Dangerous Waters (A Donald Cameron Naval Thriller)

by Philip McCutchan

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  Cameron turned away and went down the ladder. As he left the compass platform things began happening from the shore. From Cape Helles a light began flashing and out from the entry to the narrows came three warships, two of them small gunboats, one of them an antique-looking destroyer. They moved out towards the Wharfedale. Sawbridge studied them through his binoculars, then turned his attention to the Italian destroyers’ bridges. The officers were looking jubilant.

  Sawbridge said, ‘They’re expecting us to be ordered out. That’ll give them their chance.’ He lowered his glasses and turned to Drummond. ‘Fall out action stations, Number One.’

  ‘Fall out, sir?’ Drummond stared.

  ‘That’s what I said. We come in peace to a neutral country! Pipe, hands fall in for entering harbour... and since I intend to anchor, you can pipe the cable party and special sea duty-men.

  14

  To the ship’s company it was a curious business: there was the enemy, all guns manned, just a half-mile or so to port, keeping unctuously clear of Turkish territorial waters; there were the Turks steaming towards them, also with guns manned; and they themselves were falling in fore and aft, hastily cleaned into the rig of the day, more or less, caps on square, hands clasped behind their backs in the at-ease position, their Divisional Officers standing in front of the ranks after a formal inspection to ensure that the men were as tidy as was possible in the circumstances. Proper peacetime — or anyway like entering Malta under the critical eyes of the Flag. Talk about bull!

  There was plenty of sotto voce comment.

  ‘Skipper’s gorn round the bend, like Harpic.’

  ‘Thinks ‘e’s comin’ into bloody Pompey!’

  ‘Tyeties’ll be laughin’ themselves sick.’

  ‘Stop that yattering — keep silent!’ This was the Gunner’s Mate, who had suddenly gone all gas and gaiters, like on the parade ground at Whale Island, the gunnery heaven beloved of Gunner’s Mates. ‘Keep fell in proper an’ eyes front, you’ve not bin told to stand easy. The order was stand at ease.’ The seamen muttered, but understood the vital difference well enough. Sod the Turks...

  Wharfedale moved on, slap into the jaws of the unknown. On the bridge Sub-Lieutenant Bradley watched for his anchor bearings; in the eyes of the ship the Cable Officer stood with his red anchor flag ready, awaiting the Captain’s order, the port anchor already veered to the waterline and held on the brake.

  As the bearings began to come on, the Captain raised his own red flag; the Cable Officer followed suit. When the navigator reported the ship in position, Sawbridge called sharply, ‘Let go!’ and in the same instant brought his flag down, as did the Cable Officer. At the cable-holder the shipwright spun the brake off, and, with the Blake slip already knocked away, the cable rattled out in a cloud of red rust. Sawbridge brought her up at the third shackle, putting his engines briefly astern until her way was off. When the ship had got her cable he ordered the cable party and special sea dutymen to be fallen out. Then he turned to the Yeoman of Signals. He said, ‘Make to Cape Helles: I request the hospitality of your waters for the statutory period as allowed under International Law.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ The message was sent out by light. After this there was a lengthy delay, during which the crews of the Turkish warships stared curiously from behind their guns. Sawbridge remarked that there might be a language difficulty in addition to the undoubted fact that contact would have to be made with Ankara; and the Turkish radio links could well be primitive. When the answer came back in English, it was simple and to the point: ‘You must go to sea or be interned.’

  ‘Helpful bastards!’ Sawbridge said angrily. ‘I thought at least they’d respect our own belligerent rights to ask for temporary shelter.’

  ‘Could be because of the Italians, sir,’ Drummond said.

  ‘I don’t see why,’ Sawbridge snapped. ‘Yeoman!’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Make: I intend landing an officer to discuss vital matters with the Military Governor in Gallipoli and expect you to accord me my proper rights. Any hostile act committed against me in the meantime will be considered most serious by the British Government and in particular by Winston Churchill. That’s all.’ Sawbridge turned to Cameron. ‘You’ll be the officer, Sub.’

  *

  Possibly it was the use of Churchill’s name, possibly it was the fact that the Turkish Government was more than half inclined towards Britain and wished to establish good relations; whatever it was, a signal came back after another long delay to say that a British officer would be permitted to land and would be transported by road along the forty-seven miles from Cape Helles to Gallipoli at the inward end of the Dardanelles passage. In the meantime the British destroyer was to remain at her anchorage with her guns unmanned and trained peacefully to the fore-and-aft line. Any deviation from this would result in her being ordered to sea forthwith. A power boat would be sent to bring off the officer to Cape Helles, and he would be returned when the meeting with the Military Governor ended.

  ‘Watch your step,’ Sawbridge advised Cameron, ‘and your tongue. You’ll be on your own — I won’t know what’s happening to you, and you’ll have to be careful not to provoke the Turks. That apart, you have carte blanche. Your job’s simple in basis — you’ve got to get approval for me to move through to the Black Sea. That’s all. And the best of luck!’

  Cameron saluted and went down to the quarterdeck to await the boat from Cape Helles. It arrived hard on the heels of the signal, and Cameron seated himself in the sternsheets under the close scrutiny of its crew — four Turkish seamen, all armed to the teeth and looking as brigandish as Razakis and the other Greek partisans. The boat had just cast off from the destroyer’s side when the Captain on the bridge received a report that six aircraft had been sighted, coming in from the south. Bringing up his glasses, he identified them quickly.

  ‘Stukas,’ he said. ‘I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt — nothing precipitate, or Cameron may suffer.’

  From the decks, all hands watched the incoming German dive-bombers; every man holding his breath, wondering what the pilots’ intentions might be. In they came, quite clearly now making for the anchorage. Sawbridge said, ‘The Italians will have brought them in — those wireless signals we intercepted. I don’t like it, Number One.’

  ‘Diving!’ Drummond shouted suddenly. Sawbridge’s hand, already hovering over the action alarm, pressed it. The rattlers sounded throughout the destroyer, and her decks came alive as the men doubled to their action stations and began to swing the anti-aircraft armament up to meet the diving Stukas. Seconds later, the first bombs screamed down. Two hit the Turkish destroyer, putting her ablaze fore and aft. Men began jumping into the sea from her decks. Waterspouts surrounded Wharfedale as Sawbridge passed urgent orders to weigh and get on the move. Then a bomb took the destroyer slap on the torpedo-tubes. There was an almighty explosion. When the smoke and debris cleared a little, the remains of bodies were to be seen everywhere; Vibart lay with arms and legs gone, a twitching, agonized trunk that had little time to live, mouth open and screaming on a high note. Sawbridge, his face white as a sheet, picked up a megaphone and shouted across the water to Cameron.

  ‘Rejoin!’ he called. ‘Those buggers... I’m taking advantage of the situation they’ve created and balls to British violation... I’m going into the Dardanelles!’

  *

  Wharfedale swept under full power for the narrows; Cameron had dived in from the Turkish boat and swum for the ship’s side, to be grappled aboard aft. The Turkish boat’s crew were too panic-stricken even to notice he’d gone. The Italian destroyers were lying off still; they had not opened in support of their German allies, leaving it, perhaps, to the Nazis to incur the opprobrium of the Turks. The Stukas followed the British ship for a little way, then suddenly broke off as Saw-bridge had gambled they would, and climbed and spiralled away over the Aegean; to drop their bomb-loads closer to the Dardanelles entry would be
foolish, and would negate the claim that they would no doubt make — that they had not known the British ship was inside Turkish territorial waters.

  As the Stukas made off, Sawbridge ordered his anti-aircraft weapons to cease fire and called for damage reports. In addition to the loss of the torpedo-tubes, there was a great, gaping hole in the upper deck, a hole that descended to the officers’ cabins, all of which had been totally destroyed by the explosion and the resulting fire, which now had the hoses on it and was dimming down. The wardroom itself had gone as well, as had the pantry. There was a good deal of ancillary damage on deck but this was mostly superficial and the ship was seaworthy and under full command.

  The anchorage was in total confusion as Wharfedale sped through. Boats of all shapes and sizes were coming out from Cape Helles and other places, a veritable regatta, with collisions everywhere as the Turks charged into each other’s courses. Baggy-trousered men were shouting and gesticulating, firing off revolvers to no apparent purpose; and now the Italian warships were turning to depart. Events, perhaps, had moved somewhat beyond them and discretion was now the better part of valour: no doubt in their eyes the British destroyer was in any case moving into an impossible position.

  Sawbridge stood behind the binnacle, conning his ship into the narrow passage of the Dardanelles. The forts stood silent as the Wharfedale went by with her remaining guns manned and ready. In the constricted waters, she could not move at speed; as Sawbridge brought the engines down, a consuming impatience laid hold of him. More fortresses lay ahead, mostly ancient monuments but ones that could have been modernized and re-armed: New Castle of Asia at Koum Kaleh was the next past Cape Yen Shehr, and then others before they reached Gallipoli. Anything might happen; even if no fire was opened earlier, the destroyer could be stopped in her tracks by gunfire from Gallipoli before she reached the Sea of Marmara. But in the meantime there was no interference with her passage; as they went past more modern defences the guns stayed silent, and here and there a hand waved in apparently friendly fashion. Certainly, after the bombing and sinking in the anchorage outside, there would be little Turkish love left for the Nazis...

  ‘Depending on what happens in Gallipoli, Sub,’ Sawbridge said as he watched the waters ahead, ‘I may decide to put you ashore with Razakis and von Rudsdorf.’

  Cameron asked, ‘You’re not going to try for entry to the Black Sea, then, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. A lot must depend... as I said.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Cameron cleared his throat somewhat hesitantly. Then he said, ‘Razakis won’t land in Gallipoli, sir.’

  ‘Razakis may have to change his bloody tune, Sub!’

  ‘He’s adamant, sir. I’m quite convinced he won’t shift.’

  Sawbridge laughed; it was an edgy sound. ‘He’ll be bloody well landed with an armed escort if that’s what I decide to do,’ he said. ‘I’ve already stuck my neck out so far I’ll never get it back in again!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Cameron coughed discreetly. ‘I believe that if we put Razakis ashore against his will, he’ll simply refuse to co-operate —’

  ‘Balls,’ Sawbridge said briefly. ‘Whatever he is, he’s a Greek and a patriot. He’ll put his country’s interest first — and his communism!’

  ‘Not in Turkey, sir. He’ll never talk to the Turks... and there’s no Russians available to him.’ Cameron paused, then went on with emphasis. ‘I’m absolutely certain I’m right, sir

  ‘As every officer should be,’ Sawbridge said with a grin. ‘There’s nothing like self-confidence!’

  Cameron flushed. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to sound —’

  ‘Cocky? As a matter of fact, you didn’t, Sub. But you did sound convinced, I’ll say that. Further, I agree Razakis is an obstinate bastard to put it mildly. I may find another way, but —’ Sawbridge broke off as a report reached him from one of the lookouts.

  ‘Gallipoli in sight, sir!’

  Sawbridge nodded. ‘Thank you.’ He looked ahead through his binoculars, then stepped to the tannoy and made the switch. ‘This is the Captain speaking,’ he said into the microphone. ‘We are now approaching Gallipoli, a name that I know some of you have memories of. Forget them. I don’t propose to storm the beaches. I doubt if we shall be attacked, but they may try to arrest us. If they do, I shall rely on talk to get us out. I have to remember Turkey’s status as a neutral power. That’s all for now.’

  He flicked off the switch. Ahead, the Gallipoli defences loomed, giving the lie to the peace inherent in the domes and minarets and towers of the city, lying pink and gold and purple above the blue water, an aspect of history and of pure romance. It was a brilliant day, not a cloud to break the sky, and the colouring was magnificent. But one wrong move now, and the colours might dissolve into the raw red of running blood and the orange flashes of the guns amid the smoke...

  ‘Boat approaching, sir,’ Cameron said.

  Sawbridge nodded. Lifting his binoculars again, he studied the boat, coming fast towards the destroyer under power. There was an important-looking officer seated beneath a canopy, with a civilian in a white suit. ‘All right, Number One,’ Sawbridge said. ‘Bring ‘em aboard if that’s what they want.’

  Drummond clattered down the ladder after sending the bridge messenger for the Chief Boatswain’s Mate, and made his way aft to receive the Turks. No word had come from the Captain as to falling out from action stations; the guns’ crews remained closed-up as the Wharfedale moved on, her engines now at slow ahead. A moment after Drummond had left the bridge, Sawbridge gave the order for the engines to be stopped, and the destroyer drifted on to lie off the port and await the embarkation of the Turkish VIPS. Sawbridge said, ‘Now or never, Sub.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Are you going to send Razakis and von Rudsdorf ashore with the Turks, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. I’ll see how things develop.’

  They waited; as the way came off the destroyer, the boat from Gallipoli came alongside. Sawbridge moved to the starboard guardrail of the bridge and stood for a moment at the salute. He called down, ‘You are welcome to board my ship, gentlemen.’

  The two men had come out from the canopy and were standing now in the sternsheets. The uniformed officer called up in excellent English, ‘We shall not board, Captain. The guns of the fortress are trained upon your ship and if you do not anchor you will be in danger of being sunk. You are in violation of our neutrality.’

  ‘So were the Germans, off Cape Helles.’

  ‘Yes. With this I agree —’

  ‘And your government is known to be moving closer towards an understanding with Britain. I’m no diplomat, I admit... but it seems to me that your anger should be turned against Hitler rather than us.’ Sawbridge paused, his decision hardening fast. ‘I come in peace, asking only to be allowed to proceed through your waters into the Black Sea.’

  There was a hasty consultation between the uniformed man and the civilian, then the officer called back, ‘Russia is your enemy! I do not understand. In the Black Sea you will be apprehended by Soviet warships.’

  Sawbridge said, ‘Not if I remain in your territorial waters outside the Bosporus. I’m hopeful your neutrality won’t be invaded by three powers! I have an important message that must be passed without delay to the Kremlin. It must be passed in person.’

  ‘It cannot be permitted,’ the officer said.

  ‘If you do not permit it, you will give vital aid to the Nazis. That is not in the spirit of neutrality under International Law.’

  ‘It cannot be permitted,’ the Turk said again. There was a ring of finality, of no further argument. ‘I am instructed by my government in Ankara that your ship is to be arrested and brought into the port of Gallipoli, and that you and your seamen are to be disembarked and held in internment until the war is ended.’ He paused. ‘If you should resist arrest, then I am empowered to take whatever measures appear necessary. This could mean that the shore batteries will open on you. I wish your answer immediately.’
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br />   Sawbridge stared down at the Turks. The situation was a diabolical one. To submit to internment was unthinkable. His mission, after all the difficulties and dangers that were behind them, would remain totally unfulfilled, with world-shaking results. Yet the alternative was serious enough as well. Saw-bridge swallowed and called down to the boat. ‘Who is to give the order to open fire on me, if I refuse?’

  ‘I am. I am ready to give it. I am ready now.’

  Sawbridge said, ‘If you do, you will regret it. I am under orders from my government, not to break your neutrality certainly, but to deliver my message to the Russians. Your government will confirm that Winston Churchill in particular wishes good relations with Turkey, and your country stands in imminent danger of a massive German attack. If that should happen, then Turkey will be glad enough to have my country on her side. To sink a British destroyer would be unfortunate.’

  ‘Then,’ the Turk called back, ‘your answer is no, Captain?’

  ‘Dead correct!’ Sawbridge said savagely. The Turks were bluffing — they had to be; but it was quite clear that Gallipoli would after all be no place to land Razakis with his vital information. The Greek would be blocked for far too long. Sawbridge swung away, his mouth hard. Down the voice-pipe he said, ‘Engines to full ahead.’ Then he flicked the tannoy on. ‘I’m taking her through,’ he said to his ship’s company. ‘All the way to the Black Sea.’

  *

  Boldness paid, so far at any rate: the guns on Gallipoli stayed silent as the Wharfedale passed through the port at speed and entered the land-locked Sea of Marmara with her remaining armament still closed-up and ready, though Sawbridge had passed the word that any trigger-happiness would result in cell punishment when they returned to join the Fleet in Malta. He was determined not to fire upon the Turks or their installations whatever might be thrown at him from the defences. At least he would keep his nose clean to that extent. There was no interference in the Sea of Marmara either, though behind them a Turkish destroyer emerged from Gallipoli and thereafter kept in company astern. Wharfedale made the 140-mile passage to the Bosporus in good time, arriving off Istanbul within four hours of passing Gallipoli. Whilst in the Sea of Marmara Sawbridge had sent, via his wireless transmitter, a plain-language signal addressed as a general message to any Russian warships in the southern sector of the Black Sea, asking for a rendezvous off the mouth of the Bosporus. At Istanbul, there was watchfulness from the shore but they were allowed to enter the narrow waterway without hindrance, the Turkish destroyer entering behind them.