Vibart nodded, and passed the message where he felt it belonged: to the TGM and his torpedomen. Then he said, ‘I reckon we’ll be picking up survivors. Best get the scrambling-nets over the side.’
The TGM lifted a hand and pointed. Vibart saw two more enemy destroyers, distant but moving in. There would be no picking up of survivors, but there would be more action and he had to get his tubes ready again. As he passed the orders, Wharfedale swung hard to starboard and her engines, which had slowed after the Italian had gone down, came up again to full power as she steadied on a due easterly course.
*
On the bridge Sawbridge had reached a decision that might have serious political consequences but which he believed to be the only option now open to him. Von Rudsdorf and the Greek, Razakis, had to come before a possibly avoidable engagement with superior forces. Such avoidance, if Sawbridge could keep Wharfedale ahead of the destroyers’ gun-range for long enough, could come via Turkish waters and two birds could be killed with one stone. Currently, he was something like 150 miles from the nearest point in Turkish territorial waters, and this he could reach in four hours — always assuming the enemy destroyers didn’t overtake, of course, and he believed they hadn’t the speed to do that.
It could be done.
‘Tricky, sir,’ Drummond said.
‘I know. The Turks are teetering... right now, they’re still neutral, and it’s a violation.’
‘And a tight-rope,’ Drummond said. He expanded: ‘You seem to be banking on a belief that the Eyeties will respect Turkey’s neutrality even though we’ll have broken it wide open. You believe they’ll leave us alone... they just may not, sir. In which case —’
‘In which case nothing’s gained — I know! But I do believe they won’t follow us in, at any rate not without orders from above. And I don’t believe they’re at all likely to be ordered in. The official Axis view will be that since the British have broken neutrality, the Turks’ll move into Hitler’s camp.’
Drummond said drily, ‘Which they may!’
‘I know the risks, Number One. But if Churchill’s behind Razakis, as he’s said to be... well, what better backing could I have if things go wrong?’
Drummond said no more; the Captain’s mind was made up, however dangerously, however foolishly. The Turks themselves might be well entitled to open fire on any invader of their neutrality; no doubt the Captain would have considered that. And no doubt his answer would be that he was prepared to take that risk too. It was not up to a First Lieutenant to argue further. Wharfedale rushed on, keeping — so far — out of range of the pursuit. Action stations were maintained; and Sawbridge used the tannoy to broadcast his decision to his ship’s company. He was heading, he told them, for Turkish waters off Kusadasi behind the Aegean island of Vathi. That was all. Further decisions would be made known in due course.
After that he sent for Razakis and Cameron. Razakis was wary, withdrawn: he assumed, correctly, that Sawbridge had now made up his mind finally to land him in Turkey, and he was far from happy.
‘The Turks are enemies,’ he insisted once again, fiercely. ‘I cannot trust them!’
‘You won’t have to,’ Sawbridge said, smiling. ‘That is, you may not have to. Not on your own, anyway. But I assume it still remains vital to get both you and von Rudsdorf into Russian hands?’
Razakis stared. ‘Of course — most certainly! Why do you need to ask that, Captain?’
Sawbridge didn’t answer the question directly, parrying it with one of his own. ‘Worth the risk... worth any risk, Razakis? I must know positively.’
Razakis narrowed his eyes, and pulled at his heavy beard. ‘What risk do you refer to, Captain?’
‘A risk perhaps equally as great as not taking von Rudsdorf through to Russia. I must make an assessment, you see. I’m sure you’ll understand that, Razakis. Risk is your trade too, isn’t it?’
Razakis gave a heavy nod. ‘Yes.’
‘Right, then I’ll put it to you.’ Sawbridge spoke briskly now; after much harrowing thought and the weighing of risks, he had returned to an earlier hypothesis and now saw it as the best way, indeed the only way of completing his mission. Currently under pursuit by the Italians, with the Germans well and truly alerted now as to his purpose, it would be quite impossible for him to run back and attempt to land his passengers on the Greek mainland or any of the Greek islands which, if he did land them, they might never be able to leave alive. There was just the one alternative, and he put it to Razakis bluntly.
He said, ‘I propose to run north, right up the Turkish coast, keeping as close inside Turkish territorial waters as I can. At Cape Helles I shall enter the Dardanelles for the Sea of Marmara —’
Razakis swore. ‘This you cannot do —’
‘I can try, Razakis! Just hear me out. I shall cross the Sea of Marmara and enter the Bosporus, then the Black Sea. In the Black Sea, I shall make contact with Russian ships — there’ll be no difficulty about that providing I can persuade them not to open fire — and hand you and von Rudsdorf over to Russian custody for immediate transfer to the Kremlin.’ Sawbridge paused and wiped sweat from his face. ‘How’s that?’
Razakis gave a loud laugh. ‘Crazy!’ he said. ‘Always the British suggest things that are crazy! How do you think you can enter either the Dardanelles or the Bosporus, Captain? Your ship — and von Rudsdorf, and I — all will be blown to small pieces by the Turkish guns!’
‘It doesn’t necessarily follow,’ Sawbridge said mildly. ‘But, since you do understand the risk involved, I just want to ask you this: is von Rudsdorf really worth that risk? I ask because it seems to me that if Stalin hasn’t already seen through Hitler’s little games, he hasn’t much time left now to do anything about them in any case?’
‘No, no, no!’ Razakis shook his head with much emphasis.
‘If nothing else, Captain, von Rudsdorf will be invaluable to Comrade Stalin for the knowledge that is in his head of the German dispositions and campaign plans and strengths of the formations that are to march against the Soviets. The answer to your question is yes. Any risk must be considered acceptable.’
‘That’s all I wanted to know,’ Sawbridge said. He turned to Cameron. ‘Sub, get hold of the Admiralty Sailing Directions for the Dardanelles. I’ll want a complete picture of the approaches and defences — all right?’
*
Wharfedale kept ahead of the pursuing destroyers and in fact had drawn farther away from them by the time she made her entry into Turkish waters and was steaming behind the lee of Vathi. Once inside, Sawbridge altered course, as planned, to the north. The Italian destroyers came up, turning north in company when they were off Wharfedale’s port beam. Officers crowded their bridges, staring through binoculars at the British vessel. There seemed to be much consternation around, but so far at any rate no attempt was being made to follow in and violate Turkish sovereignty. Sawbridge had a feeling that this was one up to him; solemnly, he took off his steel helmet and swept it across his chest in a bow. From the Italian leader’s bridge, a fist was waved.
Sawbridge grinned. ‘Flummoxed, I’d say! I think we can forget them for the time being, Number One.’
‘Perhaps, sir, but not the Turks.’
‘Who are currently conspicuous by their absence. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, which I’ve no doubt we shall!’ Sawbridge rubbed at tired eyes. ‘Better arrange a relieve-decks for breakfast, Number One. The captains of the guns can send men below in relays, but all hands are to stand by for instant recall to stations.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Drummond turned away to pass the orders to the Chief Boatswain’s Mate and the Gunner’s Mate, feeling in his bones, still, that the Captain was playing an extremely dangerous game. Violation of neutrality could have all manner of repercussions in the diplomatic field, and the diplomats were always pretty adept at pinning the blame on the armed services whenever they could. This time, they wouldn’t need to try very hard. As Drummond went down the ladder fr
om the bridge he saw that matters were about to come to a head: away to starboard, out from the coast near Kusadasi, a vessel was coming. It looked like a small gunboat; and already the starboard bridge lookout had reported to the Captain.
Drummond turned back up the ladder. Now the gunboat was signalling by lamp. The Yeoman of Signals was trying to read it, apparently without success. He reported to the Captain, ‘Gibberish, sir.’
‘Otherwise and more politely known as Turkish!’ Sawbridge waved a hand towards the Italian destroyers on the port beam; they were prudently sheering off, putting more obvious distance between themselves and the Turkish limits. ‘The Turks seem to have put the fear of Islam or whatever into the infidels, anyway!’
‘And us, sir?’ Drummond asked. ‘The gunboat’s probably ordering us to heave-to.’
‘Very likely,’ Sawbridge said. ‘And heave-to we will — there’s no point in being rude, I suppose!’ He bent to the voice-pipe. ‘Both engines to stop.’
Bells rang below. ‘Engines repeated stopped, sir,’ the Torpedo-Coxswain reported.
‘Half astern both engines,’ Sawbridge said. He straightened; as the way came off the ship he stopped engines again and waited. The gunboat, now seen positively to be such, steamed busily and amid clouds of black smoke towards the British destroyer, and when it was within hailing distance a small, fat man in a curious and colourful uniform began bawling through a megaphone. Like the lamp signal, it was gibberish, but the purport was clear enough: the British were being warned to go away or else. The fat man made shoo-ing motions with his hands and with the megaphone, then stepped down from his tiny bridge and ostentatiously patted the barrel of a small gun on his fo’c’sle. Then he turned the gun towards the Wharfedale and strutted back to the bridge.
Sawbridge said, ‘We’ll show willing.’ He turned to the navigator. ‘Pilot, do your level best to put me right slap bang on the territorial limit and keep me there — in fact, just a shade outside it if anything. All right? That should satisfy the Turk and I doubt if the Italians will take the risk of opening fire. While you’re working it out, I’ll move westerly.’
The orders were passed to take the destroyer on an obviously westerly course for a while, and she proceeded outwards at half speed. The gunboat made an attempt to follow, to shepherd the intruder away, but was soon left behind. When Bradley, the navigator, had worked out his intricate position, Wharfedale’s helm was put to starboard and her engines increased to full, and once again she proceeded on a northerly course. By Bradley’s reckoning, they would be off Cape Helles and the Dardanelles entry within six hours. Sawbridge looked at his watch: 0635. By the time they made Cape Helles, there would be a reception committee waiting. Half an hour later, the W/T office reported the interception of coded wireless signals being transmitted by the Italian leader to an unknown destination: no doubt the British movements were being reported to whatever other enemy ships or aircraft were likely to be interested... in the meantime, Cameron’s study, along with the navigator, of the Sailing Directions, had revealed a strong defence of the approaches. This defence was almost certainly stronger than the Sailing Directions indicated: they were somewhat out of date since the declaration of war in 1939. Sawbridge found little hope of being able to crash through, though he was prepared to face that if he had to. He was possessed now of an iron determination to deliver Razakis and von Rudsdorf to the Russians. But in the first instance, some kind of diplomatic approach had to be attempted, and this also produced difficulties: Razakis was adamant that he was not going to have any dealings with the Turkish authorities; he said again that they were not to be trusted.
‘They will hoodwink you, Captain. They will say they will let your ship through the Dardanelles, and when you are inside, you will be arrested — and so will I, and von Rudsdorf. Again I say, it is crazy!’
‘They can arrest us just as easily outside the Dardanelles, off Cape Helles —’
Razakis raised his fists in the air. ‘Then do not approach Cape Helles! Go out to sea, and put me ashore in Greece!’
‘That’s not on,’ Sawbridge said. He waved a hand to his port beam, where the Italian destroyers were still keeping him company. ‘It’s likely enough that the Stukas will be ordered up this way soon, to locate us. I’ve a feeling that our only chance lies here, and in the Dardanelles passage —’
‘Then you feel as a fool!’ Razakis shouted.
Sawbridge shrugged. ‘Time will tell, Razakis. At least you’re away from Greece and the Nazis. Be thankful for that, for God’s sake!’
*
Once again, the tannoy gave the ship’s company the facts: they were bound for the Dardanelles. The very word ‘Dardanelles’ held foreboding. In the last war, too many lives —British, Australian, New Zealand — had been thrown away upon those grim and bloody beaches. Winston Churchill had been behind that brave attempt, too, as First Lord of the Admiralty. Regiment after regiment, ship after ship, had been destroyed over the weary, battered months of 1916. One or two of the older hands had personal memories of the slaughter off Gallipoli, of ships sunk under them, of messmates screaming out their dying agonies in the holocaust of shot and shell, of the old steamer River Clyde and the troops she had sent ashore to wither under the machine-guns even before they had waded through the water to land. The Torpedo-Coxswain was one of these; he had been a seaman boy in the Queen Elizabeth then, ‘and now, a chief petty officer at his action station on the wheel, he sucked his teeth gloomily at his memories. Another was Mr Vibart, then also a seaman boy first-class serving in a cruiser that had been sunk by the shore batteries. Now, wishing to talk to a fellow sufferer as it were, one who knew what it had been like, he climbed to the conning-tower for a natter, using his relieve-decks break to do so.
‘Fair sod, ‘Swain,’ he said. ‘You’ll remember!’
‘That I do,’ the Torpedo-Coxswain agreed. ‘Mind, it’s different this time.’
‘Yes. We’re that much bloody older.’ Vibart brought out a handkerchief and blew his nose. ‘Got families to worry about, among other things.’
‘So we had then, come to that. My mum worried herself sick.’
‘You know what I mean, ‘Swain.’
‘Yes, I do, course I do, sir. But I don’t reckon this is going to come to shooting. Skipper, he wouldn’t take the ship into certain destruction.’
‘What, then?’ Vibart asked sarcastically.
The Torpedo-Coxswain said, ‘Skipper’ll find a way. He knows what to expect... he wouldn’t be heading for Cape Helles if he didn’t think it was worthwhile, stands to reason.’ He paused. ‘Got something up his sleeve, I reckon.’
‘Well, I hope you’re bloody right, ‘Swain. We don’t want last time all over again,’ Vibart said, and went back down to his torpedo-tubes. He doubted if they would be needed off Cape Helles, or anyway he hoped they wouldn’t, but they had to be on the top line just the same. That was his job, and his pride also — if it hadn’t been, he would never have got his warrant. From his tubes, Mr Vibart looked out at the Italian destroyers, still steaming fast in company, waiting to see what happened, Vibart supposed. Breath hissed through his teeth: he would have liked nothing so much as to send his tin fish into each of the bastards! That Mussolini, ‘Il Duce’ as he called himself, was accustomed to refer to the Mediterranean as Mare Nostrum, Our Sea. He needed teaching a lesson; it was sheer bloody cheek. Why, the Med had been British ever since Nelson’s time! Mr Vibart looked away from temptation and studied the Turkish coastline to starboard. It looked pretty rough, and in his time he’d heard some nasty stories about the Turks and their cruelties towards their enemies, and about their moral standards too, which were different from the British. And the things the Turkish women got up to as well on the field of battle when it was all over — like the Pathans along the North-West Frontier of India! The knives came out to be used on the dead and wounded, and nothing was sacred, nothing at all.
That would never do.
Better, much better, to go do
wn fighting in the clean blue sea than to be, say, taken ashore for internment. And in Mr Vibart’s view it was precisely internment that the skipper was heading for if he didn’t watch out.
*
It was noon now, with some half an hour to go for Cape Helles, already in view ahead. North-eastward from the cape and its old fortified castle, Tree Peak rose 750 feet above the sea, while opposite Helles loomed the fortress of Cape Yen Shehr. The entry to the Dardanelles was heavily enough protected, and ships attempting the move inwards without authority would enter the very gates of hell. As he took his ship closer now into Turkish territorial waters Sawbridge, who was far from having anything up his sleeve as prognosticated by the Torpedo-Coxswain, was keeping an open mind: something that he acknowledged to himself to be a euphemism for not knowing what the devil to do next.
‘At the start,’ he said to Drummond, ‘I’ll let events dictate — see what happens, and then decide the next move.’ He gave a sudden grin, a somewhat tight-lipped one. ‘Masterly inactivity... it often pays off!’
‘Yes, sir. So does boldness. What we’re doing is pretty bold, though the Admiralty may find another name for it later on.’ Drummond paused, looking out ahead through his binoculars. ‘What I mean is, the Turks are going to be God Almighty surprised —’
‘Caught with their pants down?’
‘Something like that, sir. If we go on being bold, we just may be able to talk our way through rather than start the shooting. There’s nothing so effective as bullshit — sometimes!’
Sawbridge murmured, ‘I was beginning to think the same way myself, as a matter of fact. Where’s Cameron?’ He turned. ‘Ah — there you are, Sub. I may have a job for you.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘I’ll be more precise when I’ve provoked a reaction from the Turks. In the meantime, see that Razakis and von Rudsdorf are stowed away somewhere where they won’t be found easily. And put a guard on them.’
Dangerous Waters (A Donald Cameron Naval Thriller) Page 14