As they moved along the narrow catwalk towards the stern of the ship Schorner said: ‘We got our gun. And our gun crew.’
Lieutenant Bryant saw the Bofors had been seated on the rear platform of the LST, its crew, the men of his own unit, sitting around it. The horned barrel of the gun rested on its cradle. ‘May I go and have a word with our chaps, colonel?’ asked Bryant.
‘Sure, lieutenant,’ said the American amiably. ‘Tell them if they have to shoot to shoot straight, okay?’ He was going towards the bridge where the young naval commander, Younghusband, was already waving enthusiastically like the captain of a shrimping boat sailing on the evening tide. Bryant thanked the colonel and clambered over the Bofors’ own ammunition boxes towards the gun. There was a sergeant in charge, a man new to Bryant. He was short, solid, his flat British helmet giving him the appearance of a fire hydrant. Briskly he ordered the crew to attention. Bryant recognized Gilman, Catermole and Killer Watts.
‘Sergeant Spence, sir,’ said the NCO introducing himself. ‘Joined in Plymouth.’
‘I wondered who was going to remind them to use this thing,’ smiled Bryant. He greeted the men he knew. They looked different now, in their battle order; soldiers suddenly born out of the domestic ninnies he had known less than a month ago at the Wilcoombe gun-site.
‘Finest gun in the world, sir,’ said the sergeant, poking a stubby finger at the Bofors. ‘Don’t care who says otherwise. Never was one like it, never be one again. Rapid fire, anti-aircraft, anti-tank, anti-personnel. Anti-anything, sir.’
Bryant grinned at the enthusiasm. ‘What’s it like against submarines?’ he joked.
‘Be lovely, sir, if the elevation was right. That gun can do anything but have a baby.’
Bryant touched him on the shoulder. ‘There’ll be enough people having babies,’ he forecast, ‘before this lot is through.’
Gilman said: ‘May I ask a question, sir?’
Bryant peered from beneath his helmet rim. ‘Fire away, Gilman,’ he said. Gilman, he saw, noticed the aptness of the phrase. Sergeant Spence was regarding Gilman with an edge of hostility.
‘Is this it, sir?’ asked Gilman steadily.
Catermole nodded: ‘The real thing, sir?’
‘The invasion?’ said Gilman.
Watts said: ‘Yes, sir. That.’
‘They’ll tell us,’ said Bryant. ‘As soon as this Noah’s Ark gets under way. But I don’t think you need to say your prayers too heavily tonight.’
Gilman smiled at the officer’s friendship. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s got to happen sometime, but we just wanted to know.’
‘I don’t have to write out my will after all,’ said Catermole.
‘You should have done that anyway, Pussy,’ said Bryant with affection. ‘It’s a soldier’s duty.’
‘I got so much, sir, I’m letting my lawyers sort it out,’ chatted Catermole.
Sergeant Spence said: ‘So we won’t be needing Betty tonight.’ He patted the stock of the Bofors.
‘I didn’t say that,’ said Bryant, keeping his voice low. ‘With an armada this size floating about in the English Channel, the Jerries may well decide to have a go. They’ve got planes, they’ve got submarines, they haven’t got any big ships but they’ve got some torpedo boats along the French coast. I don’t think we can afford to count that out, sergeant.’
It was almost dark now, the last edge of daylight like a bad join along the western horizon. As Bryant turned to walk forward again, Catermole said: ‘Is that a puffer train over there, sir? On that LST? Or is it a secret weapon?’
Bryant said: ‘Looks strange, doesn’t it? A railway engine at sea. They’re trying it for size, I expect. This is the last chance to get it right, the same as everything else.’
Watts said: ‘Can’t see that chuffing up the beach.’
Bryant agreed. He turned in the dusk. ‘All right, chaps. Keep warm and, more important, for God’s sake keep awake. I’ll see you get some cocoa or whatever’s going once we get moving.’
‘It’s Yankee rations, is it, sir?’ asked Spence.
‘I imagine so. Being out here all night is going to be bad enough without having our hard tack. The Americans wouldn’t eat it anyway.’
He left them and returned towards the superstructure of the vessel, like a collection of huts four-fifths of the way back towards its stern. Often he felt very strange being in charge of men who, in the main, were older than himself. Catermole was two or three years his senior, Gilman perhaps a year, Watts the same, and the sergeant ten years. It was something to which he had never become accustomed.
He reached the island superstructure and was beckoned up by Scarlett. A naval rating handed him a mug of coffee. ‘Your boys will be getting some soon, sir,’ the sailor said, nodding towards the Bofors. ‘Got to look after our own lads, haven’t we?’
There were ten officers in a group near the bridge, plus Younghusband, the naval reserve captain of the LST. Schorner had a torch on a sea chart. ‘Your gunners okay back there, lieutenant?’ he asked Bryant.
‘Yes, fine thank you, sir.’ Bryant realized they had been waiting for him. ‘Sorry.’
‘And that gun is ready for anything,’ added Schorner good-humouredly.
‘They can’t wait to start,’ said Bryant. ‘The sergeant says it would sink a pocket battleship.’
‘Great,’ said Schorner. ‘Personally, I can do without a battleship.’ His eyes moved around the darkened faces. ‘I aim to give you a general briefing,’ he said. ‘After that I want you to go to your own men and fill in the spaces for them. We’ve got just about four hundred GIs on this ship. I want each guy to know where he’s going and at what time. That’s the least we can do for them. I don’t want them to think we’re holding out on them, not on anything.’
He waited. Whistles and hooters began to sound like endearments across the dim and flat water. Signals were sparking from the bridges of the two destroyers. ‘I think you will all know by now, and if you don’t you don’t keep your ears open – this is not the real thing. It is an exercise with the codename Lion – the final exercise. Tonight it’s all got to go right because we’ve run out of time.
‘The schedule is to sail due east out of Start Bay and across Lyme Bay, towards Portland, to turn and come back on the same course until we are in approximately the same position as we are at this moment. A not untypical piece of planning. Another force, much larger, is coming east from Plymouth, sailing in about three hours. A third convoy is coming from Dartmouth. In all we will have maybe three hundred vessels of various types and up to twenty thousand men, most of which we want on that beach by daybreak.
‘Our own particular convoy, H2, consists of eight Landing Ships Tanks, with a bridge pontoon carried by LST33, and a railroad train by LST22.’ He looked up and grinned in the dark. ‘These little technicalities have to be figured out sometime,’ he said.
‘I don’t have to tell you what the landing procedures are. Each of you has his orders, his priorities and his beach drill. But I need to add one thing here – the considerable danger of German intervention in this exercise.’
The lugubrious Hulton, at a finger signal from Schorner, handed over a single sheet of paper. It was caught by the ocean breeze and fluttered fiercely in his hand like a captured white bird. The colonel said: ‘We would be living with Judy Garland over the rainbow if we believed that an exercise of this magnitude would be overlooked by the enemy. Increased signal traffic alone, the volume of it, never mind what the heck it is saying, is enough to put the Germans on the alert. They also have various other ways of breaching our security. Information passed to them. People talking too much and too loud.’
By the merest fraction of a glance Bryant caught Scarlett’s eye. Quickly both turned to Schorner again. ‘This report I have been handed,’ said the colonel, ‘is a general survey of potential enemy forces in this immediate area.’ He smiled his grey smile, hardly to be seen in the darkness. ‘These guys, these Intellig
ence eggheads, they think of everything,’ he said as he read. His illumination was the single narrow torchlight. Its parameter made his lined face more deeply incised, his eyes metallic. Bryant remembered that he was not yet fifty. Schorner read aloud: ‘It says here, “Attention is invited to the fact that this portion of the Intelligence annexe concerns enemy forces which may be met in actual combat – and does not concern enemy forces assumed for the purpose of the exercise.”’ He looked up. ‘In other words, it’s not cardboard dummies we’re talking about. So get that straight.’
A bleep came from the small shed-like bridge of the LST and the British officer, Younghusband, with a glance at the American colonel, excused himself. He went to the bridge and they heard him giving orders into a mouthpiece. Almost at once the craft began to move. The lieutenant leaned matily from the upper rail and said: ‘Can I listen from up here, sir? We’re under way. I’m afraid the timing of the exercise is up the spout already.’
Schorner looked up and smiled the smile he kept for people he really liked. ‘Sure. Just like Tugboat Annie,’ he said. He returned to the document. ‘Okay, this is the score, then. These are the enemy forces available in this area. First, submarines. In the past three years there have been only two reports of German submarines operating in the English Channel. But one of these was last month. So maybe this guy will be nosing around tonight. These clever people’ – he tapped the vibrating paper – ‘they say so.’
He returned to the document. ‘Surface vessels,’ he said. ‘I read here that within striking distance of Start Bay – right here – on 11 April, less than a month ago, there were six Moewe class torpedo boats and four Elbing class destroyers, with four others not too far away. That’s plenty. There is also the fact that this convoy is twenty minutes flying time from the Luftwaffe, if they’re not scared of the dark.’
Even in the easy evening sea they could feel the clumsy LST begin to wallow as it began its journey towards Portland Bill. The two old destroyers were making little hooting sounds, as though in encouragement, as they turned and followed. The convoy, like a slow herd of cows, was edging eastwards. Other ships were spreading far out, soon to be lost in the anonymous night. Even the destroyers and the other landing ships, almost devoid of lights, were soon only wraiths.
‘Now – the primary danger,’ continued Schorner. An orderly was passing around mugs of coffee. Scarlett could see Schorner was annoyed, although he did not comment on the intrusion but took the mug in one hand. He then looked up towards Younghusband still leaning chummily over the bridge. ‘Do you think, lieutenant, that we could keep this meeting private for a few more minutes?’
Younghusband’s face arched in surprise; then he realized. ‘Oh, the steward. Yes, sorry, sir. I expect he was afraid the coffee would go cold.’
It was said in concise British cheerfulness. Schorner said: ‘If we don’t get this right then the coffee won’t be the only thing. Okay, just keep this deck clear.’
Younghusband looked hurt. His head disappeared on to the bridge and they could hear him giving sharp but indistinct orders. When he came back he looked chastened and quiet, no longer holding his coffee mug.
‘Okay,’ said the colonel, ‘the primary danger – German E-boats. I think I’d better just go over what this Intelligence annexe says. It reads: “A flotilla of sixteen E-boats, thirteen known to be operational, are based at Cherbourg. These boats have been operating in the Start Bay area and attacks can be expected nightly, at any time after dark until approximately two hours before sunrise.” ’
Collectively, involuntarily, the officers in the group looked around at the gathered night. The sea sounded against the hull with regular slaps.
‘ “Attacks from these craft in the current exercise is a possibility that cannot be over-emphasized. The last recorded E-boat sortie was in March.” ’
The colonel said: ‘And, just so we really get the message about the kind of troubles we’ve got, they’ve added a few personal details. The newest and largest E-boats are operating in this area. They are one hundred and six feet long and have a displacement of ninety-five tons. And get this. They have speeds of thirty-eight knots and the newest type are believed to be capable of forty-eight knots. They can cut this to below twelve knots by using only one engine.’ He looked wryly up to Younghusband. ‘What speed are we making right now, lieutenant?’ he inquired.
Younghusband said: ‘Three, going on to four knots, sir.’ He judged Schorner’s expression and ducked back into the bridge canopy. His face emerged again. It was like a one-man performance in a miniature theatre. ‘Three point four, sir,’ he said. ‘The set speed is four but not many of these can make it fully laden.’
‘That’s walking speed,’ said Schorner, adding: ‘so the escorting destroyers have to cut down their speed?’ Younghusband looked out to where he knew the ancient Oregon and Florida were ploughing. ‘They can manage about fifteen knots,’ he said apologetically. ‘That old couple.’
The American officer turned again to the black-cheeked, helmeted group. Their life jackets gave them the appearance of a collection of fat men. ‘So there you have it. Our only defence, if these E-boats come for us, is that we’ll be going too slow for them to catch us.’
There was a dim laugh from the officers. Schorner continued: ‘According to this, these E-boats are armed with two twenty-millimetre guns, one fore, one aft, and on this year’s model these have been upgraded to forty-millimetre cannons. Their main armament, however, is better than this. They carry four torpedoes, probably of the latest homing-in type, and these they fire at full speed at ranges less than six hundred yards.’
From the catwalks around the side and from the deep vehicle deck, soldiers were staring up at the small congregation. They could hear nothing, only see the serious fattened shapes. The men squatted and lay where they could, their equipment loosened, their weapons laid down, the dumb vehicles set among them.
‘E-boat tactics I won’t bore you with,’ continued Schorner. ‘I guess we won’t see them in the dark anyway. This intelligence study says that they cruise in groups of three or four searching for shipping. Well, they won’t have to search much for this circus.’ He read some more of the directive. ‘ “Attack is made after the first escort vessel of the convoy” – in our case one of those two old smokers out there – “has passed the last group of E-boats.” Having attacked they beat it in a cloud of smoke, which is about the only good news in the entire document.’
He folded the paper and thrust it into his battledress pocket. ‘Okay, you’ve got it. It may not happen, I certainly hope to God it doesn’t. But we need to be prepared. I want you all to make sure that your men wear their life vests at all times.
‘That’s all,’ he said. ‘Each of you make sure that your men are informed and alert. If it all goes okay and we get ashore on schedule, we’ll all have time for a game of baseball tomorrow afternoon.’
The officers left and as they did he called Scarlett, Hulton and Bryant to closer consultation. ‘Sorry about the depressing forecast,’ he said. ‘Maybe it won’t happen. But the fact is we’re out here wearing no pants if those E-boats do come after us. It’s not an exaggeration.’ He studied their worried faces. ‘I know, I know. You thought like me that we were winning the war. You thought all that war material we saw piling up all over England was going to be enough. We had enough guns and enough ships and planes coming out of our ears. So did I. But here we are holding the wooden spoons, out in the ocean with two old destroyers and outmoded guns, with a fleet of E-boats licking their chops like big bad wolves just over the horizon. Well, that’s how it is. And there’s nothing we can do about it.
‘I have a particular order for you three officers. If we get into action I want all three of you to stay real close to me. This is an instruction from way up. It’s my luck that I’m one of a group of officers who know enough about the details of our projected landing in France – Overlord – to make us a great catch for the enemy. I’ve never felt so wanted b
efore. I must not be allowed to fall into German hands, got it?’
They nodded dumbly. ‘My group has the uncomplimentary codename of BIGOT,’ he continued. He spelled it out. ‘I understand it was the code for the top-secret echelon in the Torch landings in North Africa, but reversed. It was then called TO GIB, to Gibraltar, which was a cover for all top security documents during that operation. They’ve turned it around to make it BIGOT– and I’m a BIGOT. On no account must I be made a prisoner, in case I start to holler. Okay? If there is any danger of that, each of you must take a collective and individual responsibility to kill me. Got it? If I’m floating around in the ocean and those E-boat guys look likely to pull me out – shoot me. And that’s a strict order.’ They said they would and then dispersed. Bryant, walking towards the gun, looked back over his shoulder and saw Schorner’s solitary outline. He felt overwhelmingly sorry for the man.
At midnight there was some loitering fog in Lyme Bay. It crept in silent fingers over the side of the LST, chilling the huddled men among the vehicles. Those down below were warmer but scarcely more comfortable, lying on the trooping decks in random positions like dead men when a battle is done.
‘There’s four hundred GIs on this tugboat,’ complained Ballimach, who, because of his size, was less comfortable than most. ‘Four hundred, and I get the lousiest place to put my ass. And this iron goddamn coffin keeps going up and down like the Atlantic City roller coaster.’
‘The ocean is pretty calm tonight,’ pointed out Albie. He had wedged himself between Ballimach’s drum of cable and the wheel of a truck. He ate alternately from a tin of army pressed beef and a half pound bar of chocolate. ‘When there is a storm then you’ll think you want to get ashore even though the Nazis are there.’
‘They ought to give us seats,’ grumbled Ballimach. ‘Real seats like on a train or a bus or the movies. If you’re going to war, surely they can give you comfortable seats.’
The Magic Army Page 49