Action This Day (A Commander Steadfast Thriller)

by Richard Freeman

  The two gunboats responded quickly to their engineers’ demands as their massive engines roared into life. The bows of the gunboats lifted on a bed of bubbling foam and a mass of boiling water streamed out behind.

  As soon as the gunboats began to race ahead, the two rear MAS boats leapt into life. Using their full 45 knot top speed, they raced to overtake the gunboats in two long arching sweeps.

  ‘They’re going ahead to take up the line with the other two,’ said Steadfast.

  Up to this point, the exchange of fire between the gunboats and the rear MAS had been to no effect. Each side was simply holding the other off. But now, ahead, the distance between the two forces was closing rapidly.

  ‘Rear gunners, cease firing,’ called Fergusson. ‘Forward gunners, fire at will. Williams [pom-pom], Taylor [port machine gun] and Johnson [starboard machine gun] take the port MAS. King [Oerlikon], Bracewell [Vickers 1] and Cooper [Vickers 2] take the starboard MAS.’

  As the boats raced towards each other the air was full of the roar of the engines, the thumping and clattering of the pom-poms and Oerlikons, and the rattling of the machine guns. Men, soaked by the spray, were choking on the engine exhausts and the powder smoke. The boats bounced up and down as they tore through the waves, throwing men from side to side. On the cramped bridge the officers and men grabbed what they could to stay upright.

  Williams on the pom-pom was hammering away at the port MAS, but the darkness, the range and the violent movement of the boat were against him. He tried to keep his sights on the bridge of the MAS, but somehow could not bring a shot home. ‘Give us a hit, you bugger, give us a hit,’ he called out. His anger was rising. ‘Stupid old gun! Do you stuff! Do your stuff!’ He could hear enemy machine gun bullets pinging off the superstructure and the gun shield. The MAS was getting nearer and nearer. Now Williams was sure of a hit. As he prepared to fire, his loader fell to the deck, struck down by a bullet through the head. Williams called for help with the gun, but none came.

  Behind him the other gunners were still hammering away as they neared the MAS. The two boats were about 1000 yards apart and the firing was now for real as all the guns came within their working ranges. Steadfast could see pieces of the port MAS being shot away (the starboard one was more distant) while 371F remained undamaged. Then he saw Williams slump over his gun. This was quickly followed by bullets spraying the bridge. Glass broke, instruments were hit. The next casualty was the first lieutenant, who fell at his side with several bullet wounds in his chest and face. ;

  Fergusson called out, ‘Aim for the bridge and the guns! The bridge and the guns!’

  The banging, thumping and rattling continued. The range shortened. And then, success. The Oerlikon scored a hit right onto the bridge of the MAS, which seemed to disappear in a shower of splinters and a mass of smoke. But the MAS kept on firing from one or two machine guns and 371F was still absorbing hit after hit. Down went a machine gunner on the bridge.

  This loss was answered by the Oerlikon which was spraying the MAS from stem to stern, tearing it apart. Suddenly the firing ceased.

  Fergusson called out, ‘All guns fire on the starboard MAS.’

  Those guns still manned swung round to the starboard MAS. The helmsman swung the boat around and the two boats began to close on each other. Bracewell and Cooper, who had been manning the two Vickers guns, were now at the pom-pom. Once more it was thumping away. The gap between the two boats was now down to about 750 yards. Bracewell, his eye now well in on the MAS, fired once more and saw his two-pound shell drive its way into the bridge of the MAS. The boat split in two.

  Steadfast and Fergusson turned to each other and exchanged glances of success. Both their MAS targets had been sent to the bottom.

  ‘What about survivors, sir?’ asked Fergusson.

  ‘Let them swim to the shore. We can’t take anymore back to Alex.’

  Just at that moment the gunboat gave a strange shudder, and the engine sputtered to a halt.

  ‘Engine room, what’s up?’ asked Fergusson.

  ‘Drive shaft, sir. Shattered.’

  ‘Can you fix it?’

  ‘Not a hope, sir, we’re dead in the water. Can’t budge an inch.’

  ‘Christ!’ responded Fergusson.

  ***

  Baines, terror-struck at the thought of the approaching battle, had simply copied Fergusson’s tactics. So when he saw Fergusson race forward, he gave orders for 349B to do the same. He froze on the bridge as his gunners first used their fire to keep off the following MAS. After the pursuing MAS had leapt forward to join the one ahead, he realised that full battle was now unavoidable. His gunners, courageous to a man, effectively took over command.

  Peters on the pom-pom felt like a man born for this moment. He swung round his gun with the confidence of an old hand. He had the thirst for vengeance of one who had seen too many of his mates die at the hands of the Nazis and the Italians. As his first shell struck the stern of the MAS he called out ‘That one’s for Fred Jenkins, you bastards!’.

  Meanwhile, Hughes on the Oerlikon and the other men on the machine guns were pouring fire in the direction of the two MAS boats. They, in turn, were firing hotly at Baines. Green, one of the Vickers gunners was mortally wounded by a spray of bullets across his chest. Gerrard at the port machine gun was the next to be put out of action when bullets shattered his right arm.

  The MAS firing was steadily eating into Baines’ fighting strength. But before the losses became critical, Peters’ cry of ‘And that one’s for Jimmy Waterson!’ was followed by an explosion in the bridge of the first port MAS. As men plunged over the side, Peters cried out ‘You’re not even fit for shark food, you bastards!’

  Baines’ men had now disposed of one MAS and two of his gunners were gone. Other men quickly moved to take their places, ready for the oncoming second MAS.

  It was at that point that the pom-pom jammed. The two men at the gun cowered under the gun shield as they tried to find the cause. Bullets pinged off the shield. Splinters of wood and fragments of metal were flying through the air. Suddenly the slamming noise of the Oerlikon and the tinkle of its falling empty shell cases ceased. Baines looked towards the gun and saw the decapitated body of the gunner propped up against it.

  ‘Man the Oerlikon!’ he called.

  Another seamen jumped up to gun, pushed the body to one side and grabbed the handles. Once more it was firing, this time on the second MAS. But the MAS gunners already had the measure of the Oerlikon, and the second seamen had let off no more than half a dozen rounds before he was struck in the neck by the MAS machine guns.

  Baines was now a desperate man.

  ‘I’ll go, sir,’ said Lieutenant Lionel Watson and, before Baines could stop him, Watson was racing to the gun. Baines, sufficiently terror-struck at the battle, was even more petrified at the thought of losing his first lieutenant. His nerves were already wrecked by the events of the last few days and there were still 1000 miles of sea to cross.

  ‘Watson, come back! Come back!’

  Watson, though, knew better than Baines the priorities in battle. One was that a good gun should not lie idle. Now with the gun in his hands, he turned it onto the MAS, tried a few ranging shots and then let loose. A volley of lethal 20-mm shells burst from the barrel and screamed their way across to the bridge of the MAS. Within half a minute, the MAS was sinking. Suddenly, the battle area was silent.

  In the heat of the battle Baines had not noticed that 371F was dead in the water. Nor had he the strength to take note of it now. He sank to the deck of the bridge, put his head in his hands and crouched in a corner.

  ‘Sir,’ called Watson.

  Baines looked up. ‘Yes, Watson.’

  ‘Fergusson is in trouble.’

  ‘What sort of trouble.’

  ‘I don’t rightly know, but they’re abandoning ship.’

  ‘You mean they coming on board here?’

  ‘Where else?’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Don
’t worry sir, I’ll take care of them.’

  Watson left the battle-scared Baines and looked over towards 371F. A Carey float was in the water with a few men already on it. Others were waiting to drop down from the ship while some were already in the water. The apparently orderly abandon-ship routine was ended by a burst of machine gun fire from a MAS boat that Fergusson thought was deserted. Most of the men still on the gunboat fell. In fact Watson could only see one man still standing: Steadfast.

  Watson called to his gunners: ‘Get that gun. Now! Now! Now!’

  A rattle of machine gun fire brought a final and definitive end to the battle. All Watson could do was to wait for the float to reach 349B. When it arrived he counted the survivors: Steadfast, two partisans and three seamen. There was no Fergusson.

  ‘Fergusson?’ he asked Steadfast.

  ‘He got it in that last blast. Straight through the heart I reckon.’

  ‘Where’s Baines?’

  ‘On the bridge, sir. Not quite himself, I’d say.’

  Steadfast crossed over to the bridge and took one look at the crouching Baines. He returned to Watson.

  ‘Looks like you’re in charge now, Watson. Can you get us back to Alex?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Before we go, Watson, I’d just like to even up the odds of our getting through.’

  As he said this, Steadfast waved a heavy looking package in the air.

  ‘Can I borrow your Sparks for five minutes?’

  ‘If it will help, sir.’

  ‘Indeed it will.’

  Steadfast disappeared below. A few minutes later he came back with a satisfied smile on his face.

  ‘Is there something special to smile about, sir?’

  ‘I think so. One of those MAS boats has just sent a coded message to say that all our boats are sunk. That means they’ll give up the chase.’

  ‘Sent a message? But they’re all sunk!’

  ‘Well, sort of sent a message. Actually your Sparks just sent it. This,’ he said waving his package, ‘is their code book. And damned useful to. I think we can say that it’s now bon voyage, lieutenant.’

  14 - Aftermath

  It was four days since Steadfast had set sail with three gunboats and their full crews. He was now returning with just one gunboat and two partisans, one of whom he hoped was Dobransky. Two of Moresby’s commanders were dead. Thanks to Steadfast’s last deception, the Italians reported to the Nazis that all the rescued partisans were dead – something that was not hard to believe given the debris floating off Bay C for days after the battle.

  The losses were regrettable but inevitable, Steadfast told himself. But one thing worried him: he still had no idea whether he had collected Dobransky. On the second day of the return crossing he made one more attempt to identify the scientist, but neither of the partisans would admit to knowing a word of English. Clearly they were not going to talk until they were safely on allied territory.

  As the two day uneventful crossing drew to a close and 349B was approaching Alex. Steadfast radioed: ‘For the attention of the C in C: Cargo due for delivery 0600 28 November’. He reckoned that the word ‘due’ would cover him for the possibility that Dobransky was not on board.

  Long before Steadfast had a clear view of the jetty he was searching for signs of activity near 349B’s mooring. Finally he caught sight of what – or rather who – he hoped to see: Moresby.

  At 6.00 a.m. Watson brought 349B alongside the Kars Al Tin jetty. On the bridge Steadfast stood in as commanding a position as he could manage. At his side, somewhat slumped, was Baines. Steadfast hardly moved a muscle as the men threw the lines and the mooring routine was completed. As soon as the gangway was in position, he stepped down from the bridge and walked firmly and haughtily onto the quay. He saluted Moresby, saying, ‘Lieutenant Baines and 349B reporting back for duty.’

  ‘The others?’ queried Moresby.

  ‘Lost in action,’ replied Steadfast.

  As this exchange took place, Baines limped off 349B and weakly saluted Moresby. Moresby did not return the salute but glowered at Steadfast before turning his back on the two of them and marching off while uttering a string of angry expletives.

  The men had held back but once Moresby was out of sight the weary, dirty and tired men crawled up onto the quay. As they did so, a tall partisan with a headful of filthy brown hair, dressed in torn and fraying battle fatigues and wearing boots with next to no soles or heels, came up to Steadfast with his hand outstretched.

  ‘Commander, my deepest, deepest thanks. My name’s Dobransky and I shall be proud to offer my full services to the allies.’

  ***

  Some weeks later Steadfast received a summons to call at Number 10 Downing Street. The smart car picked him up from his service club in Pall Mall. As he settled into the seat beside the Wren driver, she turned to him and said: ‘That’s a good tan you’ve got, sir. Been having fun in a nice warm place away from the war?’

  ‘Fun? I don’t think you could call it that.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter where you are nowadays. The war still reaches you.’

  ‘Mr Churchill says we’re doing well in Egypt.’

  ‘So I hear, but there’ll be a lot of sweat and tears before this is all over.’

  When the car arrived at 10 Downing Street a policeman opened the door and Steadfast quickly found himself in the Cabinet Room. Behind the long table he saw the Prime Minister through a pall of cigar smoke. On the table were a few files but nothing in the room suggested that this man was at the heart of the great war machine that stretched from the Artic to the southern oceans.

  ‘Ah, commander, so glad you could come. You’ve been on my old stamping ground, I hear.’

  Steadfast looked quizzical.

  ‘Egypt. I was there in 1898 – Battle of Omdurman.’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir.’

  ‘So, you’ve brought us Dobransky?’

  ‘That’s right, sir. I handed him over a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘I hope you realise just what you have done for this great country, for this mighty battle against evil. His discovery is a marvel for us, but it could have been a war-winner for the Nazis.’

  ‘So I’m told, sir.’

  ‘Cigar?’

  ‘I’m rather off them at the moment, sir. There were just a few too many of them on this last operation.’

  ‘In Albania? How odd.’

  ‘Anyway, young man, your country is very grateful to you for your daring courage in getting Dobransky out. I’ll make sure you get something for it. You’ll get some Christmas leave, I hope?’

  ‘Who knows, sir.’

  Naval Terms

  MAS An Italian light torpedo boat.

  MGB A British motor gun boat.

  RN A career naval officer.

  RNR A career naval officer in the reserve.

  RNVR A civilian who voluntarily does part-time naval training.

  If you enjoyed Action This Day by Richard Freeman you might be interested in Audacity by Alan Evans, also published by Endeavour Press.

  Extract from Audacity by Alan Evans

  1—A Plot

  Commander David Cochrane Smith lay uneasily awake beside the young woman sleeping warm and close. Very faintly, somewhere in the town, a clock struck two. He stared up at the ceiling of the hotel room and wondered just what ‘modifications’ were being made to his new ship, H.M.S. Audacity. This was early April 1918. Although the fourth winter of the war was supposedly behind, a bitter wind still moaned outside and hurled rain to batter at the curtained windows. Audacity lay only two miles away at Rosyth in the Firth of Forth but he and her crew, every man-jack, had been ordered on local leave until the work on her was completed. The woman had been waiting, fondly, patiently, for him when he had come ashore. Doubtless there would be whispering behind his back. To hell with them all.

  He thought this was a bad time of night for a man to examine his life and it was not conducive to
quiet sleep. He would not think of the girl he had loved in Venice. That wound was healed but the scar was still there. It was not useful, either, to think of the house in Norfolk left to him by his grandfather. He had seen it only once, warm red brick on a cold winter’s day and the furniture sheeted like ghosts. There was a photograph of the woman he thought might be his mother. A man should have a place of his own and now he did. But he had yet to spend a night in it.

  He did not bear the old man’s name, had been brought up by a Reuben Smith and his wife in a village shop, also in Norfolk but a long way from the house. He was still by right the old admiral’s grandson and could take the family name if he wished, but he would not. He had made his way as David Cochrane Smith and so he would remain. He had inherited a mortgage with the house and no money. There was no legal restriction to prevent him selling the house but his grandfather’s will held a plea that he would keep it. Although he had only his pay of three hundred pounds a year and some small savings, that was the last wish of a dying man and Smith would honour it. Besides, an empty house and a lack of money need not be problems: the young woman beside him had money enough…

  A door slammed below like a distant gun and his thoughts went back to Audacity. She was a Q-ship, ostensibly an unarmed merchantman, intended to entice a U-boat into making an attack and surfacing, when hidden weapons would be exposed and used to sink the German. It was a dangerous ploy that had worked in the past because the U-boats swallowed the bait, but they knew about Q-ships now. Merchant shipping sailed in convoy these days and any ship steaming alone, inviting attack, would be suspected by a submarine commander. He would not surface, as he probably would have done a year ago, to sink her from close range and economically with gunfire, thus saving his precious torpedoes. Now he would use those fish. Smith had asked for an independent command, said he did not want to go back to the fleet so they gave him Audacity. Lunacy would have been a better name. Certainly the day of the Q-ship, as a weapon against U-boats, was over.