“Port fifteen.”
Drummond heard the halliards squeaking behind him as the signal for oiling shot up to the yard. Like himself, Petty Officer Tucker and his signalmen were glad to be doing something, to see other ships instead of their own tight little group.
Apart from the tankers there was an ugly converted merchantman, described in the manual as a “fighter catapult ship.” It showed that Admiral Brooks was taking the raid very seriously to provide fighter cover in these early, vital stages. Any prowling Focke-Wulf would have to be seen, caught and shot down before it could radio back to base in Group North that some British naval units were behaving strangely north-west of Bear Island.
“Midships. Steady as you go, Cox’n.” “Aye, sir. “
Tommy Mangin would be watching the oiler as her length shortened and Warlock passed round her broad stern for the approach alongside.
The Santiago was heavy and still deep-laden, so that she appeared to be grounded and unmoving, like a detached harbour wall. The uncomfortable swell which was making the slender destroyer lift and plunge without a break, merely rolled along the tanker’s fat flank in a continuous wavy line, like the one on Hillier’s sleeve as he leaned over the screen, ready to relay any urgent order to the deck.
Seven days of it. Drummond bit his pipe stem and watched the other ship drawing closer. He had almost expected the raid to be cancelled. To hear that for some reason or other their lordships had decided it was no longer even a remote possibility.
“Let her ease off a bit, Cox’n.”
He watched the greasy fenders lowered to take any impact if they got too near, the hoses hoisted on their derricks waiting to be shunted across the narrow strip of water. Too near meant almost certain damage. Too far and the hoses would be torn apart, and valuable time lost in repeating the whole operation. To say nothing of loss of face in front of the other ships.
But the technique was a good one, and had increased the range and use of even the smallest convoy escort from one end of the Atlantic to the other.
He saw the sunlight lying across the hard horizon like bright copper. He shivered, despite his thick coat. It was without warmth, and yet it scored a man’s face like hot sand if he stood on watch for too long.
So many miles above the Arctic Circle, so many yet to do before they saw Seydisfjord again. Bear Island was just a blue smudge on the other horizon, a lonely, bitter place which had provided some comfort in the past to beleaguered convoys, or damaged ships trying to rally their strength for the last haul to Murmansk or Archangel. Planes, tanks and supplies for the Russians. It was strange really. They had signed a treaty with Hitler, had turned their backs on those few who were trying to fight against the Fascism Russia was said to hate. Hitler had invaded their country, none the less, so war dictated that Stalin was to be an ally.
“Slow ahead together.”
He saw a line snaking over from the forecastle, fired by a rifle. That was the chief gunner’s mate, P.O. Abbott. If he was still secretly grieving for his dead wife and child, it had not affected his aim.
More cracks, and more lines, until it looked as if a web was growing between the ill-matched hulls.
He was level now with the oiler’s ugly bridge and still creeping forward, running, a close parallel. One large hose was already rearing up, as if to seek out the stokers without waiting for any guidance.
Spray leapt between the hulls and pattered across the swaying deck plates. In a few more months this area would be gleaming ice again. A place denying shelter when it was most needed. A sea without pity.
The catapult ship would be useless then. For she could only fire off her fighter aircraft. There was no way of getting them back again. The luckless pilot had to wait in his lifejacket after he had jumped from his fighter, and possibly after he had fought with a heavy reconnaissance aircraft, and hope that somebody had seen where he had baled out. And in winter nobody lived in these waters for more than a few minutes.
He glanced quickly at Wingate, and wondered if he was thinking about it. Reliving his own agony in an open boat.
The oiler gave a throaty blast on her siren and both ships settled down side by side, the one rising and plunging across the successive ranks of rollers, the other merely thrusting through them like a battered iron wedge.
Men dashed up and down hauling on tackles, and here and there a more experienced one dashed forward when a junior rating seemed in danger of being hurled over the side into the strip of frothing water as it surged past like a millrace.
Mangin could be relied on to coax the helm whenever it was needed, but a close watch had to be kept on the revolutions.
Drummond had taken on fuel at sea many times, and found that he could think of other things and still not miss any of the sea’s little tricks. It was like being cast out of the normal world. The occasional news from Sicily was unreal and did not touch them. The daily inflow of signals relating to everything from U-boat movements to escort rendezvous codes meant nothing at all. They would go on steaming and refuelling forever, and never see land again.
Hillier said, “The first hose is made fast, sir.” He sounded excited. “The chief has just given the thumbs-up!” “Good. “
It was something when the sight of a filthy fuel hose had become more gripping than the real chance of being killed in a Norwegian fjord.
“Coffee, Sir?”
Owles had appeared on the bridge, looking out of place in his white coat which he always wore when working in his pantry. He shivered.
“Bit parky.”
He went off again after wedging the pot between some rolled signal flags.
As usual he had put some rum in it. Drummond could feel it in his stomach like fire. What would he do without Owles?
He snapped, “Tell number one to slack away that forrard line. It’s sagging badly on the tanker’s hull. It’ll carry away otherwise. “
Sheridan would not like being told, but he should have seen it for himself. Just lately he had seemed more withdrawn, less ready to talk about everyday matters. Jealousy? Of the girl, the promotion, or of everything which he still imagined should be his?
He saw Sheridan turn and squint up at the bridge as the message was relayed to him. He waved one gloved hand, but that was all.
A bosun’s mate called, “W/T have a signal from Admiralty, sir. “
“Tell the doc to get it decoded right away.”
Vaughan may have discovered nothing about Jevers, but he had proved very useful with the secret codes. He had the mind for it.
The flotilla leader had her own coding officer, one of Captain (D)‘s extra privileges. He was very quick at his job, for within minutes the bosun’s mate was saying, “W/T reports that Captain(D) is calling you up on the radio telephone, sir. “
Drummond gestured at Wingate. “You speak to him. I’m not going to walk away from this little lot.”
Wingate grinned. “Trying to catch us out, I expect.”
Drummond watched the great looped fuel hoses. It must be very urgent for Beaumont to get so excited. He knew Warlock was taking on fuel, and would never expect her captain to hand over control under any circumstances.
The yeoman of signals pulled the little brass tube up through the pipe from the W/T office. He said, “Doctor’s getting faster, sir. “
Drummond did not turn. “Read it, Sub. Over here.”
Hillier took the rolled signal and lurched across the unsteady deck where Drummond clung to the voice-pipes.
“From Admiralty, Sir. Intelligence reports that battlecruiser Moltke has been seen in Norwegian port of Trondheim. She has accompanying escort of destroyers, numbers unknown. Aerial reconnaissance terminated by fog. Signal ends, sir.”
Wingate came back frowning. “Captain Beaumont wanted to draw your attention to that signal, sir.”
Drummond watched him. “Well?”
“He said something like, it’ll make no difference.” He frowned again, trying to remember the exact words. “Or, it
can make no difference.”
“I see.”
He did not. What the hell had got into Beaumont? Perhaps the German ship and what she had done to the Conqueror had so affected him, the very fact she was in Norway, and apparently in good shape, was more than he could bear.
“He wants you to call him up when you stop oiling, sir.”
“Very well.”
But when Warlock completed her replenishment and idled clear of the heavy tanker, Beaumont was quite normal over the R/T.
“Well, I thought you should give it your attention, too, Keith. We have to think of everything. Don’t want that bloody ship coming amongst us without any warning, eh?”
Drummond had already thought about that, although there seemed little reason for more German units coming north. Unless they knew. And the flotilla would be without radar on the final approach, to cut the chance of detection to a minimum.
Sheridan came to the bridge. “All secured, sir. No casualties, except one seaman with a cut finger.”
“Good. ” He pulled the signal from his pocket. “Read this. “
Sheridan’s features were controlled. “So she’s back, sir.” When he looked up his eyes were hard. “That bloody Moltke! “
“I don’t think she’ll be anywhere near us. But in case there are some extra destroyers about, we’d better be on our toes. Pass the word to Guns for me.”
“Look, .sir.” Sheridan stood closer to the chair, excluding the others on the bridge. “I’ve been thinking about this operation. If anything happened … “
Drummond asked quietly, “To me, is that what you mean?” “Well, yes.” Sheridan looked uncertain. “Would I have to retain the position of half-leader?”
“‘No. Don’t worry about that, Number One. When we get to grips with the enemy it will be every ship for herself. There’s no other way in a close action.”
“I see, sir. I hope you didn’t mind my mentioning it.” “Not at all. ” He was seeing him ih a different light again. He
asked quietly, “I thought you wanted promotion?”
“Yes, I do. But not in the middle of a damned battle, sir!” He smiled. “I’ll bear it in mind, Number One, believe me!” The yeoman shouted, ” Ventnor’s hauled down her pendant,
sir! She was the last alongside!”
Drummond stared across at Lomond, at the diamond-bright light which winked from her bridge.
Tucker said, “Take up station as before, sir. ” He was breathing heavily. “Ships in column form close order.
“Acknowledge.” Drummond looked at Sheridan. “Next stop Norway.”
Sheridan smiled tightly. “Looks like it, sir.”
Drummond felt the navigating officer watching from the compass platform. “Take her round, Pilot. Course and speed as directed by leader. “
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Warlock gave a jaunty toot to the two oilers and then swung away in a wide curve, her consorts closing in behind her, their funnel smoke lying on the sea’s face like a greasy curtain.
“From Santiago, sir.” Tucker lowered his glass. “Good hunting. “
“Make.” Drummond watched the signal lamps winking up and down the two small columns. “To Santiago. Will be very, repeat very pleased to see you again.”
It was a game. He often wondered if the enemy wasted a similar amount of time with playful signals. Perhaps they took their war more seriously.
“Course is one-seven-five, sir.” The light blinked again. “Revolutions for fifteen knots. “
“Very well.”
He settled down in the chair and stared at the horizon. It was mistier now. And vaguely menacing.
Part one was over. Part two was about to begin.
“This mist is like nothing I’ve ever seen, sir.” Wingate’s voice was hushed, as if he was afraid someone beyond Warlock’s cork-screwing bows might hear.
“Yes. “
Drummond tried to sit back in his chair, to retain an outward show of calm, no matter what he actually felt. In the strange half-light, as the ship moved slowly towards a darker horizon, great patches of mist eddied past the bridge, clinging momentarily to fittings and signal halliards before gliding away astern like demented spirits.
Close on either quarter, two other destroyers, Waxwing and Ventnor, were still just visible, ghostly shadows, blotted out occasionally by the mist, only to reappear knife-sharp again like watchful guardians.
Out of sight astern Lomond and the rest of the group followed discreetly, waiting to give support or cover a retreat if something went wrong.
Drummond heard a voice snap out a reprimand in the gloom as somebody dropped a metal object on the deck. It seemed like a thunderclap. The ship was at action stations, and would be until the operation was over or cancelled.
Wingate added, “The nearest point of the Norwegian coast is one hundred miles ahead, sir. Give or take a foot.”
“I’m glad to know you are so confident.”
Drummond raised his glasses and swore under his breath as a sharp movement off the port bow showed itself as a tiny cat’spaw along the crest of a deep swell. Once, radar had been a joke. Now, with everything shut down, he realised how much they had all come to depend on it. This was like wearing blinkers.
But it was the moment of decision. When they would know. By dawn they would be hitting the Norwegian fjord, or running like naughty boys for open water and Kimber’s air-cover.
Hillier said quickly, “Asdic reports strong echo at Green four-five, sir!”
Drummond peered at his luminous watch. It was almost midnight.
“Get ready, Yeoman!”
Suppose it was a U-boat?
“Asdic reports submarine surfacing, sir!”
“Object on the starboard bow!” The lookout’s voice was cracked.
“Stop engines!”
Even one hundred miles out from the enemy occupied coast it was no time to make unnecessary signals. The destroyers would see Warlock’s dying wash. It would be all they needed. Unless something had gone wrong, of course, and it was a U-boat.
As the muted engines died away and the sea noise intruded into the open bridge, Drummond heard the muffled roar of compressed air as the submarine blew her main ballast and lurched to the surface.
The yeoman said, “There it is, sir! The signal!” “Acknowledge. “
He held his breath as Tucker used a tiny flashlight no bigger than his fist. It was hard to accept that any submarine could be friendly. He still half expected the rattle of cannon fire, or the deafening explosion of a torpedo inside Warlock’s guts.
“Pass the word. Boat-handling party on the double! And no noise!”
Feet padded along the deck, and he thought he heard Sheridan speaking a man’s name in the darkness.
It must be worse for the submarine commander, he thought. On the surface in enemy waters, trimmed well up so that he
could launch his little dinghy, he might have expected an even greater trap. German patrol ships instead of Warlock and her companions.
“Boat approaching to starboard, sir. “
“Very well. Tell the lookouts to keep alert.”
He saw the small dark blob moving up and down across the deep swells, the paddles making white arrowheads as they lunged at the water. A heaving line, hands groping for the scrambling net, and then the dinghy was already heading back to her parent vessel with barely a pause.
More dragging seconds until he heard Sheridan guiding the newcomers into the blacked-out bridge. They groped towards him like blind men.
One said, “I’m Archer.” He turned and beckoned to his companion. “Commander Egil Lyngstad, Royal Norwegian Navy. “
They both looked like fishermen, but stank of submarines. Diesel and stale cabbage.
The one called Archer said, “It’s on, sir. Dawn attack. The Norwegian underground are briefed and ready to cripple the local detection unit which might have otherwise interfered. It’s not much of a unit, and is connected mainly with the loca
l anti-submarine nets, and has a sizeable R.D.F. set for surface and air cover. The local Jerry commandant relies more on patrols and the two air bases at Tromso and Banak. On the face of it he’s sitting pretty, and this will be the first time that the underground has tried anything this big.”
Drummond looked at Wingate. “Resume course and speed.”
The tall Norwegian said quietly, “They will succeed, Captain. I have been working with the local group leaders for several months. They have waited and prayed for such a chance to hit the German!”
He spoke excellent English, but sounded drained to a point of exhaustion.
The deck trembled into life again, and the other destroyers faded slightly into the mist. Faintly above the muted fans Drummond heard the dull hiss of inrushing water as the unseen submarine dived back to her proper element.
He said, “We are in your hands, Commander Lyngstad.” In more ways than one. “Warlock will lead as arranged. The main group will follow through the channel.”
The Norwegian nodded gravely. “That is good. I know the channel well, of course. It is a dangerous one, and therefore a double protection for the enemy.” He added harshly, “Until now. “
Wingate said, “I’ve got the chart here, sir. I’ve marked the arranged approach as far as Vannoy Island and Hammer Fjord, after that … “
The tall man laid one hand on his shoulder. “After that, my young friend, it will be up to the enemy, eh?”
“Take him to the chart table, Pilot. No sense in scrabbling about under your damned screen. ” He waited until they had left and said, “He seems a capable character.”
Archer nodded. “A fine man. The Germans have a price on his head, but he goes back time and time again. He has lost his family. They shot them as part of a reprisal for a German soldier getting killed. Afterwards, the local commandant discovered that the German had killed himself by accident. Drunk probably. ” He sounded angry.
“I must call up Captain (D) on the R/T. He’ll be itching to know the verdict. “
The man called Archer said, “Make it brief then. You never know who’s about in these waters. “
Drummond hurried to the Asdic cabinet and groped for the handset.
The Destroyers Page 20