Audacity (Commander Cochrane Smith series)

by Alan Evans

  Audacity

  Alan Evans

  Copyright © Alan Evans 1985

  The right of Alan Evans to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  First published in Hodder and Stoughton Limited.

  This edition published in 2014 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  1—A Plot

  2—‘That bloody raider!’

  3—Night Passage

  4—A German Sea

  5—The Russians

  6—Fight or Run?

  7—‘Sink her!’

  8—Kunda Bay

  9—Riga

  10—Night Action

  11—The Trap

  12—‘We must take this ship!’

  13—The Camel

  14—Audacity

  Extract from Seek Out and Destroy 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.

  The coal fire settled in the grate, crunched and flamed. In the quiet that followed he heard the footsteps in the passage outside and then there came a soft knuckling at the door. He slid naked from the bed. The wavering light from the fire cast his shadow on the wall as he crossed the room to stand with his head against the door panel. He was lean, not tall, his fair hair tangled from restless sleep. The firelight made black shadows in the hollows of the thin face. It was not handsome, the pale blue eyes wrinkled at the corners, but still the face of a young man. He asked softly, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Buckley, sir.’ That was the thick, deep, Geordie growl of the big leading-seaman. ‘We’ve got orders for sailing. Immediate.’

  ‘Wait.’ Smith dressed quickly in his working clothes, the garb of a merchant skipper as befitted the captain of a Q-ship: old reefer jacket and blue serge trousers. He kept one naval uniform aboard Audacity. The others, and his civilian clothing, he left in the wardrobe. The hotel would keep them until—if—he returned to claim them. The woman had promised to see to that.

  She slept on as he dressed and he glanced at her but did not wake her. There was nothing now to say but goodbye and he had warned her of that at the start. It had been good while it lasted but now it was finished and she would go back to London where she had found him before he was given Audacity. She had followed him here, this was her hotel room. He had a fondness for her but she owned too much already and he would not be added to her list.

  He took out his notebook and pencil, tore out a sheet and wrote quickly: ‘Sailing orders…’ He added a few stilted words of endearment and left the paper on the mantelpiece. Then he picked up his cap and the shabby tweed overcoat, his holdall with his razor and toothbrush jammed in one pocket, left the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

  Buckley stood massive in sou’-wester, sea-boots and oilskins that dripped into a pool on the carpet. ‘I’ve got a cab waiting, sir.’ He had his back to the solitary gas-jet hissing at the end of the passage so that his face was in shadow, but it was not a face that would show disapproval anyway. They had sailed together many times. Buckley had criticised as ‘bloody daft’ some of Smith’s reckless exploits but never by look or word did he pass moral judgments.

  Smith asked, ‘When did you get word?’

  ‘First lieutenant sent a message a half-hour back, sir.’

  Smith was supposed to stay in the same hotel as Ross—the first lieutenant—but instead had left his address with him. Ross would have sent messages to all the crew to return to Audacity. Some had their homes within a mile or two and the others were aboard a depot ship.

  Buckley opened the door of the cab for Smith. The cabbie on his box and the horse between the shafts both slumped miserably under the rain. Smith climbed quickly into the cab.

  As it rattled and swayed through the night he wondered where his orders would take him. The Atlantic? North Sea? Possibly even back to the Mediterranean?

  He paid off the cab at the dockyard gate, showed his pass to the sentry and walked down to the ship with Buckley a pace behind his left shoulder. Audacity lay at the end of a jetty, no other ship near her and without a light save one small lamp at the head of the gangway. Smith looked for any change in her but saw none.

  She was built as a replica of a three-island tramp but she was faster than that type of ship, with a full speed of fifteen or sixteen knots. The three ‘islands’ each carried a hidden gun, a twelve-pounder forward on the fo’c’sle and another aft on the poop, with a four-inch on the superstructure amidships in a housing abaft the funnel. There were four torpedo tubes under the superstructure and four bomb-throwers in the holds forward and aft. She was designed to look like a ship half-laden and low in the sea but in fact most of her hull stood out of the water and she had a remarkably shallow draught—only four or five feet. The theory was that a U-boat’s torpedoes would pass under the ship, the s
ubmarine’s commander would assume they had not run true and so would surface to sink her by gunfire. Smith doubted that any commander would surface and believed that, even if he did, it would not be conveniently close but a mile or more away. The U-boat would then be a very small target in a gun action with all the odds in her favour. The thin-skinned, high-sided Audacity would be torn to pieces.

  Smith had said all this, forcefully, a month before when he was given command. He was told that his comments were noted and that Their Lordships of the Admiralty knew what they were doing. He came to know his crew—all volunteers—during that month of working up Audacity.

  He did not know how they would behave in action but he was sure they would do their best for him.

  Were those two of his crew now, figures in the darkness fifty yards or so ahead of Buckley and himself? They could only be going to the ship and one seemed to have a kitbag on his shoulder.

  His thoughts returned to his orders. It might not be U-boats. There had been a hint that the ‘modifications’ were to fit Audacity for a special mission. That could mean against the German raider operating out of Kiel, a merchantman with hidden weapons like Audacity. But hers were four big six-inch guns and she hunted not submarines but British merchant shipping. She had sunk three in one cruise and was expected to sail again. Was Audacity supposed to act as both bait and trap? If so, it would be as bad as decoying U-boats. Those big guns would hammer Audacity into scrap.

  But not if he could help it. Wherever his orders took him he would bring ship and crew safe home again if it was humanly possible. He made that resolution as he splashed through the pools of rainwater on the jetty.

  The ship loomed above him. The pair ahead of them had climbed the gangway and now moved beneath the light at the head of it. One paused to look back and Smith caught a glimpse of a white face, chin tilted so that the dark eyes looked down on him, almost arrogantly. Then the figure passed on out of the light and was lost in the darkness.

  Smith stopped dead in his tracks, disbelieving, then strode up the gangway. Lieutenant Ross, tall, lantern-jawed, twenty-six years old and newly married, waited close by the light and just aft of the superstructure. He was regular Navy, but like Smith himself he had to conform to Audacity’s disguise: his oilskins were not regulation and his old blue cap was that of a mate in the merchant service.

  Ross had an awed respect for Smith’s reputation at sea but disapproved of his behaviour ashore. Smith knew it and was wryly amused.

  But not at all amused now, as he demanded, ‘That was a woman just come aboard?’

  ‘Yes, sir. The admiral told me to send a man to fetch her and her baggage. He’s showing her to the wardroom now. Lieutenant McLeod’s there already.’

  ‘McLeod?’

  ‘An extra officer. He came with the admiral and he’s got charts with him so I suppose he’s a navigator but he looks like a gorilla.’ Ross added quickly, ‘The admiral’s waiting in your cabin, sir. He said he wanted to see you as soon as you came aboard.’

  That meant now but Smith hesitated. He asked, ‘What has the yard done to the ship?’

  ‘I only know what I’ve found since I came aboard a half-hour ago. They’ve ripped out all the bomb-throwers and torpedo tubes, knocked up a couple of new cabins in what used to be one of the bomb-throwers’ messes.’

  ‘Any new equipment?’

  ‘None that I know of. I was told not to call the crews of the bomb-throwers so they’re still ashore. They don’t even know we’re sailing.’

  ‘The admiral told you?’

  The lieutenant nodded. ‘Came to our hotel himself.’ Ross had been staying there with his young wife. ‘He wanted to know why you weren’t there so I told him you’d left your address with me and I’d send a man for you. He said he wanted you aboard at once.’

  Smith started for the ladder leading up to the super-structure and his cabin but paused with one foot on the first tread. ‘What about this woman? Who is she? Why is she aboard?’

  Ross shook his head. ‘I don’t know much, sir. She was staying in our hotel. There were a dozen or so people there who’d been working in our embassy at Petrograd. You’ll remember they sent nearly all the staff home through Finland and Sweden, then by ship from Norway, just before the Russians closed their frontier with Finland. She was one of them.’ He paused as if picking his words.

  Smith prompted him impatiently, ‘Well?’

  ‘The others cold-shouldered her,’ Ross said unhappily, unable to find a more tactful way. ‘They called her the “Russian Whore”.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It seems she was—well, friendly—with a number of Russian officers and the rest of the people at the embassy thought she’d let the side down.’

  And now she was in Audacity’s wardroom. Smith hid his anger; she was there on the admiral’s orders. He turned away, climbed the ladders on the starboard side to the bridge and pushed open the door of the wheelhouse that stood at the centre of it. Before him was the wheel and the compass binnacle. Rain streamed down the windows to his right and through them he had the helmsman’s view of Audacity’s foredeck, the hatches and the mast, the fo’c’sle. There was no helmsman now, the wheelhouse was empty and the chart table in the far left-hand corner was bare. The door to Smith’s cabin was on his left and he tapped on it, took off his cap and entered.

  Opening the door had broken the contact and switched off the light but as the door closed behind him the light came on again. The cabin was ten feet square, with a round table at its centre. On the starboard side, to his left now and close by the door were a washstand and beyond it a leather-covered couch. On the port side were his bunk and a wardrobe. Just to his right, an arm’s length away, was a small desk. A man was sitting in the chair beside it and turned so he faced the door and Smith. He was a big man in a dark grey civilian suit. His face was square, bushy-browed and big-nosed, the thinning hair on his skull trimmed short and neatly brushed. Rear-Admiral Blackledge had personally given Smith command of Audacity. Now he nodded and spoke curtly, ‘Sit down.’

  Smith perched on the edge of the couch, hung his cap on the end of the washstand where it dripped, and waited…

  Blackledge watched him, thinking: This man Smith shows nothing. Whatever he feels is locked up inside him. Odd chap, with those eyes that look right through you. With his record he should go a long way in the service, except he speaks his mind too much and to the wrong people—and now he’s getting himself talked about again. Another woman… Ross had to send for him. But he’s here in very good time, waiting, ready. And he won’t ask why.

  Smith wondered if they might have installed secret equipment in his ship—some form of listening device for detecting U-boats? And where was he bound this time? But he would be told everything soon enough.

  Blackledge took a bulky envelope from his pocket and tossed it on to the table. It slid across the polished wood and stopped within Smith’s reach. ‘Your orders. Open them when you’re at sea. I’ll tell you as much as you need to know now and answer any questions I can. What do you know of the situation in Russia?’

  Russia! The Murmansk run? Around the top of Norway, that was the only way in and out of Russia now her frontier with Finland was closed. Smith said, ‘I know there’s been revolution, the Bolsheviks are in power and now Russia is neutral.’ He knew a great deal more than that but left it there, suspecting he was going to be told what he didn’t know.

  Blackledge nodded. ‘After the Bolsheviks seized power they asked Germany for an armistice and wanted to discuss terms. Germany granted the armistice last December but pressed for peace on her terms. While the Bolsheviks argued among themselves the Germans continued to advance, until the end of February this year when the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk was finally signed. By that time they’d overrun the southern shore of the Baltic up to and including Estonia. They’re within a hundred miles of Petrograd and they control the Baltic.

  ‘The Russian Fleet lies at Kronstadt, off Petrograd: seven battlesh
ips, nine cruisers, seventy destroyers, twenty-six submarines. They are within reach of the Germans. If these were added to their High Seas Fleet it would have near parity with our Grand Fleet in capital ships, and overwhelming numerical superiority in destroyers. The Bolsheviks have promised this will not happen but our government is not certain that they will, or indeed will be able to, keep their word.’ Blackledge went on quietly, ‘That Fleet in German hands could mean us losing the war. At best it would be enormously prolonged. With Russia out of it, many German divisions have been transferred to face us on the Western Front, all the Zeppelins have been withdrawn from the Baltic and few aircraft are left there. They are massing for an attack in the west. We know it; they aren’t bothering to hide the fact. And we must stop them. All could hang on the next few weeks.’

  Smith sat still, thinking of more years of slaughter, more millions killed or mutilated. What could he do? What of his determination to save Audacity and the men aboard her? What did the admiral intend for her?

  Blackledge went on, ‘Our embassy in Petrograd has been in touch with a group of Russian naval officers, anti-Bolshevik and loyal to the Tsar. They are prepared to sink some ships of the Fleet at Kronstadt, blocking the rest in harbour. In return they want three hundred thousand pounds in gold, one-third to be paid in advance to meet “expenses”—probably bribes. You will deliver this gold to them, one hundred thousand pounds’ worth, with all despatch.’

  Smith stared at him, trying to take in the details of this plot and his part in it. The dangers and obstacles crowded into his mind. The Murmansk run was bad enough, but he could not go by way of Murmansk to Petrograd because the two cities were separated by six hundred frozen miles of Russia. He would have to approach by—

  Blackledge anticipated him: ‘You will enter the Baltic through the Sound and proceed to Kirkko, a small port on the south coast of Finland. There you will be contacted by an agent, a Mr. Robertson who has been in business there for a number of years. He is in touch with the Russian officers and will arrange a rendezvous with them. The details of the plot were brought out of Russia by a lady: Mrs. Elizabeth Ramsay. She is aboard now and will accompany the bullion. That is a condition set by the Russians and she knows them and their leader.’