Frazer glanced at the land already in deep shadow by the slope which led to the general’s house. He thought of the general’s son as he had last seen him in the W/T cabin. A good-looking boy with dark, frightened eyes. One thing, he thought, if the worst happens they’ll all go together. He heard Ives testing the helm and recalled the tender way he had picked up the girl’s naked body and carried her away from her torturers’ eyes. Protective. Or had it hit Ives so deeply that he would not get over it?
Goudie peered at his watch. Then he leaned over the central voicepipe.
“Chief? Start up!”
The engines roared into life as one, the air cringing to their din in the confined moorings. Petrol vapor fanned over the bridge and made one of the seamen burst into a fit of coughing. The hull was shaking wildly, ammunition and loose gear joining in the chorus with their vibration.
Goudie stared hard at the pointer of headland and waited until the drifting hull moved into line.
“Full ahead!”
The motor gunboat seemed to leap forward as if some invisible leash had been severed.
Within seconds the hull gathered speed, the bow waves surging away on either beam, the wake frothing from the triple screws in an angry furrow.
Frazer gripped the rail below the screen and felt the hull rise like a seaplane as the revolutions mounted and sent them hurtling towards the open sea. Spray deluged over the bows and rattled against the bridge like pellets.
Goudie did not turn his head and seemed to be yelling into the spray itself, “This is more bloody like it!”
They tore as close to the headland as they dared and then swayed hard a-port as with startling suddenness the anchored E-Boats burst into view. Their dark silhouettes appeared to overlap, like two basking serpents on frosted glass. All these wild thoughts flashed through Frazer’s mind as a solitary thread of red tracer tore across the sea towards them.
“Open fire!”
Goudie’s voice was drowned by the instant rattle of Oerlikons and the heavier crack of the two-pounder. Then the pairs of machine guns added their earsplitting rattle, the tracers cutting across the surface and reflecting on the surging water like blood.
A voice yelled, “Somethin’ in the water! Port bow!”
Frazer tensed for a collision. At this speed anything solid could rip out the bottom.
It was the Germans’ rubber dinghy, paddles stilled in midair as the armed sailors stared with horror at the onrushing MGB.
They hit the rubber dinghy a glancing blow but it was enough to capsize it in a welter of foam and staring faces, mouths like black holes, the screams drowned by the roaring engines.
Bullets raked across the hull and Frazer heard the windows of the chartroom shatter to fragments. A burst of cannon fire added to the bombardment and Frazer felt the deck jump as some of the steel hit home. The nearest E-Boat was end-on; she must have cut her cable and was already swaying in pale foam as her big Daimler Benz engines coughed into life.
Goudie yelled, “Depthcharges! Ready!”
Shots cracked around the bridge and the White Ensign floated down like a ghost as tracer ripped through the halliards. The telegraphist ran to replace it, but Goudie seized him by the arm, “We can fight without it, you young maniac!” But he was grinning. His face like a mask changing in color in the reflected tracer and shell bursts.
The E-Boat came looming at them and Frazer saw several figures running to take cover as the little MGB tore alongside.
Goudie jabbed at the bell button by his elbow and they heard the metallic clatter as the depthcharges went over the side. There was a vivid flash on the starboard side and the barrel of a machinegun flew overhead before splashing into the sea. The remaining gun pointed at the sky, and pieces of the seaman who had seconds earlier been firing at the other E-Boat hung from the harness like bloody rags.
Two shining columns of water shot skywards as the depthcharges exploded.
One must have been really close, Frazer thought, and it looked as if the E-Boat had swayed almost onto her beam ends before she floundered upright again in a welter of spray and smoke. Frazer ducked as more tracer thudded into the mahogany planking. The MGB had been shaken like a rat when the charges had exploded. The E-Boat must have been badly holed at least.
But the other one was turning now, her moorings cast adrift as she swung in pursuit, her forward cannon pivoting to keep the MGB in its crosswires.
Goudie swore as more shots beat into the hull. “He’ll knock out the engines in a second!” He jabbed the button again and seconds later two more depthcharges exploded astern. But the German captain was an old hand at this Coastal Forces trick. The big E-Boat rolled from side to side as she zigzagged around the telltale cascades of water.
“The after guns are out of action, sir!”
Goudie shouted, “Get Weeks off the MGs and send him aft. It’s our only chance.”
Frazer peered astern. “He’s not overhauling us, sir!” He was hoarse from shouting and from tension.
“Doesn’t want to! He’ll stand off until he lands a lucky shot. “
The twin Oerlikons opened fire again and Frazer pictured Weeks down there with Allenby. He was glad they were together.
The bridge screen appeared to jump over the side and
bright starlike holes punctured the thin plating as a fresh burst of firing raked the upper deck like a handsaw.
Ives yelled, “Skipper’s down, sir!”
Frazer leapt across the madly swaying bridge and caught Goudie around the shoulders. There was a lot of blood on his shirt, but his eyes were wide open as he gasped, “Leave me! Get the boat out of this mess!”
Frazer propped him against the side and wondered briefly
how he had escaped. Then he saw the young telegraphist sitting in the opposite corner by the ladder. His legs were thrust out and he appeared to be staring at his hands, which like red claws were clutching his stomach as if to contain his intestines. Mercifully his head dropped and he was dead. A shell must have passed right through him before cracking around the bridge in a whirl of splinters. But for, him, Goudie would have taken the full impact.
Frazer reached the voicepipe and had to repeat himself twice before Wright answered him. God alone knew what it must be like down there. Every explosion, no matter whose, would sound like one about to burst in on them as they crouched between their thundering engines.
“Chief! I’m going hard to starboard! I need to bring her round in a tight turn!”
Wright replied, “Ready when you are.”
Frazer looked around the bridge. Goudie was still conscious, his ears and eyes trying to guess what was happening. The telegraphist swayed with the boat, as if he were asleep, and the one remaining seaman was trying to bandage his knee where a flying sliver of wood had plunged into him like an arrow.
“Turner! Go aft and tell Mr. Allenby I’m going to turn and engage! Drop the smoke floats!”
The man seemed to forget his pain and stared at Frazer before he staggered down the ladder. He had nearly cracked wide open, but the fact that Frazer had remembered his name in spite of everything seemed to steady him.
A chip of metal clanged away from Ives’s helmet. He eased the spokes again, hating what was happening to the boat. He knew Goudie was staring up at him, remembering perhaps that but for his insistence that bit of German steel would be firmly inside his skull.
It could not last much longer. No boat could take this sort of punishment. The survivors might be landed back on that same island. Would he have to face the girl like that? Himself
a prisoner?
With the sea surging across the narrow afterdeck whenever the boat changed course it was difficult to think as well as stand. Allenby clung to the injured seaman, their faces inches apart as he listened to Frazer’s instructions.
The deck was shaking wildly and the screws were hurling great banks of water away like a gigantic fishtail. Allenby stumbled to the smoke-float release, and as it fell astern di
pping and rearing in the wash he freed the second one and saw the vapor rise immediately in a ragged screen.
“Depthcharges! Cease firing, Weeks, and give me a hand! You too, Turner, you’re not dead yet!”
Allenby tried to swallow but his mouth was raw from gunsmoke and yelling orders. “We ditch the lot! It’s our last chance!”
Weeks stared past him at the great wall of smoke. They were moving so fast through the water it was difficult to accept that the sea and wind were so calm. The clouds were much darker now; within the hour it would be pitch black.
Weeks said aloud, “Might as well be a bloody year!”
But Allenby was clinging to the depthcharge rack, his eyes watering as he peered at each setting. It would be a big bang. It might do for their own boat if she was not already sinking, he thought. She must look like a pepperpot.
He heard Frazer’s voice carried aft from the bridge, the immediate change of sound as the starboard outer engine was stopped and then flung full astern as the rudder went hard over. Allenby held on with all his strength, with the injured seaman clinging to him and gasping with pain as the wood splinter caught against the rack.
Over and over, they would turn turtle, Allenby thought wildly. He saw the sea surging past the deck and then rising above it to sweep around their legs and the abandoned gun mounting. When he looked up the smoke had vanished and he stared at Weeks with utter disbelief. They had done it and were now tearing headlong towards the smoke.
The enemy captain might think they were trying to slip away with the smoke’s aid in the hope of finally shaking him off in the darkness. If so, he was in for a shock. Surprisingly, Allenby threw back his head and roared with uncontrollable laughter. We shall all be in for a shock if we meet bows-on.
The others peered at him anxiously and probably thought he had gone round the bend.
He was still laughing as they plunged into the smoke, dazed and blinded as they waited for the first contact.
A flat-trajectory burst of tracer shells passed down the starboard side, bright fiery balls in the swirling smoke.
If he had wanted to the German captain could not have revealed his position better.
The bell jangled beside Allenby and he jumped, his laugh dying away as he and Weeks flung themselves on the charges.
He found a split second to wonder if but for this he would not have been able to stop his crazy laughter.
The charges rolled from their racks; it took only seconds to release the others. Whoever had fitted the racks to the MGB must have known exactly what was expected of her.
Allenby’s mind cringed as a towering white moustache of a bow wave rose out of the smoke, the E-Boat’s forward cannon still firing on the same bearing. Where they would have found a ready target if Frazer had stayed on the same course. All caution was gone. The E-Boat was charging towards them at full speed. The MGB tilted over again and Allenby fell to the deck choking beneath a ton of water.
Pressed to the deck, his hands scrabbling for a grip, he felt the charges explode. Like hitting a mine. The hull seemed to leap beneath him and he heard a sudden high-pitched metallic whine from one of the shafts. If the Chief didn’t stop it, the screw might chew its way through the bottom.
Weeks was shaking him, his face and body streaming with seawater.
The E-Boat was slowing down, and as she turned away from her enemy Allenby saw that she was beginning to list over, smoke pouring from her bows.
Weeks waved his hands in the air and cheered. Even the soldier with the Bren gun staggered to his feet and grinned at the E-boat with a mixture of disbelief and amazement.
Frazer’s voice came aft to make everyone realize that it was not over.
“Come to the bridge, Dick!” Then to the boat at large he added, “Bloody good show, lads! But Jerry will have screamed for help on his radio by now, so we must make tracks fast!”
Allenby reached the bridge and stared with dismay at the bullet and splinter holes, the great pattern of blood which even in the gathering darkness seemed to ripple in the deck’s vibration. Someone had covered the telegraphist with some of his signal flags, and Allenby saw Ives on his knees putting a dressing on Goudie’s shoulder while a spare seaman stood at the wheel. The first time Ives had left the spokes since their mad dash for the open sea.
Frazer wiped his face with a filthy handkerchief.
“Chief’s had to stop the starboard outer. Something’s running hot. He can’t do otherwise.”
He watched his friend’s pale and smokestained features. “Are you OK?”
Allenby nodded. He felt light-headed. Sick.
Frazer said, “We lost three killed, Dick. Three wounded, including the Skipper.” He hesitated. “Archer’s going round the guns and checking damage up here. Will you-?”
Allenby nodded. “Yes. I’ll go below.” He glanced at the flag-covered body. “Poor little Sparks,” he said absently.
He groped his way below, his ears picking up the uneven growl of engines. Their speed would be badly reduced, and Ives would have a hard job to hold them on course. Did this mean they would be caught and destroyed after all they had done? It was wrong. Unfair.
The ERA had got the pumps going and as he stopped at the foot of the ladder Allenby saw water trickling from the diagonal planking where shots had raked the side.
The W/T cabin was so full of people Allenby was moved in spite of his anger.
The general was jammed in one corner, his arms around his wife and son. The boy smiled at Allenby and then burst into tears. The servants stared at him as he clung to the doorway and Allenby guessed he must look like something recovered from the sea itself. He forced a smile. “No one hurt?”
It was amazing how his smile and the sound of his voice seemed to restore them. Their all began to speak at once, not that Allenby could hear much. His ears were still throbbing from the persistent gunfire.
He said, “We’ll try and get something hot to drink, eh?”
He saw them nod happily, accepting at last that they were still alive. Allenby had seen it so often. The carnage left after a stick of bombs or a mine that had exploded when someone like him had forgotten about the boobytrap.
A cup of tea. It always seemed to work like magic.
He pushed his way forward and peered into the galley. It had received a direct hit from a cannon shell. There would be no tea this time.
In the entrance to the messdeck he saw Major Thomas speaking with his corporal. It sounded like Polish, but they both changed to English as he appeared.
Thomas snapped, “Is it finished?”
Allenby eyed him with dislike. “Both E-boats knocked out, sir. Maybe one of them will sink. ” He noticed the sudden pride that had crept into his voice. For the first time he realized what they had done together.
Thomas’s expression did not alter. “There are three dead here.”
Allenby passed him and saw the bodies by the mess table. There were several holes in the boat’s side just above them through which water spurted like jets each time the bows dropped into a trough.
Most of the lights had been shaken into broken glass, but Allenby saw that one of the dead soldiers had his wrist in a bandage. Perhaps Keith Frazer would not have to face a court of inquiry after all. Considering what he had done he should get a bloody gong, he thought.
Thomas said, “I should like to see the general.”
“I’ll tell the bridge, sir. But everyone is to stay put until we’ve rearmed. When daylight comes I doubt if we’ll be alone for long.” Thomas’s curt indifference filled him with a new wave of anger. “I suggest you put your men to work plugging holes. It’s bad enough without having the bilges full of water.”
He turned his back and went back to the bridge. He had purposely not told Thomas that Goudie was too badly hurt to continue in command. Thomas was insufferable anyway, without knowing he was in the charge of two lieutenants.
Frazer listened to his report and said, “It’s a bloody miracle that anyon
e made it.”
They turned as a halliard squeaked and saw a seaman hauling up the White Ensign again to the gaff.
The seaman looked at the two officers and shrugged. “Sparks wanted to do it. Seems proper.”
Archer appeared and said wearily, “The two-pounder’s on manual control. It took a lump of steel as big as your fist.”
Weeks clambered onto the bridge with a tray of mugs.
Frazer asked, “How did you manage it?”
Allenby took one of the mugs. “It’s not tea.”
It was neat rum which Weeks swore had been broken open from its store by a cannon shell.
Goudie opened his eyes and stared up at them. “Tot for everyone, Weeks.” He tried to smile but the pain froze it on his lip.
Weeks got down beside him and said, “You next, sir.” Goudie coughed as the neat rum ran down his throat but managed to gasp, “Just the ticket!”
The hands worked in silence throughout most of the night. The dead were tied in canvas and lashed to the empty depthcharge racks. As Leading Seaman Sullivan remarked, “They won’t feel the wet, not any more.”
Ives stood at the wheel, his eyelids sticking together with fatigue, his mouth still sore from the smoke. It was like being only part alive, he thought. Like an onlooker outside himself. Even when Goudie managed to speak to him he felt he could see himself too as he answered.
Frazer remained in the forepart of the bridge and sent Archer to the chartroom every so often to check his original calculations. In spite of all his grumbling Shiner Wright was working wonders. Even with only two screws in use they were making good, about eighteen knots. By first light they would be passing the final piece of Sardinian coastline. He thought of his last desperate attempt to knock out the E-Boat, his astonishment when she had swerved away, listing and probably damaged beyond repair. No matter what happened when daylight laid them bare, nobody could say they had not done the impossible. He grinned, his face cracking; miracles take a bit longer however.
He thought of Lynn Balfour. She would know about this. Perhaps she had been in the Operation Room with Prothero and the urbane Captain Heywood, the one Goudie disrespectfully referred to as Creeping Jesus.
The Volunteers Page 15