“Yes, doctor?” She asked timidly, finding it difficult to keep her eyes from flicking across to stare at Eileen the entire time. That she too spoke in the same accent as Watson came as a further surprise, and Donelson immediately began to pick out resemblances between the two.
“Victoria, I need you to speak to Doctor Renne about getting a list of any patients currently well enough to survive a sea journey: we’re going to be evacuating anyone we can back to Darwin in the next day or so… Make sure he knows to include anyone who can make it with support: we’ll be sending some nurses wi’ em…”
“Aye, doctor, I’ll…” her voice trailed off as the implications of that statement finally sunk in. “But, you can’t! She exclaimed desperately. “I’ll not go!”
“You’ll do as your told, lass – I’ll not have you here where it’s not safe, now that war’s broken out,” Watson fired back in a severe tone, making it clear no argument would be entered into. “Now take Elsa with you and do as you’re told!”
With tears in her eyes, Victoria Watson turned and hurried back the same way she’d come, disappearing through a doorway at the far end of the hall.
“I’d have almost thought you too young to have a daughter that age,” Eileen observed softly as Watson gave an apologetic shrug.
“Young and wilful,” he admitted ruefully. “Some might also suggest stupid, but youth has never found that in short supply in my experience, personal and otherwise. Bless her, her mother died in childbirth and the lass is all I’ve got now.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Aye, me too,” he replied sadly. “Spitting image of her mother, and just as wilful: I’ve had no family to leave her with while posted here, but I’ll nae have her in danger now a war’s on.”
“You’re from Edinburgh?” She queried, making that presumption based on the man’s accent.
“Not for some time,” Watson conceded. “My work’s taken me all over this last ten years or so. Long way from Glasgow too, I’ll warrant?” He countered, making a similar assumption based on accent.
“Longer than you can imagine,” Eileen answered with a wry smile that was mirrored by the two eavesdroppers behind her.
“I need to get back to work, captain,” Watson advised as cries of pain were suddenly heard emanating from the room out of which he’d originally appeared. “Come and see me in the morning and I’ll have that list for ye…”
“Thank you, doctor: that I will.”
“John…” He insisted, extending his hand once more.
“Eileen,” she replied with a nod, shaking it again and watching as he immediately turned and disappeared back through the nearest doorway to tend to his patient. It took perhaps another ten seconds before her peripheral vision picked up the quite loaded stares she was receiving from Lloyd and Langdale.
“What are you two lookin’ at…?” She demanded defensively, hands on hips.
“Us…?” Lloyd blurted, struggling to hide a cheesy grin. “Nothing… nothing at all…”
“Well, keep it that way, y’ mad bastards…!” She snapped, sounding more irritable than she’d intended as she pushed past the pair and burst out through the main doors, heading back toward the waiting jeep.
“You say one fuckin’ word, and we are dead…!” Langdale chuckled, shaking his head.
“Just stirrin’ her up a little,” Lloyd shot back, acting as innocent as he was able under the circumstances. “Not my fault if she’s got a guilty conscience.”
“You know how sensitive she is about the whole bloody Thorne ‘thing’: if you must piss her off, do it when I’m not around next time!”
“Wuss…!” Evan snorted in return as the finally decided to follow their commanding officer.
All three had been awake for many hours as dawn rose over the island that next morning. They’d miraculously sourced some suitable metal blanks from stores held at the port, and had worked all night with Lindemann to produce a set of replacement bearings for the ship’s engines. Stunned to learn of Donelson’s own qualifications in similar fields, he’d personally requested her assistance in fitting and testing the new parts, extremely apologetic and almost in awe of her knowledge and expertise. Everyone aboard was buoyed by the possibility of being able to head for Darwin under their own steam.
Lloyd and Langdale had been little more than fifth wheels for most of that time and had actually spent most of the preceding night trying unsuccessfully to sleep on bunks inside the abandoned quarters of two of the ship’s junior officers, both of whom were currently ashore and in hospital undergoing treatment for wounds received during the battles of several days before.
A handful of rifle-armed guards patrolled the decks, keeping watch on the hundreds of German sailors they still nominally held as prisoners on board, but there was little tension for the most part. Detmers, who had chosen to remain with his crew, ensured that his men remained under control and that order was maintained. They were thousands of nautical miles from any potential safe haven, and with numerous warships out in the bay and several thousand enemy troops on shore, he was well aware that there was no hope of escape – something he’d never seriously contemplated in any case, considering the reality of their situation.
Far safer to remain calm and compliant in his opinion: the Australians had honoured their promise to provide care and comfort for his wounded men, and there were sufficient supplies of food for all to go around. They were well treated as far as prisoners went, and the fact that they’d been allowed to remain in custody on their own ship had helped keep everything mostly under control, the fact there was in any case nowhere else for them to be held notwithstanding.
Lloyd and Langdale were both up on deck again that morning however as Donelson and Detmers stood at Kormoran’s shattered bridge. There were more guards than usual present to keep an eye on things as the raider took a short cruise around the inner reaches of Ambon Bay, Detmers allowing the vessel enough space to run her newly-repaired engines up to full power and test their performance. Every test had so far indicated all was well, and there was every likelihood the ship would be able to easily make Darwin in one or two days, should they so desire.
“Sounds good, captain,” Donelson observed with a grin, inwardly proud of the job they’d done.
“Horst tells me this would not have been possible without your help,” Detmers countered with a nod of thanks, standing at the wheel himself and staring out at the waters of the bay through what was left of Kormoran’s ruined windows. “I think perhaps that the idea of gratitude is a strange thing to offer under the current circumstances – considering this only speeds our journey as prisoners of war – however you have assisted in the repair of my ship and you have my thanks all the same.”
“Honestly, sir, it was a pleasure: it’s been years since I’ve been able to get ‘down and dirty’ with a ship’s engine like that, and it really brought back some fond memories of my training days.”
“I think that we have much to learn from our enemies, and much to fear,” Detmers observed with a smile of his own. “If this is the standard to which the Allies train their women, I am not surprised that your men are such fierce and competent fighters.”
“Thank you, sir,” she replied after a moment’s consideration. Sexist as the underlying content of that statement was, Donelson also recognised that it had been intended as praise and, in a back-handed sort of way, it actually was a compliment to her abilities and her training.
“I think that we shall head back to the dock now,” he decided eventually, his tone a little sad now as he inwardly considered that the short run they had just made around the bay was likely to be his last in command of this or any other vessel for the foreseeable future. “The engine room crew will be exhausted after working all night and they deserve rest. You also, captain… you have worked as hard as any of them…”
“I’m just fine, sir, but thank you for saying so,” Eileen countered, standing beside him and stifling a yawn as she indeed fought
off a sudden wave of exhaustion. “Some coffee and breakfast wouldn’t go astray, however.”
“I see that we have much in common with our enemies,” Detmers chuckled, also fighting a yawn as he maintained a steely gaze on the approaching docks ahead and rang the ship’s telegraph, selecting ‘ahead slow’ as the desired setting with the ring of a bell. A second bell rang a few seconds later as the small pointer inside the arc of the handle also adjusted itself to match, indicating the crew had set the appropriate speed as requested.
The wail of air raid sirens rose up about the township and across the water in the moments that followed, the morning sun still barely cresting Mount Nona and the Latimor Peninsula in all its brilliance. The first aircraft appeared just moments later, several waves of fast-moving G4M ‘Betty’ bombers sweeping low over the north-eastern approaches of the island and down across the bay, drawing the attention of a handful of 40mm Bofors guns positioned at Laha, along with fire from a few heavier weapons mounted on one or two of the warships anchored in the bay itself.
At least six or seven were shot down, either by ground fire or by fighters on combat air patrol, however the majority escaped after a single pass on Laha airfield, roaring away again to the south-west with one or two of the survivors trailing smoke. With no effective radar coverage anywhere but in the bay area itself, there’d been little warning of the approach and most of the fighters and attack aircraft still left on the island were caught on the ground as a result. Many exploded in flames as bombs rained down from above, adding to the billowing clouds of earth and smoke as the runway was shattered by several direct hits along its length.
At least a dozen more Mustangs and Sea Furies managed to get airborne in spite of the damage, rising high into the air and circling about in search of further threats as the G4Ms made good their escape. There was no real benefit in pursuing the bombers – their damage was already done after all – but they remained vigilant against further attack, no one believing that single raid would be the end of it all.
They weren’t disappointed. Several squadrons of Zeros were spotted a few minutes later, initially difficult to pick out in their faded, grey-green camouflage as they came in low over the hills on the northern side of the island. They rose quickly to meet the approaching defenders, auxiliary fuel tanks falling from beneath their wings as they surged forward at full throttle to meet their foes.
Behind them, four more squadrons of attack aircraft followed on at similarly low-level, hugging as closely to the treetops below as they dared as their escorts charged away ahead to clear the way. The first raid had been successful in taking out most of their aerial opposition, and the escorting Zeros would now do their best to deal with whatever fighter cover remained. All that was left was for the attack pilots to seek out their target and complete their objective.
“Permission to man our defences, captain…?” Detmers requested instantly, knowing he’d never get away with such an order without authorisation. “We are as much a target as any others here,” he added quickly, noting the concern and indecision on Donelson’s face.
“Granted, captain,” she conceded eventually, “but don’t let me come to regret it… understood…?”
“Understood,” he replied with a grim nod, reaching for a nearby microphone and switching to an appropriate channel. “All hands, all hands, this is your captain…” he continued in German, the tone clipped and professional. Air raid warning: flak crews to their stations…” He paused for a moment, not sure how the next order would be received but forced to give it anyway. “Only Japanese aircraft are to be fired upon… I repeat: only Japanese aircraft to be targeted… no Allied aircraft are to be engaged. These orders will be complied with. Bridge, out…”
“This is a battle…” he added carefully as he replaced the mike in its cradle on the console next to the wheel. “I cannot promise there will not be accidents…”
“Just so long as they are accidents, captain,” Donelson advised coldly as Lloyd arrived on the bridge, rifle in hand. “I’ll know the difference…!”
A single nod of understanding was all she received as Detmers’ attention was returned to the impending attack outside and he turned the wheel sharply, bringing the ship tightly around to starboard to allow his aft-mounted 23mm flak turret a clean field of fire.
Any qualms Kormoran’s crew might’ve felt over firing upon an ally dissipated quickly as the swarm of dive- and torpedo-bombers arrived overhead. With ship recognition cards supplied to each pilot, every single one immediately targeted the raider, taking turns in their attack runs as tracer arced past them and proximity-fused flak shells exploded in their midst. The vessel was the largest in the bay by a fair margin and wasn’t at all difficult to identify, and it was quickly singled out by the first wave.
Several bombs missed close in on her port side, sending water high into the air in towering geysers and raining it down on the ship as the D4Y Shusei bombers shrieked down out of their dives and pulled up at the last moment, clawing their way skyward again as their single huge, 500kg bombs continued on toward target. Three were blown out of existence for their trouble in that first pass, one by the working twin 37mm mount forward, and two in quick succession by the four-barrelled flakvierling turret aft.
A pair of Zeros howled by at low level, raking the decks with cannon and machine gun fire that killed several exposed crewmen and guards alike before roaring away southward at full throttle. Several rounds wined off the superstructure quite close to the bridge, causing everyone present to duck instinctively as their fleeting shadows hurtled by, momentarily blocking the sun as they passed.
Although the guns aboard Kormoran paid them no heed, instead concentrating on other aircraft still coming in to attack, they nevertheless gained the attention of two RAAF Sea Furies high above. They screamed in from altitude, picking up the fleeing Zeros and blasting both out of the sky before either pilot realised what was happening, only to be shot down themselves seconds later by two more A6Ms seeking vengeance for their fallen comrades.
“Ahead flank…! Evasive manoeuvers…!” Detmers bellowed in German, ringing up full speed on the telegraph and bringing the ship hard around to port and turning in toward a trio of torpedo bombers as they began their attack runs from the north, three more right behind them.
“They’re not even bothering with anyone else!” Donelson shouted across the bridge as she stared out at the ongoing battle through the hatch leading out onto the bridge deck. “Every single bloody aircraft is targeting us…!”
“This, I already noticed,” Detmers observed grimly, knuckles white on the ships’ wheel. “It seems we have more to fear from our ‘friends’ than we do from our enemies! I wish we’ve never set eyes on that damned thing in my hold, whatever the hell it is!”
“You mean you don’t know…?” Eileen asked sharply, hanging onto the hatchway bulkhead for support as the ship lurched back around to port, listing heavily.
“Why would they tell us…?” The captain asked bitterly, talking more as a distraction to steady his nerves than out of any real interest as he continued to bring the ship about, hoping to ruin the attackers’ runs and ‘comb’ a path between the torpedoes. “We get orders to do what we are told… we do not need to know what we are given…”
“It’s a bomb,” captain…” Eileen blurted, tension and fear suddenly filling her with a desire to unburden herself of that information. “A bomb powerful enough to destroy an entire city…”
“If you believe that, you’re as crazy as Fuchs…!” He shot back with a sharp glare, not really caring whether she knew who he was referring to at that point in time.
“They already used one to destroy the Panama Canal – they used it to – !” Her shouted response was suddenly cut off as an armour-piercing bomb struck Kormoran’s bow, punching deep into the decks below before exploding in a huge ball of smoke and flame. Debris sprayed high into the air, shrapnel rattling against the superstructure and filling the bridge with fragments as everyo
ne threw themselves to the floor just in time.
“First my own side, and then our allies try to sink us…!” Detmers howled in hysterical fury as he rose to his feet once more and stared out at the fire now burning across the ruined, twisted metal of what had been the bow of his ship. “…And the only help we’ve had so far is from our fucking enemies…!”
Four more Japanese aircraft fell to fire from the ship and from nearby shore batteries in the moment’s that followed, but already Detmers could feel that Kormoran was beginning to slow dramatically. There’d been no official confirmation, but he could see the damage done before him and it wasn’t hard to imagine seawater flooding in through holes torn beneath her waterline by the blast. He could tell she was down by the bows and the lack of any communication from that part of the ship along with no sign of any damage control whatsoever suggested that the blast had inflicted a possibly mortal wound.
A torpedo took her amidships a few seconds later, exploding on her port side a dozen yards or so forward of the bridge. They were all thrown heavily to the deck as a wall of water rose up and over the side, pouring down over the ship as debris was again thrown skyward. The standard Japanese Type 91 aerial torpedo was not a large weapon, carrying a relatively small warhead, yet it was nevertheless large enough to punch a hole through the side of Kormoran’s hull and add to the flooding already pouring in through her shattered bow. Almost immediately, the ship began to list vaguely to port as her balance was thrown out by hundreds of tons of invading seawater.
“You need to get off this ship, captain,” Detmers advised grimly, not for a moment looking like he was in any hurry to step away from the wheel. “We won’t last long enough to get this under control.”
“The hell I will…!” Donelson snapped back, eyes blazing. “I’m not going to let those bastards beat us: there must be something we can do?”
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 65