Andrew Wareham - End to Illusion

“As a ranker?”

“As a private soldier who was once an officer. The sergeants are all chosen as the hardest, most unforgiving of their breed. They will have nothing other than contempt for an officer who has betrayed all that their commission stands for. I am told that the introduction to the battalion is designed to break the recalcitrant. Ninety pounds weight of rocks in the rucksack and then double around the parade ground for hours unbroken. Day after day, punishment increased if their uniforms are not perfect each morning. Most have broken down by the end of the second week. I doubt that Wincanton would survive so long.”

She was horrified, wondered that he could be so unforgiving.

“He has let his men down. I know no crime greater in an officer.”

They forgot Wincanton as they nibbled at their salmon and a selection of the Duke’s dainties and talked deeply about the insignificant, each happy in the other.

Higgins had the watch when Simon left his cabin well before dawn.

“Off Dutch waters, sir. Thirty minutes to Morning Nautical Twilight, sir. Clear skies but a sea haze and light sou’westerly wind, sir.”

Simon scowled in the darkness.

“Thank you, Mr Higgins. Could you perhaps tell me exactly where off Dutch waters we may find ourselves?”

Higgins knew he should have a position of his own but had only the vaguest reckoning of where they might be.

“Section leader has signalled preparative for the turn, sir. That means we should be four miles off the Scheldt, sir.”

“I know where we should be, Mr Higgins! What I wish to know is precisely where we bloody well are !”

“Yes, sir. Dead reckoning places us off the Scheldt, sir, but I am not sure exactly how far.”

“That is better, Mr Higgins. You cannot have taken any precise sightings and have not had the opportunity to take star sights, so dead reckoning will do. Always attempt to place us, however imprecise you may be forced to be. Never try to duck responsibility, Mr Higgins! Dawn stations! Coxswain to the wheel.”

The half section was out hunting for minelayers. Two new fields had been laid in Belgian waters in the previous nights and there was a feeling in Intelligence circles that there was to be a third. Simon had only second-hand reports to go on as Intelligence did not speak to him since his unfortunate interception of their senior man off Zeebrugge.

The Yeoman of the Signals gave a quiet call.

“Blackbird, sir. Light signal to assume course and station, sir. Executive.”

“Carry out the orders, Mr Higgins.”

The boy stumbled over his own tongue giving the orders but he achieved the turn in succession that brought the four destroyers into an echelon combing the waters offshore of the Belgian coast. He was finally becoming useful, if not yet all that a lieutenant must be.

“Blackbird making the challenge, sir!”

The bows lookout yelled as loudly as he could, to be heard throughout the ship.

Blackbird was inshore by more than a mile and ahead of Sheldrake by about the same distance.

“All guns and tubes ready, Mr Rees!”

Dawn action stations demanded that all crews were closed up at immediate readiness; it did no harm to shout so that all hands could hear and know that action was imminent.

“Gunfire, sir!”

Six small ships shooting together, each with a pair of guns forward, heavy quickfirers. Five inch at least.

“German destroyers, Mr Rees. Prepare to engage with torpedoes. Note the time, Mr Higgins.”

The First Lieutenant was standing at Simon’s shoulder. Polly was at the after four inch, both shifting at the run at the first words from the lookout.

“Blackbird, sir. ‘Half section to attack with torpedoes. Scatter. Blackbird hit.’”

Simon opened the cock to the engineroom voicepipe.

“Full speed. Torpedo attack on six or more destroyers. Smoke.”

The turbines grew noisier and spray began to bucket over the bows.

“Coxswain, zigzag on mean course for mouth of the Scheldt. Get inshore of the action.”

The coxswain knew more about conning a small ship than Simon, needed only the most general of orders.

“Readying torpedoes, Coxswain.”

He would steady Sheldrake when the word was passed.

“All guns, hold fire. Lay on the leading destroyer.”

There was a chance that Sheldrake had not been spotted behind her smoke in the night. If the torpedoes were to be successful, which was not probable, destroyers being small, fast, agile targets, then they would have to be fired at close range.

Speed was rising fast, quicker than was to be expected. A strong possibility that the Chief ERA had injected petrol into the furnaces to raise the heat quickly. A dangerous procedure and strictly forbidden and resorted to by every competent engineer in emergency; Simon knew there were drums of petrol in the engineroom. If it went wrong, too much allowed to enter and vaporise before combusting, or so it was surmised, there could be an explosion which would kill every hand in the room and bring the ship to a sudden halt. Such events were rare and inexplicable, officially. Like any captain, Simon did not understand all that went on in the engineroom and did not want to know about any breaches of the regulations. He would thank the Chief later, privately.

They were closing the action very rapidly, the sun soon to rise off the port quarter and a good chance that they were still shrouded in darkness to the west of the enemy.

“Blackbird and Starling in action with German destroyers, sir. Both ships hit, sir.”

The German destroyers were bigger, faster and armed with three five inch quickfirers to the two four inch breech loaders on the British ships.

“Grouse on the port bow, making torpedo run, sir.”

The third of the half section had worked inshore and was now heading directly into the action, firing the stern four inch together with her broadside twelve pounder. Through his glasses Simon could see shells burst on the leading German ship, none doing damage that would sink her but possibly disabling guns or wounding and killing their crews.

The range was down to a mile and the German ships were opening their formation to avoid the running torpedoes.

“Blackbird and Starling fired torpedoes, sir.”

The four tinfish might cross the track of the scattering ships, would certainly cause them to break their formation even further.

“Mr Rees, fire when ready.”

A few seconds and the shout came that the torpedoes were running.

Simon delayed a little longer, called the guns to fire when they were no more than three cables distant from the nearest destroyer.

The forward four inch was unusable at full speed, the bows effectively submerged.

“Twelve pounder hitting, sir. Four rounds on the bridge and foredeck.”

“Directly at her as if to ram, coxswain! Mr Higgins, ready!”

The midshipman was stood at the port twin-Lewis, his loader at his side. The starboard bridge lookout had the other and was aiming towards the stern of their target. His streams of rifle-calibre rounds would cross the front of Sheldrake’s bridge; Simon hoped he might not be too enthusiastic.

“Bring her round, coxswain! Shoot, Mr Higgins.”

The German fell off into the trough, her bridge party shot to pieces. The four inch and twelve pounder hit at close range and started a fire in the spaces below the bridge, sufficient to annoy the ship, probably not enough to cause fatal damage.

“Blackbird, Starling, Grouse disengaging, sir.”

“Coxswain, course to join Blackbird.”

“Did anybody see the torpedoes?”

No volunteers – they had missed and disappeared at the end of their runs.