Audacity (Commander Cochrane Smith series)

by Alan Evans

  ‘Aye, aye, sir!’ Ross worked the handle of the engine-room telegraph himself and Smith heard its jangling. Audacity’s second engineer and a party of stokers were below in Königsberg. Her screw turned and she moved ahead, then began a slow turn to starboard.

  Smith ordered, ‘Half ahead!’ Audacity trembled again to the beat of her engines. He watched from the starboard wing of the bridge as she headed westward, on a course that would take her to the waters off Helsinki. Königsberg was steaming away in the opposite direction, eastward towards Russia.

  The German boats were under way again, creeping across the surface of the sea like beetles as the oars swung, pulling back towards the Finnish coast. It was out of sight beyond the mist-shrouded horizon but they should make a landfall before the night. And tomorrow their story would be told: that the disguised raider had struck again; that she was a White Russian out of Petrograd but commanded by an English naval officer and was last seen bound for Helsinki and the Gulf of Bothnia.

  Smith held to that course until not only Audacity but her smoke would be out of sight of the men in the boats. Then he turned her in a wide circle to port and headed eastward again. In the late afternoon they sighted a long smudge on the horizon ahead that was the island of Gogland, midway between Finland and Estonia. Off its southern tip they found Königsberg but with most of her deck cargo of timber gone, jettisoned in passage. The two ships came together again and rubbed side by side, stopped out of sight of land.

  Bennett and the airmen aboard Königsberg had not been idle while she had made her passage and then waited at the rendezvous for Audacity. They had started knocking together timber frames, four sets of each, and each set comprised four sides and the top of a box. So when the first set was swung aboard Audacity by the derrick and erected forward of the mast over Number One hold, the hollow box so formed was a replica of the deck cargo as carried by Königsberg. A neat piece of work.

  As the day wore into evening the mist rolled in over the sea again. There was a lot of work still to be done, sunset little more than an hour away and no question of using lights. Smith lifted the megaphone to call over to the carpenter: ‘Leave the airmen to finish the frames! You come back aboard and deal with Number Two hold!’ That was between the foremast and the bridge. ‘Mr. McLeod will detail a party to give you a hand!’

  Bennett waved acknowledgment and returned to Audacity with his bag of tools. Despite the damp cold his face was red and sweating and he carried his jacket over his arm. He bawled at the men McLeod had assembled for him, ‘C’mon you lot!’ Together they dropped the hatch covers of Number Two hold, down into its cavernous depths. It was empty, the bomb-throwers taken out before Audacity sailed from Rosyth. With timber swung over by the derrick from Königsberg Bennett and his gang erected a new deck inside the hold and lower than the deck outside. When a box was set up over the hold and the new deck there was headroom inside it of ten feet. The box stretched almost the width of the ship, some twenty-eight feet, leaving a gangway three to four feet wide on the deck at either side. It was twenty-five feet long.

  Bennett picked up his tools and hurried aft with his mates. The derrick there was swinging frames across from Königsberg and he set about erecting two more boxes over the holds abaft the superstructure. These, like that on Number One hold, were a comparatively simple job; no new inner deck was called for.

  These were hours of fast and furious work for every man except the lookouts and guns’ crews who remained at their posts. Audacity, stopped and lashed to Königsberg, had to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice. The mist kept visibility down to two miles or less—a blessed cloak for this transformation—but it also meant that if an enemy chanced on them it would be at short range and without warning.

  McLeod approached Smith on the bridge. ‘The painters have finished, sir.’ There was now a broad, red band around Audacity’s funnel, the boards with the name Lulea had gone and others were bolted on which read: Anna Schmidt. These were the colours and the name of the German timber ship they had met when first entering the Baltic, on her way to Kiel and, according to her captain, a spell in the dockyard.

  The sun was down when Bennett came wearily to report to Smith: ‘All done, sir. Not exactly what you might call a cabinet maker’s job but they’re all good an’ solid an’ I reckon they look right.’

  ‘So do I. Well done. Mr. Ross!’ That last he bellowed. ‘Sir?’ Ross answered from Königsberg’s deck.

  ‘I’m sending two of those scuttling charges over.’ Smith’s voice was harsh: ‘Sink her!’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir!’

  Now the prize crew returned to Audacity, one of them carrying a sack stuffed with papers from the captured ship. Ross was last of all and as he reached Audacity’s deck the lashings were cast off and her engines started, the screws turned and she began to ease away. Ross came to the bridge, breathless and filthy. ‘All aboard, sir. I set the scuttling charges myself. Hatches are off so a lot of the timber below deck should float out of her as she settles. She’ll take a while to do that, but she’ll go down.’

  Then they heard the charges explode, the thump of one followed seconds later by the other. Smith nodded. With the hatches battened down, the timber in Königsberg’s holds might have given her just enough buoyancy to keep her upperworks above the water. But not now. ‘Very good, Mr. Ross.’

  Night shrouded them. Königsberg was going to her grave, already perceptibly settling lower in the dark sea as Audacity, now Anna Schmidt with her four rectangular boxes of timber ‘deck cargo’, headed south again.

  Smith wondered if Gallagher would be waiting for them. Or was he a prisoner now—or dead?

  8—Kunda Bay

  It was the same low, ragged shoreline, just a blurred, black silhouette in the night. But the darkened vessel, or vessels, that had lain in Kunda Bay twenty-four hours before had gone. The shore seemed quiet and the pulling boat had been sent away with Buckley at the tiller. Audacity lay still and silent.

  Smith stood outside the wheelhouse, his eyes and his mind on the shore—most of the time. In the waiting silence his thoughts slipped back increasingly to Elizabeth Ramsay. He wondered how she would fare in Russia. Was there a lover waiting for her? The leader of the Russian plotters, perhaps? He told himself he was finished with the woman but her image kept coming back nevertheless.

  ‘Light, sir! On the shore. Gone now but it could ha’ been a signal from a torch.’ The voice of the port side lookout came low.

  Smith too had seen the winking light. He grunted acknowledgment. Was that Gallagher? He should have been all right, had said he had a friend ashore if needed: ‘He’s a peasant or farmer. Lord knows how old he is but we used to call him Crusoe because he has a beard down to his chest and a fur hat like a chimney-pot. He used to sell us eggs and milk. We got on all right in Indian language, signs and a few words. He doesn’t like the Germans.’

  Smith shifted restlessly. The Germans would be hunting Audacity by now, maybe along this very coast. He stood still, head cocked, listening, and heard the faint splash of oars. Ross, beside him on the bridge spoke quietly. ‘That sounds like them coming back.’ Smith nodded. Had they found Gallagher and his men? And the Camel? The boat took shape out of the night and curved in towards Audacity’s side. He saw there were more men in her now but could not make out anyone in particular until Gallagher appeared at the head of the ladder and swung his legs over the bulwark to stand on Audacity’s deck.

  He came quickly to the bridge. In the faint light in the wheelhouse Smith saw him scowling and asked, ‘No good?’

  ‘No bloody good at all, sir. You want to get out of here. Fast.’

  So that was that. Smith spoke to Ross, ‘Turn her.’ It seemed the bad luck still dogged them. Or had he hoped for too much, that the Camel would be intact and they could bring it off? Now he would have to recast his plans without it. If he could.

  The boat was hoisted and swung inboard. Audacity’s screws turned, bringing her around. Gallagher took the m
ug of coffee Wilberforce brought him, sucked at it and shuddered. ‘I needed that. Hell’s teeth! What a country!’ Then he noticed Danby standing at the back of the wheelhouse and glared at him. ‘What about seeing to my men?’

  Danby moved towards the ladder but Smith held up a restraining hand. ‘No need. I’ve given orders and they’ll be looked after. Now tell me what you found.’

  Ross was conning Audacity out of the bay, creeping. The call of the man at the lead came up to him: ‘By the mark, four!’

  Gallagher gulped coffee and rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. He glanced down at the boxes of timber ‘deck cargo’ and said, ‘You’ve certainly changed the look of her. Well, when Buckley put us ashore last night we doubled across the beach and into the trees…’

  *

  He’d taken the lead, the other three airmen following in a single file, working around the edge of the wood. The night was dark and under the trees it was as black as pitch. Gallagher had been told by Danby that the Camel lay in a clearing close to the field, two hundred and five paces along from the corner of the wood. Now Gallagher counted each stride, eyes trying to pierce the darkness ahead but able to see to his right the open field from which they had flown the Camels. They had lived in huts across there in the far corner. He had shared one of them with Johnny Vincent.

  One hundred and eighty-one, two, three…mush of wet leaves underfoot so his boots hardly made a sound and he couldn’t hear the men behind him—eighty-eight, nine, ninety, ninety-one—

  Christ!

  He had frozen in his tracks, breath held. There was a muffled thudding ahead of him and now he could detect a flicker of movement on the other side of this tree. Ten yards away? No more. One man, stamping his feet to keep warm: thud-thud-thud. That’s all that had saved him from walking into the bastard. Was that the shape of a helmet? That was the barrel of a slung rifle. One man. Just one sentry but there’d be others about, maybe a platoon or a company, bedded down somewhere.

  Gallagher had eased back cautiously, eyes never leaving the man, one hand on his pistol, the other gesturing: back! back! He retired about twenty yards before halting and collecting the others under the trees, whispering the news of the sentry. ‘I’m going to look around, see if I can find the Camel. You wait here. Keep still and quiet and under cover.’

  He had worked deeper into the wood and edging to his right, making a circle to pass behind the sentry and well clear of him. He thought it was probable that the man was standing in the clearing where the fitters and riggers had stowed the Camel, a score or so yards inside the wood. Afterwards they had used uprooted bushes to close the entrance. That should have worked, provided nobody had actually poked into the wood, but it looked as if…

  He had smelt the tobacco-smoke as he saw the light, a pin-point of brightness between the trees. He moved slowly towards it, planting each foot slowly, carefully, pistol in hand but not cocked. He halted because now he could see two more men—and the Camel. It was just a lumpy, irregular shape in the night, still apparently wrapped in the canvas hangar as it had been hidden, the wings removed and stacked alongside.

  The two men were crouched in the corner formed by the fuselage and undercarriage, where the light would not be seen from the outskirts of the wood. It might have been a proper lantern but Gallagher guessed it was more likely to be a candle under a tin with a hole cut in the side. It shed a circle of light the size of a plate, just enough for the men to see the cards they held. The pipe in one man’s mouth glowed red as he drew on it. Gallagher could not see their rifles but they would be there. He was certain of it.

  He had turned and carefully retraced his steps, found his men and whispered, ‘They’ve set a guard on the Camel. Three men at least.’ He hesitated. They could probably overpower the guards, but the rest of the platoon would come looking for them. Then there would be more troops about when Smith returned the next night and little chance, if any, of escaping from the beach. But if he waited until tomorrow night, then with Smith’s help a surprise attack could rout the guards, even a platoon of them, and whisk the Camel away aboard Audacity as Smith had planned.

  He had said, ‘We’ll go up to the house and see if we can talk to Crusoe.’ They nodded; all knew the old man and the house.

  They made another circle, wider and deeper into the wood to pass well behind the Camel, and came to the edge of the trees close by the house. It squatted long and low, smoke trickling from its chimney. One window was lit and that was the kitchen. Gallagher approached softly, peered in, froze. A German non-corn sat at the table, a book propped open in front of him, chin on his hand, spectacles on the end of his nose.

  Still, Gallagher thought, at least the Germans were clearly rear-echelon troops, all over-age or under-fit. A surprise attack tomorrow would see them away.

  He and his men had then retired deeper into the wood and spent the rest of an uncomfortable night huddled in their blankets. In the morning Gallagher watched as German troops paraded outside the house; twenty-four men with a couple of non-coms and a Leutnant. There was one horse, for the Leutnant, and one mule. It packed the wireless; Gallagher had seen plenty of them. They marched down towards the Camel and Gallagher waited until they were out of sight then moved to the edge of the wood, waited again.

  He had seen Crusoe earlier but then the soldiers were present. Now the old man was somewhere around the back of the house. The old woman was in the kitchen but Gallagher had never had any dealings with her. He knew there were sons but they had been conscripted into the Army and their father hadn’t heard of or from them for a long time. Gallagher suspected they had deserted. He waited patiently for Crusoe.

  When the old man finally trudged around the corner of the house the woman had gone from the kitchen. Gallagher whistled softly and Crusoe’s head turned. He was too old for life to surprise him any more. Calmly he crossed to the trees at Gallagher’s beckoning. He wore a thick felt coat that came to his knees and a high fur cap that covered his ears. His brown face showed yellow teeth and a wide grin.

  Gallagher said cheerfully, ‘Hullo, old cock.’ He shook Crusoe’s hand then pointed after the departed soldiers and grimaced. Crusoe spat. They talked in the shelter of the trees; with hardly a dozen words in common they communicated in signs. It was a slow business, with Gallagher always on the watch for one or more of the soldiers returning. He learned that they had come along the coast only the previous day and found the Camel. Or perhaps Crusoe had led them to it; he looked uneasy at that point in the exchange. Gallagher thought it possible that Crusoe had concluded the British had gone and weren’t coming back. So he’d decided to make a few bob while he could; Gallagher could understand that. Anyway, the troops had found the Camel and that night a tug had turned up—Crusoe indicated one boat pulling another.

  Gallagher worked that out; the Leutnant had sent a signal to his H.Q. They had told the Navy, who had in turn sent a signal to the tug. It had been her light he had glimpsed from Audacity before he was put ashore. He came to another conclusion: that the tug was there to take away the Camel. When? And where to?

  He embarked again on his laborious questioning. Crusoe did not know when the Camel was going; he shrugged at that. But when Gallagher pointed west, he nodded, conveying that the Germans had told him the Camel was bound for Riga. At least, Gallagher thought that was the destination: he wasn’t sure about the old man’s pronunciation. He hesitated before pulling out his map because he thought the old man might not be able to read, doubted if he had ever seen a map. But Crusoe’s stubby, black-nailed finger jabbed confidently at the distinctive bowl of the Gulf of Riga. Gallagher wondered where he had learned about maps. During military service? Had he been to sea? God only knew.

  Riga. It sounded reasonable because the Germans had an Air Force base there. He dug into his pocket for the tin of tobacco he had brought for the purpose and gave it to Crusoe. They shook hands again and the old man patted the pilot’s shoulder. Gallagher lifted a hand in salute and farewell, retired i
nto the trees and sought his men.

  He led them through the woods then watched the German soldiers manhandle the Camel to the shore where Crusoe had said the tug was waiting. Crawling close to the edge of the trees, he settled down in what comfort he could to watch them embark the Camel. The water was shallow and he was impressed with the soldiers’ ingenuity. He was still there when, the Camel long gone, night fell, and he saw Audacity’s boat, and flashed his torch.

  *

  Now Gallagher drained the mug and banged it on the shelf under the screen. ‘They sailed around noon. We had to lie on our bellies under bushes on bloody freezing ground and watch them take my Camel. The soldiers marched off straight after.’

  ‘By the mark, five!’ That was the call of the man heaving the lead. Audacity was emerging from the bay into deeper water. Soon she would be able to crack on speed.

  Smith’s mind was busy making calculations. The Irbensky Strait, the entrance to the Gulf of Riga, lay roughly two hundred-odd miles west of Audacity. The tug had sailed thirteen or fourteen hours ago and she would be making around eight knots. If Audacity steamed at fifteen…

  Gallagher said, ‘Another thing—’

  But McLeod broke in, ‘Wouldn’t it have been easier to send a pilot up from Riga? They could have flown him up as a passenger in a two-seater and he could have taken the Camel back.’

  Gallagher glowered at the interruption, and answered, witheringly, ‘Not bloody likely. For one thing, the wings have to be put back on it—and any pilot would want such a machine overhauled before he took it into the air. And that would be a job for the workshops at Riga. Another reason is that Jerry may also have heard that the Camel’s not the easiest aircraft to fly. Anyway, he’d prefer to try it out close to home, friends—and an ambulance, just in case it produced some unpleasant tricks.’