* * *
The faint pall of smoke smudging the horizon to the south-east was reported at 0732 by the crow’s nest lookout from his position high above the bridge on the tripod mast. It was duly noted in the ship’s log.
At 0735 the massive cruiser turned towards and opened fire at extreme range. The lookout reported the smoke and flash long before they heard the distant rumble of the guns; time 0738.
Barr fancied he could see the shells as they flew through the air towards his ‘Nishga’. He tensed as the scream of shot filled the air, but the giant shells passed over. The cruiser was closing rapidly, an awesome sight, towering above the horizon, terrace upon terrace of grey metal and dazzle paint, brisling with guns.
The Yeoman of Signals looked up from his copy of Jane’s Fighting Ships. “She’s the ‘Nienburg’, sir… heavy cruiser, six eight inch guns… twelve four inch, double mounted torpedo tubes and the usual Ack-Ack stuff.” He ducked involuntarily as the ‘Nisgha’s’ bridge was suddenly drenched by the second salvo.
“Nice to know exactly what is trying to kill you.” remarked a voice from the back of the bridge.
Barr was watching the enemy through his binoculars. Why wasn’t she keeping her distance those big guns had a range of over twenty miles, why risk closing. She was now heading due south, hull up on the horizon. Through the powerful glasses he could make out the ‘bone in her teeth’, the white bow wave thrown up in front of her as she surged forward. Every few seconds she became shrouded in the smoke from her own massive guns, emerging from it like a grey ghost through cemetery mist. She must be averaging four salvoes a minute, two hundred and sixty pound shells and four of the buggers in each salvo. Travelling at close to two thousand miles an hour, sending the sea around them into dancing spouts of water higher than the ‘Nishga’s’ mainmast.
The next salvo landed to their front; she’d managed to straddle them, time for a course alteration, if ever there was one.
* * *
Sub Lieutenant Hogg watched, gripping the windscreen, as the third salvo roared in towards the ‘Nishga’. She was now way over to port, her low silhouette almost hull down and turning away from the anticipated fall of shot. As yet he had no sighting of the enemy and was reacting purely to the ‘Nishga’s’ ‘Enemy in sight to the south east’. He had immediately turned to starboard. Altering towards where there was a chance that they might go undetected against the rocky coastline, but at their top speed they would need fifteen perhaps twenty minutes to circle round onto the enemy’s flank; would the ‘Nishga’ survive that long?
* * *
The ‘Nishga’s’ two Battle Ensigns, cracked like whips in her own thirty knot slipstream as she raced in towards the ‘Nienburg’. Barr anxious to close the range so his own four-point sevens, hopelessly out-gunned, as they were, could at least return fire.
Way out to starboard, Kendel’s M.T.B. flew her own tiny ensigns, like her bigger consort she flew two, in case one was shot away. Barr saw the irony of it, if her flimsy wooden hull took just one ‘brick’ there would be no need to worry about ensigns still flying. She was steering south east, her high-octane aero-engines opening the gap between them at a terrific rate.
The fourth salvo screamed overhead as Barr scribbled in the chart table note book. He turned to a white-faced young signalman. “Get this off to the ‘Ethel’… Pilot! Tell ‘Torps’ Ready both tubes. I will be attacking at very close range. The cruiser will turn towards the torpedoes, she’ll be expecting them, I will keep pace with her turn, and make smoke. Then, I will attack with…” Another salvo straddled the speeding ‘Nishga’ as their own four point sevens came into range…but the Pilot had heard alright, he nodded and turned away.
The range was closing at sixty knots. This German captain was playing it safe; bow on he was showing only fifty feet of target to his enemy he could have sacrificed that in order to use his after turrets; he had chosen otherwise.
Hogg’s E-boat, must be somewhere out there, broad on ‘Nishga’s’ starboard bow, and hopefully already turning to run parallel to the coastline.
* * *
“What’s she saying signalman?” Hogg’s eyes were riveted on the cruiser, she was on their port bow hidden in smoke from her last broadside, but they could still see the giant searchlight they were using as a signal lamp “ ‘Heave to.’” reported the signalman, “And now…she wants us to clear our decks of all crew.”
The captured E Boats had never operated this far south, but this chap wasn’t relying on history, wasn’t taking any risks, doubtless he’d heard of the rogue E-Boats’ exploits further north. It was a clever move, if the E-Boat was a rogue, with no men on deck, she’d be incapable of aggressive action, and if they disobeyed the order her skipper would know they were the enemy.
“Make, ‘Repeat your last.’ and send it slowly.” He had to play for time, anything to gain precious minutes. That’s all it would take for him to get in position for an attack, an attack that, at the very least, should draw some attention away from the embattled ‘Nishga’.
As Barr was fond of saying, ‘Doubt was a powerful weapon, everyone had it, make sure that the enemy has more than you’ He was right, if he could make this German Captain hesitate for just thirty seconds, they would be five hundred yards closer to target. His life, the lives of his crew and probably the lives of the entire flotilla depended on sowing that seed of doubt.
* * *
Through his glasses, Barr saw the cruiser’s close range guns open up on Kendel’s M.T.B., a withering fire, throwing the sea around the tiny craft into turmoil of leaping spray. Kendel had turned onto his attack course only seconds before. He was racing in, with a bow wave that reached twice the height of his main deck. A magnificent sight, David and Goliath, armour against wood, raw courage against impossible odds. Suddenly a huge flash lit the sea, Barr gasped. The M.T.B. had gone, vanished in a ball of fire that spewed burning fuel along her boiling wake. The flaming ball tore on towards the enemy cruiser as if the ghosts of her incinerated crew were set on a fiery revenge, but she dropped lower and lower, slowed and finally stopped. It burned on, Kendel his boat and his crew wrapped in a flaming shroud of their own fuel.
Barr tore his gaze from the flames, forced himself to concentrate on the enemy cruiser. Her for’ard turrets erupted fire, the after turrets were silent, then he realised why, they were training round onto the remaining patrol boat; Hogg’s ‘Ethel’. The eight inch guns spit fire and venom. The German Captain had not been fooled for long, was it long enough? Beyond the enemy’s bow Barr could see the ‘Ethel’ dancing in towards her towering target, the first fall of shot from the cruiser’s guns were over ranged…the second under. Bracketed; the third could well destroy the speeding E-boat…Hogg’s boat began a broad weave, presenting each of her sides to the smoking barrels of the enemy cruiser in turn. The third salvo was way to one side, Hogg was handling his tiny boat beautifully managing to upset the enemy’s gun aimers… but for how long … he would need to get in close, close enough for the small boat to even the odds in her favour.
On her next weave she kept going to starboard… kept going while the cruiser’s guns wrongly, anticipated a turn back to port. The tactic worked, Barr saw the terrible eight-inch shells bouncing across the sea, way out to port of the leaping, swerving E-boat.
* * *
‘Ethel’
The German gunnery control team had realised their mistake the huge after turrets of the enemy cruiser were already swinging laboriously back towards them. They shuddered to a halt, pointing directly at him, smoke drifted lazily from the blackened end of the barrels. It was as if five hundred tons of turret was trying to anticipate his next move.
He kept the starboard helm on. Kept it on until he saw the guns traversed left to follow him and then he turned the ‘Ethel’ rapidly in a tight turn the other way, until the broad, fat, port side of the cruiser filled the horizon like a giant block of flats.
“Midships, steady!”
Soake
d to the skin, water streaming from his oilskin he yelled, “Stand by both tubes!” Then, “Launch…Launch…Launch!”
The two torpedoes leapt from their tubes, momentarily skimming the wave crests and them plunging deeper, chasing the speeding cruiser as she turned away, all her close range weaponry were blazing away at the tiny ‘Ethel’. Then ‘X’ and ‘Y’ turrets caught up and opened fire. As first, through the great spouts of water the massive shells threw up, the torpedoes leapt and cavorted, twisted and weaved, but gradually they matched the enemy’s speed, knot for knot until slowly they began to better it, overhauling her, closer and closer.
* * *
The cruiser’s captain faced with the unenviable choice of torpedoes astern of him and the destroyer abeam, chose to keep to his course. Hoping to outpace the torpedoes and let his big guns take care of the destroyer.
The cruiser’s turn away from Hogg’s torpedoes had presented Barr with just what he’d hoped and planned for. The enemy cruiser was now directly down wind and broadside on to the ‘Nishga’ as the destroyer raced in.
“Both mountings stand by for a torpedo attack, starboard side, all tubes.” Barr turned to the engine room voice pipe “Make smoke”.
He was looking aft towards the funnels anticipating the clouds of concealing smoke when the eight-inch shell struck.
The blast threw him back against the for’ard screen with incredible force, pain shot through his whole body, the impact drove the air from his lungs, he managed to rise shakily to one knee. Gasping for air, his head spinning with pain, he looked about him. The smoke screen was billowing from the funnel, stinging his eyes, but, by the grace of God, sweeping downwind towards the enemy. His mouth opened in surprise the main mast had gone. He staggered to the rear of the bridge and looked down; the ‘Nishga’s’ tripod mast hung over the port side, a mass of wires and crippled steel girders. The crews of the depth charge throwers were already running forward to clear the wreckage. “Petty Officer,” he yelled, “Leave that to your leading hand, take two men aft, stand by to jettison the E boat’s fuel drums on my order likewise the charges in their racks, set shallow.”
“Aye, Aye, sir,” the burly P.O. grabbed two men by the scruff of their necks and propelled them aft, Barr smiled, action speaking louder than words, or at least more quickly.
He reached the for’ard screen and caught a fleeting glimpse of the enemy. At last ‘Nishga’s’ four point sevens were doing damage, the forward turret of the cruiser had taken a hit at its base, toppling it from its turntable, its barrels pointing harmlessly at the sky. Then she was gone enveloped once again in choking smoke. The ‘Nishga’s’ four sevens fell silent. The smoke screen had rendered both ships’ gunnery control useless, blind, wrapped in an acrid, oily blackness.
He yelled to the torpedo communications rating, “Torpedo action starboard! Open sights…Launch when ready...Pilot! Port fifteen take her across the enemy’s bow!”
Barr watched from the starboard wing of the bridge as the tubes fired, the deadly fish slipping gracefully into the swell, disappearing rapidly from sight.
The cruiser’s captain had been waiting, had glimpsed the torpedoes launching, despite the choking smoke. He executed an emergency turn to port, but the sleek destroyer was turning faster, tucking herself in across the cruiser’s projected path, she was still in danger of taking that pointed bow full square in her vitals.
Barr whirled the handle of the quarterdeck phone. “Jettison the aviation fuel drums.”
Aft, the drums rolled eagerly from their stern ramps. Four depth charges sank in to the foaming wake at the same time.
At thirty knots the six-thousand tons of cruiser charged headlong into the drums; the explosion spewed blazing fuel oil high over the cruiser’s fo’c’s’le.
The E-boat’s torpedoes sped by missing their burning target, passing only feet from the ‘Nishga’s’ stern.
The ‘Ethel’ was now coming in from astern of the cruiser. The cruiser’s after eight-inch fell silent unable to bear on so close a target. Abruptly Hogg turned the ‘Ethel’ across her stern. Two depth charges dropped into the sea as the cruiser continued her turn, Hogg tried to follow her round, to keep close in, fearful of the cruiser’s burning bow section, he had left the turn a matter of seconds too late. The remaining forward eight inch was ready on the bearing as the E-boat emerged from the cruiser’s shadow. The huge shell hit the speeding boat amidships, her aluminium hull disintegrated completely and immediately. For several seconds, propelled by her own momentum, ‘Ethel’s’ blazing remains sped on at top speed, skipping across the waves, then slowed, her bow dropping back into the water. As the ‘Ethel’ died so her depth charges exploded in the wake of the already blazing ‘Nienburg’, lifting the vast bulk from the water, blowing off her rudder and screws. The mighty cruiser instantly lost way, smoke and flames pouring from her gaping wounds, she settled slowly back into the waves, like some huge factory she spewed clouds of black smoke. Then abruptly the after magazine exploded with unbelievable force, wrapping her in orange flame. She dropped back onto her shattered stern, her blazing bow swung skywards, men cascading from her like ants.
* * *
Chapter 20
The Miracle
HMS Nishga, off Dunkirk, France. Monday, 27th May 1940.
Dunkirk lay along a grey horizon, stretching away to pencil thickness wreathed in black smoke from the town’s burning storage tanks. To the east a cold red sun rose, flooding its rouged reflection into a pewter-coloured sea.
Between the battered ‘Nishga’ and the shore, a myriad of crowded small boats bobbed and tossed their way west. All were laden to the gunwales with the dispirited remnants of the expeditionary force which had landed on the shores of France, so gloriously, a few short months before.
The crew of the destroyer were stood to at their action stations as she nosed her way carefully in towards the shore. It was thus, carefully, watchfully, excited and afraid that they entered, not only the harbour, but history, the way fighting men had entered it since time immemorial.
This was the second day of Dunkirk, but for the crew of the ‘Nishga’ it was the first. No one had experience anything like it before, a panorama filled with ships and boats of all shapes and sizes, horizon to horizon, and beyond. Thousands of men adrift, upon hundreds of boats; ferries, freighters, fishing boats, every conceivable craft had been enlisted for the vital job of saving the Army. Small overcrowded boats, mere dots on a vast canvas, passed alarmingly close to the destroyer, slipping by in her frothing wake. Their gunwales hung with doll-like khaki-clad and sea sick soldiers, French, British, the wounded and the exhausted.
Ashore long lines of men, like human breakwaters, stretched seaward from the long beaches. In the harbour itself, a huge queue, snaked its way, three-deep for almost a mile around the rocky mole that protected it from the sea.
In the smoke flecked and shell torn sky a confusing array of aircraft, climbed and dived, twisted and turned in noiseless dog-fights.
The ‘Nishga’ entered through the breakwater astern of a rust streaked pleasure steamer, the two ships weaving in and out of the treacherous sandy shoals that littered the harbour approaches. Every shoal carried its wrecked ship, some still in flames, some still with men on board. From deeper water, funnels and the tops of shattered masts rose from the oil- slicks; broken tombstones in a bleak and desolate graveyard.
Suddenly every anti-aircraft gun, ashore and afloat, opened up as tiny bent-winged specks dived out of the sky. A terrible wailing-scream filled the air as the Stuka dive-bombers swooped onto the sitting ducks. Hemmed in by the mole and the treacherous sand banks, they could take no avoiding action, there wasn’t enough sea room to swing a cat. The steamer ahead took two direct hits and staggered out of line like a wounded swan, smoke billowing from her gaping fo’c’s’le. Immediately she began to sink. With her fore-ends already under water her crew were desperately rigging pumps and hoses, frantic to keep her afloat long enough to ground her on the san
dbanks. They made it; as she settled by the bow a shroud of bubbling water and steam rose from her flooded boilers.
All the while the sea around churned and leapt under the relentless onslaught from the Stuka’s five hundred pound bombs. As the pleasure steamer moved aside to her last resting place they saw the next in line, an old paddle steamer burning like a torch, full to capacity with soldiers. A mass of flames, her captain had already run her aground.
The last of the bombers, dropped like a stone, straight towards a now, barely moving ‘Nishga’. The after pom-pom caught it, blowing off one wing; it spiralled on, spinning madly, like a badly made child’s paper plane. While fragments of its port wing showered across the open bridge, the main body of the crippled Stuka, wailing like a banshee, hit the fo’c’s’le and disintegrated among the anchor cables, the wreckage burst into an orange-bright ball of flames. The bomb itself had exploded in the water alongside, drenching the men from ‘A’ turret as they ran forward to tackle the blaze.
The flight of Stukas took off to the west, chased by the black flowers of exploding Ack Ack .
Mercifully a respite was in the offering for the wind veered and the whole sky became black with the smoke from Dunkirk’s blazing oil tanks. Unable to see the beleaguered harbour, scores of enemy aircraft turned away, searching out other more visible targets.
On the Edge of Darkness (Special Force Orca Book 1) Page 31