“Might be a chance of getting into them tonight, Caton?”
“There was wire going up around them, sir.”
“Forget it. Anything else is up to Brigade.”
Chapter Five
“Nothing, sir. Sea is empty.”
Simon glumly agreed. The pair of monitors were merrily battering at the Belgian coast, their twelve inch guns making a vast noise and jetting out huge plumes of flame from their muzzles, announcing their position to any interested sailorman, and nobody was coming to the party.
“Battery fire from the shore, sir.”
They watched as shells burst on the sea, the nearest half a mile wide and over their target. Firing at muzzle flashes was a futile exercise for the most experienced gunners. The shore batteries had been installed in the past few weeks, were still learning their trade.
“Big guns, Canning.”
“Must be a fifteen inch or close to, sir. Damned near a ton of shell. One hit and any ship will be in trouble.”
There was no gain to heaving to and watching the fireworks.
“We might have overrun the response, Canning. Possible that they had nothing ready to sail… Unlikely. Better we should find out. Reverse course. Signal the half-flotilla to follow in line astern through the inshore channel.”
The signal was made and the four destroyers threaded their way along the narrow passage between the minefields and the shore, heading northeast, back towards the Dutch border.
Two hours at slow speed and they had seen nothing. Simon was about to give up, to take the half-flotilla out through the nearest gap in the minefields and return to Dunkerque.
“Ships, sir. Inshore. Small. Heading towards, sir. Starboard bow.”
The lookout’s report was more detailed than normal, showed he thought his sighting was out of the ordinary.
Simon stared, could see nothing for sure. Little point to using the binoculars at night, particularly on this stretch of coast which had low cliffs, just sufficient for a ship to be lost against. If there was anything there, and he believed his lookout, they would be beyond reach of the searchlight. It was reasonable to expect that they would have seen the destroyers, larger than them, first.
“Small and coming towards the action, Mr Canning… Why? Signal the other ships.”
The Yeoman ran to the stern with a small electric lantern, shaded on three sides, flashed a brief message. It was reasonable to assume the enemy would not have seen the light, might be unaware that they had been spotted.
“Come a point to port, Coxswain. Open the guns. Distance to minefield, Mr Canning?”
Simon had noticed that he became more formal going into action; he had never asked himself why.
“Four cables, sir.”
Simon leant to the engineroom voicepipe.
“Mr Malcolm. We have enemy in sight and I may call for everything you have at any moment.”
With the best will in the world, it was not possible to accelerate from a four knot crawl to full speed in seconds. Both men knew that fact.
“Aye aye, sir.”
The brief acknowledgement gave Malcolm’s opinion of the order. Simon had no understanding of the engineroom, trusted that Malcolm would do his best, while not entirely knowing what that best might be.
“Mr Canning, if they have seen us and are still heading in this direction, it must be with the intention of attacking. Assume torpedo boats with internal combustion engines, far greater ability to increase speed quickly. Machine guns at the ready. Star shell to after and midships four inch. Rifles ready.”
Canning called the orders to Mr Rees, waited for confirmation.
“Ready, sir.”
“Good. Yeoman, signal flotilla to reduce to steerage way, to drop back by at least four cables, ready for action. Fire only after Lancelot.”
They waited, watching.
“Possible they have only seen Lancelot, Mr Canning. Might be they have it in mind to capture a destroyer. It would look good in the neutral newspapers – a British destroyer taken into a German-held port.”
They held course for another two anxious minutes before the lookouts called.
“Small craft turning towards, sir. Increasing speed.”
“Star shell, Mr Rees! Open fire. Full speed, Mr Malcolm. Coxswain, steer us towards the action.”
That said, Simon had done all he could for the moment. He had given the orders and it was up to the specialists to carry them out.
The star shell gave its flickering light, showed a mob, twelve at least, of small, fast motorboats heading in towards them. They seemed to be of the same model, wooden built forty footers, decked over with an inboard motor. Each had a tiny open bridge. The boats opened fire with light cannon or pompoms and machine guns.
“Gunboats, sir. No torpedoes.”
“Signal flotilla to close action, open fire. Searchlight.”
The leading boats were inside the range of the searchlight, were set up perfectly for the four inch quickfirers of the other three destroyers. The motorboats were lost in a mass of splashes, the scarlet of hits showing frequently in the spray.
“The biters bit, sir. They thought to run an ambush on us and had the tables turned!”
“One of them made it through, Number One, heading directly towards us.”
“Turning away now, sir. It’s escaping not attacking.”
“Coming close, Mr Canning!”
The helmsman of the motorboat was more concerned with the shellfire behind him than with watching ahead. He saw Lancelot almost too late, put on full rudder and passed down the side, bows to stern, throttling down, less than a fathom distant. Higgins was at the bows with his party of rifles, saw the boat almost directly underneath him.
“Jesus, sir! That bloody young fool has jumped aboard her!”
The twin-Lewises fired a short burst.
“Mr Higgins has got the wheel, sir. We put down the pair of Huns on the stern gun, sir!”
They watched in silent amaze as Higgins brought the motorboat round in an unsteady circle and tried to come alongside. The Coxswain swore and did his best to make a lee while Simon yelled down the voicepipe for steerage way.
Five frantic minutes and they had the boat secured and four men under a petty officer aboard her.
Simon leant over the bridge, shouted to the boat.
“PO! Take her into Dunkirk under her own power. Can do?”
“An engineroom hand would be useful, sir. We have two wounded prisoners, sir.”
Two more minutes and Malcolm himself ran up on deck.
“Only man who’s ever handled a petrol engine, sir.”
“Take her in, Chief.”
Simon had no fears for his engineroom in Malcolm’s absence. He was certain Malcolm would have trained up two men, either able to take his place if he fell to a stray bullet or had a heart attack.
“Mr Higgins! To the bridge!”
Simon managed a full-throated Atlantic gale roar, probably heard clearly on the Belgian coast.
Canning interrupted him before he could deal with his errant sublieutenant.
“Lightning reports two unwounded survivors, sir. Four bodies picked up. Congratulations on Lancelot’s capture. Lynx and Lucifer have a wounded man apiece and add their plaudits.”
Simon was deflated. He could not hang Higgins out to dry, much as he wanted to. The boy had committed an act of gallantry, the bloody young fool, and must be congratulated. They had captured a new motorboat, fresh off the stocks, and Naval Intelligence would be delighted. Their Lordships must be pleased as well, to discover exactly what had been up the Hun’s sleeve.
Higgins limped onto the bridge.
“Beg pardon, sir. Cut my leg a bit when I landed. Right on top of a machine gun and it had sharp bits somewhere. Might have been its crew, sir. They were underneath me and stayed down when I kicked them and jumped up and down a bit. I shot two men on the bridge, sir. With my revolver. The Lewises killed two, sir, and the man in the engineroom gave up. The
gun at the fore, sir, a pompom, two pounder, I think, was unmanned when I got there. Hit by shell splinters, I think, judging from the state of the deck. The men blown overboard.”
“Well done, Higgins. You seized the opportunity, it would seem.”
“Thank you, sir. I just thought, sir, ‘what would Captain Sturton do’, and jumped.”
SNO Dunkerque was delighted.
“Captured a German boat, Sturton! Just what I would have expected of your ship. Well done indeed. Sunk a whole flotilla of new motorboats between you and brought one back for us to inspect. She’s just small enough to go up on the davits of one of the predreadnoughts in place of the steam picket boat. Take her back to Chatham or Portsmouth safely that way. The Naval Constructor’s people have already been on the wireless. We’ll have her in a dockyard before tomorrow morning. Prisoners as well. One of them an officer, probably in command of them all. Might be able to find out what they thought they were doing.”
An hour and SNO was aboard Lancelot to congratulate Higgins and to inform Simon that they had found written orders tucked away in a little chart table in the bridge.
“Monitors are always accompanied by small craft, sloops or tugs. The motorboats were to sink or take them. If they were lucky enough to find them towing the monitor - not an uncommon event by their observation – they might be so fortunate as to run it aground. Whatever, it would be a feather in their caps.”
“Damned embarrassing for us if they had succeeded. A good thing you had an escort out, sir.”
SNO was much convinced of his own wisdom, had to admit that the plan had originated with Commodore Tyrwhitt.
“With my full support, of course, Sturton.”
“Of course, sir. What do we do with Higgins now?”
There was a deep belly-laugh in response. SNO had met Higgins and had discussed him with Simon, knew his capabilities.
“We, Sturton? You are his captain, are you not? It is up to you to make the appropriate recommendations – and I wish you the best of luck!”
“So be it, sir. I shall have my written report to you within the hour. I am waiting on Lightning, Lynx and Lucifer for theirs to include, sir. Good shooting on their part. Sunk eleven boats between them. Small fast targets illuminated by star shell and a single weak searchlight. I am very pleased with them, sir.”
“Their captains could go to bigger boats, do you think, Sturton?”
“All three are well capable of commanding a bigger destroyer, or of taking their own half-flotilla.”
“Noted. I shall pass the word up the line. What do you intend to recommend for Higgins?”
“DSC in recognition of the bravery of his act. I do not think he is ready to be made full lieutenant yet, but there may be no choice in that. They are talking of Coastal Motorboats, I believe. Some of them gunboats, others with a torpedo. Give him one of those and set him to patrolling the coast somewhere. Every chance that he might slip a tinfish into something worthwhile. An equal likelihood that he will not come home one night for taking too many chances, probably without realising that he’s doing so.”
“Three man crew, I believe. Captain, gunner and mechanic. The torpedo boats will carry a single eighteen inch in a trough to the stern. Line up the boat, dump the torpedo in its wake and turn away fast. Easy to aim. They will carry a Vickers, maybe a twin, if they can work out how to arrange that with the belt feed.”
Simon thought for a moment, decided that could not be done.
“Need a three man crew at least. Twin Lewises work, being pan-fed; Vickers won’t. These new Hotchkisses might. What would the gunboats carry?”
“Being argued just now. They would be a bit bigger than the torpedo boats and have more in the crew. A six pounder QF to the stern and a pair of machine guns was the most likely suggestion.”
“What do you do with it, sir?”
“Shoot up small torpedo boats at close range. Make a nuisance of oneself in and around small harbours. Pretty bloody useless, in fact, but they sound good.”
“Like too much of this war, sir.”
The Senior Naval Officer had not reached his eminence by criticising his elders. He backed away from any disparaging comment.
“We are too close to the action, on the front line, you might say. Unable to sit back and appreciate the overall plan, Sturton! I will admit that occasionally it all seems rather strange, but I am sure Their Lordships know exactly what they are doing.”
There was no gain to pursuing that topic.
“Have you orders for us, sir?”
“Patrolling, seaward of the minefields and off Dutch coastal waters, outside their limits, of course. Keep an eye on what may be passing through. Might be the case that the Hun is sending convoys south and breaching neutrality and nothing the Dutch can do about it. They are still building coastal defence ships, will be able to protect the integrity of their waters next year, can’t do a lot this. Under no circumstances will you enter Dutch waters, of course.”
“No, sir. Might I be permitted to sit waiting a mile outside, sir, in Belgian waters?”
“Not just permitted, positively encouraged, Sturton!”
Simon nodded - if he said nothing, then he did not acknowledge the implications in SNO’s words, which was preferable for both men. They would force the German ships to make a display of their presence in Dutch waters, a major breach of neutrality which the American newspapers would make much of.
“A day in harbour – full twenty-four hours, Sturton. Give your people a good shore run. Not a great deal for them to do here, of course. Better than being cooped up in frowsty messdecks!”
Simon grinned ruefully.
“Jack will always find something to do ashore, sir. Four men at least for Rose Cottage as a direct result, I don’t doubt. They have to be given liberty, sir, and we know what they will do with it!”
“Sailors never change, Sturton! I remember on the China Station the year after the Boxer business, letting the crew ashore on leave. I had a sloop at the time, Archer – only small but still more than a hundred men. Ended up with thirty of them in the shore hospital at Honkers! Admiral not best pleased with me, as you will imagine! Couldn’t sail for a month.”
“Never served out East, sir. Not much chance that I shall in this war – all of the action is in European waters. I did see reports of something in the Red Sea recently but that’s about as far east as it goes.”
SNO was dismissive.
“Very minor action, Sturton. Squadron of trawlers - minesweeping and general duties, you know the sort of thing. On anti-slavery patrol and came across a pair of Turkish gunboats escorting a convoy of troopers to attack the Canal. As far as I have heard, the intention was to put a brigade ashore for long enough to take and scuttle any ships they could lay hands on and block the Canal at its southern end. Make it difficult to run troops through from Australia to the Dardanelles. The trawlers sank the lot! Troopships went down in shark waters – full of them, the Red Sea. End result, a thousand or two of fat sharks and no Turkish soldiers!”
“Well done the trawlers, sir! No more than a single four inch apiece, I would expect, and did a very tidy job.”
“Sort of thing one expects of the Navy, Sturton. Reserve skippers, of course, and a single real officer – a lieutenant, don’t know his name. Must have put up a black to have been given that sort of job. Cleared his jib, anyway – the fellow’s been made navigator on a good cruiser, Black Prince, I believe. Came out very well for him.”
All as it should be, the prodigal brought back into the Naval fold. Very satisfying!
“Very good, sir. The half-flotilla will need to visit the powder hulk, sir. Amazing just how many rounds quick firers can get rid of in five minutes of action!”
“Yes, one of their drawbacks. Fire much too fast – bound to be wasteful! Might have been wiser to stick with the old breech loaders, you know, Sturton. Shortage of ammunition at the moment, Army and Navy both. Using up too much, you know how it goes! We have sufficient f
or your needs. No more bombardments by the monitors and predreadnoughts this side of Christmas – all of the big stuff is going to the Army. Running another one of their ‘pushes’, you know. Going nowhere! Take a quarter of a mile and shout victory! Don’t know how many thousand men those few yards will have cost.”
“I had heard…”
SNO interrupted Simon.
“Too many of these bloody rumours going the rounds, Sturton!” He proceeded to add his own. “On the strict QT, French is on his way out. No idea of what he is doing, hopeless as a commanding general. The question is, who is to succeed him. Likely to be Haig. His family has a lot of money, really pushing out the boat for him, so I am told. They own some MPs, of course, and are dropping some fat little presents in the pockets of others. Got a solid bloc in the House of Lords, as well. French has the ear of the King, but that don’t count for so much these days. Wullie Robertson would be a better general, so I hear, and two or three others of the younger men – none of them with the clout. Add to that, Haig’s cavalry and that’s important. Don’t want a damned foot soldier in supreme command, after all!”
“I had thought Wellington was infantry, sir.”
“So he was, Sturton. Irish as well. Fine soldier, the Iron Duke. Not what is needed these days!”
“Bit of a problem in Ireland, I hear, sir…”
“More than a bit, Sturton. Coming to a head just now. Kaiser is sending money and guns to the Irish traitors. Still a hangover from the Curragh business last year so can’t entirely trust the Protestants either. Place is a pain in the arse! Still sending recruits by the thousand, mark you – the great bulk of the Paddies, Catholic and Protestant equally, are honest, trustworthy men. Best thing for Ireland would be to line every priest and politician of both sides up against a wall and shoot the lot of them! For Christ’s sake don’t repeat that, Sturton! More than my job’s worth to have that heard!”
Simon assured him of his silence, leaving the office with a quiet grin. He had heard the same repeatedly from his naval acquaintance – the Irish were sound, their leaders deserved to be shot. It sounded not unreasonable. The bulk of politicians were unfit to claim membership of the human race; when those politicos were priests and pastors as well, the situation could only be worse.
The Death of Hope Page 9