Alan Evans - Ship of Force

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.