by Alan Evans
Brent also saw the tracer and the boats out in the darkness and realised Crozier and Dent had seen the signal flashed from the deadlight in the after cabin. The engine note of the big diesels in the E-boat alongside quickened and her stern dug in as she moved ahead. He shouted, “Firer” but Vance hadn’t waited for that order. When the tracer opened up he depressed the barrel of the 40mm. gun until it was trained on the E-boat, and fired.
Rudi was deafened, stunned, shocked as the gun hurled shells into the bow of his boat at point-blank range. The 20mm. cannon just forward of his bridge was mangled. As his boat moved ahead the shells marched back along its length, ripping through the wheel-house below his feet. The bulwarks of the drifter were suddenly lined with rifles and submachine-guns and their fire swept the deck of his boat clear.
Then the 40mm. shells plunged through the engine-room. His boat was so close to the gun that its barrel was pointed down and the shells smashed through the deck then into the diesels or out through the side — but below the waterline. Rudi’s boat slowed as the engines stopped. The guardship quickly drew ahead and the terrible gun aboard her shifted its fire to the other E-boats; but that relief came too late for Rudi. He knew with an awful certainty that his boat was not only stopped but sinking. He looked along her length from bow to stern and could not see another living soul.
Brent had seen the appalling destruction wrought by that close range fire and he had shouted to Tommy Vance, “Shift target!” That went unheard in the din but Jimmy Nash ran forward and grabbed Tommy’s arm, bawled the order at him, pointed to the other E-boats. Brent cast one glance astern as the guardship drew away and saw the E-boat’s commander still standing on his bridge, the only figure to be seen on her deck. It was incredible that he had survived the fire storm that had scoured the vessel beneath him.
David faced forward. The other two E-boats had turned away from Dent and Crozier, to join their leader or to escape the Vickers machine-guns. That turn set them on a course to cross the bow of the guardship. Tommy Vance opened up with the 40mm. but these were not targets close alongside and keeping pace. They were moving at speed and from left to right; they were some two hundred yards away and he had lost his night vision. He could not see the boats themselves and laid the gun by sight of the bow-wave of the leader and the flashes of her guns as they fired at Dent and Crozier. Because he was not used to the gun he led his target by far too much so the opening rounds passed fifty yards ahead of the leading boat. But by the time he realised this the boat had run into the line of the shells. Jimmy Nash bellowed at him, “Hold it on! Hold it on!” Tommy did his best.
David Brent saw the green fireflies of tracer sliding into the leading E-boat. Her forward gun ceased firing. The other one mounted aft was in action for only a few seconds longer then the flicker of that muzzle flash died. The boat’s speed was falling away, the bow-wave diminishing then vanishing. Jimmy Nash turned to peer back at Brent, who gestured, pointing to the last boat still under way and Jimmy raised a hand in acknowledgment.
He passed on the order again and Tommy Vance trained the gun around, seeking that last boat. Brent had barely made it out from his position aft, but Tommy had been squinting past the long, pulsing flame licking from the barrel of the 40mm. only feet from his eyes. For some seconds he could not locate the grey moustache that was the phosphorescence thrown up by her bow, and for that time her guns were not firing to give her away. Then she fired and he had a target.
The last boat had to swerve to avoid the first that had led her by a hundred yards or so, cutting inside her and so coming between her and the guardship. Her guns had ceased firing because they were being trained around. They had been trying to fight off the M.T.B.s but now they turned on the old drifter. The first shells slammed into the guardship high on the port bow and side but then the gunners raised their sights.
They fired only a short burst before their boat swerved again and they lost their target. David Brent saw the tracer sliding in and heard the shrieking of the shells, the smash of their impact. Grundy was hurled across the wheel-house like a bundle of old clothes and collapsed at the back of it. Cullen moved towards him but then remembered as Brent shouted at him, “Take the wheel!” He grabbed the spinning spokes and stooped over the compass, spun the wheel then steadied it as the needle came on. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two of the other hands come running to lift Grundy and carry him away below.
“Course nor-b’west, sir.” Cullen wondered how the hell he had remembered that.
“Very good,” Brent acknowledged. Both of them were bawling at the tops of their voices to be heard above the gunfire. Tommy Vance had the 40mm. in action again and the last surviving E-boat was concentrating all her fire on the guardship in an attempt to silence his gun. They failed, narrowly, and the shells that missed him savaged the wheel-house.
Brent winced and ducked so only his eyes showed above the screen, while Cullen bent his knees and peered at the compass over the spokes of the wheel. They were instinctively seeking cover but that of the screen was an illusion. The splinter mattresses around it would keep out small-arms fire but the cannon shells ripped through it.
The E-boat was passing across the bow of the guardship and Brent ordered, “Hard astarboard!”, so her bow would come around to follow the E-boat.
“Hard astarboard, sir.” Cullen spun the spokes.
Brent watched the bow swing and straightened cautiously as he realised he was no longer under fire. The 40mm. in the bow faltered and then was silent. Dent and Crozier were still in action; he could see their red tracer and by following the line of it he picked out the E-boat. She was going away, just a blur of white water that was her wake growing smaller and fainter with every second. Her guns were either out of action or her commander had ordered them to cease firing so as not to give away his position to the gun on the guardship.
Brent shouted, “Can you see her, Tommy?” His voice sounded thin and distant in the silence.
“Not a thing.”
“Nor me.” That was Jimmy Nash.
Brent glanced down and saw him still standing by the gun. David looked up again to seek the grey blur of the wake but could not find. it. The tracer was no longer pointing a red finger but there was something…
Jimmy Nash called, “Looks like Crozier coming back.”
It was. The two boats raced in out of the night and turned to run alongside the guardship. At Brent’s order they dropped astern to take up their former positions and he told Jimmy Nash, “See that light is shown from the after cabin again.”
There was one badly mauled E-boat limping away and two more possibly sinking, but he would be ready to fight another action if he had to.
He looked astern but he could no longer see Crozier or Dent, let alone the two E-boats left lifeless on the sea.
*
Rudi Halder did not stand idle. He made his way aft, dropped down into the engine-room and sent the staff on deck, the living taking the dead men along with them. While he was below he confirmed what he already knew in his heart, that his boat was sinking. Back on deck, he helped the survivors from below to search through the bodies strewn around the guns and about the bridge. They looked for more survivors but found none. He lit the boat’s navigation lights and it was by their glow that Petersen found him.
Hans Petersen’s boat came alongside and stopped with her diesel engines throbbing. Rudi called across, “Where is Ernst?” He had seen Fischer’s boat under fire.
“I found him,” Petersen answered. “I took his people off. I’ve got six of them below.”
Rudi asked, but guessing the answer, “What about Ernst?”
“He’s aft with the others.”
Rudi knew what that meant, could see the bundles ranked on the deck of Petersen’s boat aft of the bridge. He whispered, “Dear God!”
Petersen said, “I had to leave his boat; she wouldn’t tow.”
“Neither will this one.”
So Rudi stood on Petersen’s bridg
e as the boat eased away from his own that was listing and awash at the stern. Petersen complained bitterly, “A pity we didn’t get that signal a few minutes earlier.”
Signal? Then Rudi remembered his wireless operator coming onto the bridge just before — He dug into his pockets, found the ball of crumpled paper, smoothed it out and read it: Enemy driven out of St. Jean... taking guardship... two Schnellboote... Rudi rolled it into a ball again and flipped it over the side. “Yes.” Pity. Pity. The row of bundles aft of Petersen’s bridge was longer now, and one of them was Bruno Jacobi, Rudi’s friend.
They came to St. Jean in the last of the night, passing the fishing fleet a mile or two out as the drifters returned to port. When the E-boat entered the harbour Hans Petersen had to manoeuvre around the wreck of a drifter, only its mast showing above the surface. He turned slowly then to run in to the quay and Rudi saw the old port was swarming with troops. They still moved cautiously, nervously. A span of the bridge had been blown out and army engineers were working on it, striving to erect a temporary crossing. The S.S. headquarters had shattered windows and its walls were pitted. The house at the end of the row, next to that of the Oberst, had lost its upper storey so the gap showed like a missing tooth. A fire still smouldered in the ruins and its smoke hung over the quay.
The quay. They were alongside and soldiers caught and made fast the lines thrown to them. Rudi was first ashore and he walked to where Ilse waited for him, huddled in her father’s greatcoat that hung to her ankles. There was dust in her hair, dirt on her face and tears had cut runnels through it, but her mouth went up at the corners when Rudi came to her.
He put his arms around her and held her close, said gently, “It’s good to know you’re safe.” That was the only good thing to come out of this night. “I was afraid you might have been caught in the fighting. Did you see the Tommis?”
“Yes.” She shuddered, remembering the cellar, the tall young man and the girl who had saved her.
Rudi felt that shudder and tilted up her chin to look into her eyes, “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Ilse nodded, “I’m fine now.” She would tell him about it, but later.
Rudi saw from the corner of his eye that Petersen’s men were bringing the bodies ashore. He had to see to that himself and he let the girl go, but before he turned away he said, “I think this will be a long, hard war. Maybe it will be too long, too hard.”
*
David Brent saw the lift of the land in the first grey light. So did Cullen, standing beside him at the wheel and stealing a glance up from the compass. “Nearly home, sir.” Brent grunted and Cullen thought: Well, he was never one of your talkers. He asked, “How’s Grundy, sir?”
“Not too bad, I’m glad to say.” David said that with relief, had feared the worst when Grundy was carried below unconscious with his face bloodied. “Mister Nash has seen him and he’s got a nasty lump on his head, probable concussion, and a few cuts and bruises. Nothing that a few days’ rest won’t cure.”
“Good cox’n, sir.” And that reminded Cullen... He ticked off in his mind the names of the other seamen aboard the guardship, recalling their records. He was the senior man. He asked, “Permission to leave the wheel, sir? Legget here can stand a trick.” Legget was one of Vance’s men, standing at the back of the bridge now as a messenger.
“Yes, carry on.”
Cullen jerked his head at Legget, and as he came forward muttered, “Take the wheel, but before you do, put your cap on straight.”
Legget protested, “It’s not a proper cap, just a rolled-up balaclava —”
Cullen hissed, “I don’t care if it’s a bloody topper! You’re supposed to be under it, not alongside!”
Legget yanked the woollen hat square across his brow and Cullen nodded satisfaction, handed over the wheel. He heard Legget repeat the course correctly and then left the bridge. He looked down his nose at the men sprawled on the deck and sleeping the sleep of exhaustion despite the dawn cold. He reached out to the nearest and shook him awake: “Heave ho, lash up and stow! On your feet and smarten up.” He moved to the next, “C’mon, get yourselves up and tidy. Where the hell d’ye think you are? This is the Navy, not a bumboat.” He saw McNab waking the soldiers. They still cuddled the Thompsons but they had less than a dozen rounds of ammunition left among them.
One by one the men struggled to their feet, tidied their clothes and straightened caps, Cullen and McNab badgering them. So as the guardship entered harbour every man on her upper deck lined her sides, rigidly at attention. Cullen was satisfied; that was how Grundy liked it done for the skipper. Now he had to wangle it to send a man away early to light a fire in the men’s quarters…
David Brent saw them and was proud, glad that he had brought these men home. The officers, Chris Tallon among them, stood in a little group looking up at Brent in the wheel-house.
He thought over the night’s actions, slowly because weariness made his mind fumble and seize up for seconds at a time while it held on to the last thought. He had been ordered to bring out Max Neumann and the operation had gone wrong but then he had seen a way it might be done. He had been told the rescue must be made “at any cost”, so that way had to be tried. It had been possible, barely, because of his knowledge of St. Jean and the country north of it — and because of Suzanne.
His mind froze for a time, then lurched on again. His original plan, set out at the briefing in the wardroom long hours ago, had been for the drifter to take off the entire force from the sea wall. But first Jimmy Nash had to capture the guardship because Suzanne had said it sometimes went to sea, so it might have been able to leave the harbour, engage the drifter and fight off the two M.T.B.s. If the drifter was sunk or too badly damaged to go to sea then all the landing force would cram aboard the two boats.
Now he wondered how he would have managed with all those kids. But he’d have taken them somehow…
And he’d always thought he might use the guardship if Jimmy Nash took her intact and if she had steam up — and that had seemed likely. The landing, the barge, the train, all fell or were forced into place in his plan. He had taken some calculated risks but you always had to do that. The gambles had come off and he’d prepared for eventualities that seemed to him fairly obvious. He had not so much set a trap for the E-boats at the end as been prepared to meet them if he had to.
Nothing very clever. No cause for Tallon and Jimmy Nash to look at him like that. He had lost two boats — and the men, he could not think about the men now, but later... He had brought out the children and Max Neumann. The children filled the deck below him, staring at the land. The shabby little man stood just forward of the wheel-house now, grey stubble on his chin, hollow-eyed, stooping and blank-faced with tiredness. The man who was so important. David Brent wondered why.
*
The admiral and the general of the United States Army stood on the quayside and anxiously watched them enter harbour, the guardship leading the two motor torpedo boats in line ahead. A winter’s sun was up now in a clean-washed sky, giving no heat but glinting off the sea. The general muttered, “Only two boats. It doesn’t look good, huh? Think they got him? And what the hell are all those kids...?”
The admiral shook his head, baffled, eyes searching the men on the two boats then the drifter.
But then, as the guardship came alongside, the general identified Max Neumann, despite the stubble. He had studied the photograph a hundred times. “There he is! They’ve got him!”
The admiral asked, “Little chap just below the wheel-house?”
“That’s the guy.” The American stood straighter and took a breath. “Am I glad to see him! He may not look much right now, but I can tell you — well, it’s vital he works for us and not for the Nazis. Sorry I can’t say more, but you know how it is.”
The admiral nodded courteously. “Of course. I have to keep my mouth shut about certain topics. Though as a matter of fact I talked to a chap I know at Oxford — the university. He knew your m
an and spoke very highly of him. He’s in the same line of business, as it happens: splitting atoms.”
*
Brent saw them on the quay but only gave them a cursory glance; the admiral had got what he wanted. David watched the girl standing in the bow. The stained and bedraggled trenchcoat was wrapped tightly around her slim waist, her hair was loose and lifted as the wind took it. As if she sensed his eyes on her, she turned to him and smiled in the sunlight.
Acknowledgments
When I first had the idea for this book its title suggested itself and only later did I find that the late Captain Peter Dickens had used it for his fine work on the subject: NIGHT ACTION — M.T.B. Flotilla at War (published by Peter Davies). However, Mrs Mary Dickens has kindly said that she has no objection to my using it.
I am also grateful to the Coastal Forces Veterans’ Association, in particular Peter Bickmore, Jim Saunders, Len Bridge and Bernard Coote, to the M.T.B. 102 Trust, the Imperial War Museum and the staff of Walton Library.
But, as always, any mistakes are mine!
If you enjoyed reading Night Action, you might be interested in Seek Our and Destroy, also by Alan Evans.
Extract from Seek Out and Destroy by Alan Evans
1. Seek Out and Destroy
HM Light Cruiser Dauntless eased her battered frame through the night at a cautious ten knots. Her captain, Commander David Cochrane Smith, stood on her torn bridge and thought the November darkness was kind to her, hiding the ravages of her recent action, but she could wear her scars with pride because she had fought her fight and won.
He was thirty years old, a middle-sized, lean man, seeming frail, but that was deceptive. His thin face was drawn with tiredness now, the pale blue eyes narrowed by continual strain. But that night Dauntless was bound for the dockyard at Alexandria, only hours away, and the survivors of her crew were looking forward to leave in Cairo. Smith shared this anticipation, and there was a girl in Cairo who would share his leave...
