On the Edge of Darkness (Special Force Orca Book 1)

by Anthony Molloy

  “What are they saying now Middy?”

  The middy looked up from his crib sheet. “They seem to have fallen for it, sir. They want us to check out a fire in one of the convoy’s ships, told us to leave the ‘English upstart’ to them…. oh! And they bid us welcome!”

  “Jolly nice of them! Let’s hope we can repay their hospitality in a manner unbefitting their cordiality.”

  They slowly crept up the destroyer’s starboard side, range about two thousand yards. The midshipman was taking compass bearings all the time and relaying them to Grant. He waited impatiently…Now, he thought… now’s the time.

  “Full ahead all engines. Hard a port!…Steady. Action torpedoes! Signalman! Pull down that rag!…Hoist our colours! The bow steadied, pointing directly ahead of the charging destroyer as the men rushed to their stations.

  He took a quick bearing himself, squinting across the compass, bracing himself against the bucking of the madly accelerating E-boat. Just about right, with the turn to port he would be in the classic attacking position with a perfect, fat, beam-on target.

  * * *

  Hogg’s Command.

  The Coxswain bundled the flags under one arm and, running across to the ladder, began to climb quickly to the flag deck above the bridge.

  Hogg looked aft, he could see black smoke already billowing across the water. He yanked on the whistle lanyard above his head and the klaxon on the funnel screamed its alarm.

  A hundred yards ahead he saw the faces on the coaster turn sharply in his direction. He could see a figure on the bridge looking up at the newly hoisted flags; ‘Dangerous cargo’… ‘Keep clear’… You are standing into danger’.

  On the other vessel’s bridge he could see a man frantically shouting down to the soldiers. Whoever it was he knew his flags, men began to panic, there was a visible surge towards the fore end. The crowded deck became a death trap, men were trampled underfoot, suddenly a guard rail gave way, men poured from the gap in a human tide. Fifty yards to go and he could see that men were jumping over the side of their own free will, abandoning their fire arms, helmets, back packs anything that could weigh them down, some even struggling with their heavy boots. The water was alive with men.

  Through his glasses he could see the looks of horror on their faces as the blazing coaster bore down on them, flying the flags that showed it was loaded with explosives, on fire and out of control.

  The starboard side of Hogg’s coaster ground into the port side of the troop ship, he ran from the bridge, calling to his men to follow him. He led them in a mad charge for’ard. Drawing his revolver, he jumped up onto the gunwale, balanced momentarily and then leapt over onto the enemy’s deck. His men were not far behind.

  A soldier appeared from behind a ventilation shaft rifle raised, Hogg squeezed off a quick shot, it missed and the man disappeared from view. The coxswain, at his side, put five rounds through the thin metal of the shaft and the man stumbled out from cover, crumpling to the deck.

  With the engines still at full ahead, the ammunition ship, ground her way down the length of the abandoned troop ship, ripping and splintering the planking like a crazed chainsaw. Clear of the bow and still at full speed, she sailed on, her stern now completely enveloped in the flames.

  Shouting orders at the top of his voice, Hogg split his boarding party into two sections. He sent one group, under the coxswain, forward and he took the rest in a sweep of the after deck.

  * * *

  ‘Eddy’

  The two torpedoes belly-flopped into sea, their propellers already turning, churning the surface of the sea to lather, but all was not well, no sooner had the starboard torpedo cleared the boat’s side, then it veered erratically to port. It was crossing their bow as they roared in towards the enemy destroyer.

  Simultaneously the destroyer’s ‘X’ and ‘Y’ turrets opened up, close range, accurate fire, cascading water across the entire length of the tiny boat, soaking the men at their guns, obliterating Grant’s view of the rogue torpedo.

  Near miss after near miss, denied Grant a sighting of the torpedo. Desperate, he yelled “Half ahead all engines.” The last thing he wanted was to run down his own torpedo. Instantly the bow dropped and the boat lost way, hopefully the torpedoes were well ahead, but he couldn’t be sure, but a new problem had raised its ugly head; the destroyer’s gun layers now had a target moving at a fraction of its former speed.

  Grant swore, this was no good, any second one of the enemy’s rounds would find its target, that’s all it would take, one round. He dismissed it from his mind. He could do nothing about that or the rogue torpedo except pray. He would have to take a chance, the torp should be clear and still turning to port.

  “Hard astarboard… Full ahead all engines!” The diesels roared, jerking the boat forward. With luck he had slowed the charging E-boat just enough for her to turn in behind the torpedo. The trouble was now he was turning onto the same course as the enemy and would present a juicy beam target to their hungry guns. “Middy get aft, make smoke.”

  The Midshipman looked blank, “The smoke maker man! Ignite the smoke maker!”

  The youngster turned, jumped down from the tiny bridge and began to claw his way towards the stern. The E-boat, turning through the swell, bucked like a mad horse at a rodeo, successive waves slammed into her side with the clap of thunder.

  Grant snatched a look over the port bow, the sudden turn had thrown the enemy gunners and the madly churned water from their exploding shells was now way aft of the beam. At last he could see the destroyer, she was turning towards the surviving torpedo’s track. God alone knew where the rogue one was. They had a few seconds respite as the destroyer’s ‘X’ and ‘Y’ turrets fell silent, obscured from their target by their own superstructure. The silence lasted but seconds, for the enemy’s ‘A’ and ‘B’ turrets swung round changing target from Crosswall- Brown’s to Grant’s boat. They were too late, before they could open fire, the E-boat completed her turn and with her stern towards the enemy, black smoke began to bellow from the smoke maker.

  * * *

  ‘Ethel’

  Crosswall- Brown was soaked to the skin, water washing backwards and forwards across his feet, but it all went unnoticed because before him, to his utter amazement, the enemy destroyer was turning, until, beam-on, she presented him with the target of his dreams.

  “Stand by tubes,” ‘he yelled ecstatically. He could see the reason for the destroyer’s suicidal action. Grant’s E-boat was rising on the swell, cresting a wave, she was directly ahead of the enemy, for a moment she seemed to hover there, perfectly balanced on the top of the wave, then, like a leviathan, she sank from sight into the cavernous trough. Grant was risking his boat to give him the target he wanted. Drill Three was no joke, that was for sure! It was bloody working

  He yelled “Standby,” Then…”Launch!…Launch!…Launch!” Even above the roar of the diesels and the crash of the destroyer’s salvo. He heard the hiss of compressed air from the tubes.

  * * *

  ‘Wagner’

  Kapitan Linz rushed out on to the bridge wing, the track of one torpedo was passing the stern, a transient band of ghostly white bubbles. Where was the second torpedo? The renegade E-boat had fired two. His eyes darted across the sea, panic building in his chest like an inflating balloon. Nothing! Mein Gott, the M.T.B.! Had he been concentrating on the wrong boat. He saw it now, the diversion… Fool! He charged across the front of the bridge to the other wing sending two sailors flying. There they were, two tracks running straight and true, one could pass ahead the other astern, or was he mistaken? They seemed to be converging, both would hit. He had to do something, to turn away now would be to take a hit in the stern, the screws! The rudder! Better to lose the bow than the stern. He ran back into the bridge screaming “Hard aport! Hard aport!” He spun round to look aft, the shearing light and heat of the explosion hit him, a split second later and the blast threw him across his bridge.

  The whole forward end of the
warship lifted out of the water. The released energy of five hundred pounds of Amatol shook the huge destroyer as if it were a toy, a mere model. A second later she fell back into the sea a shattered wreck.

  * * *

  ‘Ethel’

  “Yes! Yes!… Yes!” screamed the Midshipman, water streaming from his oilskin as he leapt up and down like a possessed seal.

  They were turning away, fast to port, away from the stricken destroyer, leaning away from the tight curve they sliced through the water at thirty knots.

  On the beam a huge fireball was rising into the air above the enemy’s fo’c’s’le. Somehow, miraculously, her guns were still firing. Aft of the M.T.B. towering columns of water shot into the sky exactly where they had been only seconds before. The deck beneath his feet began shuddering under the strain of the fast turn.

  Crosswall-Brown could clearly see the damage on the enemy boat, her entire fore-end had gone. Through the gaping hole he could see smoke-blackened watertight doors, electric cables and trunking hanging obscenely down into the water like the entrails of some huge beast. The bridge was still intact and the flicker of orange from her guns, told their own tale. Fatally damaged she may be, but by God, she was as dangerous as a wounded Goliath.

  * * *

  Kapitan Linz staggered to his feet, scrambled across to the shattered glass of the bridge screen. His hat flew from his head in the sudden gust of air rushing in to replace the huge fireball soaring into the air above his beloved ‘Wagner’. Black smoke dispersed briefly, to reveal the colossal damage. What was left of the fo’c’s’le bulged upwards in a hideous curve, at its summit one of the capstans hung over the hole where the bow had once been. “Stop both engines, Ankar! Phone down tell them to make smoke. We’re a verdammt sitting duck.”

  * * *

  Grant snatched a look aft, the enemy destroyer was completely obscured in clouds of thick oily smoke. He’d seen the massive explosion, at least one of Crosswall-Brown’s fish had scored a direct hit. He searched the horizon for the M.T.B., she should be somewhere astern. Pray to God she was unharmed. The wind had risen unnoticed and the resulting swell could easily obscure the low profile of a patrol boat. “Lookout!”

  “Sir!”

  “Can you see the ‘Dirty-Four?” He could hear the pleading in his own voice.

  “Yes, sir… There…” he pointed a gloved hand towards the port quarter.

  “Signalman, get up there with the lookout see if your Aldis will reach. Make to 34. ‘Engage enemy convoy from the west.”

  “Middy, Starboard wheel steer north… We’ll come at them from ahead.”

  * * *

  Linz fit of smoke-induced coughing abated sufficiently for him to speak into the handset. The, fitful gusting wind had completely shrouded the ‘Wagner’ in her own smoke screen. Of the enemy, he could see nothing, but clung to the hope that it meant they could not see him either. They would not want to waste torpedoes on a half-mile stretch of smoke or enter it and face his guns at point blank range.

  “Slow astern… let’s see if we can take some weight off those forward bulkheads, before they collapse completely under the weight of water.”

  * * *

  ‘Eddy’

  Grant stood beside the port wing machine gun. On the bow a coaster, untouched by the turmoil around her, was heading for the shore. All around her ships were on fire, men swimming for their lives in the debris strewn water, smoke and cordite fumes filled the air. Occasionally a loud explosion would drown the otherwise continuous rattle of small arms fire.

  The whole process was taking too long; they were very close to the coast, the alarm must have been raised by now and this was only their second coaster. He had allowed the crew of the first to take to their lifeboat before sinking her with the Bofors.

  “Grisham, put a burst across her bows, as soon as you can and as close as you can.”

  The gunner bent to his sights and fired, his whole body shaking as the tracer blazed from the gun, arcing in towards the enemy coaster around her stem post the rounds kicked the sea into white feathers of irradiate foam.

  It was good shooting particularly from this awkward angle, but the bugger wasn’t stopping completely. He raised his binoculars he could see no one on her deck, the bridge was in darkness. Could she have already been abandoned, surely not while going at the rate of knots she was moving at.

  They were now abeam, the distance no more than a cable or so. Suddenly a burst of fire came from her fo’c’s’le. He ducked, something splattered across his face. Below him, the port gunner had slumped back, dropping into his harness. He hung there, rolling with the boat, blood running down from the exit wounds in his back.

  The unhurried ‘pom pom’ of the Bofors aft filled the air, great chunks of the coaster flew into the air, her for’ard deck erupting into flying splinters, smoke and flashing light. Somewhere in the middle of all that, the enemy gunner and his weapon disintegrated and the firing stopped abruptly.

  Grant vaulted onto the main deck and bent over the seamen gunner, his thin body was still twitching in its harness, his chest a mess of torn clothing and gore. His eyes were wide open as if with shock at the sight of the growing pool of his blood at his feet.

  Maurice, the young midshipman, appeared at his side, a shell dressing in one shaking hand.

  Grant unbuckled the harness and gently laid, the now still body, down on the deck. “Too late I’m afraid…” He swung the gun round on its pintel, crouched beside the torpedo tube and fired a long burst. The coaster’s bridge windows shattered and the wooden structure splintered with holes as the heavy calibre bullets ripped into it.

  The wardroom steward appeared and bent down beside him checking the gunner for signs of life. Grant grabbed the bridge ladder, “Bofors!” he yelled, “Aim below her water line. Sink the bastard!”

  The steady unremitting beat recommenced and great smoking holes appeared in the coaster’s black hull as the gunner trained slowly aft along her entire length.

  “Half ahead both, starboard twenty,” the Bofors aft ceased fire abruptly as the coaster crossed the bow. As the target reappeared on the port bow the gun recommenced fire, ripping into the coaster’s other side. There was no sign of her boats, still no movement on her upper deck. Perhaps only one fanatic had stayed on board, perhaps more, it mattered not, one thing was for sure that was the last time he gave quarter. He would never again put his men’s lives at risk that way.

  The coaster was listing heavily to port now and the Bofors’ aimer lowered his sights. Rounds ripped into the seaweed and barnacles covering the bottom.

  “Cease fire!” A gong sounded aft and the gun stopped abruptly.

  He had to look twice at the chart table clock. They had only been in action for three-quarters of an hour. He looked around the oil covered sea. All the squadron’s boats were insight and intact.

  The two M.T.B.s were still alongside enemy boats. Hogg’s E-boat was off to the south east traversing rapidly from right to left. He shifted his gaze in the direction she was heading. Immediately he saw two coasters, survivors fleeing towards the shoreline. No time for them, the enemy destroyer would have signalled, called for help. Quite suddenly he was sick of it all, sick of the killing.

  “Signalman make to the ‘Ethel’, ‘Break off your attack’. Then general signal. ‘Form line astern on me’.”

  * * *

  Across the dark water Crosswall-Brown’s signalman relayed the message to his captain.

  The diminutive midshipman, his face black with cordite, wiped a grubby hand across his red rimmed eyes and surveyed the burning remains of the enemy convoy, the debris and the smoke. He waited while Crosswall - Brown gave the necessary orders to bring the patrol boat around onto a course to intercept the ‘Eddy’.

  “You know, sir, while I was in training, at ‘Alfred’, I often wondered what they meant at the Sunday church parade when they prayed for ‘confusion to our enemies’.”

  Crosswall-Brown, wiped the lenses of his
binoculars with the corner of the towel, he used as a makeshift scarf, “Scared, Snotty?”

  The young Midshipman nodded in silent reply.

  “There’s one reassuring thing to remember at such times. You have to be alive to be scared….And anyway as someone, who was doubtless, famous, once said, ‘Eighty percent of the things that you fear may happen, never do’.”

  “Then, sir, they may be famous, but it’s my bet they’ve never been to sea.”

  Chapter 16

  Almost Total Recall

  HMS Nishga, 1300 hrs, Sunday, 26th May, 1940.

  Barr lifted the brandy decanter and poured Grey a stiff one. His Number One looked as if he needed it. He looked that way a lot lately, nice enough chap, but he would not have been his first choice as a Number One if the circumstances had been different. Perhaps he was being unfair; perhaps they all looked that way these days. He handed Grey his drink. The First Lieutenant downed it in one.

  Barr frowned, but refrained from comment, “There’s some sort of flap on, Number One and ‘Orca’s’ been ordered to regroup at the ‘Flow’. He glanced at the clock above his desk. “They must be about half way between the Inlet and us, no sense in them coming all the way north. So we’ll get a signal off and divert them there. We’ll sail as soon as we’re ready… Pilot, shortest and quickest route there, if you please.”

  Aye, aye, sir…What about the men at Olaf’s Inlet, sir?” asked his navigator, “Aren’t we picking them up first.”

  Barr turned his grey eyes in his Navigating Officer’s direction, “They’ll have to get by as best they can, until this flap’s over.”