by Shaun Lewis
Chapter 25
August 1915
Most of the men of E9 lay asleep where they could and barely a sound could be heard apart from snoring and an occasional grunt. The single watchkeeper sat in the control room trying to read in the dim lighting. Given that the submarine was dived at a depth of seventy-three feet in the Sea of Marmara, surrounded by the enemy, and not sitting on the bottom, it was a novel situation. The fact was that she might as well have been sitting on the bottom. Richard had discovered by experiment that instead of there being a gradual change in the density of the water, there was a clearly defined line of demarcation between the fresh water layer and the denser, salt water beneath. This salt water layer was sufficiently dense to allow the submarine to sit on it. It meant that E9 did not have to leave the shipping lanes for long periods to seek shallow water to allow the ships’ company to rest and conserve the battery’s precious amps.
Richard lay on his bunk reflecting on his experiences of E9’s first patrol in the Sea of Marmara and the news from home. It was one of the few moments he had to himself to relax whilst on patrol and he had much to consider. In his hands he held two letters closely to his chest.
He and the men of E9 had been surprised to return from their first patrol in the Dardanelles as heroes. The ships of the Allied Fleet had manned the sides and cheered the submarine as it had returned at the end of June. Richard had then discovered that he had been promoted to Commander on the spot and recommended for another decoration. It had come as a huge shock when he learned, just prior to sailing on this second Dardanelles patrol, that he had been awarded the VC. Despite his embarrassment by the attention, he secretly felt enormously proud to have equalled his father’s achievement in winning the most prestigious decoration for valour in the face of the enemy. It had given him greater satisfaction, however, to learn, also, that both Steele and O’Connell had been awarded the Distinguished Service Cross and, moreover, every member of the ship’s company the Distinguished Service Medal. They all had Commodore Keyes to thank for this. Richard thought it very appropriate that the Admiralty had rewarded his men in this way as they had all shared the same risks on the patrol. It had struck him as unfair that when the previous year, following the sinking of the German light cruiser SMS Hela, he had been awarded his DSO, his men had not been similarly commended. The tradition of the Royal Navy was to honour the men through their commanding officer.
He hoped that Papa would now understand his decision not to follow in his father’s footsteps, but to become a submariner and make his own mark. He was sure that Papa must be proud of him, but was equally sure that he would never show it. Thinking of Papa, brought him back to the terrible news his father’s last letter had brought. The letter had been written in February, but caught up with Adamant only after he had sailed on the last patrol through the Strait. His brother Paul had been declared, ‘Missing - Presumed Dead’ after being shot down in a raid on Ostend. Moreover, it was clear that Mutti was in very low spirits and all was not well between her and Papa.
Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought of Paul. Might his aircraft have caught fire, exposing Paul to a slow and agonising death? He had always recognised the risks of aviation accidents, but he had thought Paul safe from the enemy in Dover. He wiped away his tears and as his heart ached with the pain that he knew Mutti must be feeling, he had to stifle a potential sob. He couldn’t risk being heard to blub. He reached for his Bible to distract him, but didn’t open it. He felt helpless sitting here hundreds of miles away. It wasn’t fair to blame Papa either. Somebody had to tell their mother that Papa had never openly encouraged either of his sons to join the Navy. She might have now read the publication in the London Gazette of his citation for the VC and be feeling some solace. Moreover, the news of Paul was not definitive. It was not ‘Killed in Action’, so there was some doubt. Perhaps by now Paul might have surfaced as a Prisoner of War.
He cast his mind back to his farewell with the Commodore before sailing on this patrol. Keyes had informed him that on his return, he would be sent back to England for leave and a new appointment. If he and his men could survive just a few more weeks, then he could offer some support to Mutti.
The thought of returning home brought to mind the other letter in his hand. It, too, had been written six months earlier, but this one, by contrast, evoked tears of joy. Lizzy had written several sheets of news about the yard and her success in gaining several contracts for both ships and submarines as part of her war effort. He chuckled at the account of how the men had reacted to several hundred women being employed in the yard alongside the skilled trades. The suffragettes might have temporarily abandoned their push for women’s suffrage, but Lizzy had transferred her passion into showing that women were the equal of men in the workplace. Good on her. The letter was not without sentiment, though, and Lizzy expressed her impatience for his return and the chance to hold their delayed wedding ceremony. He made a mental note to write to her to start planning the event and then it occurred to him that he would probably be home before any such letter - provided he survived this patrol.
He assumed that by now she would have had the news of her brother, Charles. He, too, had been decorated, with the DSC, for his courage and actions on the beaches at Gallipoli, but at the expense of terrible wounds. Richard had not been able to visit his cousin prior to his evacuation to Malta on the hospital ship, but he knew that his wounds were serious. It made him all the more determined to survive to return home, but for now it was his duty to contribute to bringing this terrible war to an end quickly.
He again considered a germ of an idea he had had on his earlier patrol. E9 and her sister submarines were without doubt a thorn in the side of the Turks and making a vital contribution to the war effort. They were now operating in pairs and had delivered on Keyes’s objective to run amuck. However, the targets were starting to dry up. The Turks were retaining the larger ships in port and when they did venture out, they were usually heavily escorted. Whilst frustrating to the hunter instinct of the submariners, Richard recognised this for the strategic success it was in cutting the Turks’ vital supply line. The land between the main Turkish supply base in Constantinople and its forces on the Gallipoli Peninsula was extremely mountainous. The two railways available to support the defending armies each only went part way. The roads were little more than mule tracks. As a result, nearly all supplies had to be sent by sea. The mere suspicion of the presence of the submarines made them a ‘fleet in being’. The sea was now largely denied to the enemy, as he knew it had been to the French by the Navy during the Napoleonic Wars. He derived pleasure from the fact that many of the Turkish reinforcements now faced a long and tiring march before reaching the Front. He did not discount the prospect of continuing the war of attrition by sinking as many transports and cargo vessels as possible, but he felt a fresh responsibility. Back home he was no doubt now a national figure and so he should be setting an example and playing a more strategic part in the War. He resolved to discuss his idea with Steele in the morning. For now he needed his sleep.
*
For once Steele was at the periscope as E9 lay in wait for her next target. His right eye was glued firmly to the rubber eyepiece. Richard had told him that it would be good for his second-in-command to gain the experience. He was after all the ‘Second Captain’ and would have to take command should the captain be incapacitated. As always, the control room was in complete silence except for the clicking of the telemotors powering the hydroplanes and rudder, and the hissing of the periscope hydraulics as the periscope was raised and lowered. He observed Leading Seaman Dodds, the gunlayer, checking again that his team was ready at the fore-hatch before returning to his position in the conning tower, crouched beneath O’Connell.
Despite the obvious tension, Steele bided his time patiently. If he surfaced too soon, then it risked scaring the enemy. E9 was lying off San Stefano Point on Turkey’s northern shore, not far from Constantinople. At last he judged the moment as ripe.
‘Surface. Standby gun action,’ he ordered.
Within seconds, O’Connell opened the conning tower upper hatch whilst Dodd clung to his legs. Both were deluged by seawater, but they ignored it. Dodds rushed to the gun and quickly adjusted his sights to the range and bearing of the target as the fore-hatch was opened. He slammed home the breech block and the gun fired its first shot. Meanwhile, fresh shells were now being passed in a relay to the casing by the ammunition party below. By the time O’Connell reported the shell as falling short, Dodds had fired the second. It still fell short, but by a lesser margin. Dodds adjusted the elevation and swung the gun round further to take into account the target’s movement. The third shell was a direct hit. The locomotive of a troop train burst into flames and the train squealed to a halt. Some of the carriages derailed, flinging horses and men onto the trackside. Dodds adjusted the bearing of the gun and commenced a continuous fire on the carriages, wreaking carnage. In less than three minutes the train was completely wrecked.
Steele joined Dodds and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Shift target.’ He pointed to a tall, brick-built viaduct ahead of the shambles of the train. The Turks would have to clear the wreckage before they could use the line again, but if the viaduct was destroyed, the delay would be months.
Dodds adjusted the aim of the gun carefully. There was no longer any urgency to the task. No threat to the submarine was visible. He expended the last of the ready-use ammunition, about twenty shells in all, but the viaduct continued to stand tall. The three-inch shells were making insufficient impact to destroy it, despite several gouges in the brickwork. Steele ordered the gun’s crew below and retired himself to the control room. He wanted that viaduct destroyed and had another idea.
*
The following day, E9 continued her patrol for enemy shipping in the north of the Marmara, south of Constantinople, trimmed down on the surface. O’Connell had the watch on the bridge whilst Richard and Steele held a council-of-war in the fore-ends. The Leading Torpedo Operator had opened up one of the spare torpedoes for their inspection.
‘I’ve been thinking, Number One, that we might have a problem with the sinking valve of this mouldie,’ Richard muttered quietly to Steele.
‘Really, sir? It looks fine to me.’ Steele inspected carefully the fourth chamber of the torpedo. This contained the Brotherhood three-cylinder engines that propelled the torpedo and the gear for controlling the depth at which it would run. In addition, it contained a range wheel and a sinking valve. In the event of the torpedo missing its target, at the set range for its ‘end-of-run’, the sinking valve opened to allow water into the air and buoyancy chambers, and the torpedo would sink harmlessly to the bottom.
‘Just suppose we were to blank off the sinking valve or set the range to zero. What do you think?’
‘Naturally, the torpedo would float to the surface, sir. But, I say, sir. That would be against the international convention!’ The convention stated that unexploded torpedoes should be set to sink at the end of their run, so that they did not become floating mines and a danger to neutral shipping.
‘Quite right, Number One, so I am doing this on my own responsibility.’ Richard adjusted the range wheel to zero, thereby ensuring the sinking valve would not operate.
‘But why, sir?’ Steele seemed aghast at this cavalier and illegal act.
‘We can’t afford to run out of torpedoes again. And don’t worry about the convention. We’ll be picking them up again if they miss. From now on, I want all the torpedoes set to float at the end of their run. Understood?’
‘Aye aye, sir.’ Steele nodded to the LTO to implement the captain’s intention.
‘Now there was something else you wanted to discuss, Number One.’
‘Indeed, sir.’ Steele pulled out a notebook on which he had made some sketches. ‘If you care to peruse this rough map, sir. It shows the Turkish railway system around the Marmara. As you can see, there are several points at which the railway runs along the coast, within range of our gun. We’ve already agreed that the bridges are the vulnerable points, but as we saw yesterday, we can’t do too much damage to them with a bally twelve-pounder. However, if you would permit me to swim ashore with a raft of guncotton, I could destroy the supporting pillars of a viaduct by explosion. As to a likely spot ...’
‘Just hang on a minute, First Lieutenant. As far as I am concerned, you are the most important man on board and I’m not going to risk losing you on such a hare-brained venture. The risks are too great. It’s out of the question.’
Steele opened his mouth to remonstrate, but clearly thought better of it. Richard fixed him with a determined stare. Satisfied that the discussion was over, he changed the subject.
‘I’m sorry to dampen your enthusiasm, Number One, but I think I can offer you plenty of excitement of another sort. I have it in mind to enter the Golden Horn.’ He paused to gauge Steele’s reaction and was not disappointed.
‘Holy smoke! Enter the harbour of Constantinople?’
‘Yes. I thought we might have a crack at the Goeben in her lair.’
‘Capital, sir. It’s just the sort of audacity to tickle my fancy. It would be worthy of de Ruyter.’
‘Go on, First Lieutenant. Educate me. I know you are dying to demonstrate the superiority of your Wykehamist learning.’
Steele ignored the barbed comment. ‘It was during one of the Anglo-Dutch wars, sir. The second, I think. Admiral de Ruyter led his ships up the Thames and Medway, captured the town of Sheerness and burned ships of the Royal Navy in Chatham Dockyard. The raid caused panic in London and brought about an early end to the war on favourable terms to the Dutch. You might achieve a similar effect, sir. It would indubitably create mayhem in the very heart of the Ottoman Empire. The Turks no doubt feel secure from attack and the effect on morale of the people might just influence the government to end their alliance with Germany. At the very least, it would upset the movement of troops and supplies to the front.’
‘Thank you, Number One. I had not considered an historical parallel, but you have grasped the sentiment of my plan. As you say, it would do no harm to disrupt the transport of troops and supplies to the front, but my main objective is the psychological impact the sudden appearance of a submarine in their long impregnable capital would have on the Turks. So, if we’re agreed, we go in tomorrow morning.’
*
The hands were called at five in the morning for prayers in the control room. The turnout was high. The men knew the challenge before them and the high risks involved, but they knew they were an elite crew, under good officers, and relished this opportunity to strike at the enemy’s heart. Some recognised the historic significance that success might bring to the submarine service. Stealthily, hidden beneath the sea, E9 crept into the jaws of the point where Asia and Europe met at the entrance to the Bosphorous. Above the surface, the sun had already risen above the mountains to the east, casting a corridor of gold on the flat-calm sea between Oxia Island and the occasional reflection off the bobbing periscope lens of the menace beneath the waves.
*
Richard felt like Peeping Tom spying on Lady Godiva as E9 gently closed the northern shore at two knots. Criss-crossing the outer approaches, a myriad of fishermen and dhows conducted their daily lives, oblivious of the one-eyed creature’s observation. He could see the remains of the city walls, within which lay the flat-roofed houses of Constantinople’s inhabitants. Dotted among the buildings were the strange-looking domed buildings, glinting in the reflection of the sun and flanked by the needle-like towers that he understood to be called minarets. One such building dominated the skyline because of its size. Its strange domes and the upper part of the surrounding towers, all appeared to be covered in blue tiles. The minarets reminded him of well sharpened pencils. However, like most of the other conspicuous buildings, it was not marked on the crude chart. Of ships entering or leaving the great harbour, there was no sign, but otherwise it appeared to be a normal, everyday scene. He felt a
pang of guilt that he would soon be shattering this calm. Except for the different architecture and lateen sails of the dhows, the scene might well have been that of the port of London on the same day. Every look through the periscope brought more detail to the scene and by lunchtime he could pick out the people on foot, the horses of cavalrymen and the occasional carriage, and the many donkeys hauling carts behind them. It was time for action.
‘Flood tubes One and Two,’ he ordered. Very soon he hoped to sight his first target since, once he rounded Seraglio Point, he would have a clear view up the Bosphorous.
‘We should be approaching wheel-over, sir,’ O’Connell called. ‘We’re far enough off the bank, sir.’
Richard issued the order for the alteration of course to port. O’Connell was calculating the course changes by dead-reckoning to avoid too much exposure of the periscope. This close inshore, the sea was ruffled by a light breeze, but it was nonetheless prudent to remain invisible as long as possible. After another five minutes, Richard raised the periscope. He noted that the colour of the water was now a brownish-green rather than its usual blue-green.
‘That’s good,’ he muttered. ‘I can see a steamer heading north.’ He had been attracted by the red ensign against the white transom of the steamer.
‘That is indeed a relief, sir,’ Steele answered. He and Richard had feared that the stretch of water might be mined.
‘Still no sign of any warships.’ Richard continued his commentary. ‘There are still too many buildings in the way. Watch it, First Lieutenant. You’re dipping. Down periscope.’
The submarine had sunk too low for him to see above the sea, but he masked his annoyance. Steele did not have to say anything. One of the coxswains automatically made the adjustment to the hydroplanes and called out his apology.
