by Shaun Lewis
‘Smith, Cooper. Two rounds each into the after masthead and in your own time. Make sure you don’t hit any of the crew.’
The rounds were noisily despatched and Richard observed two pierce one of the sails, but there was no sign of the other two hitting anything. So much for all that training at Bisley! However, the demonstration of intent had had the desired effect as the master ordered the sheets to be let fly and took hold of the wheel himself to bring the ketch’s head into wind. Having taken the way off the boat, he ordered the sails to be lowered, before shouting and waving across to the bridge crew, ‘Ne tirez pas Messieurs. S’il vous plait. Ne tirez pas.’
Richard brought the submarine alongside and sent Steele and the boarding party on board the ketch to search her. The crew were rounded up and grouped on the casing under the watchful eye of the armed bridge crew. Richard sent for the master to meet him on the casing of E9. He addressed him in French.
‘You don’t speak English?’
“No, sir, only French and some Italian. Please, sir, do not harm me or my crew. We will co-operate.’
‘What is your cargo and where are you bound?’
‘Just wood and some coal for Cardak. I assure you I have no military supplies.’
‘Your French is very good, master. Where did you learn it?’
‘At school in Smyrna, sir. I am Roman Catholic and attended a Levantin school. You too speak good French, sir. But you are English, then?’
‘Yes. This is a Royal Navy submarine. Excuse me a moment.’ He spied Steele appearing above a hatch coaming of the ketch. ‘First Lieutenant, what’s the cargo?’
‘Mainly wood, sir, with some coal. We haven’t found any contraband. Well, not yet anyway. We still haven’t finished rummaging the vessel.’
‘Fine. We can save on gun cotton and burn her, then. It seems the Navigator can recreate the activities of his forebears after all. It seems a pity, though, as she’s a lovely vessel. I’ll just inform the master.’
‘Master, please gather your men in the skiff. You may take whatever possessions, food and navigational instruments you require, but no weapons. I am going to burn your vessel, but I mean no harm to you or your crew.’
The blood drained from the Turkish master’s dark-skinned face. ‘No, sir. That cannot be right. I have done you no harm. I have no part in this stupid war. I am just trying to make a living to support my family. See there.’
The Turk pointed to a young man seated in the stern sheets. ‘He is my son. I have five children and a wife to support. Please, I beg you. Do not take away my livelihood.’ He dropped to his knees in supplication.
Richard was embarrassed, but also affected by the man’s plea. He believed in the master’s innocence, but then, what was to stop him carrying barbed wire or pit props for the Gallipoli Peninsular on his next run? His heart hardened as he thought of his cousin on the beaches under Turkish fire.
‘I am genuinely sorry, but our two countries are at war and I have my duty. Now please gather your men in the skiff.’
‘No, sir,’ the Turk beseeched him. ‘This is not my war. I merely live in Turkey. My family come from Genoa originally and I have many relatives in Toulon. I take no sides. Wait. I might be able to help you.’
The Turk seemed in two minds as to whether to continue or not, but after a glance back at his beautiful ketch he made his decision. Richard waited in silence.
‘Sir, I have information that may help you. If I give it to you, will you spare my boat?’
‘I cannot give you that undertaking without knowing the value of the information. Tell me what you know and if I think it worth something, then I will consider a deal. You will have to trust me.’
The Turkish master looked once again at his fine sailing vessel and then across to his son before making up his mind irrevocably.
‘Last week I was in Constantinople picking up this load. I noticed a huge transport ship, the Guj Djemal, being loaded with artillery, equipment and ammunition. The word in the docks was that she was embarking a brigade of troops bound for Gallipoli. Whilst drinking tea in a kiraathane near the docks, I overheard one of the ship’s officers talking of several submarines in the locality. Your exploits and those of your colleagues are famous, sir. The Turks fear you greatly, sir.’
‘Please come to the point, master. My time is short.’ Although Richard had responded tersely, he was pleased to hear that the Turks thought more than one submarine had penetrated the Strait.
‘I am sorry, sir. Yes, this officer was bragging that their ship would avoid you and the other submarines by crossing the sea via Kalolimno Island and the south coast. She had not finished loading when I left, so you should have time to meet her. But take care, sir, you are no doubt aware that she will be heavily escorted.’
‘How do you know she is carrying artillery?’
‘I saw the guns, sir. She is carrying a battery of artillery to Gallipoli and I saw their three-inch field guns. It is rumoured that she carries 6,000 troops for the front, too, sir.’
Richard’s interest was piqued by the information. Since entering the Sea of Marmara, E9 had failed to find a high value target. He still had three torpedoes left and this could make a fitting end to the patrol. He did some mental calculations. It was about fifty miles to Kalolimno Island. At fifteen knots on the surface he could be there in fewer than four hours, but even in this mist, he risked being spotted as the diesel exhaust fumes might be observed from a higher platform above the low lying mist. Dived at a maximum speed of nine or so knots he could be there in about six hours, but the battery would be exhausted by then and he could only risk charging at night. Furthermore, what if the Turk’s information was wrong and the transport was actually taking the more usual route to the north? He might miss her if he was deep. There again, what was the hurry? He had no way of knowing when the vessel was due to sail and might have to hang around the island for a few days yet. No, it would be better to make his way slowly across the sea, charge the battery overnight on the surface and lie in wait at periscope depth during the day. The mist was a worry, though. Whilst it reduced the risk of E9 being seen from ashore, even if he stayed on the surface, he was also unlikely to see much either and ran the risk of collision if a ship suddenly loomed out of the mist. If he dived, he would see nothing and waste an opportunity. He looked up to the wind vane on the ketch’s masthead to check the wind direction, but it was obscured by the mist, even though Richard could see the faint glow of sunshine above. It suddenly gave him an idea and as a Classics scholar it appealed to him. He turned his attention back to the Turk.
‘What is your name, master?’
‘Giovanni Koc, sir. Whom do I have the honour of addressing?’
‘I’m afraid, Captain Koc, that I cannot tell you that for fear it might compromise the identity of my submarine. Anyway, Captain, I have decided that in exchange for the information you have just given me and one other thing, I will spare your beautiful sailing vessel. Please stand up.’
Koc’s relief as he stood was palpable. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you, sir. You are an English gentleman. But er - what is the other thing?’
‘I wish to borrow your boat for the rest of the day. You and your crew will be at liberty to move freely under supervision, and tonight we will release you and your men to continue your passage. Is that a deal?’
Koc must have recognised that he had no choice because he readily agreed. Richard called across to one of the boarding party, ‘Able Seaman Davies, pass the word to the First Lieutenant that I wish to see him in the control room when he has finished searching the ketch. Allow the master to rejoin his crew.’
When Steele joined his captain in the control room he found him peering intently at the chart.
‘Did you find anything of interest, Number One?’
‘No contraband, sir. We did find some live chickens and oddly enough a couple of piglets too.’
‘The crew are Catholics not Muslims. Maybe they might sell us one and a couple of chick
ens. I’m fed up of tinned bully beef. Did you find out anything else?’
‘I checked the papers and manifest and the cargo is bound for Cardak, not Gallipoli. With all that wood and coal on board she’ll burn easily enough.’
‘I’ve changed my mind on that. I’ve had another idea. Did you learn anything about the Trojan Wars at Winchester?’
‘Of course, sir. My father shelled out a substantial sum of cash to ensure I could recite the Aeneid.’ Steele affected a pained expression as if to indicate the quality of his Wykehamist education had been impugned. He went on, ‘I do recall that the island of Tenedos, where the RNAS are based, was the main base of the Greeks when they laid Troy under siege.’
‘Full marks, Number One. We have in the Alondra our very own Trojan Horse. My plan is that we remain tied alongside the ketch, but on the starboard side. If we trim down first, the sails will hide us from any watchers on the European side as we head east. The wind will be behind us, so nobody should be too suspicious if we motor along at three to four knots. At the same time, I want you to place a lookout at the forward masthead. He should be able to see above the mist and warn us of any potential targets. Tonight we will slip the ketch and her crew, and charge the battery ready for tomorrow.’
Richard briefed Steele on what he had learned from the Turkish master.
*
The following day was frustrating. Richard established a twenty mile patrol line north of Kalolimno Island and was pleased to see two steamers. However, he declined to attack them and kept his distance. He wanted both to conserve his final three precious torpedoes for the transport and not scare her away by evidence of his presence in this part of the Sea. Early in the evening, as the sun was beginning to set, his patience was rewarded by the sight of smoke in the direction from which they were expecting the convoy to appear. He immediately dived the submarine and altered course to close the range and to lie in wait for the approaching ships. A quick look through the periscope established that the convoy comprised two large transports and an escort of three destroyers fanned out ahead of the larger ships. Neither destroyer seemed to be actively searching for a potential quarry and both transports remained on a steady south-westerly course, about two miles astern. He concluded they were not expecting allied submarines this far east. He calculated that if he remained on this course at four knots, the more southerly destroyer would pass close ahead, but he could then close the transports and set himself up to fire from a range of between 1,600 and 2,000 yards. He would be like a fox in a chicken run.
After the earlier problems with defective ‘mouldies’ and with still a week of his patrol to run, he could not afford to waste any of his precious torpedoes on the destroyers. There was still a chance of a juicy target on the homeward run or that he might need to fire a torpedo at a destroyer in self-defence. His normal practice was to fire two torpedoes at a high value target, one just ahead of the bows in case the target was either faster than he guessed or increased speed, and the other at the boiler room. He had a difficult decision as how best to use his torpedoes. It was a decision he opted to defer until he saw how the situation developed.
From its bow wave, he estimated the nearest destroyer was making fifteen knots, meaning it would be upon them within five minutes. He delayed raising the periscope again. The surface was calm, and although the light was fading, the periscope would create an obvious V-shaped feather. Whilst he tried to relax and remain calm, Steele and the ship’s company, with the exception of the ’planesmen, were rushing about preparing and flooding the two bow and single stern torpedo tubes for firing. O’Connell, by contrast, was looking bored at the chart table, awaiting fresh bearings of the ships to plot on his chart.
Within a few minutes, nobody had time to be bored. Richard was occupied by the approaching sound of fast-turning propeller blades above. Everyone listened anxiously for any indication of increasing revolutions that might suggest the Turk had seen anything untoward, but the destroyer passed ahead without incident. The propeller noises receded and Richard ordered the control room lights to be turned off or dimmed. The setting sun would silhouette the destroyer, but the descending darkness would make his periscope less visible to any stern lookouts. Dimming the control room lights afforded him an opportunity to gain his night sight before raising the periscope.
‘Keep twenty feet,’ he ordered. ‘Raise periscope. Stop.’
The tip of the periscope had barely broken the surface and the control room was in absolute silence to allow the captain to concentrate. Steele focused intently on the trim and hydroplanes operators. It was vital that the depth was held absolutely steady. If the submarine rose to nineteen feet, then the periscope would be raised a foot further out of the water. If it sank more than a few feet, then the periscope would ‘dip’ beneath the water, potentially blinding the captain and ruining his concentration at a vital moment. Richard turned the periscope quickly onto the expected bearing of the nearest destroyer.
‘Fine. That destroyer’s disappearing quickly. Let’s look for the transports.’ He swivelled the periscope until he caught sight of the transports.
‘That’s a pity. Revolutions for seven knots. Bearing that. Down.’ Both targets were further away than he had estimated.
‘Pilot, the nearest target is at a range of 3,000 yards and the other approximately 500 yards off her starboard quarter.’
O’Connell plotted the two targets whilst Richard quickly calculated the angles and his options. He thought it a pity to let both ships go as they looked heavily laden, but he could only fire two torpedoes at a time and the tracks would give away his presence.
Silently, E9 sliced through the water under the power of her electric motors. Some of the men muttered instructions or conversation, but generally there was silence except for the humming and rattling of the boat’s machinery. An air of nervous excitement pervaded the entire boat. A rumour had started that there might be 6,000 troops on each transport and, if true and the attack succeeded, they were about to become very rich. Under an old Prize Law of 1708 re-enacted by the King in March that year, ‘if in any action any ship of war or privateer shall be taken from the enemy, five pounds shall be granted to the captors for every man which was living on board such ship or ships so taken at the beginning of the engagement between them’. Such prize money was normally divided amongst all allied vessels in the vicinity, but in this instance E9 was entirely alone. The crew might stand to gain as a whole £60,000. Once shared out that could amount to thirty years’ pay.
Patiently, Richard waited for the second hand of the stopwatch around his neck to show the elapsing of six minutes before he reduced speed to four knots and raised the periscope for a final look before firing. It was almost 20.00 and he knew the light would fade very soon. If he had miscalculated or the convoy had altered course, then there would be no second opportunity of pursuing the attack.
Once the periscope pierced the sea above, the murmuring of conversations stopped. The only light in the control room was a disc reflected through the periscope off Richard’s right eye. He broke the tension within seconds.
‘Bearing that, 1,500 yards. Fire One and fire Two.’
He need not have worried. He had judged it perfectly. The nearest transport, a three-masted, two-funnelled, former White Star liner, was fine on the starboard bow and the range was good. Knowing that there was no destroyer in the vicinity, he kept the periscope raised to observe the run of the torpedoes. To his dismay, the port torpedo’s gyro malfunctioned and it veered off to port. The starboard torpedo appeared to be running true and provided it did not run under its target, looked certain to hit, but he suspected that one hit would not be enough to guarantee sinking the ship. He slapped the side of the periscope. If only he had not wasted his valuable torpedoes, he rued, but this was no time for crying over spilt milk.
‘Down periscope. Port twenty. Standby to fire the stern tube. One of the torpedoes is a miss. I’m going to take another shot at the nearest transport,’ he announc
ed to the control room team. The news was received with a groan. Everyone knew that there was only one torpedo left and that now meant only half the potential prize money. Steele immediately tried to silence the muttering, but it was no use. A few seconds later, however, they heard a huge explosion and this time the men began cheering. The second torpedo had run true.
Richard brought the euphoric hands back to reality by cancelling the turn and settling E9 on a steady course ready to fire the stern torpedo. He raised the periscope and saw darkness was now enveloping the two targets, but the nearer transport was stopped in the water and definitely sinking by the stern. There were several splashes alongside. Some of these might have been caused by falling debris, but he could also see men in the water. He suspected many of the troops on board were panicking and jumping over the side, rather than waiting for the lifeboats to be launched.
Seeing the men in the water brought it home to him that there were real human beings on the ship and several would no doubt die as a result of his actions. The thought sickened him. The war had to be brought to an end and this was the best way he knew of assisting that process. He focussed his attention on the shapes just visible through the periscope. In the fading light he found it difficult to assess the range of the transports and impossible to judge his angle on the bow of the second ship, now a dark shape to the left of her stricken sister. The reflection of the moonlight on her bow wave indicated she was not heaving to in order to retrieve survivors. Rightly so, he thought. He contemplated a second shot, but could not rid himself of the thought of the men in the water. The ship was doomed anyway and was not worth the expenditure of his last torpedo. After ordering E9 deep and altering course and speed to clear the area he wondered if he had become squeamish.
