a tilly to take me to the station. Sorry about the leave.’

  ‘That’s all right, sir,’ Powers sheepishly replied, ‘I’m very friendly with a Wren in barracks.’

  Manley gave a wry smile and said, ‘Good for you, please carry on.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Shortly after 1330, Manley left Helix and climbed into the tilly parked near the bottom of the gangway. The journey through the dockyard to the naval barracks took less than five minutes. After showing his pay book to an armed marine at the main gate, the driver, a middle-aged grey-haired civilian, drove passed the well-manicured quarterdeck and continued around a wide parade ground, on which groups of ratings were being drilled by stiff-backed instructors. The driver stopped the tilly outside administrative block, a squat, grey-bricked Victorian building on the far side of the barracks.

  ‘I’m not sure how long I’ll be,’ Manley said to the driver, ‘but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.’

  ‘Looks like I won’t be the only one,’ the driver replied, glancing at several tillys parked nearby, ‘but I’ve plenty of time as my missus is at the Bingo.’

  Manley thanked the driver, and after sliding open the door left the tilly. He quickly climbed up the three flights of concrete steps where a three-badge matelot armed with a 303 rifle, stood at ease outside an arched mahogany door. Upon seeing Manley, he immediately snapped to attention.

  After carefully examining Manley’s pay book, he said, ‘Room eight, sir, second floor, along the corridor on your right.’

  The second floor was reached via two sets of winding staircase, encased in dark blue, thickly piled carpets. As he walked along the corridor, the clickity–click of typewriters echoed from behind several closed doors. Outside room eight, another matelot stood holding a check board. After glancing at Manleys pay book, he stifled a yawn, then said, ‘I see you’re the last to arrive, sir,’ and with a quick movement, ticked Manley’s name off his list. He then stepped to one side, allowing Manley to open the door.

  The eyes of several officers, occupying rows of desks, turned as he entered. After giving a quick nod to one or two he recognised, he sat down next to Lieutenant Commander Wright, HMS Bleasdale’s commanding officer.

  ‘What’s up, Bill?’ Manley whispered, while removing his cap.

  ‘Don’t really know, dear boy,’ replied Wright. ‘But from what I can gather, it must be something rather big.’

  The room reminded Manley of his old grammar school. The atmosphere was warm and stuffy. Rows of empty shelves, thick with dust-lined two sides of the room. Opposite three grimy windows, criss-crossed with brown tape, barely allowed the rays of the afternoon sun to penetrate. From a low-slung roof, supported by a series of cross beams, hung two white electric lights. The floor consisted of dusty bare boards. Two rows of wooden desks, separated by a centre aisle, were each occupied by a naval officer. On each desk, a round, a metal ashtray lay next to a small glass jug of water and a tumbler. At the end of the room was a wooden platform, on which rested a desk, a glass water jug and two tumblers. However, what drew Manley’s attention was a large white sheet hanging over a blackboard, under which poked the edges of what was obviously a coloured map.

  ‘Second front, maybe?’ remarked Lieutenant Commander Peters, the captain of Fernie, who was sitting next to Gregory-Smith.

  Another officer sitting in front of Manley, turned around, and giving a short laugh, said, ‘Some bloody hope.’

  Just then, a side door opened and in strode the sturdy figure of Captain Storey, the movements officer. Closely behind him strode the six-foot-plus frame of Admiral Sir William James, resplendent in an immaculately tailored doeskin uniform and gold braid. The grating of chairs on the wooden floor echoed around as everyone stood to attention. The admiral introduced himself and Captain Storey, sat down at a table and poured a glass of water.

  ‘Stand easy, gentlemen, and do sit down,’ said the admiral, placing both hands in his jacket pockets. He took a central position on the platform. ‘And smoke if you must.’ His voice was sharp and crisp, and as he spoke, his pale blue eyes set in a heavily tanned face, creased into a sly smile. ‘Now, I bet you’re all wondering what’s behind the sheet,’ he added, glancing at the blackboard. ‘But before I enlighten you, I must stress that everything discussed in this is room is top secret.’

  He paused momentarily, allowing a few officers to light cigarettes, then, pouring out a glass of water,
continued. ‘As you may have read in the newspapers or on the wireless, since Pearl Harbour last year, President Roosevelt decided that the invasion of Europe must take priority over events in the Pacific, especially after Italy’s so called “Pact of Steel” with Germany. Now, it would appear that the president’s promise, encouraged by Admiral King, who is a confirmed Anglophile, has come with a price. Roosevelt has insisted on an early European invasion. Stalin, despite receiving supplies via the Arctic, has been doing the same. Winston has constantly rebuffed these requests simply because of our commitments in North Africa and elsewhere, and stressing that any full-scale invasion could not take place until the U-boat war is won.’ The admiral paused and took a good sip of water, then said, ‘Any questions, so far?’

  ‘I have one, sir,’ said Lieutenant Commander York, the captain of HMS Berkeley, raising a hand. ‘Surely after the losses we have sustained on the Arctic convoys is proof that we are doing our best to help Russia, and besides, sir, it wasn’t all that long since Stalin broke off his pact with Hitler, so I think Old Joe has bloody nerve to ask for an invasion.’

  ‘You’re referring to Russia’s non–aggression pact with Hitler in August 1939, that allowed him to invade Poland.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied York.

  ‘I agree with you, and I know Winston does also,’ the admiral replied. ‘By now,’ he went on, ‘I’m sure some of you have deduced why you are here.’ A slight pause that served to raise the tension already prevalent in the room. ‘On the morning of August19th ,’ said the admiral, placing both hands on his hips, ‘a force of six thousand men, British, Canadian plus a contingent of the First US Ranger Battalion, supported by a regiment of Calgary tanks will be ferried across the Channel by civilian transports, and land on the coast of France, code-named, “Operation Jubilee”.

  He turned around and with a dramatic gesture, loosened the sheet, allowing it to drop in a wrinkled heap on the floor. A murmur of surprise broke forth, as set before them, was a map of the southern England, part of the English Channel and the Normandy coast. The admiral picked up a wooden pointer and tapping the map, snapped, ‘Here, at Dieppe.

  Several officers gave each other searching looks as another murmur of surprise buzzed around the room.

  ‘And as you can see, on either side of Dieppe, the landing beaches are colour-coded.’ Using his pointer he said, ‘Yellow Beach is on the eastern side of Dieppe, and Blue lies to the east of the town. Green Beach is east of Pourville. Orange Beach is here, nine kilometres west of Dieppe. Then comes Red and White Beaches directly in front of Dieppe. Any questions?’

  Commander Wright raised a hand. ‘I could understand it if it were Cherbourg, as it’s a vital port, but why Dieppe, sir?’

  ‘I wish I could give you a satisfactory answer,’ said the admiral, looking slightly perplexed. ‘But that decision was made by the chiefs of staff some months ago.’

  Manley lent forward and raised a hand. ‘What about support, sir,’ he said, feeling the wooden seat pressing into his backside. ‘I take it we’ll have a cruiser or monitor to bombard enemy positions.’

  ‘Er… I’m afraid not,’ the admiral replied. ‘Moutbatten did ask for a heavy cruiser. However, the First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir Dudley Pound, refused to allow any capital ships to be exposed to U-boat or air attack. The Polish destroyer, Slazak, will support the eastern flank. This will leave Albrighton, Berkley, Brocklesby and Garth to bombard the headlands prior to the main assault on Dieppe. Calpe and Fernie will be command ships. Calpe will carry Captain Hughes-Hallet and Major-General Roberts. General Truscott, an American observer will be on board, Fernie.’

  Manley’s hand immediately shot up.

  ‘Yes, what is it?’ said the admiral, sounding irritated at being interrupted.

  ‘You haven’t mentioned Helix, or Albrighton, sir,’ Manley replied, giving Lieutenant Commander Hanson a furtive glance.

  ‘All in good time,’ the admiral replied, picking up a pointer. ‘The raid will consist of two phases. Phase one will take place at 0450 when Number 3 Commando will land on Yellow Beach and capture a battery here, near Berneval. Lord Lovatt’s commandos and fifty US Rangers are to neutralise the Hess battery on Orange Beach. The South Saskatchewan Regiment will land on Green Beach and attack the western headlands overlooking Dieppe. The Royal Canadian Regiment and elements of the Canadian Black Watch will land on Blue Beach and attack a battery on the eastern headland. These are, in effect, flanking attacks to allow phase two to take place. If they fail, the main landings could be put in jeopardy. This will begin at 0520, when Canadian Fusiliers, the Canadian Essex Royals, the Royal Hamilton and Royal Marine Commandos, followed by the fourteenth Canadian Regiment’s Calgary tanks will form a frontal attack on Red Beach, in front of Dieppe. This particular landing will be supported by Helix and Albrighton, who will, by that time, have detached from the other four destroyers, leaving them to bombard the headlands. I hope that answers your question,’ the admiral added, staring at Manley.

  ‘Perfectly, thank you, sir,’ Manley replied, shooting a quick grin at Lieutenant Commander Hanson.

  Romuald Tyminski, the tall, distinguished-looking captain the Polish frigate, Slazak, stood up, and in almost perfect English, asked, ‘Will the RAF be doing a preliminary bombing, sir?’

  Once again, the admiral appeared to look uneasy. ‘The answer to your question is no. Air Marshal Harris refuses to send heavy bombers as he considers the collateral damage would outweigh the strategic benefits. However, Leigh Mallory is sending sixty-seven squadrons of fighters, mainly Spitfires, to attack the headland. The only problem is the Spits and Hurricanes are seventy miles away from their bases in England and have only a limited endurance.’

  Lieutenant Commander Frederick Peters, raised a hand. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said, nervously licking his lips, ‘in 1938 my wife and I did a motoring tour of Normandy, and stopped at Dieppe. As I recall, it’s a large fishing port near the mouth of the River Arques.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ the admiral impatiently interrupted, ‘what exactly is your point?’

  ‘Well, sir, Dieppe has a horseshoe beach that is mainly shingle. On the eastern side is a medieval castle that commands a perfect view of the port and sea. And as I recall, there’s a large casino on the eastern side of the harbour, which is dominated by a rocky headland. So seems to me, that if there are batteries are on either side of the harbour, it will make any landing very dicey, to say the least.’

  ‘Your observations are very perceptive,’ said the admiral, ‘as subduing the enemy fortifications on both headlands is the key to success.’ He paused, and with an edgy smile, added, ‘If this is not achieved, then, as you say, it could be dicey indeed. Perhaps you should have been on the planning staff.’ His remark immediately provoked a moment of uneasy levity. The admiral stopped talking and said, ‘Would someone would be kind enough to open a window, as it’s getting rather stuffy in here.’ Straight away an officer at the end of row stood up, and managed to prise open a window, allowing a warm breeze to freshen up the room.

  ‘Now,’ he went on, ‘after the flanking attacks, the bombardment will cease and all destroyers will attack individual targets. Now, before I go on, any more questions?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Manley, ‘just how close to the beach is my ship and Albrighton allowed to go?’

  ‘That’ll be up to you to judge,’ the admiral replied, ‘and use your initiative.’

  ‘What are the objects of the raid?’ asked Lieutenant Commander Byron, the captain of HMS Brocklesby.

  ‘Good question,’ replied the admiral, ‘these are as follows; the destruction of enemy airfields radar, power and dock and petrol dumps in the vicinity of Dieppe. Capture barges for our own use. Obtain secret documents and to capture prisoners. How does that sound?’

  ‘Not a great deal, considering the number of troops involved, sir,’ Byron replied, glancing sceptically to those officers near him.

  ‘Nevertheless, there they are,’ the admiral replie
d. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Just one, sir,’ said the commanding officer of HMS Calpe, Lieutenant Commander Porter, ‘besides being well dug in, how strong are the enemy troops?’

  ‘Intelligence reports the presence of the fifty-seventh regiment that consists of second-rate troops and conscripts from occupied countries.’ (In fact, the 10th Panzier Division was based at Amiens 80km away.)

  ‘I’m sure that must be very reassuring to the Canadians and Lovatt’s men, sir,’ Manley answered, ‘but isn’t that what was said about the Turks at Gallipoli?’

  ‘Maybe,’ the admiral replied tersely, ‘but remember, the Gallipoli landings took place thousands of miles away from England.’ After a momentary pause, he added, ‘Before I hand over to Captain Storey, who will fill you in on the movement details, any more questions?’

  ‘Just one, sir,’ said Manley. ‘I notice you haven’t mentioned Dulverton or Eridge.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ replied the admiral, ‘I’m afraid Dulverton has to have a new boiler and Eridge is urgently required elsewhere.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Manley.

  The admiral sat down at his desk and poured another glass of water. Captain Storey stood up and took centre stage.

  ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ he said, straightening his jacket and clearing his throat. ‘Calpe, will lay a smoke screen to protect the allied forces and shipping. ‘H’ Hour will be 0450. At 0300 on the19th, the commandos will join the transport, Prince Albert, at Southampton, for the crossing. Seven miles from France, they will transfer to LCAs for the run to Orange Beach. He paused, picked up a glass from his desk and after taking a good gulp, continued. ‘The Royal Regiment of Canada will embark at 0200 at Portsmouth and cross in two Channel ferries, the Prince Astrid, and Invicta, supported HMS Garth. Six miles from the French coast, the troops will be transferred to LCIs for the run in to Blue Beach. At 0300, the South Saskatchewan and Cameron Highlanders will cross in the channel ferries, Invicta and Prince Astrid. Seven miles from the enemy coast, the troops will embark in LCAs and land at Green Beach.’ Before continuing he took out a handkerchief and nervously mopped his brow. ‘As you have heard, the landings on Dieppe itself will be the province of the Royal Marines along with battalions from the Canadian Fusiliers Mount Royal, Essex Scottish and Royal Hamilton. They will cross in three transport vessels, Glengyle, Prince Charles and Prince Leopold, and will, be in their LCAs by 0320to land at Red and White Beaches. As stated earlier, four destroyers bombard the beaches and headlands, any questions?’