Andrew Wareham - Falling into Battle

The crews of the twelve pounders were less happy with the officer who had drilled them off- watch and had demanded more than they thought was ordinarily reasonable.

“Bloody slave-driver, ain’t he?”

“’S right, all ‘e needs is a bloody whip!”

The mutters were made well out of Simon’s hearing, not that he would have cared. While the crews could get off six aimed rounds a minute from their quickfirers, and twelve at point- blank, they could shout their mouths off as they wished.

“Gun captains, search for targets on the mole and onshore. If you can’t spot guns, it might be because there are none yet. Look for small ships moored along the mole and the wharves. There’s a canal and there could be steam tugs there. Identify your targets and open fire on them after the torpedoes go.”

The acknowledgements came, sulkily but quick.

There was a quiet call from the bridge, not the normal roar.

“Mole in sight at two cables; starboard bow.”

Simon sniggered – if the mole had not been off the starboard bow then the navigation would have been well astray and Sheldrake would be on the mud.

“Eyes open, now!”

Sheldrake trickled inside the harbour, a cable a minute, six knots, the turbine ticking over and hardly audible. The ship was so slow and silent that they could hear a dog bark in the little town and pick up the repetitive thud of a hammer on the wharf.

There must have been fighting in the town, damage caused that needed urgent, overnight repair.

“Lights, sir, on the wharf, port bow.”

Half a dozen of flickering hurricane lanterns for the workmen they could hear.

“Bloke with a fag up on the mole, sir.”

A sentry, perhaps, taking a crafty smoke out of sight of his sergeant but visible from water level.

Simon tried to place exactly where the sentry post was located for targeting on the way out.

“Ship, sir. Tied up wharfside. Another one behind, sir.”

Simon could hear Harker calling orders, heard the faint creak of the torpedo tubes being angled out.

“Fire at will, Mr Harker!”

Captain Smallwood’s voice was shockingly loud.

The torpedo tubes fired, one then the other, the splash of the tinfish hitting the water surprisingly loud.

“Torpedoes running, sir!”

“Open fire!”

Sheldrake heeled under full helm and jolted as the engineroom increased speed. The four guns shot in the same second and the Lewis Guns hosed fire along the mole. Simon saw the lit cigarette falling down to the sea, a red spark arcing away, dropped by the unfortunate sentry.

Shells burst on the decks of the two ships at the wharf, followed seconds later by the blast of the torpedoes, one exploding centrally in the hull of the leading ship, the other hitting the wharf itself. The second ship caught fire after a shell burst amidships. Small arms ammunition suddenly crackled aboard her and figures could be seen running ashore.

Simon saw she was a small coaster, a two or three hundred tonner, funnel and bridge at the stern, probably with a mixed load of military stores as there was no hurried general evacuation of the shoreline. If she had had more than two hundred tons of artillery shells aboard, they would have been clearing the whole town. She was destroyed anyway.

“Change target, Murgatroyd!”

The four inch swung to a bearing well towards the stern, fired three rounds and a small fire started almost at sea level. The flames showed a tiny gunboat, little more than a launch, fifty tons or so, a harbour defence craft with a single gun and no flag, possibly Belgian and abandoned.

A machine gun opened up from onshore, was targeted by four inch and twelve pounder and stopped firing in seconds, before any rounds had come aboard.

The forward four inch was firing steadily. Simon could not spot its target, turned to see what the port twelve pounder was shooting at.

“End of the mole, sir. Just about where it comes off the land, sir. Sort of a steam engine, sir. Dunno if it’s a railway line or a steam crane, sir. Shot at it and a load of soldiers started to fire back with rifles, so we poured it on hot, sir.”

The rifle fire had stopped, unsurprisingly.

“Look for other targets – that one’s destroyed.”

Sheldrake was increasing speed rapidly, had run out of the shelter of the harbour and into the open sea, still almost calm.

“Cease fire!”

The yell from the bridge signified the action was over.

“Secure the guns. Replenish ready use lockers. Then stand down.”

Simon made his way forward to give his preliminary report.

“Difficult to see all we achieved, sir. Two ships sunk at the wharf. One harbour defence gunboat sunk near the mole. A steam crane or railway engine shelled at the foot of the mole and probably destroyed; rifle fire suppressed at the location. Possibly a troop train, sir. One machine gun silenced.”

“Good enough, Mr Sturton. They will have to emplace guns and troops to defend the harbour, spreading their military resources away from the fighting line inland.”

Midshipman Parrett appeared, very pleased with himself. He pointed to a blaze onshore.

“Spotted a small coaster, sir, and shot at it. When it caught light, we could see it was tied up and unloading into barges. Four dumb barges and a steam tug, sir. There were soldiers aboard three of the barges and they were putting stores aboard the fourth. We sank the lot, sir!”

“Very good! Any estimate of numbers?”

“Hundreds, sir. It might have been a whole battalion brought down the coast and being sent inland, sir.”

“So my report shall say, Mr Parrett. Good work!”

Harker appeared.

“Bloody missed with the second mouldy, sir! Gyroscope played up, sir. Went inshore in a series of curves. First one carved a dead straight wake, sir. Still, sank the one ship and did no favours to the wharf itself.”

“Report the gyroscope failure, Mr Harker. They should do better than that – half our main armament simply not functional – not good enough!”

“Gunfire up the coast, sir! Distant eight thousand yards. Inshore.”

The lookout’s call sent Simon back to the guns where he waited while Sheldrake closed the action at full speed, the forward four inch almost underwater.

There was a massive explosion while the destroyer was still two thousand yards distant, guns ready and trying to distinguish which of three shadowy ships was which.

The ship shuddered under a tidal wave spreading out from the centre of the blast.

“H Class destroyer to port, sir!”

Sheldrake signalled and the three visible shapes returned recognition flashes from their Aldis lamps.

“Blackbird report, Yeoman.”

Two minutes and a signal came slowly from Blackbird.

“Encountered five small ships in line. Unescorted, lightly armed merchant vessels. All five opened fire with small cannon or pompoms when ordered to stop. Exchange of fire sank four and set fire to fifth. Vessel exploded when Blackbird close and attempting to rescue survivors. Lost captain and first lieutenant and all bridge personnel.”

“What speed can Blackbird manage?”

“Engines undamaged.”

“Flotilla form in line astern on Sheldrake . Return base.”

Commodore Tyrwhitt listened sympathetically to Captain Smallwood.

“The three of the flotilla sank a convoy of five old coasters – probably wooden-hulled and steam auxiliary, sir, from the speed with which they went down. Hulls ripped open by shellfire. One at least was carrying ammunition, sir. Caught fire and blew as Blackbird was closing to rescue her crew.”

“Bad luck, but Blackbird had no choice. Can’t leave men to fry.”

“Agreed, sir.”