by Max Hennessy
Kelly stood in silence, his face taut and grim against the lash of spray as he thought of Paddy’s small anxious face. This is it, he felt, and soon afterwards, Chichester’s operators intercepted a signal from Langdale to Parsifal – ‘FLY OFF. SEARCH SOUTH.’
He wondered what it had cost Verschoyle.
He noticed Latimer looking at him and he hitched his heavy scarf closer about his neck. They both knew what it meant. CAM-ship aircraft were never catapulted off until things were desperate and, when they were, it usually meant the end for the pilot.
‘You might pass the word to the WIT room to keep it to themselves, William,’ Kelly said.
As Latimer turned away the bridge voice pipe went. ‘Radar to bridge. Echo seven and a half miles to the north-west.’
‘Pass it to Sarawak,’ Pardoe said. ‘And sound action stations.’
As the alarm rattles went and the greased cardboard discs covering the guns were removed, below in magazine and shell rooms the supply parties loaded the cordite hoists with flashless charges and the shell hoists with shell.
‘Instruct Sarawak to fire night tracer to distinguish her fall of shot from ours,’ Kelly said. ‘Order her to conform to our movements and follow five cables astern.’
‘More radar reports, sir! Two echoes steering eastwards. They aren’t U-boats.’
‘Probably stragglers from the convoy.’
‘Or enemy surface ships, sir.’
‘Echoes steering oh-eight-nine! Making twenty-three knots.’
‘They’re not stragglers,’ Pardoe said. ‘They’re too fast.’
‘Appears to have possibilities,’ Kelly agreed. ‘We’ll close, to track and establish touch.’
As the ships turned south-east, another report came.
‘Blurred object bearing oh-eight-nine.’
As the guns and directors swung to the new sighting, however, the information came that the contact was doing only ten knots.
‘Must be a different contact,’ Kelly said. ‘Follow the first one.’
For half an hour, the strange ships continued steaming eastwards without any alteration of course or speed and without any clue to their identity. Then, unexpectedly, Rumbelo sang out from the back of the bridge.
‘Gun flashes to the south!’
As they swung round to stare over their wake, beyond and above Sarawak’s swinging masthead they could see a flickering white glow against the clouds.
‘Probably ack-ack fired at Russian aircraft,’ Kelly decided. ‘We’ll stick with the contacts.’
But as he leafed through the deciphered signals, he was growing worried. He was still uncertain of the position of the convoy. It ought to be to the east and experience indicated that after the gales there might well be stragglers, while the gunfire might well be from the detached escorts rounding them up.
‘More gunfire, sir!’ Rumbelo reported. ‘Looks heavy, too.’
‘Sir!’ It was the signals officer. ‘Signal from Lotus to Langdale: “Three destroyers bearing three-oh-nine. My position 72 degrees 35 minutes north, 28.00 east.”’
‘They can’t be British destroyers,’ Kelly growled. ‘Navigator, prepare a course.’
The ship continued to butt into the seas, Sarawak keeping station astern. Aware of a tightening of the throat, Kelly knew that somewhere ahead in the murk there were German ships.
‘Signal, sir, from Langdale on fleet wave: “‘Unknown ship bearing three-two-four, range seven miles, course one-three-nine. Position–”’
A second signal followed, ‘THREE UNKNOWN BEARING THREE-TWO-FOUR.’ and almost immediately another, ‘ONE CRUISER BEARING THREE-THREE-NINE.’
Holding course some minutes longer, Kelly studied the chart. Judging by the flashes they’d seen, somewhere in the murk of the northern afternoon, one or all of Verschoyle’s ships were in trouble and it was clearly his duty, as it had been since Nelson’s time, to steer towards the sound of the guns. But he had no sure knowledge that the firing came from the convoy because the flashes came from the south and they’d estimated that the convoy was to the east. His first concern was the convoy, yet, judging by the flashes, they still had forty-odd miles to go to reach it, a good hour and a half’s steaming in which time enemy heavies – if the firing came from German heavies – could blast it from the sea. It was a disturbing thought.
He decided to act on a hunch. What radar had picked up were stragglers and the convoy was to the south.
‘What’s the course to the gun flashes, Pilot?’
‘One-six-nine, sir.’
He turned to Pardoe. ‘We’ll turn on to that, please, Henry. And make to Langdale “Am approaching you on course one-six-nine.” Then let’s pipe hands to supper. They have twenty minutes.’
The ship was silent as she drove south with her consort; two thousand men hurtling into the unknown, eyes fixed on instruments and counters, hands busy with levers and wheels, bodies moving to the shift of the sea. Many of them had spent all night at action stations, heads pillowed on lifebelts, while inside the ship away from the smell of salt spray and the tang of wet decks the long lines of lights turned night into day with the winking indicators and the steady murmur of machinery. The doctors were laying out their instruments and communications were being checked and rechecked, blank-faced men testing systems and gun mountings, training them from side to side to ensure there was no interference from the ice; while in every corner of the ship, often frighteningly alone, other men watched dials and instruments as they waited.
Pardoe had spoken to the ship’s company, telling them the situation as it appeared from the bridge. Provided they knew what was going on, they would accept any level of discomfort and danger, but when they didn’t understand morale was affected. They didn’t mind the captain blowing his top, or even appearing without his trousers, if that were normal, but so long as he ran true to form life was ordered and they could accept what he asked of them. Nobody liked being shot at or did his job as well when he was being shot at, but it was a help to know why it was happening, and made facing the grim music just a bit easier.
‘Intercepted signal from Langdale, sir!’ The report broke into Kelly’s thoughts. ‘“Have been hit forward.”’
So Verschoyle had found the enemy, or to be more exact, the enemy had found Verschoyle.
‘Hoist battle ensign!’
The great white jack jerked up to the yardarm, almost obscured in the murk. Kelly’s eyes lifted to it and, staring upwards, he suddenly recalled Verschoyle’s signal to Parsifal. Where was Hugh now? Somewhere out in the stir of low cloud, bad light and lifting seas? By this time he must be out of petrol, and unless he’d ditched right alongside his ship he’d never be found. He drew a deep breath that was painful in his chest and tried to thrust the thought from his mind. He could see other men about him and wondered what was going on in their minds. Were they, too, worried about sons or brothers? They all knew since Pardoe’s broadcast that they were about to meet a superior enemy force, and he knew they, too, were afraid – not of death because you didn’t wonder ‘Shall I be killed today?’ – but of everything that there was to attend to, and of letting down everybody else about them who was dependent on them. What was happening to Verschoyle? What had happened to Hugh? How could he best bring his ships to the enemy so that they could bring the biggest number of guns to bear?
His thoughts were interrupted by Latimer. ‘Signal from Langdale, sir. “Am retiring on convoy under smoke screen. Forward magazine flooded. Fire in boiler room.” They’re also picking up Lindsay now, sir. She’s been holed forward and reduced to fifteen knots.’
Kelly nodded, wishing Chichester were faster. She was crashing along now at full speed but it seemed terribly slow under the circumstances. With two ships badly hit, Verschoyle was desperately in need of help.
‘We’re picking up Langdale to Lotus, sir,’ the signals officer reported. ‘It’s garbled but the message’s clear. Captain D’s been wounded and he’s instructing Lotus to take over for
the time being.’
So they’d got Verschoyle, too! How bad was it, Kelly wondered, and how would Maisie take it? Well, he imagined, because she wasn’t the type to panic.
He was trying to concentrate when another garbled signal from Langdale was received.
‘CONVOY COURSE 178. CRUISER CLOSE TO CONVOY… CAPITAL SHIPS… CLOSING CONVOY.’
What was missing? It seemed that more than one German heavy was doing the attacking and, against odds like that, Verschoyle could be wiped out with all his ships. He’d already lost two of the escort and, if they were retiring, was it because they’d managed to drive off the Germans or because they were being overwhelmed? The only thing he knew with certainty was that somewhere ahead were superior enemy forces. The Germans didn’t risk much these days with anything else but superior forces because they didn’t appear to like gunfire. He felt a little like someone trying to pluck up courage to plunge into an ice-cold bath, and in the pit of his stomach was the sensation he’d often felt as a boy before starting a race at school. He wasn’t afraid but he was terrified of making a mistake that might lose the lives of everybody around him.
He glanced at Pardoe. He seemed calm and didn’t look oddly at Kelly, so he could only imagine that he must look calm, too. There would be no failure. The ship had done good service in more than one action and her company had been together a long time now. Just astern he could see Sarawak on the port quarter, her bow wave just visible in the gloom.
‘Home Fleet’s preparing for sea, sir!’ Latimer appeared alongside him, laconic as he kept him informed of the shape of events.
‘They’ll be a bit pushed to get here in time to help,’ Kelly growled. ‘What ships?’
‘KG Five, sir, with Howe, Kent, Berwick, Bermuda and destroyers. They’re heading towards the homeward-bound convoy.’
The minutes seemed to drag. Occasionally they saw the gun flashes ahead, getting nearer all the time, and he was so tense he forgot the cold. The flickering glare in the clouds came again and he hoped his message had been received. It was no help but it might encourage and it would identify his ships as he burst out of the murk, because in the twilight it would be difficult to tell who it was appearing. Still firm in his mind was the need to see the convoy safe to Murmansk and allow the homeward-bound convoy to slip away undetected.
The ship was crashing into the sea at its full thirty-two knots now and, with fuel oil being burned at a fantastic rate, he knew that whatever the outcome, he would have to go back to Kola Inlet when it was over. The boiler room fans were thundering and the noise was such that it was impossible to speak, and suddenly he became aware of the cold as the icy wind drove in his face. Fine spray was lifting and blowing over the deck to add to the ice already there. Above his head the radar aerials moved like the antennae of some great steel animal.
By this time it was possible to pick up the individual gun flashes and see smoke along the horizon, and he guessed that behind it somewhere Verschoyle was probably fighting with everything he’d got for the convoy. Everything depended on Kelly but he couldn’t blunder into the fight without identifying the enemy or he might well find Verschoyle’s ships between them. And while there was light he had to keep it behind the Germans because the only way he could hope to make up for the weakness of his own force was by keeping to the darkness.
‘Radar reports large ship ahead! Range nine miles.’ Almost immediately, another big ship was picked up fourteen miles away on the port bow. The first ship appeared to be steering east across Chichester’s bows while the second was steering a course that was bringing her nearer to them with every second.
‘Any destroyers?’
‘Nothing else shown, sir.’
On their present courses, the two unidentified ships would disappear to the eastward away from the lighter sky to the south, and over there a confused battle was going on with gun flashes flickering against the cloud formations.
‘Turn to port on a course parallel with the first target.’
Even as he spoke, Rumbelo yelled. ‘Large ship dead ahead! The words were like an electric shock and heads jerked up as they strained their eyes for this new opponent. Already the forward turrets were swinging, the muzzles lifting. Except for the sound of the sea, the crackle of orders and reports over telephones, an enormous silence seemed to enfold the ship.
‘Two smaller ships in company! Presumably destroyers.’ The big ship they could now just see appeared to be firing to the east and they clearly saw the tracer shells arcing away.
‘Firing fast, sir. About seven salvoes a minute.’
‘Alter course to the target!’
The unknown ship could now be seen as a dark blur against a rolling bank of smoke which presumably had been put down by Verschoyle’s ships. She was still stern-on but as she turned to starboard her silhouette changed.
‘It’s Müffling,’ Latimer snapped.
She had presented them with a perfect target. ‘Come round to starboard,’ Kelly said. ‘Make to Admiralty “Am engaging the enemy.”’
As Chichester thundered round, with Sarawak in her wake, Pardoe, his eyes flickering between the enemy ship and the range dial, looked up. ‘Permission to open fire?’
Kelly nodded and Pardoe bent over the voice pipe. ‘Open fire!’
The crash of the guns shuddered the ship as the twelve huge shells sped from all four turrets. As the guns recoiled, the smoke was whipped away by the wind with the acrid bitter smell of burnt cordite, and the shells described their endless arcs towards Müffling. After weeks of seeing nothing at sea, as always it was an unreal feeling to be firing at the enemy.
‘Over!’
The second salvo was short but as the guns roared for the third time, they saw a dull red glow between the enemy ship’s funnel and mainmast.
‘We’ve hit her!’
Both ships were firing at tremendous speed now. They had obtained complete surprise. Müffling’s guns had still been firing to port and both Chichester and Sarawak had got off four salvos before they’d been brought round to starboard.
‘She’s turning towards us!’
They could see destroyers moving ahead of the big ship now, their funnels streaming smoke as they tried to lay a screen to hide her.
‘Starboard. We’ll keep in step.’
‘Range four miles.’
It was hard for Kelly to tell what the German ship was doing now but by conforming to her movements he could keep all his guns bearing and hold her against the light.
They waited tensely for the German ship to come on to a steady course, but she continued her turn towards them and then, in the murk, ran into the growing smoke screen and vanished into the darkness.
‘Cease firing!’
Staring ahead, Kelly tried to decide what the German ship was doing. Was she continuing to circle so that she would come out a mile further east, or was she endeavouring to escape to the south? He decided it was safer to assume she was going round in a complete circle and Chichester continued to turn herself, with Sarawak close behind.
‘Ship red one-oh!’
‘Looks like a destroyer!’
The oncoming ship might well be one of Verschoyle’s ships, but she was in a perfect position to fire torpedoes and it was best to take no chances.
‘Steer towards.’
As they turned towards the enemy ship to comb torpedoes, the range-taker calling out the range, Chichester was doing over thirty knots. As they steadied on the other ship, Pardoe was straining his eyes ahead.
‘I don’t think she’s one of ours!’
‘Funnels are too far apart, sir,’ Rumbelo called out.
‘Ready to fire!’ the gunnery officer reported.
‘Make the challenge!’
As the lights were switched on, two white lights came on from the other ship.
‘Wrong answer,’ Pardoe snapped. ‘Open fire!’
The six guns of the forward turrets crashed out at point blank range.
‘You could almost
ram the bugger, Henry,’ Kelly said.
Chichester was still swinging as the shells smashed into the destroyer. Fires broke out at once and several more explosions showed as the second and third salvoes struck.
‘I don’t think you’ll need to ram after all,’ Kelly observed flatly.
By the seventh salvo, the enemy ship was smothered in smoke and flame and was falling to pieces before their eyes. She was so close now that the four-inch AA guns opened up and as they heard the rhythmic pounding of the multiple pom-poms, the men running along the destroyer’s deck were swept away. She was down by the bows already and a mass of flames but as they swept past, the after-turrets continued to fire, every gun hitting her so that she was completely overwhelmed, unable to use either her guns or her torpedo tubes. As Sarawak thundered past, yellow, red and green rockets soared from the nest of flames and they saw the ship sinking lower and lower in the water.
Three
There were still contacts on the radar screen to the south-west, but the threat of the German heavies seemed to have receded. They were far from being out of the wood, however, and the report of more contacts came almost immediately.
‘Ships red-nine-oh! Believed to be destroyers!’
‘They’re in a good position for a torpedo attack. Turn towards.’
The strange ships were steaming a parallel course but were they German or did they belong to Verschoyle?
‘Flashing light,’ the yeoman of signals called out. ‘It’s making “R”.’
‘Repeat it back.’
There was a long pause. The delay caused by the repetition was giving them a few more seconds to approach.
‘He’s making the letter “G” now, sir.’
‘Repeat that one, too,’ Kelly said. ‘And open fire.’
The flash of the guns blinded them.
‘Over! Well over!’
‘No, sir,’ Latimer said, his glasses to his eyes. ‘They’re firing at another ship beyond the destroyers. Gunnery control thinks we’ve seen it, too.’
