The time was 0100. The ship was darkened and all dead lights were down. Canvas awnings covered the inside of all entrances from the citadel into the ship. On the bridge, all was quiet. Penrose was sat in his usual chair, watching Carlisle’s frothy wake churning the sea, a hundred yards in front of Helix. The dim blue lights from the various dials on the ship’s board cast an eerie glow on his face and on the figures around him. The only sound to disturb their thoughts was the hissing of the sea and the dull throbbing of the ship’s engines.
OOW Sub Lieutenant Milton stood a few feet away, looking through the prism on the compass repeater, checking the distance between Helix and Carlisle. He was about to report his findings to Penrose, when Asdic Operator Dusty Miller’s strident voice came over the intercom. ‘Contact bearing green four hundred, depth two hundred feet, sir.’
Using their binoculars, everyone immediately turned to the right and peered into the darkness, hoping to see the tell-tale wash of a periscope. Seconds later, a signal to the three destroyers confirmed this, adding, “Ships take evasive action. Do not attack, repeat, do not attack”.’
‘Reply, “Wilco”,’ snapped Penrose. ‘Hard a starboard, evolutions one five.’
QM Knocker White, in the wheel house, repeated the order. Seconds later, as the ship heeled precariously to the right, everyone on the bridge held onto anything at hand to avoid falling over. Stokers, taken aback by the ship’s sudden movement, almost slipped on the shiny metal grating, and in the mess decks, men, cocooned in the warmth of their hammocks, swayed in gentle unison as if touched by an unseen hand.
‘Shall I sound action stations, sir?’
‘No, not yet, Number One,’ Penrose calmly replied. ‘Where is the sub now?’
‘Asdic reports it is has changed course and is roughly three hundred yards on Carlisle’s port quarter, sir.’
‘You know what I think, Number One?’ Penrose said to Manley. ‘I think the bastard’s planning to attack Carlisle. Sound action stations. Starboard ten, increase revolutions ten.’
‘But, sir,’ Manley replied, giving Penrose a searching look, ‘we were only ordered not to attack but to take evasive action, surely…’
Penrose gave a sly grin, and said, ‘And so we are, Number One. And in doing so, if we just happen to meet the bloody U-boat, we’ll have no choice but to prevent the blighter from attacking. What say you to that?’
‘I say you’re taking a helluva risk, sir,’ Manley answered bluntly. ‘What if we’re…’
Penrose quickly interrupted Manley. ‘Flash a signal to Carlisle, Number One, and say, “U-boat closing on your port quarter I intend attacking her”.’ And you’d better tell the TAS officer to stand by to fire a pattern of four, set at three hundred feet.’ He then unhooked the tannoy. ‘This is the captain speaking.’ As he spoke, the thought that they would soon be in action increased his heartrate. ‘We have detected a U-boat that is about to attack the cruiser. I intend dropping depth charges, hoping to scare the blighter off or sink her. That is all.’
‘Reply from Carlisle, sir,’ said Manley. ‘“Am aware of danger. Will take evasive action. Eridge to assist attack. Good luck”.’
Penrose’s announcement immediately spread alarm throughout the ship. Tension became palpable.
With fear etched in his eyes, one of the stokers in the engine room looked at CERA Paddy O’Malley, and said, ‘The old man must be crazy. One torpedo and we’ll all be fish bate.’ His loud, north country accent carried over the steady throb of the engines, and was overheard by the stokers on duty.
‘Well, if that happens,’ said a tall, ginger-headed stoker, wiping his sweaty brow with a piece of cotton waste, ‘at least it’ll be quick.’
‘To be sure, that’s a wise piece of philosophy,’ O’Malley replied. ‘Now,’ he added, looking around at the anxious expressions on the faces surrounding him, ‘I suggest you all keep a level head. I’m sure the captain knows what he’s doing.’ But he suspected his words had fallen on deaf ears.
On the quarterdeck, Lieutenant Barry Goldsmith unhooked the telephone. ‘TAS officer,’ he said, gripping hold of a stanchion as the ship heeled to starboard. Seconds later he said, ‘Very good, sir.’ He passed Penrose’s order to Nick Carter and his team of TAS ratings, manning the four depth charge throwers. Carter was a tall, dark-haired, three badge petty officer, who didn’t suffer fool gladly.
‘Fat lot of use the three hundred pounds of TNT in each of these beauties will do if the fuckin’ U-boat puts a tin fish in us first,’ muttered Leading Seaman Smudge Smith, as he set the depth charge adjuster to the appropriate level.
‘Pipe down,’ snapped Carter, ‘and get on with it.’
However, Smith’s remark wasn’t lost on the rest of the TAS ratings who gave one another a series of anxious looks.
On the bridge, Penrose glanced warily at Manley and asked, ‘What’s the position of the sub, now, Number One?’
‘It’s altered course and is now some thee hundred yards on our…’
At that moment, Buster Brown’s thick Yorkshire voice, reporting from the crow’s nest, interrupted him. ‘Torpedo track two hundred yards on starboard bow!’
Straight away, all heads turned to the right and saw a white line, deep in the dark waters, heading directly towards the ship.
‘Full speed ahead, hard a port!’ yelled Penrose.
Below, in the wheelhouse, Chief Coxswain Digger Barnes repeated the order while giving his QM, Knocker White, an anxious look. ‘Looks like we’re in a bit of trouble.’
‘You mean the U-boat has spotted us,’ Knocker replied.
‘I hope not,’ Digger answered, feeling his mouth suddenly go dry.
As the ship was carrying a heavy load it took longer than usual to gain speed and turn sharply to the left. On the quarterdeck, it was Lieutenant Goldsmith who first spotted the torpedo’s bubbly white line cutting deeply through the sea towards the ship. In a matter of seconds, Nick Carter and the other TAS ratings saw it.
‘Holy Mother of God!’ one of them screamed. ‘Now we’re for it. What’ll we do if the bastard hits us, jump overboard?’
‘No,’ Goldsmith replied, doing his best to sound calm. ‘Hold on to anything, wait and…’
‘And pray like fuck, sir,’ said Carter, clutching hold of a nearby stanchion.
Like the ratings on the quarterdeck, everyone on the bridge knew only too well what would happen if the ship was torpedoed. Abject fear was written on everyone’s faces as they watched the torpedo track darting towards them.
‘Christ almighty!’ shouted Gunnery Officer Ted Powers. ‘We’ll never make it!’
‘Good Lord, sir,’ cried Manley, grabbing hold of Penrose’s arm, ‘he’s right, I think we should abandon ship.’
‘Too damn late,’ Penrose replied, doing his best to sound calm, ‘I’m afraid we won’t turn in time.’
‘Oh, God, oh God!’ screamed Leading Signalman Jock Weir. ‘We’ve fuckin’ had it!’
Numb with fear, Manley rushed past Weir and hit his head on the port side of the bridge. The last thing he saw before fainting was Laura’s face and the path of the torpedo disappearing under the ship…
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The first thing Manley saw when he opened his eyes was the yellow orb of the moon, partially blocked by a thin layer of grey clouds. He was covered with a blanket and his head, resting on a pillow, ached terribly. For a few seconds he lay, confused, unable to believe he was still alive.
‘Are you all right, sir?’ Manley blinked a few times and through the dull blue lighting and saw the weather-beaten face of Leading Signalman Jock Weir looking down at him.
‘Wha… what happened?’ Manley muttered, ‘The torpedo…’
‘It passed under us, sir, thank God,’ Weir replied.
‘How long have I been out?’
‘About ten minutes, sir. You collapsed onto the port wing deck. Lieutenant Milton and PO Tate brought you inside. The doc told us not to move you.’
; ‘And the captain, how is he?’ Manley asked, using the palm of a hand to feel a painful lump on the back of his head.
‘Like the rest of us, he’s a badly shaken,’ Weir replied. ‘He’s in his cabin, the doc says he’s gunna be all right.’
Sub Lieutenant Baker arrived and knelt down beside Manley. ‘The doc’ll be up shortly, how are you feeling, sir?’
‘Very grateful to be alive,’ Manley sighed, ‘but I wonder what exactly happened. Was the torpedo a dud or what?’
‘I’m not sure, but we were damn lucky, sir,’ Baker replied, covering Manley’s shoulders with another blanket. As he finished speaking the dull rumble of underwater explosions could be heard about a mile away to starboard.
‘That’ll be Eridge’s depth charges,’ said Baker, ‘we received a signal telling us she was attacking the U-boat.’
‘Good luck to her,’ gasped Manley, as PO Spud Tate and Lieutenant Baker helped him up. ‘Here’s hoping she sinks the blighter.’
Just then Penrose arrived. His face, normally well-tanned, looked tired and drawn. Behind him stood Surgeon Lieutenant Latta. ‘How are you feeling, Number One?’ Asked Penrose, heaving himself into his chair. ‘I believe you had a fall?’
‘Yes, indeed, sir,’ Penrose replied, ‘apparently, the torpedo passed right under us.’
‘That’s right,’ Penrose said, ‘it must have been one of those type G7es. I received a secret memo about them, a year ago Nelson was hit by three of them. Two failed to explode and the third passed underneath her.’
Manley was about to ask Penrose how he was, when PO Tate arrived. ‘Signal from Carlisle, sir,’ said Tate, ‘“Eridge reports U-boat sunk. Resume stations. Well done everybody”.’
‘Thank the Lord for that,’ said Penrose, ‘fall out from action stations. Number One, I suggest you let the doc have a look at you, then pass on the “well done” to the crew. Alter course three-five, revolutions ten, and fall out from action stations.’ He carefully lowered himself from his chair, and glancing at Sub Lieutenant Baker, who was OOW, added, ‘I’ll be in my cabin, call me if you want me.’ And with a tired sigh, he slowly left the bridge.
The pipe ordering hands to secure from action stations was welcomed by everyone. On the quarterdeck, PO Nick Carter looked around at the relief on the faces of his TAS ratings, and sniffing the air, said, ‘Has someone shit himself?’
‘Yes, PO,’ replied Lieutenant Goldsmith, ‘I’m afraid it’s me.’ Feeling very embarrassed, hurried away.
Shortly after 0500, everyone on Helix’s bridge watched the sun rise. In the blink of an eye, the sky changed from an umbrella of darkness into a canopy of burnished gold, while at the same time, the sun’s rays turned the sea into an undulating carpet of glowing amber.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it, sir?’ Carter muttered to Sub Lieutenant Milton who had taken over the watch from Lieutenant Goldsmith.
‘Yes, indeed, PO,’ Milton replied, placing his binoculars around his neck. At that moment the temperature was ten degrees centigrade. ‘It’s hard to believe there’s war raging just over the horizon.’ As if to confirm his words, the dull thud of gunfire could be heard directly ahead of the flotilla. Flashes of yellow and red appeared on the horizon, a clear indication that a barrage was in progress. ‘Sounds like Tobruk is taking a pasting,’ Milton remarked, noticing Carlisle, Eridge and Dulverton had kept good station during the night. As he finished checking the ship’s position, speed and course, Penrose arrived followed by Manley.
‘How far are we from Tobruk?’ Penrose asked Milton.
‘Fifty miles, sir,’ replied Milton, ‘the flotilla’s doing twenty –five knots, so we should sight the coastline in about an hour.’
‘Thank you,’ said Penrose, ‘better call the hands straight away and go to action stations at 0700. Oh, and ask the doctor to come and see me.
Five minutes later, looking tired and pale, Surgeon Lieutenant Latta arrived. Over his tropical whites he wore a duffel coat. ‘You sent for me, sir,’ he said, stifling a yawn.
‘Yes, good morning, Doc, if the sick bay becomes full of wounded, you can use the wardroom, so tell the PO steward to remove the chairs and tables, just in case.’
‘Very good, sir,’ Latta replied, ‘but where will the officers eat?’
‘With the senior ratings,’ Penrose answered, giving Manley a warning glance. ‘Now, please carry on,’ he added, dismissively.
The time was 0600. Having had less than four hours sleep the ship’s company stumbled wearily from there hammocks. In the seaman’s mess, Knocker White rubbed his eyes and groping for his shorts, looked at Able Seaman Bell and said, ‘No fuckin’ peace for the wicked, eh, Dinga?’
‘Just think of the poor buggers ashore,’ said Bell, hearing the gunfire, ‘so be grateful for small mercies.’
After breakfast, the pipe, “hands to action stations, close all screen doors and scuttles”, echoed around the ship.
By 0700, the dark brown coastline of North Africa stood out against the pale blue of the early morning sky. A soft warm breeze blew from the east and the calm sea was a beautiful shade of indigo. Using his binoculars, Penrose noticed Tobruk was situated on a rocky peninsula. The harbour was wide and horseshoe shaped. On the south side of the port, an escarpment and tall cliffs swept gently into the sea. This, he concluded, formed a natural barrier to an advancing enemy, and was probably the main reason Rommel’s Panzers were laying siege to the port from north.
Palls of black smoke hung over the port which was proving a stubborn, stumbling block to the Axis advance into Cyrenaica. As the flotilla came closer, a scene of devastation could be seen. The barrels of Allied gun emplacements poked defiantly up from the town which was now mass of yellow rubble. Looking like a watery graveyard, remnants of masts and yardarms, funnels and ships, littered the harbour.
‘Signal from Carlisle, sir,’ said Manley. ‘“As previously planned. Carlisle will enter harbour first. Helix, Eridge and Dulverton to follow. Rendezvous as arranged. Good luck”.’
‘Acknowledge,’ Penrose said, then added, ‘anything on asdic?’
‘No, sir,’ Manley replied, ‘but lookout reports unidentified aircraft approaching green five thousand.’
‘Good Lord, that’s all we need,’ grunted Penrose, who, like Manley, was shading their eyes against the early morning sun’s glare and peering up into the sky.
‘They’re Savoia-Marchettis, sir,’ Sub Lieutenant Baker shouted, ‘six of them and they’re losing height and peeling off.’
‘I can see that, Pilot,’ Penrose tartly replied, ‘but where exactly are they heading to.’
No sooner had he spoke than the blueness of the sky was distorted by balls of black smoke as Carlisle’s 3-inch anti-aircraft guns opened up. ‘Hopefully that should keep the bastards away from us,’ Manley said, feeling his heart rate increase.
Ignoring Carlisle’s barrage, the bombers continued towards the port. ‘They’re levelling off and appear to be attacking the ports perimeter defences,’ Baker shouted.
With relief etched on their faces, everyone watched anxiously as, one by one, the bombers dived down and released a stick of bombs, before turning and swopping upwards. On Helix’s bridge, everyone cheered as a Marchetti was hit by gunfire and burst into a bright ball of yellow flames.
‘I think the buggers have had enough, sir,’ shouted PO Signalman Jock Weir. ‘Carlisle has ceased firing and planes are buggering off.’
‘Thank God for that,’ Penrose muttered, as he watched the five Marchettis turn away, leaving the outer limits of the port shrouded in clouds of swirling black smoke. The attack lasted five minutes, by which time the flotilla had reached the mouth of the harbour.
‘Carlisle flashing, sir,’ reported Weir. ‘“All ships berth south side on the wharf behind me”.’
‘Acknowledge, steer one five, speed ten knots,’ Penrose replied, watching Carlisle turning slightly to starboard and head towards the dock. With tension etched on the faces of everyone on Helix’s bridg
e, the three ships followed the cruiser. The time was just after 0730.
‘I see there’s quite a welcoming committee on the wharf, sir,’ said Manley, looking at groups of soldiers, wearing shorts and stripped to the waist, standing near lorries, ambulances, and several small cranes.
‘Quite so, Number One,’ Penrose replied, ‘muster all hands and tell Derek to keep his engines flashed up as I’ll want to get under way as quickly as possible.’
Carlisle was the first warship to tie up alongside the wharf. Helix, Eridge and Dulverton hove into position and were quickly secured alongside the wharf.
A small contingent of soldiers quickly placed a wooden gangway onto the quarterdeck of each ship. Cranes then lowered a large net on board. Under the guidance of the chief bosun’s mate, the nets were loaded with heavy boxes, then lifted onto the wharf and transferred into the lorries. Soldiers and ratings, their bodies gleaming with sweat, carried the lighter boxes ashore and placed them into the transport. When each vehicle was fully loaded, the driver quickly drove the heavily loaded vehicles away.
While this was happening, wounded soldiers were being helped on board each ship. As arranged, those soldiers who needed operative treatment were taken on board Carlisle. The lesser injured were helped into the sick bays and mess decks.
Earlier, on board Helix, SBA Bamford and the first aid party had turned the wardroom into an emergency hospital. The furniture had been removed and the carpet rolled up to reveal a steel deck. Sections of the long mess table had been reduced in size, enabling it to be used for minor surgical procedures. Directly above the table, panels in the deck head had been taken away, revealing emergency lighting in the form of a series of electric bulbs set into a wooden ring. Three sheets strung across the room divided the room into two sections; one to allow surgical treatment to be carried out, the other to provide privacy for injured. This space was soon taken up with soldiers with severe injuries. A soldier with dirty, blood-stained bandages around his abdomen was helped onto the table. His uniform was torn and his face, tired and unshaven. Surgeon Lieutenant Latta and SBA Bamford immediately removed his clothing and re-dressed a deep wound in the soldier’s left side.
Battle Ensign Page 18
