by Antony Trew
Since Vengeful’s bearing by radar was almost directly astern of Mainwaring, Bradshaw swung his ship through one hundred and eighty degrees. Mainwaring would, he then realised, be in danger of streaming back along her own wake. Aware of the problems this would create for his asdic team – and conscious that there was an enemy submarine nearby – he was about to alter to starboard when a U-boat bounced to the surface a hundred yards or so ahead. She was so close that she was sighted visually in spite of the darkness, and illuminated by searchlight. At the time, Mainwaring, having just completed her turn, was working up to twenty knots, and although Bradshaw was aware that ramming was frowned on by Their Lordships (it could cause severe damage to the attacking ship), he decided the chance was too good to miss. He also had in mind the need to reach Vengeful quickly and this seemed quite the best way of killing two birds with one stone. So he ordered ‘Port fifteen – prepare to ram,’ and the alarm signal sounded throughout the destroyer.
The U-boat attempted a crash-dive but was struck abaft the conning-tower, the destroyer’s bows slicing the hull in two. As she passed over the submarine – or, more correctly, through it – Mainwaring’s rudder struck some wreckage and was damaged.
Bradshaw reported by TBS the destruction of the U-boat, his inability to manœuvre, and requested the dispatch of another escort to assist Vengeful. Some fifteen minutes later Mainwaring, by then overtaken by the convoy, reported that the jammed rudder had been freed and, though damaged, was again serviceable. She was ordered to take station inside the convoy’s close-screen.
Kleber died not knowing that Ausfeld’s failure to pick up the destroyer’s propeller noises in time was due not to any lapse in the sound-room but to the turbulence of Mainwaring’s stern wake which, combined with the heavy volume of sound from the propellers of the approaching convoy, had effectively masked the noise of her screws.
The movements of the three men in the black oil-fouled water grew slower, became spasmodic. The effort to breathe, to keep near-frozen limbs moving, to struggle against oncoming seas invisible in the darkness, led quickly to exhaustion.
Their eyes inflamed by fuel oil, the men in the water could no longer see the flickering lights towards which they’d been swimming. Now they floundered, gasping, splashing, spitting, while life ebbed away.
Redman, feeling himself slide into a dark abyss, clutched convulsively at the water before losing consciousness. Without a life-belt he was waterlogged, a deadweight which Pownall and the yeoman could no longer support. When he finally slipped from their grasp, they were too far gone to retrieve him.
Less than a minute later – it seemed to Pownall hours afterwards – the yeoman gasped something unintelligible, then fell silent. Pownall groped for the man in the darkness and found him, but the head was submerged, the body lifeless. The desperate knowledge that he was now alone hastened Pownall’s end. Seconds later he too lapsed into unconsciousness.
The three men had gone quietly, the manner of their dying unnotable; little more, indeed, than gasps and gurgles and a mild splashing of the water marking their ends. Nor were they conscious of those last moments for the cold of Arctic winter froze their sensory perceptions, inducing a coma from which death effected the final rescue.
A dispassionate celestial observer might have noted that Redman died within a nautical mile or so of Kleber whom he had outlived by seven minutes. Not that these facts nor their irony were likely to have interested any observer, there being an abundant harvest of death at that time and place.
Next day in the Arctic twilight of forenoon, Fidelix, flying the flag of CS19, the Vice-Admiral commanding convoy JW137, followed the last of the merchant ships into the safe waters of the Kola Inlet.
Astern of the carrier, barely visible in the half light, came the cruiser Nottingham. She was followed by the Home Fleet destroyers, behind them the ships of the Eighty-Third Escort Group. The rearguard, the ships of the Fifty-Seventh Escort Group, were still at sea carrying out an anti-submarine sweep to seaward of the minefield which lay across the approaches to the Inlet.
As the Vice-Admiral watched the last merchantman move slowly down the Inlet towards Murmansk, he thought of the nine days which had elapsed since the convoy’s departure from Loch Ewe. In his mind’s eye he saw once again the great armada of weather-stained ships plunging on through the darkness of Arctic winter, buffeted by never-ending storms and blizzards, the targets of sudden attacks by an unseen enemy. The Vice-Admiral was no sentimentalist but it occurred to him that the convoy had about it a quiet dignity, a certain majesty; there was an implacable determination about its slow but steady progress towards its destination, undeterred by anything the weather or the enemy could throw against it.
The Vice-Admiral’s pride in the men and ships under his command was tempered with humility. The price paid for the passage of JW137 in human lives and suffering, in the loss of ships, had been high.
Sobered by these thoughts he lowered his binoculars and turned to the Flag Captain. ‘Well, Somers, it’s taken nine days but it seems a lot longer.’
It does, sir. Sorry we couldn’t make more use of our aircraft.’
‘Yes. Bad luck that. Your chaps must be very disappointed.’
Rory McLeod, the staff-officer-operations, arrived on the bridge. He saluted the Vice-Admiral. ‘I’ve got the operation- room’s latest tally here, sir.’
‘Good. Let’s have it.’
The SOO began reading from the list. ‘Enemy losses – six U-boats sunk. Three reconnaisance aircraft shot down.’
‘Remind me who got those U-boats, McLeod’
‘One sunk by Vengeful and Violent outside Loch Ewe on December the fourth, sir. Two near the Skolpen Bank yesterday afternoon. One by Vectis, the other by Vallance.’
‘Splendid effort in those weather conditions,’ said the Vice-Admiral.
The SOO nodded in gentle agreement before returning to his list. ‘Iris and Peaflower sank one during the second attack late in the afternoon. Vengeful sank U-0153 at 1836 yesterday.’ He looked up. ‘After that long stern chase, sir.’
‘Yes. That was a damned good show, wasn’t it?’
‘And Mainwaring rammed and sank U-0117 shortly after it had torpedoed Vengeful.’
‘Bradshaw had no right to ram,’ said the Vice-Admiral with affected severity. He looked up and smiled. ‘Damned glad he did, though.’ He coughed as if to cover up an indiscretion. ‘I call that a pretty successful brush with the enemy. Don’t you, Somers?’
‘I do indeed, sir. Extraordinary, though, that they tried the old wolf-pack tactic again.’
‘Yes,’ said the Vice-Admiral. ‘I thought they’d learnt their lesson in ‘forty-three. But it was a bold effort.’
‘I’d say the weather made it possible, sir,’ said the Flag Captain,
‘Yes. They couldn’t have concentrated if we’d been able to use our aircraft. And of course asdic and radar conditions were very difficult.’ The Vice-Admiral paused, then added, ‘And to be honest – let’s concede it – the weather must have made things very difficult for their U-boats.’
‘Can’t see them trying another wolf-pack attack after those crippling losses. Can you, sir?’
‘Unlikely, I’d have thought,’ said the Vice-Admiral. ‘But one never knows. It’s the unpredictables that provide the problems.’
Politely the SOO cleared his throat. ‘May I go on, sir. The recap of our losses?’
‘Yes. Let’s have them.’
‘Two escorts, Chaffinch and Vengeful. The fleet oiler Surfol, and five merchant ships. Two of them ammunition ships. And, of course, two aircraft – a Wildcat and an Avenger.’
The Vice-Admiral was thoughtful. ‘You haven’t mentioned Camden Castle and the Liberty ship John F. Adams.’
‘No, sir. We’re excluding them for the time being. But I’m afraid their chances are pretty thin. Too many U-boats about.’
‘Unless the weather’s hidden them.’ The Vice-Admiral looked at the dim outline of snow-co
vered mountains bordering the Inlet. He’d not enjoyed leaving the disabled Liberty ship in mid-ocean, nor making the decision to detach a corvette to look after her. But there were no acceptable alternatives. As always the safety of the convoy was the first priority. He abandoned his private thoughts and turned back to the others. ‘Let’s get the score in perspective, gentlemen. We’ve lost eight, possibly nine, of the sixty-four ships involved in JW 137. About thirteen per cent of our forces engaged. The enemy has lost six U-boats out of a total of … what was it, McLeod? Fifteen or sixteen?’
‘Sixteen, sir. That’s based on interrogation of German survivors.’
The Vice-Admiral was thoughtful. ‘So there were sixteen U-boats engaged in the attack.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘That means the enemy lost something like forty per cent of his forces engaged.’
‘Plus the three aircraft we shot down,’ said the Flag Captain, determined that Fidelix’s contribution should not be overlooked.
‘Not bad. Not bad at all.’ The Vice-Admiral fingered his chin. A meticulous man, he disliked the bristles which reminded him he’d not shaved for forty-eight hours. ‘Very sad about Vengeful. Splendid effort of Redman’s. Two U-boats on one convoy. That fine single-handed hunt. We’ll have to see he gets something posthumously,’ He turned to the SOO. ‘Make a note of that for me, will you, McLeod?’
‘I will, sir.’
‘Incidentally. What is the latest news about Vengeful’s survivors?’
‘Thirteen were picked up by Grant Castle, sir. Two of them were originally Chaffinch survivors rescued by Vengeful earlier in the day. I’m afraid four of the thirteen had died at the last count.’
‘Any officers among those left?’
‘One, I believe, sir. Groves, the sub-lieutenant.’
The Vice-Admiral shrugged his shoulders. His face was drawn with exhaustion as he moved across to the port side of the bridge. He looked down on the carrier’s flight deck, took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. Admirals did not show emotion. It was bad for discipline and morale. When he’d recovered his composure he rejoined the others. ‘Well, gentlemen. It will be pleasant to have a night of unbroken sleep, One gets confoundedly tired on these journeys.’
The Flag Captain said, ‘I think the weather has a lot to do with it, sir.’
The Flag-Lieutenant came on to the bridge followed by the chief yeoman of signals.
‘You look pleased, Flags‚’ said the Vice-Admiral. ‘Thinking of that run ashore?’
The Flag-Lieutenant waved a signal and grinned ‘Just received, sir. From Bluebird by W/T. Camden Castle and USS John F. Adams have been sighted by the Fifty-Seventh Escort Group. They’re bringing them in through the swept channel now.’
‘Splendid.’ The Vice-Admiral smiled warmly at the little group of men around him. ‘Make a signal to Camden Castle and John F. Adams. “Welcome and well done.”’
He moved to the far side of the bridge and stood alone, thinking of what lay ahead. The thirty-odd ships of the previous convoy had completed unloading in Murmansk and were awaiting the return journey. It was the Vice-Admiral’s task to get those empty ships back to the Clyde, Today was Saturday. The south-bound convoy would sail on Wednesday. Until then his warships and men would rest briefly in the icy desolation of the Kola Inlet.
By now the German High Command would have ordered reinforcements to the Kola patrol line to replace their losses. In five days it would all begin again: the struggle with the weather and the enemy. It was difficult to say which was the worst.
The task is only half done, he reflected, and in that moment recalled Drake’s message to Walsingham after Cadiz: There must be a beginning to every great matter but the continuing unto the end until it be thoroughly finished yields the true glory.
By the Same Author
The Antonov Project
Bannister’s Chart
The Chalk Circle
Death of a Supertanker
Kleber’s Convoy
The Moonraker Mutiny
The Road to the River
Running Wild
The Sea Break
Sea Fever
Smoke Island
The Soukour Deadline (originally known as Ultimatum)
Towards the Tamarind Trees
Two Hours to Darkness
The White Schooner
Yashimoto’s Last Drive
The Zhukov Briefing
Copyright
© Antony Trew 1974
First published in Great Britain 1974
This ebook edition 2012
ISBN 978 0 7090 9641 2 (epub)
ISBN 978 0 7090 9642 9 (mobi)
ISBN 978 0 7090 9643 6 (pdf)
ISBN 978 0 7090 70214 (print)
Robert Hale Limited
Clerkenwell House
Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R 0HT
www.halebooks.com
The right of Antony Trew to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
