Enemy In Sight (A Commander Steadfast Naval Thriller)

by Richard Freeman

  Only the coxswain, Jack Pearson, was still on duty down in the wheelhouse. He heard the firing and called through the speaking tube to the bridge but no answer came back. He was more puzzled than alarmed. Duty kept him at his post and he held his course.

  Bailey, now aft with the rest of the crew, whispered to Saunders: ‘There’s the reason for that clobber. Bloody stowaways! Must have used a dinghy to board at the lighthouse.’

  Oberfeldwebel Klaus Richter then turned to the crew assembled aft: ‘178M is a German boat now. You’re all under German orders. You,’ he said, pointing to Collins, ‘back to your engines. Full ahead both. No tricks. If you let that other boat catch up you’ll be mincemeat.’

  Sullenly, Collins returned to the engines and opened the throttles.

  Then the German shouted to Pearson at the wheel ‘Due west! To Crete!’

  *

  Back on Elliston’s boat Steadfast had put his glasses to his eyes. His stiff left leg throbbed with pain and he stood with difficulty. His head ached from the smash on the lighthouse cobbles. He could make no sense of what he first saw – almost all the crew were in the stern of the boat. Perhaps, he thought, there’s a fire forward. But, in that case, why was the launch racing off? Then he noticed a strange cap. He refocused his glasses. No, it couldn’t be. He spat on the lenses and polished them once more. He was now leaning on the coving in an attempt to steady himself as he stared once more at the cap… no… two caps!

  ‘Jerries! The bloody Jerries have hijacked Montague’s boat!’

  ‘Impossible!’ yelled Elliston.

  ‘Look for yourself,’ said Steadfast.

  Elliston put his glasses to his eyes and fiddled with the focus while making strange grunting noises as he struggled to deny what he was seeing.

  ‘Christ, they really have! And they’ve got the boxes! How the hell did they do that?’

  ‘Crept on board and stowed away in the dark, I guess,’ said Steadfast. ‘Montague will be in trouble when he gets back.’

  ‘Don’t you mean “if”?’ asked Elliston.

  ‘No I damned well do not. Let the Jerries take one of our boats? No way!’

  Duckworth, who had half overheard this conversation, butted in ‘What’s this nonsense?’ he cried. ‘How the hell has Jerry got onto that boat? You must be wrong… both of you… aren’t you?’

  ‘If only, Duckworth, if only…’ replied Steadfast.

  The news hit Duckworth like the recoil from his Springfield rifle of his tiger hunting days. He was overcome with despair at thought of landing at Alex without the boxes… it was an unthinkable disaster… a disgrace that would mark his final action as a dishonourable failure.

  ‘The boxes! We must get the boxes!’ he shouted as he thumped the bridge coving with an angry closed fist.

  ‘And we bloody well will,’ responded Steadfast, who was not sure whether his burning determination to retrieve the boxes was to enhance his own glory or to save the reputation of the burnt-out captain.

  ‘Over to you, Elliston!’ cried Steadfast.

  ‘Full ahead both, Chief. Coxswain, bring us a couple of cables off Montague’s port side,’ ordered Elliston.

  Elliston was not quite sure what he was going to do if the Germans on 178M chose to fight. He could hardly sink a launch-full of British seaman. And he would lose the boxes. He would have to see how 178M reacted as they closed on her. He called to Doug Robinson on the 0.303:

  ‘Remember, the Jerries are your target. Nothing else.’

  ‘Sir!’ responded Robinson.

  It took only a few minutes for Elliston to be running alongside Montague with a couple of cables between them. Robinson could see one German on the bridge but he was too close to Pearson to fire on him.

  Elliston called to Nathan Reynolds on the three-pounder: ‘Put a shot across her bows, Reynolds.’

  The launch rocked and the air filled with the rough smell of cordite as Reynold’s shell blasted across the still sea. It passed thirty feet ahead of Montague’s boat. 178M continued to slice her way through the water. Then Elliston saw some movement on board. The second German had come up from below and he was running. He grabbed the machine gun and swung it round towards Elliston’s boat. Immediately bullets began to ping off the hull and superstructure – this German knew how to handle a gun, thought Elliston.

  ‘Robinson, get that Jerry!’ shouted Elliston.

  Robinson had only let off a few rounds before he was sprayed with German fire. He shuddered and fell back as a bullet struck him in his left-arm. Then he righted himself and started firing again. But the agonising pain in his shattered arm left him unable to steady the gun. The bullets were spattering widely on 178M. Elliston was about to order a new man to the gun when a bullet through the forehead left Robinson sprawled on the deck. Before another man could take the gun, 178M turned north. Her stern was all that could be seen from Elliston’s boat.

  ‘Cease firing!’ cried Elliston.

  ‘Coxswain, follow 178M.’

  Elliston’s launch was now chasing Montague’s. The stern of the latter was packed with her crew. Firing was impossible. His only hope of taking the runaway launch was to get alongside her.

  ‘More revs, Chief!’ he cried, forgetting that his chief, Albert Leach, was lying dead on the lighthouse gallery.

  Leading Seaman Stoker Hogan called back ‘It’s Hogan, sir. I’m trying!’

  ‘Good,’ called Elliston, ‘everything depends on a few more revs, Hogan.’

  Hogan rushed around the engine room with his oil can in his right-hand while using his left hand to feel bearing after bearing. His right-thumb ached as he squirted and squirted oil onto the faltering parts of his labouring engines. Gradually the extra revolutions came. Hogan quietly thanked the dead Leach for all his lessons on how to coax a little bit extra out of 375E’s engines.

  Elliston’s boat was gaining on Montague’s. After twenty minutes of struggle, the two boats were alongside each other once more.

  Peabody was now on the 0.303 on Elliston’s boat.

  ‘Fire at will, Peabody. Jerries only!’ called Elliston.

  But when Peabody searched for a target neither German was in sight. All he could see was a strange mêlée of Montague’s crew.

  ‘Sir, where’s the Jerries?’

  Elliston looked through his glasses.

  ‘Bloody cowards! They’ve got half-a-dozen of Montague’s men on the bridge between us and them. Not a hope of picking them off.’

  ‘Coxswain, close on Montague’s boat. Warrender, make up a boarding party.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ replied the sub lieutenant.

  ‘I’ll go too, if you’ve no objection, Elliston?’ said Steadfast.

  ‘With your leg, sir?’

  ‘With my leg. It’s not much more than a scratch. Anyway you can’t leave the launch.’

  ‘You know best, sir,’ replied Elliston in a doubting voice. He admired the heroic commander but still feared the possible consequences of Steadfast’s delight in danger.

  Elliston’s boat was now closing fast on Montague’s, but before they were near enough to board, smoke and flames began to shoot from under 178M’s deck aft.

  ‘Hell!’ cried Steadfast. ‘She’ll sink! And take the boxes with her! We’ll have to board now!’

  ‘Boarding party, take her!’ cried Elliston.

  The two launches were near to touching. Steadfast leapt over the gap from one gunwale to the other, waving a pistol in his right-hand. As his feet hit the deck his injured leg almost gave way under him. Three men jumped onto the bow of the launch with instructions to head for the bridge.

  In the engine room Steadfast found Collins, oil can in one hand and a greasy rag in the other fiddling with some controls. Feldwebel Steffen Ziegler was standing over him with his MG42 levelled on the chief. He turned to fire at Steadfast and his men. Steadfast fired first without careful aim, but well-enough to hit the German in the hand. Almost at the same moment Collins grabbed a heavy spanner an
d smashed it down on the German’s head.

  ‘I tried to warn them, sir. Something was overheating. I knew it but they wouldn’t listen,’ said Collins.

  ‘You were right, Collins. There’s a fire aft now.’

  ‘Must be the shaft, sir.’

  ‘Whatever it is, stop engines, Collins. Then go to aft to see if the firefighters need any help.’

  Steadfast grabbed a nearby line and trussed up Ziegler with his hands behind his back. Then he tied him to a stanchion and went back up on deck.

  *

  Meanwhile Sub Lieutenant Edward Warrender with Boland and Hudson had jumped down onto the foredeck of 178M, keeping their eyes on the bridge. Warrender thought he saw Richter turn towards him. He let off a few rounds. Richter ducked out of sight.

  ‘Boland,’ Warrender called, ‘Hudson and I are going for the bridge. Cover us!’

  As he and Telegraphist Lewis Hudson ducked down to run along the guard rail to reach the ladder to the bridge he called back to Stoker Frederick Boland ‘Keep that Jerry’s head down!’

  Warrender and Hudson raced round to the rear of the wheelhouse and pressed their backs against the superstructure. Bullets were flying down the ladder from the bridge above them. It was pointless to rush the bridge. They would be felled before they were halfway up the ladder. All Warrender could do was wait. At least he was able to stop Ziegler from leaving the bridge.

  After a few minutes Warrender abandoned his position against the wheelhouse and dashed aft to hide behind the funnel. Squatting on the fuel tanks deck he could now see the men on the bridge. With several of Montague’s men squashed into the small space, it was hard to get a clear line of fire on Richter. Then Boland started firing – the men must have moved in some way. He missed Richter but it was enough for the German to lurch sideways. As Richter lost his balance he knocked two seamen to the side. One fell. A gap opened on the bridge. Warrender took one last look. He pulled the trigger. Richter disappeared from view. The jubilant ‘Hurrah!’ from the men on the bridge told him that Oberfeldwebel Klaus Richter would trouble them no more.

  *

  As the cry of the seamen died away, an uncertain silence fell on the boat. Then the first murmurs of low voices came from the stern as the men asked each other whether it was all over. Before they could decide, they saw Warrender stand up on the fuel tanks deck. He began to walk towards them. The men, led by Montague, rushed towards him, shaking his hand one by one and ecstatically hugging each other.

  ‘She’s ours again,’ said Montague. ‘Well done, Warrender!’

  Warrender, a shy young man who was more at home back in his college library at Oxford University than on the bridge of a warship, was, as always, embarrassed at such moments. He shook off the well-deserved praise, remarking ‘It’s nothing. Two Jerries against two Fairmile Bs. They hadn’t a chance.’

  These exchanges were ended by the arrival of Collins, his face now blackened by smoke and his clothing in disarray.

  He stumbled towards Warrender, choking and coughing:

  ‘The fire, sir… it’s…’

  Collins collapsed at Warrender’s feet.

  ‘Where are the boxes, Collins?’ asked Steadfast.

  ‘Forward, sir,’ he spluttered. ‘At the far end of the officers’ quarters.’

  Steadfast and Montague rushed forward and near enough fell down the midships ladder into the smoked-fill gloom below.

  Steadfast turned and ran aft past the fuel tanks. As he caught sight of the smoke and flames, he cried out ‘Hell! It’s now or never. I’ll get the boxes.’

  ‘Sir…’ cried Montague as he tried to restrain Steadfast. It was too late. The commander had disappeared into the smoke.

  ‘He’s had it,’ muttered Montague. ‘Him and his heroics!’

  Montague rushed back on deck and screamed ‘Get Steadfast out! He’s in the officers’ quarters.’ But there was no seaman near enough to respond. Instead, Duckworth, who had come across from Elliston’s launch to check on the rescue of the boxes, responded ‘Leave it to me, Montague,’ and disappeared down the ladder. He was shortly followed by Bailey and Saunders.

  Duckworth saw two boxes at the foot of the ladder. He shouted to Bailey and Saunders ‘Get the boxes up… now! I’ll bring Steadfast.’ Bailey disappeared to go up the ladder. Within a minute he was back with a rope and the two seamen set to work to haul up the heavy boxes.

  Duckworth had gone further aft to look for Steadfast. In the smoke and dim light he found the commander when he tripped over his body, slumped over the third box. Coughing and spluttering, Duckworth pulled Steadfast’s body round until the head was pointing towards the ladder. Then he bent down, put his strong hands under the commander’s shoulders and began to drag the body aft. The thick air made the work harder. Every couple of yards Duckworth paused as another fit of coughing overcame him. Steadfast seemed to be getting heavier by the yard. Duckworth was now near to passing out. His chest and lungs ached as the coughing tore at his muscles. His lungs seemed to be exploding with pain. Then his back touched the ladder. Duckworth dropped in a heap of spent flesh.

  Bailey and Saunders were just about to go in search of the third box when Duckworth had arrived with Steadfast.

  ‘Bleeding hell! We’ll never get them two up the ladder,’ exploded Saunders.

  ‘Never ain’t a naval word,’ replied Bailey as he picked up the rope that they were using for the boxes and tied it around Steadfast under his shoulders. Then the two seamen hauled Steadfast up the ladder to the deck. They quickly slipped the rope off the commander and returned below.

  Up on deck, a seaman threw some cold water over Steadfast’s face. He started, raised his head a little and said ‘The boxes!’

  ‘It’s all right, sir. We’ve got two. We’ll just get the captain and then the last box,’ said Bailey.

  ‘The captain?’ asked Steadfast.

  ‘Yes, sir, he rescued you,’ replied Bailey.

  ‘Duckworth’s last mission, eh?’

  Bailey had no idea what Steadfast meant and assumed that he was delirious. He replied ‘You just rest, sir,’ and returned below. They had only seconds to bring up Duckworth.

  Within a minute Duckworth was lying on the deck a few feet away from Steadfast who was sitting up with his back against the fuel tanks deck. Bailey lent over Duckworth.

  ‘Christ! He’s not breathing.’

  Hudson felt the vein in Duckworth’s neck: ‘His ’eart’s stopped. Poor sod!’

  With no medic on either boat, Hudson tried to recall what he had learnt on his rudimentary first aid course. But Duckworth was beyond resuscitation.

  Bailey, meanwhile, made one last dash below to reach the third box. As soon as it was securely roped, a seaman on deck pulled it up. Bailey, sooty-faced, and choking as if his last moment had come, appeared up ladder. Two men pulled him up the last few feet and propped him up alongside Steadfast. He turned to Steadfast and managed to choke out the few words ‘We did it, sir. Pity about the captain.’

  *

  Steadfast and the boxes were quickly passed over to Elliston’s boat. Then Elliston ordered Kershaw to pull away from Montague’s boat while Montague’s men continued to fight the fire. Elliston looked on as the flames seemed to gain on the sailors. He called across to Montague.

  ‘Time to abandon ship, don’t you think?’

  Montague did not reply. At that moment the flames from the officers’ quarters broke through the bulkhead to the magazine. The launch rose out of the sea, broke into a few large sections and disappeared beneath the waves. Only two men were pulled from the water.

  13. Alexandria

  Rather to Steadfast’s surprise Elliston’s launch returned to Alexandria without further incident. The Germans had clearly assumed that the radar boxes had gone to the bottom on Montague’s boat. He was, though, rather hurt to think that they had not made one more attempt to capture him.

  When they were a few hours away from Alexandria Steadfast had asked Telegraphist Alan
Hudson to send a special message to Walker in the Supplies Office.

  ‘Are you sure this is right, sir? Is it a sort of code?’ queried Hudson.

  ‘It’s right. And it’s not a code. Send it just as it is,’ replied Steadfast.

  As Steadfast disappeared, Hudson shrugged his shoulders and turned to his Morse key. He tapped out Steadfast’s request, fully expecting the recipient to query its bizarre contents.

  *

  Elliston brought in 378E to the motor launch quay just before 8.00am on the 9th of February. He could see that they were expected since there was a small welcoming party as well as the ambulance that he had requested for the wounded. There was also a camouflaged lorry with its canvas rear tightly closed.

  It was only as the launch was quite near to the quay that Steadfast realised just who was standing ready to receive them.

  ‘Look at that, Elliston! It’s Cunningham. But where’s Moresby?’

  ‘And whose that officer at the back – the tubby one?’ asked Elliston.

  ‘Him? That’s Lieutenant Commander Hugh Walker from the Supplies Office.’

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ asked a slightly worried Elliston. ‘Not come to count the teaspoons, I hope.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Elliston. He’s helping me out. You’ll see.’

  Coxswain Alfred Kershaw, trembled at the thought of bringing in the launch under the gaze of the commander-in-chief, nevertheless he brought her in smoothly and she was quickly moored.

  Elliston could see that Cunningham was here for Steadfast so he held back as the latter stepped onto the quay. Cunningham came forward, a flimsy signal transcript fluttering in his left-hand. He held out his right-hand and greeted Steadfast with more warmth than on their previous encounters.

  ‘You’ve hit the jackpot again, Steadfast. Number 10 has asked me to give you this personally.’

  Cunningham handed Steadfast the cable, which read ‘A NATION’S THANKS. CHURCHILL’.

  ‘Thank you, sir. It’s come at a cost.’

  Steadfast turned to the crew of 378M and nodded. Four sailors stepped forward, lifted the canvas stretcher on which lay Duckworth’s body and heaved the great weight up onto the quay. Steadfast indicated that they were to lay the stretcher down in front of him. Then he nodded to Walker to come forward. Walker approached Steadfast and handed him the tiger skin. Steadfast knelt by the stretcher and reverently laid the skin on top of Duckworth’s body. Then he stood to attention and saluted. Behind him on the launch, a bugler sounded The Last Post. Cunningham, capturing the moment, joined in saluting the dead soldier.