Audacity (Commander Cochrane Smith series)

by Alan Evans

  Ross glanced at the shore coming closer with every second, then worriedly to Smith who kept his face impassive. Should he drop back then turn to run across the tug’s stern, cut the tow and so capture the fishing-boat, the Camel and the gold? But Audacity might ride over the tow without cutting it. Then it would slide along her bottom, foul her screws and she would be left a motionless hulk. Besides, if Elizabeth Ramsay were aboard the tug…

  If…?

  He must not run Audacity aground. He ordered speed reduced to five knots and saw relief in Ross’s face, warned the Lewis gunners: ‘The range will be opening.’

  Audacity fell astern of the tug then astern of the fishing-boat, while the gunners fired burst, reset the range, fired, reset. Sometimes they were missing now.

  Ross muttered, ‘If he doesn’t stop or turn soon—Christ! He’s struck bottom!’

  The tug faltered, ground on, then was checked completely.

  Smith snapped, ‘Stop both! Slow astern both!’

  Audacity slowed, then briefly stopped as the screws went astern. ‘Stop both!’ The engines were still and Audacity lay only yards off the tug’s port quarter. Another second’s turning of her screws and her bow gently nudged the tug.

  McLeod and his party were now gathered in the bow and he went down on the end of a line to stand in the stern of the tug. He was followed by others, and Audacity was secured to the tug, bow to stern. Germans showed on her deck, seen only as darker shadows in the gloom but their hands were held high: the crew of the tug.

  Smith chafed with impatience. What was McLeod doing? He should have reported by now.

  He turned to peer out over the port beam to where the distant smoke had been sighted but he could see nothing in the dusk. Those ships would be only six miles or so away now. He knew what they were. Several ships sailing in company, headed out of Riga for the Irbensky Strait: they would be the convoy Robertson had told him about. This was around the time they would be sailing if they were to arrive at Kirkko on the nineteenth. He should have remembered that convoy. There would be at least one destroyer as escort—the destroyer had sailed from Kirkko for that purpose. So—had the tug sent off a signal? Audacity’s wireless operator had not reported one but that didn’t mean a signal had not been sent; he may have been combing the wrong frequencies. If a signal had been sent and received that destroyer could be here in half an hour or less, even though she had to work up from the convoy’s speed of eight or nine knots. Where the hell was—

  ‘Captain, sir!’ McLeod stood in the stern of the tug.

  Smith lifted the megaphone. ‘Report, Mr. McLeod!’

  ‘Four prisoners, sir. Found ‘em below. The lady’s one of them.’ Smith thought, Thank God for that. But McLeod was going on: ‘One man dead in the wheelhouse, but we found her master in there as well and he’s not hurt. Twelve of a crew, alive that is, but none of them are saying a word except the master. He knows some English, a bit more than he lets on, I think.’ That was a warning to Smith to guard his words. ‘I asked if he’d sent off a wireless signal and he told me to go to hell.’

  The master could be bluffing. He had been in the wheelhouse and probably didn’t know whether a signal had been sent or not.

  ‘The lady says the fishing-boat’s all right, sir. I’ve talked to her privately. She says the tug put a couple of shells into the Anna when she captured her, killed three men and wrecked the engine, but otherwise—everything is all right.’

  That last was said with emphasis. Clearly the gold was still hidden aboard the fishing-boat, under a ton of fish and under the Camel. It would take a lot longer than the thirty minutes at most that they had to get it out of there. No question either of the boat getting under way, without an engine, and not even any way of setting her sails with the Camel on her deck.

  ‘Sir?’ Gallagher was becoming impatient now.

  ‘Wait!’ Smith barked it, angry from frustration. There lay the gold, the Camel and the girl, all in his grasp. Tow the fishing-boat? But if Audacity had to run for her life or fight for it then a boat in tow could mean capture or death.

  Either that escort destroyer was working up to full speed and would be on them in less than thirty minutes, or she had not heard any wireless signal, did not know of Audacity’s presence here, and was dawdling along at the speed of the convoy.

  He dared not assume the latter. If he did and he was wrong then Audacity would be caught, stopped and helpless, a sitting target for the destroyer’s guns.

  He could take Elizabeth Ramsay and the Russians aboard then run for it, but he needed the Camel—and the gold. Still, the destroyer had its burden too: the convoy. And Smith’s orders, if Audacity’s disguise were stripped away, as it had been, were to do what damage he could so as to draw at least some extra German ships out of the North Sea and into the Baltic. Besides…

  Smith put himself in the enemy’s place, men who did not know that Audacity had entered the Baltic through the Sound but did know there were White Russians who wanted to continue the war against Germany. Königsberg, furthermore, had been captured by a raider claiming to be White Russian and whose captain said Königsberg would be taken to Russia. Now the obvious course for a lone British raider without a base and seeking to escape from the Baltic would be to avoid naval forces, try to remain unobtrusive. But a ship that sought action, risking damage—he swallowed at that—argued a ship with a base not too far away. In Russia. A Russian ship, therefore. What else?

  Audacity could run, twisting and hiding, leaving behind the gold and the Camel, trying to evade the pack in howling pursuit. Or she could…?

  Audacity. God alone knew why Admiralty had chosen that name for her but Smith knew that now she must act the part.

  ‘Mr. McLeod!’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I’m sending Mr. Gallagher and his men over to relieve you.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  Smith leaned over the rail to address Gallagher on the deck below, his plan forming as he spoke: ‘Put the prisoners below under a guard. He’s to shoot to kill if they try to give any trouble.’ It would do no harm for the German master to hear that. ‘The Russians and the lady stay with you.’ He had strained his eyes but still had not seen her, hidden by the dark and the crowding figures aboard the tug. She would probably be safer there. ‘Get all the cargo out from under the plane and on to the tug. See if you can raise steam on her and haul her off that bank. Use a kedge if you have to. One man to ready that gun for action in case you need it; you’re not far from the shore.’ The firing might have been seen on land and there might, though it was unlikely, be German troops nearby. ‘Don’t use a light, but one hour from now show a green one. We should be back for you about then. If we don’t come back sink all the cargo in deep water and then it’s up to you.’ That was an unpleasant prospect for Gallagher. Smith asked, ‘Understood?’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  Smith was risking Gallagher now, but McLeod was needed aboard and Gallagher and the Camel were a team. Together, but only together, they might save Audacity before this voyage was ended. He had no other choice.

  The transfer of men was carried out and as McLeod panted up to the bridge Smith ordered, ‘Cast off forrard. Slow astern both.’

  In the bow they hauled in the lines and Audacity backed away from the tug, turned at Smith’s orders and headed out to sea. ‘Mr. Ross.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Tell Bennett I want that timber disguise flattened and lashed down. There’s a convoy out there and we’ll be in action shortly.’

  ‘The convoy, sir?’ Ross asked disbelievingly, eyes turning back to the tug now only a blur in the night. Then as he caught Smith’s cold glance, ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  *

  Smith was prey to doubts and fears now but nevertheless he was determined to hold to his decision. Audacity had been steaming for ten minutes and had almost worked up to her full speed of sixteen knots. Bennett and a gang of men, sweating and swearing, had knocked the four timber ‘boxes’ apa
rt, so that the four sides of each lay flat under its top. They were lashed down and would not show above Audacity’s bulwarks. Buckley stood at the back of the bridge. He was the reserve quartermaster, there to take the wheel if anything happened to the coxswain. Ross was aft, to direct the fire of the twelve-pounder on the poop and to lead a damage-control party if need be. Danby was with him. If the bridge was hit and Smith killed then Ross would take command. Smith thought what a mess Ross would inherit. He reflected that Danby could learn from Ross this night. Or he, too, could be killed. But there were all kinds of fearful possibilities because Smith had been forced to choose a desperate course of action. But they were as ready as they could be.

  When McLeod turned from the chart where he had been bringing his plot up to date, Smith stepped quickly out of the wheelhouse on to the bridge. Not to take the air; at nearly sixteen knots a freezing gale whipped into the wheelhouse because this time the windows had been lowered to save them from the blast when the guns opened fire. But Smith did not want to talk to McLeod or to anyone. He stood with the lookout, a seaman who would not speak until addressed, except to report. He had promised to take these men home: but now he could be the death of all of them.

  The convoy was close and off the starboard bow. The night was dark under a cloud-scattered sky but he could see the green and red navigation lights of the ships. The convoy showed lights because there were no British submarines now in the Baltic. A raider, a small armed tramp, had been reported but she had last been seen off the coast of Finland and then apparently had headed for the Gulf of Bothnia. Besides, the convoy was still inside the Gulf of Riga, a German lake, and the captain of a small armed tramp would be a suicidal lunatic to attack a convoy escorted by at least one destroyer.

  The destroyer’s captain, seeing Audacity’s lights, would still be curious—but no more than that because this strange ship must certainly have passed the scrutiny of the guard-boat in the Irbensky Strait. Smith could make out the ships as well as their lights now; four merchantmen steaming two by two, and the lower, slim shape in the lead. She would be the destroyer, presumably the one seen at Kirkko, better armed than Audacity and ten knots faster. If the tug had sent off a warning signal then the destroyer had not received it, or she would not have been steaming placidly at the head of the convoy at this moment.

  So could Audacity steal quietly away into the night and return to claim the Camel and the gold? No. Because the destroyer would pass within a mile or two of the beached tug. It was hidden in darkness but there might be a curious patrol on the shore to burn a flare and so bring down the destroyer. Or if the convoy steamed on then they would find no guard-boat in the Irbensky Strait and raise the alarm. It would be better if the destroyer’s captain were presented with other problems to absorb his attention. And Smith had made up his mind.

  McLeod came out of the wheelhouse to stand at his side and Smith glanced at him, bulky in duffel coat, cradling the signal-lamp in his gloved hands. ‘Know what you have to send?’

  McLeod nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Remember to keep it slow.’ McLeod was acting the part of a merchantman’s mate. The rapid Morse that was his pride would be out of character.

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  Smith had composed the signal and McLeod translated it into German: ANNA SCHMIDT FROM DANZIG BOUND FOR RIGA. The destroyer would challenge soon. Audacity carried a green navigation light on the starboard wing of the bridge by the lookout, a red to port. The destroyer must be able to see them…

  And there came the challenge, a brief, rapid flicker of Morse. Smith cautioned, ‘Wait.’ It would not do to respond too quickly because that also would be out of character. The mate of a tramp would have to find his lamp, arrange the reply in his head… ‘Now!’ He turned to call, ‘Starboard ten! Steer seven-oh!’

  ‘Starboard ten, sir, steer seven-oh!’

  The aim was to bring Audacity a little closer to the convoy as she passed. Smith turned back as McLeod worked the key of the lamp, slowly, hesitantly. It was not only playacting but also gave Smith time while Audacity and the ships off the starboard bow closed the gap between them at their combined speeds of about twenty-three knots, Audacity’s fifteen and the convoy’s eight. The destroyer at the head was only pottering along at convoy speed. She was coal-burning and would take time to work up to even fifteen knots. And by the time she did it should all be over. McLeod lowered his lamp when Audacity was almost abeam of the destroyer. While the signal was limping out Smith had heard and acknowledged the coxswain’s report: ‘Course seven-oh, sir!’ Audacity was now heading to pass the convoy with less than half a mile between them.

  ‘That escort looks like the boat we saw at Kirkko, sir,’ McLeod said.

  Smith nodded. ‘Man the voice-pipe to the guns.’ McLeod went into the wheelhouse. Smith thought that the destroyer’s captain must be suspicious now, must see that this strange ship heading to pass close by his convoy was steaming at far more than the eight to ten knots he would expect of a merchantman.

  Light sparked again in rapid Morse from her bridge. That would be an order for Audacity to stop and be investigated. The destroyer was turning, but the leading ship in the column nearer Audacity, three or four hundred yards astern of the destroyer and broad on Audacity’s bow, would be abeam of her in half a minute. ‘Hoist the ensigns! Douse the lights!’ Smith shouted. He saw the lookout reach for the green light and switch it off; the red glow to port blinked out. At foremast and main the blue and white colours of the Imperial Russian Navy, and the White Ensign, broke out at the yards and streamed on the wind. And while all this went on he shouted again, ‘All guns commence! Ship starboard beam!’

  That was the only order needed. The twelve-pounders forward and aft swung up to stand on fo’c’sle and poop, their crews leaping in on them to train them around. The screens around the four-inch abaft the wheelhouse crashed down and the slender barrels of the three guns swung almost as one, seeking, then settling. The breech blocks clashed shut behind the rounds thrust in by the loaders. There was a breath-held second as each layer brought his sights on—then all guns fired.

  The leading cargo ship was almost abeam, bulking out of the night, and Smith saw the shells burst low on the waterline, two under the lift of the superstructure, one just forward of it. He swung away, looking for the destroyer and saw her off the starboard quarter, more than half a mile astern and dropping back still in the turn. He jerked his head around to stare forward, saw that on this course Audacity would pass even closer to the next ship in the column than she was to this one…

  The twelve-pounders fired again, the thump of the four-inch coming a split second after. Three hits again, and this time all under the superstructure. The engine and boiler room lay there. Some of those shells would be exploding among the coal in her bunkers but others would find their way into the heart of the ship. She was falling astern as Audacity pounded past her. The four-inch and the twelve-pounder aft would still bear but the gun on the fo’c’sle would get off only one more shot at her, so: ‘‘A’ gun shift target! Ship starboard bow!’

  He heard that passed by McLeod through the voice-pipe: the forward twelve-pounder fired with the others and then its barrel swung to point at the next ship in the column. Smith peered astern through his glasses, seeking the destroyer, but his night vision had been destroyed by the flashes of the guns. Then he found her, saw her lights, green and red, and made out the narrow bow-on shape of her. So she was after them and trying frantically to work up steam. Light blazed into his eyes and he winced them shut against it, lowered the glasses then looked again. The destroyer was using a searchlight. Its beam lit Audacity so that he could see her two ensigns laid out flat on the wind. The crew of the destroyer would see them, too. There were the men working the four-inch, and the twelve-pounder right aft on the poop, Ross’s tall figure standing straight behind the gun as if in the drill-shed, Danby a pace or two away. The gun swung around to point over the stern, fired down the beam of the searchlight�
��and it snapped out. Smith did not see the shell strike but it must have passed close to the light. There was no answering gun from the destroyer. Her captain might well hesitate to open fire on Audacity because a small error in training his gun could hurl a shell past her and into the merchantman ahead. Smith swung to look for that ship, for a moment could not see her in the sudden darkness after the searchlight’s glare. Then she took form, huge and close, turning away as the forward twelve-pounder hit her low and amidships. She was trying, hopelessly, to run away from the guns—

  No, more than that. She was also turning to steer clear of the ship ahead of her, that Audacity had just left astern, that was blowing off steam in a whistling roar. Audacity’s shells had told and her head was falling away and she was slowing. There would be a scene from hell down in her boiler room. He remembered there were men in those ships and swallowed.

  Audacity was now abeam of the second ship and all guns were firing into her. The regular salvos had become ragged as the action went on, each gun firing individually just as fast as it could be loaded and laid, an irregular but rapid hammering. The shooting was good, had been very good throughout. Smith nodded with cold professional approbation. It was not easy to hit a particular section of a ship when it was roaring past you at twenty-odd knots.

  ‘Starboard twenty!’

  ‘Starboard twenty!…Twenty of starboard on, sir!’

  To swing Audacity around the tail of this little convoy, cutting across the wake of the ship they were pounding. She towered close, barely a cable’s length away, and sliding past so now some of the shells were hitting her aft, so close there was only a heart-beat between the flame of discharge and the orange burst of the shell. Audacity was heeling in the turn, running past the high poop, and there was a gun up there, men working at it, trying to bring it into action. He saw them thrown from their feet as a shell burst under them in the stern.