Missed, but only just. One torpedo man claimed to have heard the bomb scrape the side of the ship. But the damage was no more than another cascade of freezing water. As the last frothing rivulets fell back into the sea, Steadfast glanced up. The planes were gone.
‘Course one-two-five. One-hundred revolutions,’ he calmly called as he brought the ship back to normality.
‘’e’s a cool one,’ remarked Elphick.
‘Yer, ‘e never ducked once. Just kept looking at the bombs as they came down. Reckon ‘e’s as tough as he looks,’ replied Greenwood.
‘Let’s ‘ope ‘e’s not too tough,’ quipped Elphick.
***
The three bombers departed, leaving the convoy shocked and disrupted. Steadfast ordered, ‘Resume course,’ and the cargo ships began to straighten up again. It had been a rather feeble high altitude attack, with little chance of hitting the relatively small vessels in the vast sea. Steadfast wondered whether that was all that the spotter plane had called up. Or had the bombers stumbled on the convoy by chance?
‘We saw them off, didn’t we, sir?’ remarked Ross.
‘We did. But I don’t think that’s it for today.’
‘Why not?’
‘Think about it. A spotter plane reports our position and all Jerry sends us is three high-level bombers with not much hope of a hit. And here we are cruising along at a pathetic 7-knots under a clear sky, sticking out like a billboard in Piccadilly Circus. Doesn’t make sense.’
‘So you reckon there’ll be more?’
‘For certain. That lot must have been up when the call came. We were just an extra job on their run home. Mark my words, the real thing will soon be here. We’ll stay closed up at action stations.’
Confirmation of Steadfast’s forecast came half an hour later when the port lookout once more called out, ‘Aircraft on the port bow!’
Steadfast looked up and saw the planes, low in the sky and descending steadily.
‘Torpedo bombers,’ he remarked calmly to Ross.
Ross had only been in one torpedo bomber attack. It was just three weeks into his time on Defiant. It had been the most terrifying moment of his life. He had no idea what was the worst thing about these attacks: the speed of the approaching enemy, the sight of the racing torpedo, the petrifying feeling as the departing planes screamed over the ship? The one thing that was certain was that such an attack left men traumatised.
Steadfast watched as the next wave of Heinkels came in at around 250 miles per hour. Lower and lower they came, rushing towards the east side of the convoy. He knew this horrific moment too well. From a plane’s first blip on the horizon it was only minutes to seeing its lethal load ominously slung beneath it. Then, seconds later, the plane was skimming the masthead. You counted those chilling seconds, wondering whether you had escaped the torpedo. If not… Ugh! Yes, he knew all about ‘if not’. A cold shiver ran through him as the sounds and sights that visited him in the depths of the night welled-up in his imagination. Steadfast shook himself back to the present.
The first plane came in well to the north of Defiant and then turned towards the convoy.
‘We’re not the target,’ remarked Gardiner, who was now on the bridge.
‘Not this time,’ replied Steadfast.
‘Poor sods – that collier’s in for it!’
‘Looks like it. She can’t dodge the torpedoes as well as we can. But lots of them have got good guns now: 12-pounder quick-firers plus an Oerlikon. They’ve all got Navy gunners – there, look at that.’
They were watching a largish collier, right in the path of the first torpedo plane. The machine was no more than two hundred feet above the sea, screaming down on the merchantman. But ahead of it was a wall of tracer, AA shells and machine gun fire. It seemed impossible that the plane could survive. Then a burst of flame came from its fuselage. The plane wobbled a bit but the pilot quickly regained control. The AA fire from the collier and Defiant continued to burst around the tiny plane. For a few more seconds it kept its path. Then, ‘splat!’ as a large chunk of the tail blasted off. The plane swerved erratically and the panicking pilot released his torpedo. But he had turned too quickly and the torpedo ran harmlessly ahead of the collier. Defiant and the collier gave one more burst of needless fire. Already, the plane was spiralling down out of control into the sea.
‘OK so far,’ remarked Steadfast.
The second plane peeled off, dropping in height more quickly. Steadfast watched, knowing exactly the pilot’s intent: his target was Defiant, out on the port side. Lower and lower it came towards its target of the 300 feet of Defiant’s beam – a near unmissable target. It was only a couple of minutes away.
Johnson on the port Oerlikon watched as the plane came hurtling towards him. At masthead height its thin profile presented a hopelessly small target. His gun was not controlled by the director so he had to aim by sight. On and on it came. Johnson felt his hands tremble in terror and he feared he would lose control of his gun. Seen in his sights the attack by the approaching plane felt personal, as if he alone were the target. In a rush of righteous anger Johnson cried out, ‘No you don’t!’ and let out a burst of fire. ‘Die, you bugger, die!’
Suddenly he heard Steadfast call, ‘Hard to port. Stop port engine.’ A swell of relief passed through Johnson as he realised that Steadfast was bringing the ship round.
Steadfast had almost no time at all to bring Defiant’s prow round to face the aircraft, reducing the target she offered to the mere 33 feet of her beam. Thrashing in the water, Defiant heeled over, over,…. Now careering almost directly towards the plane, her AA swinging round to keep its lethal fire on the aircraft. The pilot saw that he had been outmanoeuvred. Up went his stick and the plane pulled away, in a storm of tracer and pom-pom bullets.
‘Return to course. Continue zigzagging,’ Steadfast calmly called.
But the plane was not done. It flew on over and beyond the convoy. Still rising, it circled and began to return back across the colliers, this time to attack Defiant’s starboard side. The plane began to descend. Soon it reached the western edge of the convoy by which time it was barely clearing the mast tops. The guns on the merchantmen were pounding away and black puffs of smoke burst around the Heinkel. Undeterred, the pilot held Defiant in his sights and hurled his plane towards her.
Now the plane was just a few hundred feet from the ship. Defiant was swinging round as Steadfast brought her stern-on to the plane, leaving behind a huge circle of white foaming wake. The director kept the guns locked on the approaching plane as the ship twisted around. The men on the deck were deafened by the thunder of the 4-inch guns and the drumming bangs of the pom-pom. Yet still the plane kept coming.
Defiant’s crew prepared for the hit. The plane was so low, so close, so straight, nothing could save them. A torpedo strike full on the stern would surely tear the ship apart in minutes.
When the plane was no more than one-hundred feet from Defiant, with its menacing torpedo still hanging underneath the fuselage, Ross suddenly shouted: ‘It’s jammed – the torpedo’s jammed!’ jumping up and down in excitement. (Steadfast noted with derision this un-Naval performance – not what he expected from an Admiralty man.)
Before anyone could reply, the nose of the plane jerked up as if the pilot was trying to gain altitude. There was a burst of orange fire and smoke from the engine and the plane began to twist. Then it turned to plunge nose-downwards as the pilot lost control. He managed a final lift just before he reached the ship but at that moment Defiant’s AA ripped off one wing, which spun off like an empty cigarette packet flung from a car window. The out of control plane was now plunging towards Defiant, twisting like a demented corkscrew. (The torpedo had fallen harmlessly into the sea beside the ship.)
But Defiant was not out of danger. Men ran for cover as the plane crashed nose-first onto the deck and burst into flames.
The fuselage and wings had been torn apart by the impact. Pieces of bodywork, bolts, bits of instruments,
pipes and valves tore across the flats and ripped into Defiant’s pipes, wires and fittings. The two men at the starboard depth-charges fell to the deck as their flesh was lacerated by flying metal. Several men were blasted off the deck into the sea. The fresh-faced Gunner Owens, who had been cheering the demise of the plane, disappeared in a ball of flame, without ever seeing the daughter born to him the day before. His mate, Joe Callaghan, went the same way, so relieving him of the seasickness that had wracked him all night long. Three other seaman at the gun stumbled across the deck. The handsome face of lady’s man Fred Carter was burnt beyond recognition; Noah Oldridge fell to the deck with one arm almost torn from his body; and young Toby Higgins, apparently unharmed, fell dead from shock in the arms of Leading Seaman Warren Armstrong.
Chapter 13 – Fire Aft
‘Fire party aft,’ ordered Steadfast. ‘Lookouts keep on maximum alert. There may be more to come.’
The rear of the ship was quickly engulfed in flames and black smoke but Steadfast could already see Paris directing the fire party of Sullivan, Davies, Birch and Slingsby. Never before had these men, who had practised the fire routine so many times, faced a real fire – a fire that threatened their own lives. Without a word Sullivan and Birch each connected a coupling to a hydrant, while the silent Davies and Slingsby grabbed a nozzle and ran out the hoses. After opening the valves, Sullivan and Birch ran back to help play the powerful jets of water onto the flames. As Paris directed the four men, they appeared and disappeared in clouds of choking black smoke.
Paris was already beginning to feel the effects of the flaming wreck. His eyes stung, his lungs were filling with the hot burning gases, and every breath brought searing pains in his chest. A few months ago he had been testing boys on Caesar’s Gallic Wars. Now he was being tested by Hitler’s Teutonic war. Standing on the flaming deck, his thin fair hair blown into a tangle, the hesitant youth suddenly felt a new strength – the strength of a man – rise within him. He realised that the ship, the men, the captain, all now depended on him. He straightened up as best he could with his ramrod leg, metaphorically filling out his spluttering chest as he felt a fresh sense of command swelling up within him.
It was at that moment that Paris saw the three men trapped aft by the fire. There was Elphick, a bit of a wide boy, but always ready with a tip for the 2.30 when in harbour; Greenwood, his colleague, never to be caught without a smutty story to share; and Ordinary Seaman Sam Peacock, a shirker if ever there was – Paris had caught him only yesterday smoking behind a gun when he should have been cleaning out the heads, and had put him up for Captain’s defaulters. Paris stretched out an arm as if trying to reach the men, but no one could cross the flaming barricade that ran across the deck. Before the men or Paris could think what to do, a sudden change in the wind sent a blast of hot, flaming gases aft. In a moment, bits of the three men’s clothing were set alight, their hair singed while they all felt the searing heat on their flesh. The three men turned and plunged into the churning wake of the ship.
Gardiner had watched the progress of the fire from the bridge, while Steadfast conned the ship.
‘Three men overboard, sir!’
‘Stop engines,’ ordered Steadfast.
‘Boat party, sir?’ asked Gardiner.
‘Not if we can help it. We’re already a sitting target. We can’t afford to hang around. Lines only.’
Steadfast worried. Was he right to stop? Was he softening? He excused his weakness on the grounds that it would only take a minute or so to pick up the men now that the sea was calmer. But he knew the risk.
‘Chief, stand by to move off in an instant. We’ve men overboard.’
Paris left the fire fighting party and limped to the edge of the ship. He could see two men waving and a third looking more dead than alive. Leading Seaman Elton threw out three lifebuoys secured to lines.
Peacock, yesterday’s shirker, didn’t shirk on his own behalf but swam strongly towards one of the lifebuoys and quickly wriggled into it. Without waiting for the men on board to haul him in, he struck out vigorously towards the ship and was quickly pulled up on deck. Elphick, too, had no difficulty in reaching a lifebuoy and slipping into it, but, as he turned towards the ship, he could see the men on board pointing away to the sea. They were shouting something, but he could hear nothing. He turned to where they were pointing and saw Greenwood, who was making no effort to reach the lifebuoy. Fighting the choppy waves, Elphick battled his way over to Greenwood and grabbed him under one arm. The men on the ship had watched and understood. As soon as Elphick had a grip on Greenwood, they began to pull gently on the line to bring the two men to the side of the ship. They hauled up the deadweight of Greenwood onto the deck, where he lay motionless in a pool of oily water. Elphick scrambled up a net and sank down in exhaustion on the deck.
Steadfast had watched every moment of the rescue. He had no intention of waiting one second longer than was needed. As soon as the two men came up out of the sea, he called, ‘Half ahead’. Defiant lurched into life as the Chief used all his skill to speed her on her way.
Paris had already sent orders for Gibbs to be called up from below and he handed the three cold, shocked and soaking men into his charge.
While the men were being rescued from the sea, the fire party had continued to battle with the flaming plane. It must have been low on fuel since the fire was soon under control and most of the damage was to the plane. Half an hour later the last bits of charred machine were heaved over the side.
‘What’s the damage, Number One?’ asked Steadfast.
‘Four dead. Half a dozen badly injured. And the rear gun’s looking like the remnants of bonfire night. Shall we pull out, sir?’
‘Pull out? We’ve a convoy to protect. As long as we’ve guns to fire and men to fire them, we’re staying.’
‘But have we enough fire-power?’
‘What’s enough? You fight with what you’ve got. As long as I’m on the bridge, we stand by the convoy and we fight to the last gun and the last man if we have to. There’s only two ways out as far as I’m concerned: either we sink or we’re ordered home. Otherwise we stay.’
‘And the wounded, sir?’
‘The PMO will have to do what he can. I can see you don’t look happy, Gardiner, but look at it like this. Suppose we pull out and half an hour later Jerry comes and sinks a merchant man. What would you say to her captain if you met him in a pub a few days later?’
‘I see your point, sir. I suppose we fight to the last round?’
‘Not just the last round. We fight to the last man and the last moment the ship’s afloat. This is war, Number One. Remember what old Jacky Fisher said about war?’
‘Can’t say that I do.’
‘In war, be “Ruthless, Relentless, Remorseless”. It’s the only way to win.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied a reluctant Gardiner.
‘And, by the way, Number One, never let the men see your indecision or hesitation. They won’t fight if they think we’ve not got the guts to see it through.’
Chapter 14 – Time for Congratulations
That evening a semblance of dinner was offered in the wardroom. Steadfast had seen enough of the intensity of East Coast convoy work to allow him to relax his standards a little. Peters looked rather grubby and there was no clean tablecloth. As to his officers, they looked (and were) exhausted.
‘A couple of months back I thought I’d seen the worst when we lost two colliers. But this trip beats the lot,’ remarked Gardiner.
‘Well, it’s war, isn’t it?’ retorted Steadfast.
‘No one needs reminding of that, sir, least of all those poor merchantmen,’ Gardiner continued, ‘but some runs are worse than others. And this is the worst of the lot.’
Paris burst in on the exchange: ‘At least we’ve taken a plane and seen the end of two E-boats.’
‘So we have Paris, and no one will forget your part…’
‘Oh, I wasn’t suggesting anything like that, sir. I just th
ink we shouldn’t fuss about a rather hot run. Anyway, I feel much more confident about Defiant now.’
‘We all do, I think,’ said Ross, ‘the ship and the men have put up a great show. Jerry’s had a few nasty rebuffs in the last two days.’
‘Yes, gentlemen, I think we’re all agreed: Defiant is a ship to be reckoned with,’ responded Steadfast.
‘Perhaps she should have been called Invincible,’ suggested Sherman.
‘Go easy! That’s not always proved to be a lucky name,’ said Steadfast.
‘How come?’ asked Sherman.
‘Well one Invincible was wrecked, if I remember rightly. And, of course, the last one was sunk at the Battle of Jutland. Best to stick to Defiant, I think. We’re the first of that name, so there are no nasty skeletons in our cupboard.’
‘A toast to Defiant!’ called Ross.
***
But Defiant had other troubles than the enemy. Down in the mess Elton and Able Seaman Oakshaw had been bickering and sparing all evening. Suddenly their quarrel took a serious turn. They had been arguing over their contribution to the rescue of the three men overboard, when Oakshaw suddenly burst out:
‘You’re a fucking bastard, Elton. I know all about you and my sister.’
‘What about your sister?’
‘Well, you’re going out with her, ain’t you?’
‘So what?’
‘So bloody what? I’ll tell you so bloody what. I know what happened to that Mary Sheldrake girl.’
‘What?’
‘Just that you bloody got her in the family way.’
‘Say that again, you bastard! Just say that again!’
‘Like I said, you got her in the family way. And it will be our Mary next.’
‘You…’
Elton seized a knife and lunged at Oakshaw across the table. Had Elton been alone on his side of the table, or the table narrower, Oakshaw would have had four-inches of steel in his chest in a moment. But two seamen grabbed the attacker, tore the knife from him, and yanked his arms round his back. In one swift movement they pulled him to the deck and sat on him.
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