by Alan Evans
Jameson said, “They must all be blind aboard her, thank God!”
Smith thought she was close, should have seen Dauntless even though she was still four miles away and in bad light. But they were also astern of Friedrichsburg, off her port quarter, and all eyes in the freighter would be drawn in the opposite direction to where Walküre had gone to seek out the ship under the smoke to the south-west.
“Walküre’s opened fire!” That came from the control-top but on the bridge also they had seen those distant flashes out on the far horizon. Walküre was eight miles away with Friedrichsburg lying between.
A chorus of voices shouted, “She’s turning!” They referred to the freighter, swinging out to starboard to run after Walküre. Some look-out had finally turned his gaze astern. But as if pointing up that belated sighting of the threat storming up on the freighter, the rangetaker chanted, “Seven thousand!”
They were close enough. Smith snapped, “Hard aport! Open fire!” And as Dauntless turned to head south on the course that had been Friedrichsburg’s, so the barrels of the guns trained out to starboard and fired, shaking the bridge. Friedrichsburg was showing her stern to them now and Smith saw the salvo fall to starboard of her but close alongside. The light was poor but the range short and Friedrichsburg a huge target. He thought briefly that the same could be said of Blackbird with that huge hangar built on her after end and she was under fire from Walküre now. The chaser he did not worry about. She was small, and could look after herself. But he hoped to God that his own attack on the freighter would soon bring Walküre hurrying back. That had been the plan. He did not want Blackbird and her crew on his conscience.
Dauntless fired again and Bright shouted excitedly, “Hit her!”
Water was hurled up close to the freighter but one shell burst inboard with a streaking flash and smearing, trailing smoke that sprouted flames. The guns were firing with the relentless rhythm of a trip-hammer, three rounds a minute from each gun and a good half scored —and this was not a towed target, some erection of timber and canvas to be taken back to the dockyard at the end of the day and patched up for use on the morrow. This was a ship with men in her and the 6-inch shells were bursting among them, crashing down through the thin decks to explode below, tearing out the heart of her.
At the end of a few minutes of that punishment she had three fires and smoke trailed from the length of her. Soon afterwards she swerved to port and her speed fell away. The range closed rapidly now. There had been no comment on the bridge of Dauntless since that first exclamation of: “Hit her!” They watched the murderous pounding in silence as Dauntless, slowing to ten knots, closed the freighter and Smith said, “Tell the torpedo-gunner to fire when he’s ready.”
Seconds later the two torpedoes leapt one after the other from the tubes amidships and their tracks streaked out towards the freighter. The range was down to three thousand yards and the 6-inch guns still hammered away.
Jameson said, “She hasn’t struck.”
Smith knew he could not take this ship prisoner, not with Walküre only a scant few miles away. Friedrichsburg had to be sunk. But he admired the courage of the German crew and was not enjoying this.
Nor were the others on the bridge. A grumbling mutter ran through them as Henderson said, “Christ! She’s blown up!” They saw the debris of boats and hatch-covers flying into the sky and raining down while the ship listed further, settling. That was when the torpedoes struck her, breath-held seconds between the two muffled explosions. They rumbled dully across the sea as Smith turned his ship to pass close across the bow of the blazing freighter. Almost immediately she lay over still further and smoke and steam roared out of her. Friedrichsburg was finished and would sink in minutes.
He had stood with arms rested on the screen, watching stone-faced, but now he stirred. All through the action the other reports had come in, laconic: “Walküre firing ...” “Walküre ceased firing.” And now: “Walküre turning. Bears red-seven-five. Six miles.” Smith walked out to the port wing of the bridge as Dauntless turned around the bow of Friedrichsburg. He peered through the glasses, searching for the big German cruiser and found her, a tiny blip on that grey horizon under her smoke. She was tearing back, too late, to the ship that she escorted, had thought safe astern of her as she steamed out to meet the threat from the south-west.
He watched her as he ordered, “Steer north-east by north! Full ahead both!” That was a course to take Dauntless running away from Walküre. “Make a signal to the admiral ...” Now he could break wireless silence and report to Braddock.
Jameson said, “She’s opened fire, sir.”
Smith nodded. Huge shells were shrieking through the atmosphere towards Dauntless. But Walküre’s shooting would be largely based on guesswork. He himself could hardly see her, so from Walküre Dauntless, stern on and against the grey background of the coast, was hardly a target at all. He was not surprised when the salvo fell little off for line but a half-mile astern. Walküre’s guns had ample range to reach Dauntless but her range-taker would be having trouble reading the distance.
Jameson said, “Friedrichsburg is going, sir!”
They could hardly see the big freighter now under the huge cloud of smoke that trailed from her across the sea, just the tilted masts and funnel of her and, as Smith watched, they slipped from sight. He made out two boats pulling clear of the smoke so some few souls had survived the hail of fire that Dauntless had poured into their luckless ship.
He shifted the glasses until Walküre’s smoke appeared and under it the ship, tiny in the distance. Another salvo from her plunged into the sea, still short by a quarter-mile or more. He watched her and wondered what her captain would do? Engage in a fruitless chase of Dauntless, that experience would have taught him he could not catch? Return to Alexandretta? But she would not have come this far solely to escort that one freighter, vital though her cargo might be.
He could not be sure, she was so small on the far horizon and the light was so bad, but —
“Control-top reports she’s turning, sir.” That was Jameson.
Smith answered, “Yes.” He waited, as they were all waiting on the bridge to see what Walküre would do now. “Control-top reports she’s steering south-east, sir.”
If Walküre could see those two life boats, though it was doubtful if she could, being much farther from them than Dauntless, she was not going to try to pick up the survivors. That was only to be expected because she would not dare to stop while Dauntless was in the vicinity. Smith knew now that she was headed for Gaza and Deir el Belah, the shipping anchored off Allenby’s forward base and strung out all along the coast to Port Said. Destruction of that shipping would be a severe blow to Allenby’s army and the sight of a big German cruiser running wild in waters they had come to expect the navy to control would be an unpleasant shock. And all the back area running up to Gaza was crowded with troops and Walküre would shell them, no doubt of it. Smith had a horrifying mental picture of those big 8-inch shells exploding in that packed, tented town.
He ordered, “Port ten!” And: “Steer two-oh-oh!” Dauntless swung steadily around, settled on the new course and was now chasing after Walküre at full speed, not to come up directly astern of her but headed a point or two to seaward. With Blackbird no longer as a decoy he did not relish being trapped between Walküre and the mountainous shore. Blackbird ... he wondered briefly how Pearce had fared.
He said, “Tell them in the control-top that we mustn’t lose her for an instant.” It had to be said, though they would already know that Dauntless dared not lose Walküre. He dictated another signal to Braddock, reporting the survivors from the Friedrichsburg he’d had to leave behind, and giving Walküre’s course and speed now. “Submit ...” He tersely set out what he believed were Walküre’s intentions. And then he told Jameson, “I want the men fed. One man from each detachment to go to the galley to draw for the rest. We’ve got something like half an hour, I think.” Provided Walküre kept her course and he was
coldly certain that she would.
*
There was an air of grim expectancy throughout the ship now. Lofty Williams the wireless telegraphist, found himself outside the galley alongside Buckley and said, “No orders come over the wireless but it looks like your bloke’s going to have a go anyway.” To the lower deck Smith was Buckley’s bloke.
Buckley shrugged. “He’s not one to hang about waiting for orders.”
“How d’ye reckon our chances?”
Buckley looked up at him. Lofty, with his gangling length, was the only man aboard whom the big leading hand did have to look up to. Buckley said patiently, “You’ve seen this bloody big cruiser before, haven’t you?”
“Cruiser! Jimmy-the-one calls her a pocket-sized battleship!” Ackroyd’s description had stuck. “Bloody big pocket, if you ask me.”
Buckley said, “Well, then?”
Lofty blinked down at him, thought it over, then said, “Ah! Well.”
Buckley nodded. “That’s right.” Then he added, “But I’ll say this much: You’ll have a better chance with Smith than with anybody else.”
*
On the bridge Jameson said, “Signal from the admiral, sir.”
Smith read it, brief and to the point: “Engage the enemy.” So Braddock also had seen the danger and had the courage to send that signal, knowing it must mean the destruction of Dauntless. In a battle with Walküre Dauntless would be torn apart, sunk, but in that battle she might cripple Walküre, so impair her efficiency as a fighting ship that she would be forced to abandon her mission and run for shelter. It was a possibility, no more than that, but it had to be tried. Dauntless could not stand meekly by while Walküre roared down on Deir el Belah. And the relieving ships, Attack and the French cruiser Ocean, would not come up in time.
With a part of his mind he had been listening to the reports that came down continually from the control-top and from the rangetaker. Now he asked, “What’s her speed?”
Henderson answered, “The plot shows her making around fifteen knots.”
But Walküre was capable of twenty-four knots, so why was she steaming comparatively easily now? Trouble with her engines? He walked out to the wing of the bridge and stared out at her where she steamed off the port bow. The ship was still just a speck on the horizon even seen through the glasses, but he watched her for a long time as they crept up on her. Dauntless was overhauling her, not at fourteen knots, the difference in their respective speeds, because Dauntless was still clawing her way out to sea, but Walküre was still edging steadily back along the port bow and would soon be abeam.
Jameson came to stand at his shoulder. “Strange that she hasn’t fired, sir. We’re within range of her.”
“Just.” Smith answered absently, mind probing at the problem, seeking the reason for Walküre’s behaviour. He said, “Too far for good shooting in this light.”
“We can’t reach her.”
Not yet, thought Smith, but when they closed her ... The answer came to him then. Walküre’s captain knew the only ship he had to deal with was Dauntless and that Smith dared not let him reach Deir el Belah without a fight, so he was waiting for Dauntless to try to close within range of her own 6-inch guns when she would make a sitting target for Walküre. He had to settle with Dauntless so he would do it now in the light of day, not risking a night action which was always chancy. And Smith dared not wait for the night. If he did and lost Walküre in the darkness then with the dawn she would come roaring in on Deir el Belah. Dauntless could be waiting to sacrifice herself then but it would be too late. Walküre had chosen the place and the time and Smith could do nothing but accept the challenge.
The crew of Dauntless had eaten though Smith had not, had refused the food, drunk only a cup of coffee. Now they were at their action stations and ready to fight. On Walküre’s terms? Smith rubbed at his face. He had to do something to shorten the odds against them, could not throw them senselessly into the path of destruction. He turned and saw Jameson staring at him and realised the man was waiting for an answer. He forced a smile and said, “Still, this pottering along at fifteen knots is a bit of luck for Pearce and that sub-chaser. At full speed she’d have been on top of them by now.” Then, as he saw the smile and the words take some of the unease from Jameson’s face, Smith added, “Pass the word for the men to rest at their action stations.”
Jameson blinked. So they weren’t going to attack yet? Walküre lay abeam and was slipping astern now. He had thought that once they came up with Walküre then Smith would carry out his orders, and launch Dauntless at the enemy. Why this delay? But Smith had turned away. Jameson answered, “Aye, aye, sir.”
So they rested at the guns as Dauntless raced on at near thirty knots and they saw Walküre slide slowly down the port quarter until she was miles astern of them and still they kept on. They grumbled because of this stretching of their nerves when they had been keyed up for the attack and looked up at the bridge where Smith stood out on the wing. “What the ’ell is he waiting for?”
Smith was working out in his head a little problem in relative times and distances as he listened to the bearings and ranges monotonously repeated ... “Red one-six-oh ... twelve thousand ...” “Red one-six-five.” He had the answer now, turned and walked back to the centre of the bridge.
The bridge staff watched him come and Buckley, standing at the back of the bridge, saw the quick, restless stride and thought, “Here we bloody go!”
Smith ordered, “Action stations! Make smoke!”
The wind was still out of the north-west. As their twin funnels began to belch out thick, oily smoke the wind’s thrusting rolled it down across the sea astern to drift out eastward and southward. Soon it had drifted far enough to hide Walküre from them. Dauntless maintained her course and her speed as the trail lengthened and spread astern of her. Smith joked, “A little of that goes a long way.” That only brought tight smiles from one or two on the bridge, all on edge now and trying not to show it. Smith saw this and supposed his own act did not fool them. Was it an act? No, the uneasiness, the tension had gone from him now, leaving only excitement.
He looked out at the smoke and thought that the first of it would be starting to thin on the wind. Five minutes had laid a screen better than two miles long between him and Walküre and now Dauntless could achieve some element of surprise. “Hard astarboard!” She came around to run back along her wake. “Steer that!” Now they were rushing down past the smoke that banked to starboard of them. Smith looked at his watch as the second hand ticked up to the twelve. A minute had passed.
“Starboard ten! Tell Guns to fire when he’s ready!” Dauntless swerved into the smoke and it closed around them, hiding the sea alongside and the sky above. It caught at their throats and their eyes watered. But now Dauntless had straightened out and the smoke was thinning, becoming patchy so that they caught glimpses of grey sky. Walküre would be waiting for them but her guns would not be laid on Dauntless and ready to fire. They would have to lay on her when she appeared out of the smoke and that could be anywhere along its two mile length. That would give Dauntless some seconds of breathing space, all the surprise Smith could wring for her but it was better than none, better than simply steaming down into the muzzles of the waiting guns.
There was light ahead, patches of sea visible through the smoke and then only shreds of smoke lying on the sea and rolled by the wind.
Bright shouted, “Fine on the port bow!”
Walküre steamed barely four miles away but it was Dauntless that fired first with the only gun that would bear, the forward 6-inch bellowing out and its smoke whipping past the bridge. Smith ordered, “Starboard ten!” Then, as the ship came broadside on so that both forward and aft guns would bear, “Meet her! Steer that!”
Both 6-inch guns fired — and twenty seconds later they fired again.
Jameson said excitedly, “Caught her on the hop!”
“Starboard ten!” Smith watched the enemy as Dauntless turned again and headed b
ack towards the smoke. Walküre had finally got her guns trained around and he saw the ripple of flame down her side, the wisping of smoke as the salvo was hurled at him — also a yellow flash and a spurt of smoke in the stern of her.
He nodded as Jameson shouted, “That was a hit!” The 6-inch aft still fired as they rushed back into the smoke. Walküre’s salvo fell well astern in a close-packed line of water-spouts, then the gun fell silent as the smoke swirled around them, choking but nobody minded. The signal yeoman smiled wryly at young Bright who was laughing, excited, but all of them on the bridge were elated. Only Jameson said thoughtfully, “That salvo of theirs was well together.” He did not add the unspoken rider: Suppose it had hit us?
“Port ten!” Smith’s eyes were on his watch as Dauntless emerged on the seaward side of the smoke and turned to run south on her original course, still trailing smoke.
So for thirty seconds, then: “Port ten!” Dauntless plunged back into the smoke, tore through it and burst out into the open sea. Walküre had turned and was steering towards the long bank of smoke. This time both the 6-inch guns bore but there was a pause before they fired as the range had opened because of Walküre’s turn and Dauntless running south away from her so that the guns had further to train around and elevate. They still got off two salvoes before Walküre replied and by then Dauntless was already heeling in the turn, spray bursting in a continual fine curtain over the bow, wake boiling astern and the guns training around. They fired two more salvoes and the second scored, hitting Walküre amidships and right aft. As Dauntless rushed into the smoke the shells from Walküre plummeted close alongside in huge green towers of water topped dirty white.
They seemed to pass more quickly through the acrid pall, were out in the grey light of the dying day. Smith did not want the range opening further because that was to Walküre’s advantage. “Starboard ten!” He sent Dauntless running northward with the smoke lying to starboard, until he ordered again, “Starboard ten!”