First Command

by Richard Freeman

  When Defiant reached the collier, a spine-chilling silence had descended on the ship, broken only by the roaring-sucking sound of the flames shooting into the sky and the dull cries of the men in the water. Steadfast knew what every man on the ship was thinking: ‘Rescue those poor bastards’. He gritted his teeth. At what cost? At the cost of an E-boat escaping? At the cost of Defiant being torpedoed while dead in the water? No, the corvette would have to pick them up. His job was to find the E-boat.

  Yet in the tense silence of the waiting ship his command ‘Full ahead’ seemed to ring out and echo as if he had shouted to the heavens: ‘Let them drown!’

  The engines roared into life and Defiant sped off. Not one man spoke.

  Steadfast was not going to be fooled into thinking that the boats had departed – there were plenty more torpedoes to come.

  ‘Star shell,’ called Steadfast.

  The night sky dazzled once more in a firework display fit for a monarch’s birthday. A lookout’s shout quickly followed:

  ‘E-boat at 30 green.’

  The boat lay, apparently stationary, on the edge of the convoy.

  ‘You don’t often get such a good look at 100 tons of 40-knot steel,’ remarked Steadfast, calmly observing his enemy now at such close quarters.

  ‘Yes, quite a sight,’ said Gardiner, ‘But it’s as deadly as a carnivore on an African plain. Looks like engine trouble, sir.’

  ‘Whatever it is, she’s ours!’ cried Steadfast over the thundering and crashing of Defiant’s 4-inch guns, now spraying the brightly lit sea. A few rounds were enough to find the boat’s magazine. A deafening, booming, tearing sound filled the air as flames and debris rose high up into the dark sky and then rained down with a clattering, dripping noise.

  ‘That surprised him!’ cried Gardiner.

  ‘Another boat, 70 green!’ cried a lookout.

  Able seaman Morrison swiftly swung round his Mark VII gun and gave a burst of fire. The rapidly approaching boat seemed to lurch and slow down. A cheer went up from those on Defiant’s deck.

  Steadfast turned to Gardiner, saying, ‘The gunners are on form tonight, Number One. Scruffy they may be, but they know how to punish Jerry.’

  ‘It’s as I told you, sir. These men have been through hell in the last twenty-four hours. None of the men at those guns have slept more than the odd hour since we left port, and some are nursing broken ribs and nasty cuts from injuries from the storm. Yet they turn out like the professionals they are.’

  With some reluctance, Steadfast muttered, ‘Yes, you were right about the men.’

  While Steadfast and Gardiner had been discussing the performance of the men, Defiant had been gaining on the damaged E-boat, clearly visible from its departing wake of white frothing foam, like the tail of a fleeing rabbit. Morrison turned the forward gun on the fugitive. A volley of shells caught the stern of the escaping boat, blasting off her propellers. The boat stopped dead.

  By any rights, Morrison would have kept on firing and sent the boat to the bottom, but just at that moment another boat came racing towards Defiant. Swinging round the gun, Morrison opened fire. The first shells fell short, but the boat got the message. Turning on a sixpence it was soon speeding away, zigzagging wildly. Then it disappeared into the darkness beyond the battle area.

  When Morrison swung his gun back to the disabled boat and was about to fire again, he saw two men hauling down the ensign. Steadfast, who hadn’t missed a shot or a turn of the battle shouted, ‘Don’t fire!’ The boat was surrendering.

  ‘Paris, make up a boarding party.’

  ‘Morrison, cover the boarding party.’

  Paris gathered three seaman from the deck. Armed with side-arms and a Lewis gun, they waited in the waist for Defiant to approach the damaged E-boat. Its crew showed no sign of being armed and looked rather at a loss as to what to do. What a convoy this was turning out to be, thought Paris. To think that back in Eastborough College later today, some elderly retired teacher would be sitting in front of my Lower Sixth Classics set taking the reluctant boys through some Horace or Virgil. Now he, Henry Paris, late of a victorious Cambridge eight on the Thames, was to set foot in a whaleboat to take the surrender of one of the infamous E-boats. It was like a dream. But it was one that, in a moment, could trip into a nightmare.

  Although both excited and nervous, it didn’t occur to Paris that the rest of the boat party had never taken a surrender either. There was young Norman Wood, who rarely got out of the galley and was scared stiff, but tried not to show it. His stomach churned over, just like it did at home on the big dipper at Blackpool. The rest of the boarding party – Leading Seaman Warren Armstrong, Gunner’s mate Joe Callaghan and Ordinary Seaman Eric Sullivan – savoured this moment. Bluffer Armstrong, the ship’s poker champion, was always ready to take a risk. Sullivan, who had been down in the sea once from an E-boat attack, was burning to take his revenge. As to Callaghan, he just wanted to see what the bastards really looked like.

  ‘Jerry, here we come!’ shouted a triumphant Sullivan.

  ‘Yer, one less bloody E-boat!’ called the sardonic Callaghan.

  With the boarding party in the whale boat, Paris gave the order to lower the boat, relishing every moment of this conquest. As the boat dipped into the water and pushed off, Wood began to feel the excitement of taking prisoners. What a tale to tell his girlfriend! What a tale to tell the boys down the pub! His fear ebbed away as he became more of fighting seaman.

  The E-boat was about two-hundred feet from the Defiant. The four men rowed strongly in the unforgiving sea but the whaler approached the stricken E-boat painfully slowly. Paris kept his eyes on the prize – an E-boat that looked undamaged and yet lay marooned before him. Behind him a good part of Defiant’s crew had found an excuse to be on deck to watch this moment of triumph. Steadfast hesitated – it wasn’t right, all these men not at their posts – another attack could come at any time. Once near to the craft, Paris stood up, one hand still on the tiller, and adopted the sort of commanding stance that he thought fit for the occasion.

  Back on the bridge Steadfast was thinking of the other E-boats that were not accounted for; ‘Gardiner, telephone the director and guns and make sure they’re ready for action.’ Then he bent down to the engine room voice pipe and called, ‘Chief, all ready for a quick get-away?’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ came the reply.

  The whaler now lay alongside the E-boat. Paris stood ready to clamber up. As the sea brought the E-boat momentarily lower, he leapt up, grabbed the gunwale and crashed down onto the German deck. Although flat on his back on the deck, the E-boat crew made no attempt to take advantage of his position. Holding his pistol upwards, he stood up, rather bruised and with a searing pain in one ankle. He signalled to the rest of the boarding party to join him.

  Armstrong, Wood and Callaghan thumped down on the E-boat deck. Then, before Sullivan, who was holding the Lewis gun, could drop, Paris cried out, ‘Stay there and cover us!’ He had realised the risk to the Lewis gun if its carrier too smashed down on the E-boat deck.

  Now standing erect – or as erect as his ankle would permit – Paris waved his pistol to indicate to the Germans that they were to move towards the stern, ready to be taken off. One by one they slouched aft. So that’s what the bastards look like, thought Callaghan: about as cheerful as a bunch of undertakers and as manly as a group of Morris dancers.

  ‘Armstrong, Wood: stand by to assist the prisoners. Callaghan, cover Wood and Armstrong,’ ordered an ever more confident Paris.

  Paris, having disposed his men to safely cover the transfer of the prisoners to the whaler, positioned himself with a clear line of fire towards the disembarking point. With his pistol in his right hand, he waved forward the first prisoner. Sullenly, the man went over the side and sat glumly in the whaler. One by one his fellows followed.

  ‘Steady does it,’ Paris called to Armstrong and Wood as they bunched the prisoners too close for comfort – if he had to shoot, he didn’t want
to take more than was needed.

  Just as Paris was thinking how well the boarding was going, he suddenly realised that there was no sign of the Oberleutnant zur See. He had been at the back of the group when Paris had boarded, but now he was nowhere in sight.

  ‘Armstrong, Wood: go inside and look for the commander. And be careful, he may be armed.’

  As the two seamen passed down the boat to the doorway, the German sailors grudgingly stepped aside. Paris turned back to the last few prisoners, taking extra care to keep his distance now that he was alone in the well of the boat.

  The loud crack of a gun, shouts and the noise of scuffle from inside the E-boat ended Paris’s self-congratulatory musing. Wood came tumbling out onto the deck.

  ‘He’s got Armstrong’s gun… he’s going to…’

  Before he could finish his sentence, the air was rent with a thundering, crashing, tearing sound as a gigantic explosion tore the top off the fore part of the E-boat. Paris, thrown to the deck on his back, saw Wood tumbling through the air in the midst of the splintered E-boat.

  Chapter 10 – Taking Prisoners

  The few remaining prisoners on the E-boat had been thrown into the deep, while the whaler remained unharmed alongside the terminally damaged enemy vessel.

  ‘So, we got the men, but not the boat,’ said Gardiner to Steadfast.

  ‘Looks like it, but we’re not done yet. Jerry may have some other tricks to surprise us with.’

  ‘Other?’

  ‘Well, you don’t think that boat blew up all by itself, do you?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why bloody not? Didn’t you see that Oberleutnant sneak back inside?’

  ‘Can’t say that I did, sir.’

  ‘Well he did – and what for? – to sabotage the boat. And I bet it’s Wendorff’s work.’

  ‘Why, sir?’

  ‘I just sense it. I’m sure he’s out there tonight. First the decoy, now the sabotage. We’re up against a crack commander tonight.’

  Back on the still floating E-boat Callaghan knelt over Paris.

  ‘Are you OK, sir?’

  ‘Sort of, but I think I’ve broken something.’

  ‘Can you stand?’

  ‘Don’t think so. Give me a hand over the side.’

  ‘Sullivan! Need yr’ ‘elp ‘ere!’

  ‘I can’t leave this bunch of evil scum! I’ll have to go back for help.’

  ‘Wait… we’re sinking!’

  But Sullivan had no intention of stepping onto the E-boat and leaving nearly twenty prisoners unguarded in the whaler. He pointed to the oars with his Lewis gun. Four reluctant prisoners shuffled onto the thwarts, took up the oars and began the hard tug back to the Defiant. A healthy-sized welcome party stood on deck above the scrambling net while the prisoners clambered up resentfully in moody silence.

  ‘Get me two men to bring back Paris,’ called Sullivan.

  Wilbert Parsons and Sam Hancock slithered down the net, took up a pair of oars and set off for the E-boat. This was young Parsons’ first escort run. He had been an unruly lad at school, who never liked to miss a fight or pass up a prank. ‘This’ll be fun,’ he remarked to Hancock. Hancock had seen enough so-called ‘fun’ in the Great War on the Harwich destroyers, but he liked young Paris and was more than willing to join in his rescue.

  In the wild sea they passed some of the Germans thrown off the E-boat by its commander’s sabotage.

  ‘We’ll get you on the way back,’ shouted Sullivan.

  ‘Don’t expect the buggers understand you,’ remarked Parsons.

  ‘Who cares. It’s Paris that matters now,’ said Hancock.

  ‘Shut up you two and row. Row, damn you! They’re bloody sinking!’

  One minute later Sullivan cried out, ‘Oh hell, it’s gone!’

  All that remained of the E-boat was a swirling mass of splintered wood – and two heads bobbing in the water.

  ‘Row, row …!’

  As the whaler neared the two men, Sullivan was already crouched over the prow, leaning out to grab Callaghan.

  ‘Take Paris – he’s hurt,’ cried Callaghan.

  Sullivan and Parsons grabbed the sub lieutenant under the shoulders and heaved his dripping body on board. As Paris lay on the bottom of the boat, he whispered, ‘We did it!’ and lapsed into unconsciousness.

  Callaghan, by now excited at his adventure and billowing with pride at having succoured the sub lieutenant, scrambled on board unaided.

  Hancock and Parsons, back on the oars, rowed slowly through the mass of debris, while Sullivan steered from one to another of the three Germans still alive in the water. Of Wood, there was no sign. Parsons took a keen interest in his charges, while Callaghan scowled at having to share a boat with a hated enemy.

  Back at the ship the Germans reluctantly struggled up the nets, while Paris was hauled up on a rope. No sooner had the whaler been attached to the falls than Steadfast called, ‘Full ahead, Chief.’

  ***

  Once more on the edge of the convoy, Defiant settled down to see the night hours out in the lull after the attack. Down below on the unheated mess decks men who had been on deck were stripping off wet clothing and putting on drier and, most importantly, warmer clothing. This was no time for fashion or decorum. Anything that they could lay their hands on – overcoats, oilskins, working overalls – was put to use.

  But the real enemy was tiredness. After the adrenalin rush of battle, the accumulated tiredness of years of war, of watch-keeping and hard living, caught up with them. In quiet times like these they were overcome with the boredom and monotony of the routine of patrols and convoys. Tonight, exhausted as the men were, few could sleep. Too tired to go on, but too tired to switch off, they dozed in corners, on benches and on top of stores. It was beyond what human flesh was meant to endure.

  Under attack or in the danger zones of E-boat alley, the unremitting exposure to peril frayed men’s nerves. Sparks had still not been told about his predecessor, who had crumpled under the pressure and was carried off the ship yelling out orders to the officers on the bridge and declaring himself to be a rear admiral. And then there was the strain on the body. Leave was so brief and so rare that one harassing convoy followed another in an unremitting grind.

  The officers, too, now fell into a state of post-battle inertia. The urgency of action, the tension of keeping watch, the terror behind the faint sound of a motor or an unidentified streak across the sea, took men to the limits of their powers. They were living on reserves of nervous energy, reserves that could only be dipped into in the heat of action. But each dipping diminished those reserves.

  Steadfast alone felt invigorated by the night. Even so, he was seeing double after thirty-six hours without any solid sleep. Yet he was also dreaming of the recognition he would receive for capturing an E-boat crew. How many times had it been done before, he wondered. Once perhaps?

  And the weather was never the convoy’s friend. Clear skies exposed them to attack from a brutal foe; from the air, on surface and from below. Fog and mist could mean collision, or simply the fear-ridden boredom of anxiously lying at anchor, fearing attack at any moment. As to the night hours, nothing could be lonelier and more wearying; hour after hour in total darkness on deck and not one friendly light shining from the shore.

  In fact the crew were like zombies, worn down physically and mentally. Digestive conditions were rife from indifferent food and hurried eating. Many men were losing teeth and had infected gums. There was not one man on the ship who could be said to be truly operationally effective.

  Steadfast knew all this as well as his men. Around three in the morning he had seen the strain on Ross, who had ordered the helmsman to turn fifteen degrees to starboard to tighten up the convoy. The wheel went over and stayed over. When Steadfast stepped onto the bridge the ship was making a good attempt at a circle and Ross was asleep on his feet.

  ‘Are you going to complete the circle, Sub Lieutenant?’

  Ross jumped and gave
orders to straighten up.

  Ross wasn’t the only man who was fighting exhaustion. Steadfast could hear the director and guns calling to each other every so often, just to keep each other awake.

  And tomorrow, we’ve got to sort out the mess of this convoy, thought Steadfast.

  ‘Ross, go and get some sleep. I’m going to need you at daylight.’

  Chapter 11- Order out of Chaos

  A cold grey dawn gradually gave way to the first flecks of amber sunlight as Steadfast stepped onto the bridge after attempting but failing to sleep. He slumped onto his high chair and watched as colour slowly returned to the ship. First, glints of silver picked out the aerials, still miraculously in place after the storm. Then the yellow of the men’s oilskins began to glow softly. Next the daylight caught the red of the lifebuoys. The sea too began now to show its greys and greens, with touches of white foam and yellow glints from the low rays of the sun. Another long hard night was over and the ship was returning to her normal daily routine. He relished this time of day at sea in war as he prepared for the excitements and hazards to come – even a day without his midshipman, Kendrick having declared Beverton unfit for the rest of the voyage.

  Steadfast stirred his exhausted frame and slid off his chair into a standing position. He attempted a few feeble stretches but his body refused to respond. He settled for leaning on the rail in a barely conscious state. His numb hands fumbled for his glasses. Listlessly he raised them to his eyes and surveyed the misty sea in the cold early light. Where there had been two neat columns of merchant ships he now saw an incoherent array of wanderers. The E-boat attack had left the convoy in chaos. Some colliers had put on speed, some had held back, some had kept the course, others had veered off into the darkness. Some, he assumed, had sunk, but he knew nothing of them. In the far distance he could make out two colliers listing drunkenly and a third seemed to be stationary. He would leave the Keswick to sort them out.