Ship of Force (19 page)

The engines had stopped and he shouted down the voice pipe, “Slow astern!”

No answer.

Then McGraw, swearing. Then: “Sir?”

“Slow astern!”

“Slow astern! Aye, aye, sir!” Then more distantly: “Slow astern you lot. Astern!
That
way for Christ’s sake an’ slow, sl-o-o-o-w!”

Smith could picture him gesturing, mouthing. But the engines started to turn, slowly, and slowly the coaster went astern, ground off and away from the U-boat that rolled sluggishly back to an even keel but now lay well down by the stern.

“Stop engines.” And then: “Half ahead. Steer two-six-oh.”

The coaster shivered then started to move ahead as the screws churned, slipping past the stern of the U-boat and heading for the open sea once more. A head showed in the U-boat’s conningtower.

Smith jumped down to the deck and shouted at the men aft, “Get forward and get down! Mr. Lorimer! Check that the prisoners are secure!” Smith could guess at the confusion and tension down in the saloon after the ramming because the prisoners and their guard had been given neither warning nor explanation. The prisoners were always at the back of his mind, a possible threat…

But Lorimer shrieked, “Secure, sir!” He came chasing after the party from the stern and he was still pulling the rope from around him. Smith wanted them out of the stern because while the U-boat’s gun would not bear, she would have a machine-gun. He turned and saw Buckley already right forward in the bow, head craning over the side. Smith went to see for himself. He had smashed his knee against some obstruction in the ramming and it reduced him to a limping lope.

Buckley turned, wiping back-handed at a nose that dripped blood. He pointed, “She’s all stove in, sir.”

That she was, the sea washing in and out of the compartment below their feet. She was down by the head. But what did he expect? Much more important, she didn’t
seem
to be sinking farther. He muttered, “The bulkhead forrard of the hold. If that’s all right —”

“Shall I whip off one or two hatch-covers and ’ave a look, sir?”

Smith shook his head, looked back past the little crowd around them now, Lorimer at their head. Smith could not see the Uboat for the wheelhouse, she lay astern of them, so the machinegunner would not see them. He told Lorimer, “See this lot over the side.” He nodded at the drums that were lashed, stacked on the deck, then started aft. They would be better without the weight of the drums and their explosive threat. But they had no time to stop and attempt to plug that huge hole, even if it was possible. The torpedo-boat was driving on; he could see her over the port quarter and she was in range.

As he reached the wheelhouse the machine-gun opened up from the U-boat and bullets spanged and whirred off the coaster’s stern and the galley abaft the wheelhouse. Smith crawled, wincing, along the sheltered side of the wheelhouse and past the galley. He smelt food; he was starved. He stopped at the corner of the galley. There was a break in the firing — the gunner changing the drum? He lifted on to one knee and now he could see the U-boat, down by the stern, men on her deck but she was not launching boats so she was not sinking. She was well astern now and the torpedo-boat beyond her but once the U-boat was no longer in the field of fire of the torpedo-boat’s six-pounder…He ducked as the machine-gun opened up again, firing at long range now but still hitting. He crawled back past the galley and up the steps to the wheelhouse. Finlay was at the wheel, shoulders hunched as he listened to the machine-gun’s hammering. And Eleanor Hurst stood at the back of the wheelhouse. He thought with shock that he had forgotten about her but pushed her down on to the deck and bawled down the voice pipe, “McGraw!”

“Sir!”

“That torpedo-boat’s coming up. I want smoke. Do you know how?”

“Oh, aye. I’ve been in a stokehold.”

No doubt he had, paying for his sins by labouring with a shovel.

Smith turned on Finlay. “Zig-zag. Five starboard, five port. Understood?”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Smith looked forward and saw Lorimer and his party had ripped away the lashings on the drums. As he watched the first of the drums was manhandled over the side. The machine-gun had stopped firing, out of range. He took a breath, then held it as the first shell from the torpedo-boat plunged into the sea abeam of the coaster. He sighed it out.

Now the torpedo-boat must have a clear field of fire. He jumped down from the wheelhouse and went forward, limping. He heard Buckley’s yell, “Look at that!” And turned to see that McGraw had not failed him. Smoke was pouring from the coaster’s funnel, huge billows of it rolling down and astern of them. Somebody cheered but Smith snapped, “All right! Let’s get on with it!” Because he had caught a glimpse of the torpedoboat and she had hauled out to port. So the U-boat did not need her assistance. And the TB could charge on, seeking vengeance.

They worked furiously, panting, rolling the drums to the side and sending them over and all the time the stink of petrol around them, “Go steady! Strike one spark and it could touch this lot off!” So they laboured carefully, intent on the work but inwardly tensed for the next shell from the torpedo-boat. She was firing as fast as she could but she was hurling shells blindly into the smoke and Finlay had the coaster slowly weaving. Two fell close but the others were a long way off.

The last drum went over the side and Smith staggered and almost went with it. He rubbed at his face with a hand that stank of petrol, thought that the hole in the bow stopped them making a better speed, that the torpedo-boat would be overhauling them hand over fist, but that she would have done that anyway. He told Lorimer and Buckley, “Organise a damage-control party. See what equipment you can find and have it ready.” Because they would need it. He walked unsteadily aft to pull himself into the wheelhouse with one more grateful look at the smoke they were making, and wondering what the
hell
he could do now.

Eleanor Hurst was squeezed in a corner, quiet, seeming calm enough. Smith spoke breathlessly into the voice pipe: “Engineroom.”

“Engine-room! Chief McGraw here. Is the auld man still breaking his back?”

Smith straightened and cocked an eye at Finlay who watched his course with a frozen face. So he had been keeping McGraw up-to-date. Smith stooped again to the voice pipe. “He is not. He is asking you how things are below?”

He heard the startled grunt, then McGraw’s voice came, resigned. “All secure, sir.”

“Very good.” Smith paused, added drily, “You’re doing a fine job, Chief.”

“Thank ye, sir!” Relieved now. The skipper could take a joke, thank Christ. “He’s not a bad auld lad, the engineer, sir. Been showing me photies of his wife and kids. He’s got a daughter —”

“That’s enough of that. You watch them. Understood?”

“Aye, aye, sir. It’s just — ah feel a wee bit sorry for him, ye ken?”

“Feel sorry for him when you’re out of this and that’ll be a long time yet.” Smith snapped the cover on the voice pipe, grinned faintly and shook his head. McGraw the tough, the hard man with a soft heart…

They were hit. The shock of it sent him reeling then he recovered and plunged out of the wheelhouse. The coaster had carried a boat right in the stern that now was a splintered wreck and there was a hole in her deck that wisped smoke. Smoke? Smith looked astern and saw McGraw’s precious smoke being rolled away as a breath of wind tugged at it. He prayed that it was only a breath as he saw Buckley run up to the hole with two of the hands. They had found a canvas hose and dragged it along behind them. It spurted water into the hole and the wisping smoke died.

Smith hung over the hatch and shouted down the companion, “All secure below?”

A voice came up from the saloon. “Aye, aye, sir!”

“Don’t take your eyes off ’em!” Smith warned. “If anyone of them tries to escape, shoot him! Understood?”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

Smith wiped at his face. He and his men had contrived to escape from that saloon. Their situation now was desperate enough without the prisoners breaking out. Another shell splashed into the sea twenty or thirty yards away. Smith found he was tensing himself for the next, tried to relax and failed, twitched and crouched too late as it howled over and hit them forward. He joined Buckley and his men at hauling on the hose until they were forward at the damage there. Flames flickered and ran about the deck where the petrol had been leaked and refused to be quenched by the water they poured over them. Smith wondered what was below them, whether it was more petrol, but then Lorimer and the rest of the hands came running with buckets of sand they had found ranged below the wheelhouse set there for just such an emergency. Sand was thrown on the fire, kicked over it, until it was doused.

He was conscious that the coaster was steering badly. Was Finlay day-dreaming? He walked wearily back to the wheelhouse, saw a shell fall short astern of them, a leap of water in amongst the smoke. Then another. He started to climb up into the wheelhouse then froze in the door. Finlay was on hands and knees, shaking his head and peering muzzily around him, dazed. Eleanor Hurst was at the wheel. Smith took a long stride and relieved her of the spokes. “What happened?”

She knelt by Finlay. “Something hit us and knocked us down but he must have hit his head. I went to help him and he said something about the wheel so I took it.”

Smith had the coaster back on course. Finlay was climbing to his feet with the girl’s hand under his arm. “I can take her now, sir.”

“Sure you’re all right?”

“Ah’ve a right bloody headache but ah can steer.”

Smith turned the wheel over to him. To Eleanor Hurst he said, “Stay with him. If anything like that happens again, you yell.” She nodded, did not say that she had screamed at them as they shifted vague in the fire’s smoke and against the background of the running flames and they had been deaf to her. When they had come running for the sand at Lorimer’s hoarse bellowing they still had not heard her.

They were hit forward again, a thumping crash and a spurt of smoke. As he jumped down from the wheelhouse he saw Buckley leaning over the side again. He ran to join him and Buckley said, “Just below the water-line, sir. See?”

Smith saw the gaping hole. They could, would
have
to contrive to rig some sort of patch over it. He straightened and lifted his head to peer around him. There was Ostende and the Belgian coast, on the horizon now. The German shore batteries could see them but they had not fired, might not fire. The coaster had made a lot of ground and they might have got clear away but for that torpedo-boat. She would haul up on them now and sink the coaster or board her, take him and his men prisoner. And Eleanor Hurst? If she had looked to him then he had failed her. Christ! What a mess he’d made of it. And out there was the empty sea…

No, it
wasn’t
. He stumbled back to the wheelhouse, shouting for Buckley, grabbed at the telescope and set it to his eye. There was the smoke, and under it –

He lowered the telescope and snapped at Buckley, “Hoist
Sparrow
’s number! She’s there!” He pointed.

“
Sparrow
’s — Aye, aye, sir.”

There was a locker below the telescope’s clips. Smith opened it and found the signalling lamp, braced himself in the wheelhouse door and worked the lamp to wink his message at
Sparrow
. ‘Stand by to take us off. Smith!’

He lifted the telescope again, watching for an acknowledgment. He had to wait, but it came. He worked the lamp again, ‘Am under fire from TB.’

Again his signal was acknowledged.
Sparrow
’s silhouette fore-shortened as she turned towards them. Now he saw the flick of light and puff of smoke as her twelve-pounder fired. He ran to see the fall of shot; two long, lunging strides across the wheelhouse, cannoning off Finlay. And saw nothing but their own smoke rolling astern of them. He turned to Finlay. “How is she handling?”

Finlay scowled worriedly. “She’s getting very sluggish.”

With water pouring into her she would be. And there would be gradually mounting pressure on the engine-room bulkhead.

He lifted the cover on the voice pipe. “McGraw!”

“Sir?”

“Keep an eye on the for’ard bulkhead. We’re filling for’ard. And McGraw.
Sparrow
’s running down to us. We can expect to be taken off.”

“
Sparrow
! Aye, aye, sir!”

Smith leaned on the door of the wheelhouse and thought it would need to be soon. They would nurse her but they had to keep going. The sooner they reached
Sparrow
and the less time she spent in these waters, the better. She should not be here anyway. With that he thought of Trist and swore under his breath. But then he forgot Trist.
Sparrow
was big now, dashing down on them. Her gun had ceased firing and there had been no firing from the torpedo-boat for some minutes but now one huge water spout lifted astern and to port of
Sparrow
. It was a quarter-mile away but the shore batteries were seeking the range.

He ordered, “Starboard ten…Midships.” And to McGraw: “Stop engines and chase them all on deck.” To Lorimer: “Get the prisoners out.”

He stood on the deck of the coaster as it filled with the prisoners and his men. He found Eleanor Hurst beside him holding a steadying hand under the arm of Finlay who seemed shaky on his legs. Smith thought she looked dead-tired but then his eyes left her and went to
Sparrow
and he saw now that her forward funnel was holed and leaking smoke, the wireless shack had gone and she had a hole in her hull just below the bridge. But she was sliding alongside, screws thrashing briefly astern, stopping. The hands were there slinging fenders over the side and the lines came snaking over. The two ships rubbed together for only seconds as the prisoners were urged to climb up on to
Sparrow
’s deck and the men followed, taking Finlay with them. Smith handed Eleanor over and then followed himself, the last to leave the sinking coaster.

A salvo burst in the sea inshore of the coaster and still a quarter-mile away but they would soon lift the range.