Ship of Force (28 page)

The hit shook her. Smith heard yelling aft and one voice, high pitched, that was Lorimer’s and knew that the boy was leading a fire-fighting and damage control party. Lorimer sent a man running to report, “Knocked the tube about a bit more, but that’s all, sir.”

“Very good.”

But one bit was too many. “Starboard ten!…Midships!”

Sparrow
swung away from her head-on charge at the German boat and turned broadside to her. Now the six-pounders cracked away and the German boat eased to starboard in her turn and all her guns fired at virtually point-blank range. Through the din Smith yelled, “Look out for torpedoes!” Because they would come. And they did. He saw them, two of them, leap from the side of the big destroyer and plunge into the sea. Seconds later he saw their tracks as Sanders shouted and pointed, as the guns slammed and recoiled and
Sparrow
was hit and hit again, hammer blows punching into her, punishment she could not take.

“Port ten!…Meet her!”

Gow had been waiting for it.
Sparrow
swerved and heeled again to turn inside of those twin tracks, to tear down past the torpedoes that raced away down her starboard side, and tore on, firing and being hit — and passing astern of the German boat.

A slamming, clanging explosion aft and Smith whirled to see the aftermost of the three funnels cut in half, the top half blasted away and going over the side, dragging
Sparrow
over, so for a second she steamed with the sea reaching up for her deck. Then she recovered. He stared forward, ordered, “Starboard five! Midships! Steer that!” Shouting it almost in Gow’s ear against the bedlam of pounding engines, bellowed orders and the
crack
! and
slam
! of the guns. Gow’s long face was twisted tight with concentration and his eyes were slitted as he glared ahead at
Siegfried, Sparrow
now steaming on a course to intercept her.

Smith shot a swift glance astern and glimpsed through
Sparrow
’s rolling smoke Buckley loading the six-pounder himself, his loader sprawled on the deck. And beyond was the enemy destroyer, heeled over in a tight turn, turning to chase
Sparrow
. All that smoke was not from the funnels, there was a fire aft, he saw Lorimer and two men dragging a hose. He faced forward. That destroyer had been intended to beat off
Sparrow
or destroy her and the little ship had been mauled but not stopped.
Siegfried
was only three or four miles away, signals flying from her yard and a light winking rapidly. But the other two destroyers to port of the battlecruiser had closed up, overhauled her and were now obeying those desperate signals, their shapes fore-shortening till they were bows-on and pointing at
Sparrow
.

They were firing and he staggered as
Sparrow
was hit again and the air around him was alive with droning, snarling splinters, something plucked at his arm and he saw the sleeve was ripped. Gow was on his knees, clawing back to his feet and standing on one leg, the foot of the other just balancing him.
Sparrow
wavered, then steadied as the cox’n’s big hands clamped on the wheel. His cap had gone and the grizzled hair had a monk’s bald patch that was streaked with blood. There were four men sprawled on the bridge, the signalman was one of them and the engine-room telegraphs were unmanned but the twelve-pounder still fired at the two destroyers as they came on. They roared down on
Sparrow
with deadly purpose. She could not be allowed within torpedo range of
Siegfried
so they came on with big white bow-waves and their forward four-inch guns firing rapidly and they were going to sink
Sparrow
. They were not going to fight her, engage her with guns or torpedoes though they were using the one and the other would come. They had no time for fighting because
Sparrow
was too close to the battlecruiser. The little ship that had seemed to pose no threat was now a real danger, could be mounting a torpedo attack on the giant the destroyers were there to protect. They had been ordered to get rid of her and they would run her down.

Smith knew it and that he could not stop it.

He looked just once more at the battlecruiser as she steamed on, saw that her secondary armament was firing and realised the big 5.9’s were firing at
Sparrow
. The water-spouts alongside were huge now, but he also saw that
Siegfried
had been hit and had fires, so
Marshall Marmont
had hurt her. He turned to look at the course
Siegfried
was taking, at the quiet sea that lay ahead of her, sparkling with sunlight.
Sparrow
had to keep on a little longer. Just a little longer. And God help them all…

He put a hand on Gow’s shoulder. “Starboard five…meet her…Steady. Keep her head on that destroyer.”

“Aye, sir!”

Sparrow
’s stem pointed at one of the oncoming destroyers. The other was fine on Sparrow’s starboard bow and about two cables astern of the first. Both of them were firing hard and Smith could feel them hitting. The crack and blast of the bursts were enough but he could feel the shock of each hit shudder through the ship and she was slowing like a fighter who had not been hit in a vital spot but had simply soaked up too much punishment, an accumulation of blows. Sanders clawed his way up a twisted ladder on to the bridge to bawl at Smith. “Holed four places — two on the water-line — the carpenter’s trying to plug ’em but we’re making water!”

Smith nodded but he was intent on the destroyers that filled his vision and claimed him totally. He heard Sanders say hoarsely, “God!” He had just seen the enemy within a thousand yards, bows high and sterns tucked right down and the smoke and flame of their guns flickering and blossoming. They were growing with every second, filling the eye and the mind so that the great mass of
Siegfried
faded into a moving backdrop as she slid along with a distant, silent grace. Only the destroyers existed.

But
Siegfried
had to be the target. She was not firing now because the destroyers were too close to
Sparrow
. Smith ordered “Port five…steer that.” So
Sparrow
’s bow edged away from the destroyers and she was on a course to meet
Siegfried
and the destroyers were on her starboard bow. And they turned so they were on a course to meet her before she could reach
Siegfried
or get within torpedo range of her. And they were still firing. Broadside to them like this,
Sparrow
should have been firing three or four guns but only the twelve-pounder banged away.

Smith shouted, “All other guns out of action?”

“Yes, sir.” Sanders added, eyes on the destroyers, “Brodie’s got his hands full.” The little steward would be trying again to cope with the wounded but there would be too many. Smith could see the deck astern seemed impassable because of twisted steel and the ripped plates of the iron deck. The funnels, what was left of them, were shot full of holes that spurted flame and
Sparrow
dragged their smoke and the smoke from her fires that Lorimer was fighting and she dragged it in a thick black trail. It was an empty deck; he could see just one man, Lorimer, peering up at the bridge as he staggered aft. This was not a battleship nor a cruiser. There was no big crew so you could move men from one part of the ship to another to meet an emergency. This was a little, old TBD and her crew was small. Some of them were below manning her engines or stoking. Some of them were dead or near it so he looked at a bridge and a deck near-deserted. He did not want to think about the wounded and dying crammed into the wardroom now. He had no time.

* * *

Brodie was trying to hold the man down to put a tourniquet on his leg but he was insane with pain and writhing on the wardroom table. Brodie was sprayed with blood. The wardroom stank of antiseptic, blood, vomit and smoke that coiled. There were holes in the side and the deckhead that Brodie had tried to plug with blankets and the wounded lay on the couches or the deck where the water swilled inches deep and sometimes washed over their faces as the ship heeled. Brodie dressed or stitched their wounds and then they were left to fend for themselves. He could do no more.

* * *

Lorimer saw the ready-use charges burning by the wrecked sixpounder under the bridge and kicked them over the side. As he started aft, seeing flames there, he tripped and fell. A bursting shell had minutes ago hurled him across the deck and now something ground in his arm; every movement was agony. He sobbed with pain and frustration but got up. He was the sole survivor of the damage-control party. He could see Smith on the bridge, saw his head turn and met the cool stare, saw Smith grin at him. Lorimer started aft again. He would carry on.

He had heard the other shells, but this one he did not.

* * *

Buckley slapped open the breech of the six-pounder, turned to seek the next round. It felt as if he was kicked. When he came round he was sprawled on the deck with his head near the side and the seas bursting over him. As he dragged himself inboard and on to his feet he saw the six-pounder was dismounted. His head ached. He staggered forward and almost fell over a body, unrecognisable but the uniform, what was left of it, was of a midshipman. So it had to be Lorimer. Buckley shook his aching head, sick, and went to help McGraw.

* * *

Sanders shouted, “I think — they’re going to ram!”

Smith nodded. They were rushing down on
Sparrow
, big as houses and growing bigger and making all their thirty-odd knots. Bare seconds away now and
Sparrow
was slowing. “Hard astarboard…meet her…Steady!”
Sparrow
swung sluggishly but her falling speed made her turn the shorter and just in time so she turned from broadside to the big boats, bow swinging until it pointed at the gap between them, but the one to port would be the closer, very close. She was hurtling down on
Sparrow
like a train but she would miss now. Her captain was trying to turn but his speed was against him and he would be too late. She was firing every gun that would bear,
Sparrow
was hit every second and machine-guns were rattling now. The other boat was not too late, had room and time to turn and would ram
Sparrow
. Smith whispered, “Come on, old lady.” He shouted, “
Hard aport
!” And into the voice pipes, “
Stand by to ram
!”

Sparrow
turned in on the big German boat and Gow collapsed over the wheel. Smith grabbed at him and the wheel together and held
Sparrow
steady, feeling the blood on his hands and the spokes as
Sparrow
crossed the narrow strip of sea in brief seconds but even then the destroyer raced ahead, slipping across
Sparrow
’s bow that pointed at her bridge and then was ticking off the funnels as the high length of her went streaking past, but not all of her.
Sparrow
’s stem struck her ten feet from her stern.

Smith held on and had his arms nearly jerked from their sockets as
Sparrow
changed from a warship charging along at fifteen knots to a steel wreck. Her bow had cut into the destroyer’s stern but Smith could see
Sparrow
’s turtle-back bow was crumpled and twisted upwards. The German boat was not stopped, though her engines had stopped. The way still on her dragged
Sparrow
along until the old thirty-knotter tore loose, as the big boat shook her off.

The crew of the twelve-pounder was standing in on the gun but there were only two of them now. Sanders was shouting, “Shift target! Destroyer on the port beam!” And jumping to heave the gun around. Smith saw that the captain of the other destroyer had seen
Sparrow
stopped and crippled and changed his mind about ramming. He had reduced speed, slipped past
Sparrow
’s stern and was now turning to close on his crippled consort and to deal with
Sparrow
on the way.

A messenger appeared below the bridge. The ladder had gone altogether now and he bawled up, “Forrard bulkhead’s stove in and the sea’s coming in!” It was McGraw, naked to the waist and the sweat running down his body. He shook his head. “There’s nae stoppin’ it, sir!”

The twelve-pounder slammed and at the same instant
Sparrow
was hit forward on that crumpled turtle-back. Smith’s eyes caught the flash as the blast-wave hit him and threw him off the bridge.

He lay on the iron deck and stared across the sunlit sea at the destroyer, cruising slowly now, guns flaming, pounding the life out of the already dying
Sparrow
. He lay and seemed remote from it all. He tried to get to his feet but his legs would not work properly. Then he saw Sanders climbing down from the bridge and felt a hand grip his arm and lift him so he stood wide-legged and wavering. It was Buckley.

Smith said thickly, “Thought you were on the after six pounder.”

“Was, sir. Got knocked out, it an’ me together. Come around wi’ the sea washing in on me. Got a bang but me skull’s too thick, I suppose.”

Sparrow
was listing and down by the head. He remembered McGraw’s message. And here came the Chief, black with oil and soot and the hair scorched from one side of his head. “Engineroom’s filling up, sir. I’ve pulled the lads out.”

Smith turned on Sanders. “Get the wounded up. Get them all out, Sub. Abandon ship.” And to Buckley: “Let go of me and lend a hand with the wounded.”

“Sure you’ll be all right, sir?” They both peered at him, concerned, where he stood holding on to a buckled stanchion.

He snapped irritably, “Yes, damn it! Get on!”

They left him, and he almost fell.

The destroyer had ceased firing. She was passing a tow to the other that was down by the stern but she could have kept up that terrible pounding just the same. Her captain must have seen that
Sparrow
was finished and ordered the ceasefire. That was an act of humanity.

Beyond the destroyers, beyond the drifting smoke and the smell of burning the battlecruiser
Siegfried
moved in another world. Smith stared at her. She had been hit, was on fire and the damage inflicted by
Marshall Marmont
might make her leave the convoy alone — but only ‘might’ because the damage had not slowed her. Her twelve inch turrets were trained around towards the invisible shore, long barrels at high elevation. They fired. So now she could reach
Marshall Marmont
, was firing at her. Sleek, smooth and swift, she was running on, her course unchanged, running for home and towards the convoy.