At All Costs (32 page)

CHAPTER 46 •••

NINE DOWN, FOUR HOME, ONE TO GO

A
s Fred Larsen’s song to Minda was drifting over the wake of the
Ohio
and Dudley Mason was teetering away into the darkness, Winston Churchill was being tucked into bed in Stalin’s villa. It had been another bad day.

Another “MOST IMMEDIATE” cable from First Sea Lord Pound had arrived, confirming that nine freighters had been sunk, after just three had made it to Malta.

1. The other ship, by determination and cunning, has arrived, making the total 4.

2. Determined efforts under heavy attack are being made to tow oiler [
Ohio
] in.

She should be approximately 40 miles from MALTA at 1600 today.

The pins and needles were relentless. Nothing could be resolved: not Malta’s survival, not control of the Mediterranean, not beating back Rommel, not Russia’s support, not Churchill’s own future. It was all slowly sinking, like the
Ohio.
Everything rode on the tanker.

Churchill replied to Pound, “Many thanks for your Tulip 132 [the message]. Prolongation of life of Malta was worth the heavy cost.” His words were unconvincing.

“I am sure that all played their part to the utmost,” he continued. “I assume you will let me have as soon as possible a fuller account of the operation and of the losses suffered by both sides, also the exact supply situation in Malta, assuming the ships which got in are successfully unloaded.”

That night there was a banquet at the Kremlin, with about forty people eating and drinking, as the officers on the
Penn
were eating and drinking until the tugboat crashed their party. General Brooke called the evening at the Kremlin a complete orgy. “From the beginning, vodka flowed freely and one’s glass kept being filled up,” he said. “The end came at last and I rose from the table thanking Heaven that I still had full control of my legs and my thoughts!”

“Silly tales have been told of how these Soviet dinners became drinking-bouts,” scoffed Churchill. “There is no truth whatever in this.”

Vodka or not, Churchill was still smoldering like the
Ohio.

“Stalin didn’t want to talk to me,” he told Sir Charles Wilson. “I closed the proceeding down. I had had enough. The food was filthy. I ought not to have come.”

“The P.M. got up, pacing the room in nothing but his silk undervest, mumbling to himself,” said Sir Charles.

“He said he wouldn’t go near Stalin again. He had deliberately said ‘Goodbye’ and not ‘Good night.’ If there was any fresh move, Stalin must make it. He wouldn’t. He got into bed, put on his black eye-shade and settled his head in the pillow. I turned out the light. When I left the room I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to four.”

Churchill fell asleep, not knowing whether the
Ohio
was in Grand Harbour or at the bottom of the Mediterranean. The future was as dark as his vision under the eyeshade.

CHAPTER 47 •••

GRAND HARBOUR

T
here was a strange quiet in the ships, except for the gentle lapping of the sea and the singing of the straining hawsers,” said Reg Coaker. “The crew and survivors were now huddling in groups, their heads down on their chests. I was at a port Oerlikons and fell asleep on an ammo locker, taking turns to catnap with another. Suddenly we were awoken by the searchlights from the cliffs of Malta.”

Radar on Malta had detected what appeared to be a sub on the surface, tailing the tanker, and the searchlights were trying to find it. Supermarina had sent out a message to all the subs in the area: “Surface and proceed at once, concentrating greatest maximum strength to search for damaged enemy units.” The submarine
Asteria
was specifically signaled: “At 35 miles, 205 degrees from Gozo lighthouse, proceeding toward Malta, a tanker under tow. Search and attack with utmost resolution.”

But it wasn’t
Asteria
or any other sub; it was just another ghost on the radar screens.

“The reaction of Captain Baines was instant, loud, and clear,” said Coaker. “He could be heard in the still night air cursing the stupidity of the searchlight operators. We knew the enemy was lurking somewhere. The last thing we wanted was to be lit up as a sitting target.”

Then the minesweeper
Hebe
got jumpy and fired at “movement” toward shore. The shell landed near Fort Benghisa, where soldiers thought it had come from an attacking submarine. They were poised to reply with their nine-inch guns but were stopped by frantic signals.

The shore guns opened up just before dawn, shooting at more shadows. They feared an attack on the tanker by E-boats and thought the blips they saw on their screens might be that attack. Shells passed over the
Ohio
with a
wheee,
said Roger Hill. “The shots seemed to be falling astern, but what was said on our bridge turned the air blue.”

But there were no E-boats in the area, either. Two biplanes with depth charges—one Albacore and one Swordfish—had been patrolling throughout the night, along with four reconnaissance bombers: three Baltimores and a Wellington. With the Beaufighters and Spitfires that were ready to resume flying over the
Ohio
at daybreak, the RAF had her covered.

Having dodged the searchlights and friendly fire, the
Ohio
now began its most difficult navigational challenge, through the maze of minefields that protected the harbor. Her gunwales were only eighteen inches from the sea, and swells sloshed onto her main deck amidships as the jagged gash in the steel screeched and moaned. Only the grace of God and the fat welds joining the
Ohio
’s bulkheads kept her from snapping in two. She was a behemoth bloated with seawater and nearly impossible to turn. But she had to be twisted around Zonkor Point, the eastern tip of Malta, and guided northwest into the channel.

It was a final job for the
Ledbury.
“Took oiler in tow in order to get her straight for the channel,” reported Captain Hill. “With the help of a Motor Launch pushing my bows, I managed to turn her 140 degrees in three hauls, turning her about 45 degrees each time.”

The channel had been swept clear of mines for the convoy’s arrival, but the path between the starboard mines and coastal rocks was narrow, and an offshore wind had picked up. It blew against the port beam of the tanker and swung her stern into the fringe of the minefield. Larsen and Dales sat there and watched, poised to run if they saw the black horns of a mine poking out of the water in the gloom of first light. Although Larsen probably would have tried to shoot it with his .45.

“The
Ohio
made several determined attempts to blow herself up on our minefields,” said Hill. “She would start turning, and the destroyers alongside would pull her up; we would push her round, and off we went again.

“At daylight I walked round the upper deck. The sleeping bodies of the sailors lay sprawled and hunched in their duffel coats. Their friends’ legs or backs made pillows. Through the growth of beard and sunburn, their faces looked so young and peaceful. I felt a great surge of affection and pride for what they had achieved, and deep gratitude that we had come through it all without a casualty.”

The tugboat
Robust
came out from Malta again, bringing more tugs to help lug the
Ohio
into Grand Harbour. Spitfires began flying figure eights over the tanker, in case the Luftwaffe was thinking of bombing her at the mouth of the harbor.

“Considering position and extreme value of cargo, weakness of enemy’s air attacks and a complete absence of surface or submarine attack is remarkable,” reported the Admiralty. “Seems probable Axis air forces had suffered such heavy casualties unable to stage or unprepared to risk full-scale attack.”

“I think myself that we had enough, so obviously the Jerries had enough too,” said Ron Linton.

“If only I were a writer instead of a naval officer writing up a journal 20 years later for his family, how I would like to be able to describe the scene and my feelings,” wrote Hill. “The great ramparts and battlements of Malta, built against the siege by the Turks, were lined and black with people. Thousands and thousands of cheering people—on the ramparts, on the foreshore, on the rooftops, the roads, paths, and at every window. Everywhere bands were playing; bands of all the services and Maltese bands. The uneven thumps of the drums and crash of cymbals echoed back from the great walls.

“It was Saturday morning. Years and years ago we had left Gibraltar, and that was last Sunday morning. It did not make sense, but all this had taken only a week.”

“When we came in the entrance of Valletta Harbor, we were saluted like a returning victorious navy ship,” said Larsen. “Crowds of people were shouting from the breakwater. The people turned to, they were down on the points with bands and ovations and all kinds of singin’ and shoutin’ and screamin’ and playin’ bands, and it was quite a thrill comin’ in. I was sittin’ up on top of that gun, with some of the volunteers on the gun. There was no more attacks because by now the Spitfires were up there, and they were shootin’ down anything that was comin’ around. Then the tugboats from Malta came out and they took over the tow of the
Ohio
and they drove her to the dock. Her decks were practically awash by now. We were greeted and saluted as a full navy ship. It was a proud moment.”

“Thousands of people were standing on the batteries cheering and singing,” said Dales. “There were military bands playing, and they were playing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ for us.”

“The hurrahs went up again and again from the cliffs,” said Follansbee. “Children on small boats shouted, ‘Convoy! Convoy!’”

“When we came around that corner, we were assailed with a wave of sound that I’ve not heard since Stanley Mathews won the footballer cup in Wembley Stadium,” said Ron Linton. “I’ve not heard anything since, to equal the cheer that the whole of the people of Malta put up. I think everybody that was able to walk and some that couldn’t walk was there, on the cliffs.”

In his home on the Devon coast, Linton pulls a photograph from a folder, a shot taken from the battlements down at the
Ohio.
He puts his finger on the bridge.

“That white cap there is Captain Mason,” he says. “And that one is me. I was talking to him, all the way to Valletta. Up and down from the wheelhouse. He was just there, he was a gentleman he was, kept saying, ‘I appreciate you guys coming on.’

“He just stood there. He was totally imperturbable. He was a man you’re only honored to meet every so often. There aren’t a lot of his type about. He just stood there, and that was it. I know he heaved a few great sighs of relief, but if he ever went wild I certainly never noticed it.

“He was still there when we got off, saying, ‘Thanks very much for coming on.’”

“I’ll never ever forget the proud feeling entering Valletta and seeing the crowds of people,” said Allan Shaw. “A very humbling experience. Lump in your throat. I think everybody felt the same, nobody was talking. Complete silence. We were pleased to be in, but you couldn’t understand all the crowds up there.”

The Maltese understood. It was August 15, the Feast of Santa Marija.

“Today is the Feast of St Mary, the celebration of the Assumption of Our Lady into heaven,” said
The Times
of Malta that morning. “It will be celebrated without any of the traditional manifestations of rejoicing, which accompanied ‘Santa Marija,’ Patroness of Malta, in the pre-war days. ‘Santa Marija’ is a day of thanksgiving to God through Our Lady for the mercies received, and of prayer for added strength to resist the material powers of evil, and also a day of rededication to the cause which we are convinced is sacred and just.”

But the newspaper didn’t know the
Ohio
was coming. When the tanker arrived, the paper rewrote the part about not celebrating. It was really the faith and fortitude of Malta’s 270,000 people that had saved the island.

That and the gallant Dudley Mason, according to the king.

“The violence of the enemy could not deter the Master of SS
Ohio
from his purpose,” said King George VI. “Throughout he showed skill and courage of the highest order, and it was due to his determination that, in spite of the most persistent enemy opposition, the vessel, with her valuable cargo, eventually reached Malta and was safely berthed.”

“Even though
Ledbury
was leading her, the passage of
Ohio
through Tunisian waters at high speed without a compass, with extensive damage to the ship and in hand steering, was a remarkable feat of seamanship and tenacity on the part of Captain Mason and his officers and crew,” added Admiral Leatham. “The towage of this unwieldy ship for a distance of nearly 100 miles from a position in sight of an Italian Island and within easy range of his aerodromes was a feat of seamanship, courage and endurance of the highest order.”

The Admiralty extended its “admiration of the gallantry and determination” of all the men in the convoy.

“Thank you very much, though we should feel better if our losses had been lighter and we had got more ships through to Malta,” replied Admiral Syfret.

Governor Lord Gort took the destroyer captains to lunch the next day—a modest vegetarian omelet—and told them that if the
Ohio
hadn’t gotten through, Malta would have been forced to surrender in sixteen days.

Prime Minister Churchill cabled the First Sea Lord from Moscow:

Please convey my compliments to Admirals Syfret, Burrough, and Lyster and all officers and men engaged in the magnificent crash through of supplies to Malta, which cannot fail to have an important influence on the immediate future of the war in the Mediterranean.

CHAPTER 48 •••

MOSCOW SATURDAY NIGHT

A
s the Maltese were celebrating the Feast of Santa Marija that evening, Churchill was asking Stalin if the Red Army would be able to hold the Caucasus mountain passes and keep the Germans from sweeping down to take the oil fields in Turkey, Iraq, and Persia.

“He spread out the map,” said Churchill, “and then said with quiet confidence, ‘We shall stop them. They will not cross the mountains.’”

They talked for quite a while. The only time Churchill got upset was when Stalin brought up the PQ17 convoy again and asked him, “Has the British Navy no sense of glory?”

Churchill was ready for him this time.

Admiral Leatham had cabled Pound:

Arrived H.M. Ships PENN BRAMHAM LEDBURY and OHIO.

As if the
Ohio
were one of His Majesty’s own ships.

Air Marshal Park had cabled the RAF chief, Tedder, who was with Churchill in Moscow:

Able and eager to resume strikes against enemy shipping.

Finally, Churchill received the Most Secret and Most Immediate Cypher Telegram on which his political life depended, along with thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of other people’s lives. The cable contained the words that the prime minister had been agonizing to hear:

Oiler OHIO has arrived Malta.

Everything changed, after that, starting with the relationship between Stalin and Churchill and then that among the Soviet Union, Britain, and the United States.

No sense of glory?! I’ll tell you about glory, Churchill might have finally replied to Stalin. Glory is fifty Royal Navy warships and fourteen British and American merchant ships fighting a flaming hell of Axis firepower to end the siege of Malta at all costs. Glory is using our submarines and aircraft and army to drive Rommel running backward all the way across North Africa, which we will do, to lay bare the soft belly of the Nazi crocodile. Glory is doing our share to keep the Germans away from the Mideast oil.

“One hour’s conversation drew to its close,” said Churchill, “and I got up to say good-bye. Stalin seemed suddenly embarrassed, and said in a more cordial tone than he had yet used with me, ‘You are leaving at daybreak. Why should we not go to my house and have some drinks?’ I said that I was in principle always in favor of such a policy.”

Sir Charles Wilson was waiting for Churchill back at the villa. “When 8:30 came and there was no sign of the P.M., I found myself pacing up and down the passage by the front door,” he said. “Then nine o’clock, then ten o’clock, 11, 12, and still no sign. Was it a good or bad omen, this prolonged interview? What did it mean?

“At half-past three in the morning the P.M. burst in. A glance at his face told me things had gone well.”

Churchill and Stalin had drunk and talked for four more hours. Food was served at 1
A.M.,
when Stalin usually ate his evening meal.

“Dinner began simply with a few radishes, and grew into a banquet—a sucking pig, two chickens, beef, mutton, every kind of fish,” said Churchill. “There was enough to feed 30 people. After four hours of sitting at the head of a pig, and when I refused, Stalin himself tackled it with relish. With a knife he cleaned out the head, putting it into his mouth with his knife. He then cut pieces of flesh from the cheeks of the pig and ate them with his fingers.”

History doesn’t record the things that leaders say to each other during such moments, when they sit down and drink together for four hours and eat pigs and chickens with their fingers and wash them down with wine and vodka—maybe it should happen more often, to give history a chance.

“I was taken into the family,” Churchill added. “We ended friends. It was true that an argument broke out later, but it was a very friendly argument.”

At 4:30, as dawn was breaking, Churchill left for the airfield, where his Liberator bomber was waiting to fly him to Cairo. “The safe arrival of the convoy enabled me to invite Malta’s governor, Lord Gort, to Cairo,” he said. “I greatly desired to hear all about Malta from him.”

On the plane he dictated a long cable to FDR, which ended, “Everything for us now turns on hastening ‘Torch’ and defeating Rommel.”