Marine B SBS

by Ian Blake

  Denvers shook his head. ‘I’m driving an ML, remember, not an MTB. We’ll have to lie up somewhere for a day along the Turkish coast. On our runs to Samos we’ve been using a place called Yalikavak. The meltemi when it blows from the west makes the anchorage a bit uncomfortable, but the meltemi season is over now.’

  He pointed on the chart to a small headland on the Turkish mainland north of Kos. ‘There’s a small fishing village but the locals keep their mouths closed – provided their hands are crossed with silver, of course.’

  ‘Good. We can sail tonight and get there before dawn?’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘And where do we rendezvous afterwards, skipper?’ Tiller asked. ‘On Leros somewhere?’

  Larssen shook his head. ‘The Krauts will be combing the island for you. Kalimnos would be safer. It’s only a short distance from Portolago.’

  Maygan spread out a large-scale chart of the area. ‘Vathi looks suitable. Do you know it, Bob?’

  Denvers nodded. ‘Dropped anchor there several times before the war. It’s rather like a Norwegian fiord. Very deep. It’s a bloody tricky area for navigation, especially if you approach it from the south, but I know every inch of it. I could certainly take the ML in far enough to get it out of sight of any Jerry air recce.’

  Larssen glanced at his watch. ‘We’ve got about four hours of darkness left. Andrew, bring the caique alongside the quay and unload the cockle. We’re going to have to see how it floats with the weight of the extra limpets.’

  He looked at Tiller and Barnesworth. ‘Have you both got your escape kits? You may need them.’ They both pulled their silk-handkerchief maps out of their pockets and held them up.

  Barnesworth flourished his SAS beret. ‘I’ve got two hacksaw blades, one on either side. Reckon I could get out of Sing-Sing if I had to.’

  ‘I’ll make sure I tack mine in before we go,’ said Tiller.

  ‘Good. And you’d better have some money just in case you need to bribe someone.’ He unlocked a steel box and produced fifty gold sovereigns which he divided between the two men who put them in a money-belt hidden under their shirts and signed for them.

  ‘I want those back,’ said Larssen sternly. ‘Otherwise the boss thinks I pinch them.’

  The major, Tiller decided, had the measure of Larssen all right.

  Half an hour later Tiller and Barnesworth began stowing the limpet mines in the floating cockle and added a half-filled can of water and two twenty-four-hour ration packs. The cockle was now floating very low in the water: they could only hope that the sea approaching Portolago was smooth.

  The cockle was lifted gently out of the water and on to the deck of the ML and its crew were handed steaming cups of hot cocoa. Tiller carefully checked the cockle once more to ensure that the limpets were safely and securely stowed.

  Tiller had never been aboard an ML before. It was bigger than any of the MTBs he had seen. It was, one of the crew told him, 112 feet long and was powered by two Hall-Scott Defender engines. It was also well armed for a ship of its size, having one three-pounder and several smaller-calibre dual-purpose guns.

  Denvers made straight for the Turkish coast from Simi and then worked his way northwards at a steady ten knots while Tiller, Larssen and Barnesworth slept on the deck by the cockle. They reached Yalikavak just as the first glimmer of dawn was appearing behind the mainland mountains.

  Tiller could see why it had been chosen as a convenient rendezvous for the Levant Schooner Flotilla and other raiding forces, for the steep cliffs overhanging the bay gave any ships anchored there excellent cover, especially from the air. He thought at first it was empty of any vessels but as the light increased he could see first one camouflaged shape and then a second. One was a caique which belonged to the Flotilla. It had been delivering supplies during the night to one of the isolated groups of men who had escaped from Leros and were now scattered across the Dodecanese. The other was an RAF rescue launch which, because of its speed, was being used as a shuttle for sending in emergency supplies to Samos from Castelrosso and evacuating critically wounded personnel from the beleaguered island.

  Denvers moored between them and the ML’s camouflage netting was erected. The skipper of the rescue launch, an RAF flight-lieutenant, came aboard and was met with a barrage of questions about the situation on Samos.

  ‘The Luftwaffe’s really softening the place up,’ he said. ‘After the bloody nose you gave the Germans on Simi, and the mauling they received on Leros, they’re not going to invade Samos before they’re ready. But the Stukas are pounding the place to bits and morale isn’t too good. Most of the Eyerie garrison has fled into the hills to escape the bombing and there are not enough of our blokes to stop the Krauts when they do decide to land. They keep asking me when the navy’s coming to pick them up. I tell them they’re coming and that the navy’s never let the army down yet. Remember Dunkirk, I said, and Crete. But I don’t know.’

  Tiller could hear the doubt in the young flight-lieutenant’s voice and could see that beneath his tan his face was haggard and his eyes were bleary from lack of sleep. ‘To be frank, I think the navy’s chickened out. They’ve lost too many ships on this caper already,’ the officer said with finality.

  ‘Don’t you worry, sir, the navy hasn’t chickened out,’ Tiller heard himself say. ‘It will find a way. It always does.’

  The young man’s eyes focused wearily on Tiller and a glimmer of a smile lit his face when he saw the ‘Royal Marine’ flash on Tiller’s shoulders. ‘Ah, one of His Majesty’s Jollies. My brother’s one of you lot. I might have known there’d be a bootneck among you pirates. But why the winged device?’ He pointed to Tiller’s beret. ‘Where’s the globe and laurel?’

  ‘Seconded,’ said Tiller.

  ‘I made him take it off,’ said Larssen. ‘No bianco and brass in this unit. He’s one of us now.’

  The flight-lieutenant turned to Larssen and said: ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re up to, Captain, or even who you are, and it’s none of my business. But if you’ve got a bootneck to look after you, you’ll be OK. Good luck.’

  ‘I was surprised to hear you sticking up for the senior service, Tiger,’ Larssen said mockingly after the rescue launch had creamed out of the bay. ‘I didn’t think you had much time for it. What was that gag you once told me about naval officers and umbrellas.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ Tiller said awkwardly. ‘I suppose, skipper, I have to stand up for the navy when I’m among you lot.’ But his surge of loyalty had surprised himself as much as it had Larssen.

  ‘And what did he call you – a Jolly? What is that, for Christ’s sake?’

  ‘“’E was scrapin’ the paint from off of ’er plates an’ I sez to ’im, ‘’oo are you?’”’ Tiller quoted instantly. ‘“Sez ’e, ‘I’m a Jolly – ’er Majesty’s Jolly – soldier an’ sailor too!’”’

  ‘Kipling,’ said Denvers at once.

  Larssen shook his head in irritation. ‘You’ll never quite be one of us, will you, Tiger, whatever cap badge you wear?’

  Tiller grinned and said prophetically: ‘No, skipper, I suppose not. But one day perhaps you lot will be with us.’

  The November sun rose over the mountains and at midday its heat began to pierce the ML’s camouflage netting. Under it the SBS team checked their weapons and equipment methodically before settling down for a nap and an evening meal.

  As the sun was setting a German Arado seaplane passed overhead, searching up and down the coastline for any sign of life. There was a rush for the ML’s dual-purpose guns, but the sound of the Arado’s engines soon faded into the distance.

  At dusk the caique weighed anchor and left the bay, the crew shouting good luck to those aboard the ML. It was a fine night, but the breeze that sprang up and ruffled the waters of the bay had the chill of winter in it.

  A silence settled over the ML as they waited to receive the final signal from Beirut. In the tiny wireless cabin the wireless operator – known aboard, as wir
eless operators were known on every ship, as ‘Sparks’ – crouched over the radio, which hummed and crackled. Then, three hours after darkness had fallen, the message came through in Morse from Beirut: ‘Execute Sunbeam.’

  Denvers ordered the ML to weigh anchor and the engines, now in their silent mode, came to life. The netting was wound up and the ML crept out from the shelter of the cliffs.

  ‘Steer two-seven-o,’ Denvers instructed the helmsman. On deck Tiller and Barnesworth began blackening each other’s face.

  12

  The ML’s silent engines propelled the ship through the water with an almost eerie quietness – very different from the dull roar of the MAS boat.

  ‘A penny for your thoughts, Tiger,’ Barnesworth whispered after a while. He was lying next to Tiller on his back, staring up at the night sky. ‘Or should I say a drachma.’

  ‘I was just thinking of that crazy Eyetie,’ Tiller said. ‘What did he think he was up to?’

  ‘Balbao? I don’t know. Perhaps he wanted to show how brave the Eyeties could be. Perhaps he hated the Krauts so much he’d take any opportunity to knock a few of them off. Perhaps he thought he’d get away with it. Perhaps he knew that the MAS boat was finished without any fuel and felt that he was finished without the MAS boat. Perhaps it was a bit of each. Why do people act as they do in war? Don’t ask me. I just do what I’m told and keep my head down.’

  It was a sensible philosophy, Tiller decided, and wished that it was one he was able to follow, but somehow he always seemed to leap in feet first.

  Normally, the hours before an operation held no worries for him. He just relaxed, and though the adrenalin would start to pump through him he never got wound up as many people did. But this time he felt distinctly edgy.

  ‘If you ask me,’ said Barnesworth, ‘all these Mediterranean folk are a bit melodramatic. Know what I mean? That girl, for instance ...’

  ‘Angelika?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the one. I mean one minute she was all over us, couldn’t do enough to help, and the next she’s scarpered. Could have left us in a right hole. I thought she took rather a shine to you, Tiger, but that didn’t stop her buggering off, did it?’

  ‘She was probably acting on orders.’

  ‘Orders? Whose orders?’

  Tiller ducked the question by saying: ‘The skipper and I reckon she belongs to one of the Andarte bands.’ He wondered if he would ever have a chance to find out.

  Barnesworth snorted. ‘Fat lot of good they’ve been. Spend their whole time fighting each other from what I hear. We never found out if there are any on Simi anyway, did we?’

  ‘We didn’t hear any more of those Krauts that landed,’ Tiller reminded him. ‘They may have mopped them up.’

  ‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. I wouldn’t have liked to have been a Kraut in those hills with all the locals up there sheltering from the Stukas. The Greeks have a terrible contempt for the Eyeties, but they loathe and detest the Germans. I reckon it was them who finished the Krauts off. ‘Assuming,’ he added darkly, ‘they have been finished off.’

  Denvers’s number one, a chubby-faced RNVR sub-lieutenant, came along the deck. ‘You two ready? We’re nearly there.’

  They could see now the most southerly point of Leros to starboard and the larger, higher, land mass of Kalimnos to port. It was time to prime the limpet mines. The sub-lieutenant watched them with interest as they opened the box of pencil fuses and selected the ones coloured for the five-hour time delay.

  ‘How exactly do those fuses work?’ he asked.

  ‘When the ampoule of acetone is broken it eats away at a celluloid washer which retains the firing pin,’ Tiller explained. ‘The thicker the washer the longer the time delay. Quite simple really.’

  ‘But why two fuses?’ he asked.

  Tiller explained that the sympathetic fuse would detonate a limpet if another limpet attached to the same target went off prematurely. ‘The time pencil fuses aren’t always one hundred per cent accurate,’ he said. ‘It depends on the temperature.’

  The wireless operator came out of his cramped little cabin and said to them: ‘Beirut has just radioed that Leros is partially garrisoned by Brandenburgers. So if any naval guard challenges you just shout out “Brandenburger, Patrola,” and they’ll probably think you’re one of that lot.’

  ‘Thanks, Sparks,’ said Tiller. ‘We’ll keep that in mind. Is there anything else they know about the place?’

  ‘Just that it’s swarming with Jerries,’ the operator said cheerfully. ‘Good luck.’

  Denvers scanned the coastline of Leros with his night-glasses. The minutes ticked by, and then he said quietly into the voice pipe: ‘Stop engines.’

  The hull of the ML stopped vibrating. It lifted and dipped in the slight swell.

  ‘Kill both engines.’

  The silence enveloped them. They listened for any sound but could hear nothing except the creak of the ML as it rose and fell on the swell.

  ‘That’s it, boys. We’re here.’

  Helped by the ML’s crew, Tiller and Barnesworth silently lowered the cockle into the water, making sure its fragile frame was not knocked against the ML’s hull. Denvers watched them from the bridge. When the cockle was afloat he looked at his watch and then stepped on to the deck and said to Tiller quietly: ‘You can’t see it but we’re four miles off the north headland of the harbour entrance. It’s due east from here and is very distinctive. You should be able to pick it without difficulty.’

  ‘Any current?’ Tiller asked.

  Denvers shook his head. ‘Not for the next hour or so. Then it will set north-south along the coastline, but it will be less than a knot. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Wind?’

  ‘Due south, what there is of it. The forecast is for no more than six to eight knots. Perhaps you should allow a degree or so for it if it pipes up any more than that, but if you’re more than two hours on the water the current will offset it.’

  ‘I plan to be over the boom in two hours,’ said Tiller. ‘And the course for Kalimnos from Portolago?’

  ‘That’s trickier.’

  ‘The compass will be working then.’

  Tiller turned his back on the shore and shone his dimmed torch on to his chart case. It contained a large-scale chart of the area on which Denvers pointed out his course to him.

  ‘When you come out of the bay steer one-three-five until you pass this headland here. It’s not much more than a mile and a half once you’ve crossed the boom. After you’ve passed the headland alter course to one-one-zero. That will take you across the straits and bring you to the eastern side of the northern extremity of Kalimnos. That’s about two miles.’

  On the transparent cover of the chart case Tiller had marked in blue pencil the scale in sea miles and a crude compass rose with magnetic north. With a notched pencil he now measured off one and a half miles from the scale on the chart, kept his thumbnail on the notch, put the pencil against 135 degrees on the compass rose, and moved the pencil down like a parallel ruler until its tip rested against the southern headland of the harbour entrance. He then transferred his thumbnail to the Perspex cover of the chart case, which had been roughened with emery paper so that it would take the pencil’s marks, and put a cross where his thumbnail was. Then he did the same again, making a new course of 110 degrees from the cross to the northern headland of Kalimnos.

  Denvers, who was looking over his shoulder, nodded. ‘That’s as near as dammit. You’ll need to lie up somewhere on the eastern side of the headland for the day. Then you follow the coast until you reach this small promontory. It’s a long haul down to there but Vathi’s just beyond it. We’ll be waiting for you.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘See you tomorrow night. Good luck.’

  Tiller and Barnesworth lowered themselves carefully into the cockpits of the cockle and Tiller tucked the chart case behind his backrest.

  Larssen looked down at them and said quietly: ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, boys. Remember, work
before women, work before women.’

  They both gave him the thumbs up.

  ‘Right. Let’s go,’ said Barnesworth in Tiller’s ear and they pushed the cockle away from the ML.

  At sea level there was more of a sea running than had been noticeable on the ML and the extra limpets made the cockle ride lower in the water. To add to their problems the wind began to rise beyond what Denvers had predicted, and occasionally it whipped the top off a wave and drifted it into their faces. But the extra-high v-shaped wooden breakwater they had fitted to the craft’s bow prevented most of the water from running across its plywood deck.

  They used double paddles and soon got a rhythm going which kept them warm. Sometimes they had to turn into a wave to prevent it from swamping them. Neither spoke but each could feel the tension in the other.

  After half an hour the land began to take shape ahead of them and after another twenty minutes, when they started to come under its lee, the sea was smoother and the cockle rode more easily. Soon afterwards Tiller was relieved to see the north headland of the entrance to the bay gradually beginning to emerge from the dark.

  They rested and Tiller quickly checked the chart to make sure the features he could see dimly ahead were the correct ones. The exertion and tension of keeping the heavily loaded cockle going had made them sweat profusely, and both took greedy swigs of water from the can. They’d have to go easy on that, Tiller reminded himself. There was a long way to go yet and dehydration was debilitating.

  He began paddling again and could hear Barnesworth’s grunt of disgust behind him for not resting longer. But he wanted to get on with it. He headed directly for the northern headland which guarded the entrance to the harbour. The headland’s cliffs were steep and high and in the extra darkness that they provided the two men stopped paddling and turned their double paddles into single ones.

  They kept close to the land, which now sloped down to the bay, but not too close in case there were shore patrols. Once they thought they heard boots crunching on gravel and they brought the cockle to a halt and kept their profiles low. When they did not hear the sound again they moved forward, but very slowly.