The Custom of the Trade
Page 24
‘Depth twenty feet, sir,’ Steele reported.
Richard raised the periscope for another quick look. The white lighthouse to port indicated that they were now in the Bosphorous. Less than a mile to starboard lay Asia and he checked the docks of Haidar Pasha for potential targets before lowering the periscope. Very soon he knew he would be entering the main harbour of Constantinople to port.
‘Navigator, stand by for a fix,’ he called. He was confident he was about a quarter of a mile off the European coast, but a more precise position would do no harm.
‘I’ll give you the bearings of Old Seraglio Point, Leander Tower and the right hand edge of Haidar Pasha, in that order.’
‘Ready,’ O’Connell replied.
‘Up,’ Richard ordered. ‘Bearing that. Bearing that. And bearing that. Port five. Steer 350.’ The periscope assistant called out the bearings and O’Connell plotted them very quickly. Within seconds of settling on the new course, Richard could see the Galata Bridge and the naval arsenal beyond. He looked for the masts of the Goeben, but was interrupted by a sailor in a dhow trying to grab hold of the periscope.
‘Down,’ he ordered quickly. E9 was now in the main harbour and there were small craft everywhere. No doubt the surprised sailor would give the alarm, but too late, he thought. He had seen a possible target.
‘Open bow caps,’ he called. A buzz of excitement immediately spread throughout the boat. Within a minute he ordered the periscope to be raised again.
‘Port ten. Steady. Fire One and Two.’ He had seen two large transports berthed alongside the Turkish Army barracks, loading stores. He hoped to hit both. He kept the periscope raised to check that both torpedoes ran true. The first, however, curved off to port, jumped into the air like a porpoise and disappeared into the water. The second ran better, displaying its tell-tale ruler-straight wake. Satisfied that it would hit one of the transports, he wondered if he could offer a beam shot, but his train of thought was suddenly interrupted.
‘My word,’ he gasped. ‘Full ahead both! Keep seventy-five feet. Flood the auxiliary. Get her down quickly.’ Steele and the two coxswains responded without question and dived the boat.
‘Port thirty-five,’ Richard shouted. ‘We’re being torpedoed!’
Instinctively, some of the control room team braced themselves for an explosion and seconds later everyone heard the terrifying sound of a torpedo’s propellers as it approached them at forty or more knots. The sailors tensed and then the noise passed overhead.
As the men relaxed, they heard a loud underwater explosion and almost immediately, the sound of shells bursting in the water. They also heard noises against the hull, like gravel being thrown at a window pane. Richard assumed it must be shrapnel, but he suddenly had other matters on his mind. The boat shuddered and heeled sharply to port, knocking several men off their feet. Just as quickly, E9 began shooting to the surface like a cork and she continued to spin round anti-clockwise.
‘She’s not responding to the helm or ’planes, sir,’ the coxswain called.
‘Keep her down, First Lieutenant,’ Richard shouted. ‘Full ahead!’
Steele started flooding the auxiliary tank again to gain ballast and ordered the hydroplanes hard down, but it made little difference. The swing to port was checked, but E9 continued to speed to the surface. With a huge shudder the boat broached the surface. Immediately, the boat was rocked by two direct hits from shells on the fin.
‘Good gracious,’ Steele exclaimed. ‘Those gunners are good.’
‘Never mind that, First Lieutenant. Get her down,’ Richard barked and almost simultaneously E9 took on a steep bow-down angle and dived beneath the shell pock-ridden surface.
‘Stop engines. Hydroplanes hard a-rise. Blow the auxiliary,’ Richard ordered. He suspected that the boat was not fatally damaged, but caught in swirling cross currents.
‘It’s no good, sir,’ the Coxswain reported. ‘She’s heavy and I can’t hold her.’
‘Full astern,’ Richard replied. ‘Stop both engines. How’s the bubble?’
‘Five degrees down, sir. Depth steadying at seventy-five feet, sir. The helm’s answering now, sir. Course 180,’ Steele replied.
‘Very good. Steer that for now. Are you keeping up with this, Pilot?’ Before O’Connell could reply, the submarine lurched violently, first to starboard and then to port.
‘Now what?’ Richard demanded. The ship’s head had started to veer wildly to starboard and it became clear that the boat was caught in some form of whirlpool. Again E9 began to rise sharply and, almost as suddenly, the boat shuddered and everyone heard a scraping sound against the hull. The depth gauge showed forty feet.
‘I think we’ve run aground off Scutari, sir,’ O’Connell opined. He had barely finished speaking than with another lurch the boat seemed to have been swept off the bottom and the ship’s head spun to port.
‘Full ahead,’ Richard ordered. He had spotted the rapid ascent towards the surface. The plop-plop sound of shells hitting the water not far away was sufficient reminder to avoid broaching. At a depth of sixty feet the boat hit the bottom again, but was quickly pushed along by the current into deeper water. The compass was swinging wildly and it was difficult to know which way they were facing, but he did not dare return to periscope depth whilst the Turkish gunners were so active. He had no idea whether he was heading out to sea or further into the Bosphorous. It was imperative to ensure that E9 neither broached, to face the accurate gunfire of the batteries above, nor ran aground under the eyes of the Turks. He made an instant decision.
‘Stop both engines. Flood One, Two, Three and Four main ballast tanks.’
Steele repeated the order and regarded his commanding officer quizzically before carrying it out. By flooding the main ballast tanks E9 was taking on an extra six tons of ballast.
The submarine began to sink. The compass continued to spin. One of the coxswains began to call out the depth.
‘Eighty feet, sir. Ninety feet, sir. One hundred feet.’ A frisson of tension rippled through the control room. ‘110 feet … 120 feet,’ the Second Coxswain intoned.
‘That’s the maximum diving depth, sir,’ Steele mentioned casually.
‘What’s your point, First Lieutenant?’ Richard asked acidly.
‘It’s just that the depth gauge doesn’t go beyond 120 feet, so we can’t report the depth, sir.’
‘Quite. I’m sorry, Number One.’ Richard felt stupid. ‘Well, we’ve been here before and know the dear old boat can take it. What’s the maximum depth, Navigator?’
‘It depends where you mean, sir.’ O’Connell met his eyes and turned back to the chart. ‘Assuming we are to the south of the strait, sir, perhaps 200 feet.’
The compasses continued to swing and the depth gauge remained obstinately at 120 feet. The hull began to creak. Everyone on board instinctively looked for signs of exploding rivets and leaks. Richard saw some of the men cross themselves and regretted not having his rosary with him. At what depth would the plates buckle? He knew he might be close to God right now. Nobody spoke a word. The plops in the water ceased and the only noise on board was that of the steel plates that formed the hull complaining at the intolerable pressure of the outside seawater. There was nothing more he could do. He had made his decision and it was now in God’s hands as to whether he and his men lived or died. They all felt the thump forward as E9 hit the bottom, followed by the thud of the stern settling, too. The submarine was at the bottom of the harbour of Constantinople, but he could not say where or at what depth.
Chapter 26
September 1915
Steele profited from the enforced inactivity on board by falling out everyone from Diving Stations and ordering sandwiches to be made for all hands. The galley stove was shut down to preserve the batteries so the men had to make do with water. Richard and O’Connell studied the chart intently in an attempt to establish their position. The gunners up top seemed to have ceased firing, so the boat and its external environment see
med eerily quiet. Richard wondered if the reason for the absence of gunfire was that Turkish patrol boats were now hunting them. In the absence of any other weapons to sink submarines, the Turks had begun to employ long sweeps fitted with explosives. It would mean that E9 and her men would be in peril if they remained on the bottom until nightfall. At least the compass had stopped swinging and had settled on a south-easterly heading.
He had an idea. He opened the lower hatch of the conning tower and climbed up the ladder to the glass scuttles. Removing the covers, he compared the darkness of the water each side. He couldn’t be absolutely sure, but he sensed that it was lighter to starboard and then a couple of fish approached the glass on this side to study him. He felt like a goldfish in a bowl and replaced the metal covers before returning to the chart table to discuss it with O’Connell and Steele.
‘I’m not sure of this, Pilot, but I think we’re lying at the eastern side of the harbour. If that’s the case, then we may be lying on this island, beneath Leander Tower. Number One, this is a gamble, but I want you to take the boat gently off the bottom and take her south-westerly. We’ll try a course of 190 to start. But keep her heavy. I don’t want to go anywhere near the surface. If necessary we’ll just bump along the bottom. Of course, if I’m wrong, then we’ll merely drive ourselves further aground. I might need my rosary beads and a change of underwear for this evolution.’
Steele ordered the men back to Diving Stations and briefed the two coxswains on the captain’s plan. When all hands were ready, he ordered the main ballast tanks to be blown.
‘Blow One, Two, Three, Four, Five and Six main ballast.’
Compressed air noisily began to force water out of the ballast tanks. The men felt the boat rock gently, first one way and then the other, before shuddering slightly, telling them that they were off the bottom. The depth gauged remained stuck at 120 feet, but they thought they could feel the boat rising.
‘Full ahead. Stop the blow. Hydroplanes hard down,’ Steele ordered. The bows thumped the bottom again, but the boat was moving.
‘Half ahead. Ease the ’planes and steer 190.’
The helmsman struggled to hold the ordered course due to a westerly current, but the depth gauge began to move. An audible sigh of relief could be heard through the submarine. When the depth gauge showed eighty-five feet, Richard called over to Steele.
‘Keep her at that. Find your trim. I’ll not risk a fix, so we’ll have to hope we’re on course for the harbour entrance.’
Thirty minutes later, at soon after four o’clock, he judged it safe to bring the submarine up to PD. E9 was indeed well clear of the harbour and, after taking a fix, he handed over the watch to O’Connell with instructions to head south-west. He turned to Steele.
‘I’m not happy about that first torpedo, Number One. There must have been something wrong with the gyro. Indeed, I wonder if it was the same torpedo that nearly did for us and not a Turkish Brennan. I want all the gyros checked on each of the remaining torpedoes and the bow tubes reloaded. In the meantime, we’ll head for our signalling billet and shout about our success. I want the world to know that Constantinople is no longer impregnable.’
He was surprised that Steele’s reaction seemed muted. Steele appeared distracted and not at all his usual zealous self.
‘Is there something wrong, Number One?’
‘No, sir, but may I crave a favour, sir? Before confirming your instructions to inspect each torpedo, overhaul the gyros, reload the bow tubes and make at once for the signalling billet, would you mind walking through the boat with me?’
‘Very well, First Lieutenant. Let’s go,’ Richard responded tersely.
The two officers walked through the boat and he guiltily recognised his First Lieutenant’s point. Nearly all the off-watch men were asleep, almost at their diving stations. Those that remained on duty had blank, tired faces without any trace of elation for the achievement of which they had just been a part. They responded to his questions and words of encouragement politely, but without enthusiasm.
‘I’m sorry, sir. If you order it, the men will gladly jump to whatever you have in mind, but is it safe? You can see they’re exhausted and, to be quite frank, sir, so are you. I’m sorry, sir, but I would not be doing my duty to you if I held my counsel.’
Richard was shocked by Steele’s frankness, but admired his moral courage. He recognised that Steele was right and that it could not have been easy for him to imply that the men were being driven too hard. For the first time, he warmed to Steele and he felt ashamed for his earlier unfair treatment of him.
‘Very well, Number One. You were quite right to bring me up and I do value your opinion. I shall get my head down. Take the boat further offshore and when you deem it prudent, surface and allow the hands to bathe for an hour. They’ve done well. You can tell them that.’
He was sure his eyes were deceiving him, but Steele seemed to have just grown even taller with the praise, but he would still not let matters lie.
‘If I may make so bold, sir, I think the men would take it better if you were the one to tell them how well they’ve done.’
‘You might be right again. I’ll tell them when we surface. Call me beforehand.’
*
The following night, E9 made contact by wireless with HMS Jed. The wireless range was only thirty miles so Jed had been positioned in the Gulf of Xeros to act as a relay for messages. The submarines in the Sea of Marmara regularly returned to the Gallipoli Peninsula to transmit and receive signals. On this latest exchange, Richard received intelligence that two brigades of Turkish troops with guns and ammunition were being moved up by train from Smyrna to Panderma on the southern coast, and from Syria via Constantinople to the north. The presence of submarines in the Marmara was causing the Turks to avoid sea crossings, or at least to shorten them.
Richard first mused as to how such intelligence had been gained and then on the C-in-C’s news about the troop trains. Panderma was nearer and he could either shell the railhead or attack any troop ships leaving the harbour. Then he reconsidered Steele’s idea to destroy the viaduct on the Baghdad railway line. The idea began to appeal to him. If Steele could bring it off, then it would send a powerful message to the Turks that their entire coastline was vulnerable and cause them to waste resources on defending its key points. This would have a greater strategic advantage than sinking a couple of transports. They could come later. His mind made up, he instructed O’Connell to lay off a course for San Stefano Point and sat down with Steele to discuss operations for the following night.
*
Through the periscope Richard could clearly see the white cliffs to the north, reflecting the half-moonlight, as the submarine penetrated the narrow Gulf of Ismid. Earlier in the day, he and Steele had studied all the available maps and charts of the Turkish railway system, and Steele had suggested that Ismid might make a better target than San Stefano Point. Here the main railway line from Scutari to Baghdad followed the coastline for twenty-seven miles along the Gulf and the water was deep enough for the submarine to approach within four hundred yards of the beach. At its widest point the Gulf was only five miles wide, narrowing to a mile, and at its head lay the port of Ismid.
It was a still night and no ships were in sight, so Richard surfaced the submarine, trimmed down to reduce her exposure and continuing to be propelled by the electric motors to reduce her noise. Again he had the feeling of being a Peeping Tom. Ashore he could hear the noises of farm animals and music. Both O’Connell and Steele joined him on the bridge.
‘What do you think?’ he asked of them. He whispered, even though there was little prospect of being heard ashore, but it was that quiet an evening.
‘It looks a good place to put me ashore, sir, but I can’t see the railway line or viaduct,’ Steele replied. ‘It’s a shame I don’t know how to milk a goat, though. I could bring us back some fresh milk.’
‘How about some fresh eggs instead, First Lieutenant?’ O’Connell asked.
‘Quiet, you two,’ Richard hissed. He thought he had heard something.
Sure enough they all heard a hoot from the direction of Scutari and then the roar of an engine. They strained their eyes in the direction of the approaching sound and before long saw the white light of the locomotive. It rattled past them quickly and then all they could see were the red tail-lights of the guard’s van. Suddenly, the tone of the noise changed to a clanging of wheels on an iron structure. Steele counted the seconds.
‘It took twenty-three seconds to cross, sir. I’d say that’s our viaduct or bridge. It must be about a quarter of a mile long,’ Steele announced.
‘I think you’re right, Number One, but we’ll check in the morning. I want to see whether the cliffs are too steep for you to climb. For now we’ll head out to deeper water and sit on the layer for the night, but I want to be about our business at 04.00.’
*
The daylight reconnaissance had been of value. Steele was given the periscope to make sketches of the iron trellis bridge and its surroundings. Richard selected a small cove to its east to land him. The cliffs had the advantage that they afforded a screen from any sentries, but it would be hard work for Steele to climb them, weighed down by his pack of equipment. He just hoped he was fit enough for the task.
Two hours after midnight, Steele shook hands with his brother officers and then slipped his long frame into the warm seawater. He was completely naked and his fair skin had been covered in grease to reduce his visibility ashore. The stokers had made him up a small raft from oil drums, on which he was able to float his pack containing his demolition kit, comprising sixteen pounds of gun cotton, a fuse pistol, his clothes and footwear, a flashlight, a bayonet, a revolver and a whistle. Pushing the raft before him, he headed for the beach.
‘Do you think he’ll make it, sir?’ O’Connell asked.
‘I don’t know. At best he’s probably a five per cent chance. The Turks will know the viaduct is vulnerable and should have it well guarded. All I know is that if anybody has a chance of success, it’s our First Lieutenant. You go below. I’ll see this out on the bridge.’