Alan Evans - Ship of Force

Brodie came up the ladder to the bridge with a biscuit-tin full of sandwiches, thick hunks of bread with cheese and pickles. The men were already eating at their posts and now Dunbar helped himself but Smith shook his head. He was not hungry.

Timing…

And here came the rain. A squall swept in from the sea, rain driven on the wind. From the look of the skyline, that, too, was only a ranging round and there was more to come. Dunbar called over his shoulder, “See if you can find me a spare oilskin. There should be one in my cabin.”

He spoke from a full mouth, was talking to the bridge messenger. But it was Buckley who answered, “Aye, aye, sir,” and dropped down the ladder to hurry aft as best he could on that cluttered deck.

Smith glanced absently across at Dunbar and noted that he already wore an oilskin, also that he was unshaven, pale under the blue-black stubble and his eyes were blood-shot. The bandage around his head was grimy now; you could not keep a bandage white on Sparrow ’s bridge with the smoke and soot from her funnels rolling down over the bridge each time she turned. But appearances notwithstanding, Dunbar stood rocksteady and alert.

The next salvo from the Tirpitz battery came down nearer Marshall Marmont . So though the rain shrouded the ships it was obvious that the observer in the balloon, the bloody balloon, could see something. Enough. Sparrow was at the end of her southward patrol, clear of the smoke where the balloon and the darting aircraft showed still but the coast was hidden by rainclouds.

Dunbar ordered, “Port ten.” Sparrow started the turn.

The signalman said, “Signal from Marshall Marmont , sir. ‘Observer reports target obscured.’”

So the rain had reached Ostende. Smith could see nothing of it now because Sparrow was behind the smoke-screen again but he heard the salvo that howled in and plunged into the sea a bare cable to seaward, only two hundred yards from Marshall Marmont . He swallowed. That one must have lifted Garrick’s cap. The pace was hatting-up, growing too hot altogether and the monitor could do no good now the aircraft could not see the target. He ordered, “Make to all ships: ‘Discontinue the action. Weigh and take station as ordered.’”

He realised that Buckley was hovering behind him and holding up an oilskin — so Dunbar had sent for it for Smith. He pushed Buckley away impatiently. “Not now !” He wanted no distraction. He jammed hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the rain that fell solidly now, and watched, outwardly calm but inwardly chafing as Marshall Marmont laboriously weighed anchor and got under way, started to turn. Had he given the order in time or was a salvo — “ What the hell is she doing ?” The monitor was turning not to seaward but towards the line of launches, their smoke dispersing, themselves getting under way. “Signalman! — No, wait!”

A hoist broke out from the signal yard of Marshall Marmont . He could see bustle on her bridge, through his glasses he saw Garrick’s tall, bulky figure and his mouth opening and closing as he shouted his orders. The signalman read, “‘Starboard engine out of action. Rudder jammed.’”

Dunbar gave a humourless bark of laughter. “Good old Wildfire ! Up to her tricks again!”

Smith snapped, “Signal the launches to take evading action! And tell the tug to stand by.” To Dunbar he said, “Close her a little. Not too close because we don’t want her ramming us.” But he wanted to be close enough to see through the fog of war, of smoke and spray and beating rain.

“Aye, aye, sir! Port ten, cox’n!”

“Port ten, sir.”

“Steady! Steer that!”

Smith muttered, “If one of those shells hits Marshall Marmont it’ll go clean through her deck and burst below.”

Dunbar said, “If one of them hits us there’ll be no deck or bottom or anything else!”

Sparrow closed the monitor and as she did so the salvo roared in and burst where Marshall Marmont had been anchored and dead ahead of Sparrow . Her bow lifted and dropped and they felt the tremor of it through the ship as if she had struck. She steamed on through hanging spray that stank of explosive and a sea that boiled. Smith wiped spray from his face. Well, he’d been right to shift the monitor. Now he had to get her out of this.

Dunbar said, “God A’mighty!” Peering through the rain that hissed into the sea, rattled on the bridge and the oilskins of the gun’s crew, they all saw Marshall Marmont still turning in a tight circle, running down on the launches, one of which was having trouble with her own engines, barely moving as the others scattered. Smith held his breath then blew it out as the monitor lumbered by the launch, close enough for her bow-wave to heel the little craft on her side before passing on.

He looked around and saw the tug butting towards them. “Make to Marshall Marmont : ‘Stand by for tow from tug.’”

The signalman’s lamp started clacking, flashing its message through the murk and the monitor acknowledged.

Lively Lady was on a course to collide with Sparrow but Dunbar ordered, “Starboard ten!..Meet her!..Steady!” And Sparrow came around so she was broadside to the monitor and coming up on her starboard quarter with the tug forging up to pass between them.

Smith said, “Slow ahead both, Mr Dunbar. I want to have a word with the tug.” The engine-room telegraphs clanged and Sparrow ’s speed dropped away as the tug chugged up along her port side.

Smith picked up the bridge megaphone and stepped to the rail but Victoria Baines showed at the door of the tug’s wheelhouse, in yellow oilskins and a sou’wester dragged down over her ears. She bawled, “Don’t you rub up against me, young man!”

Smith muttered, “God forbid!” He saw Sanders lift a hand to hide a grin. Another salvo from the Tirpitz battery roared in and burst, tearing through Marshall Marmonts signal yard and sending yard, blocks and rigging cascading to the deck. The signal was gone and what rigging was left hung tangled. Smith called across to the tug, “Quick as you can!”

And Victoria Baines bellowed irascibly. “Don’t we know it! Business as bloody usual!”

“I’m glad to have you along, madam.” Smith lifted a hand in polite salute.

The woman ignored the gesture. “Don’t get in my way, damn your eyes!”

Smith winced and watched the tug pulling ahead of Sparrow as both of them came up with Marshall Marmont , her engines now stopped. He saw a crowd of men right in the bow, frenzied activity as they prepared the tow. And she’d lowered a boat that was pulling towards the bow. Garrick was going to use the boat to pass the tow, not wasting time with a heaving line. It could be done in this sea that was no sea at all. There was a lop, but no more than that. Garrick knew his business. For the rest, the rain poured down.

Smith allowed himself to be bundled belatedly into the oilskin by Buckley but broke away with the wind flapping it around him as another salvo came down inshore of Marshall Marmont . He peered anxiously through the rain then sighed with relief again as he saw the launches had not been touched. He lifted his gaze, looking for the shore, and though the smoke screen had dispersed he could make out nothing through the rain. The German observer would be equally blind but he would not waste ammunition. He must have seen the monitor’s erratic manoeuvring and the tug hastening up before the weather closed in and made a shrewd deduction. They’d be laddering up and down on the last bearing, firing blind, but if they kept at it they could find the monitor or the tug or both where they lay still, passing the tow.