Audacity (Commander Cochrane Smith series)

by Alan Evans

  He glanced quickly around the bridge, checking that all was as it should be. McLeod was there, the coxswain at the wheel, Buckley standing at the back—and Elizabeth Ramsay waited by the door.

  She asked, ‘What can I do?’

  Where could he send her? Her cabin offered no protection from the shells but that could be said of any part of the ship. And what could she do? He asked, ‘Have you done any nursing?’

  ‘Only when my father was ill.’

  That was not relevant but never mind. He asked, ‘Will you go to the sickbay? Pearson, the S.B.A., may need help.’ That was an understatement with Audacity about to fight for her life.

  Elizabeth Ramsay bit her lip then said, ‘I have no experience of wounds.’

  ‘The S.B.A. has.’ Smith would show her no mercy. ‘And there may be badly wounded or dying men who will need your help, somebody to talk to them, or to hear them.’

  The girl nodded. ‘I’ll do what I can.’ She turned and left the bridge.

  Smith faced forward. No place in this ship was safe but the sickbay was probably a little less dangerous than many others. This bridge, for one. Ross had seen Smith’s orders carried out and gone aft to direct the fire of the twelve-pounder on the poop and to lead the damage-control party when needed, and it would be. He would also command the ship if the bridge took a direct hit.

  Smith’s mind shied away from that possibility and his duty claimed all his attention. He stepped out of the wheelhouse and stood on the bridge. The ship was quiet now. There were men moving around in leisurely fashion on fo’c’sle and poop, as if at work but in fact standing by to man the twelve-pounders. Danby was one of those on the fo’c’sle, face turned towards the bridge. He was ready to relay orders from the voice-pipe to the gun and direct fire if necessary, if the orders did not come because the pipe was severed or the bridge obliterated. The ‘panic party’, over a score of them, the off-watch black gang augmented by some of the airmen, waited squatting on the deck, hidden below the bulwarks. The raider steamed off the starboard bow and only some two miles distant now. It would not be long before she ordered Audacity to stop. He wondered what these men of his thought of him now. He had sworn to take this ship home and they had come very close to returning safe and sound. Would they die cursing him? He had seen the bloody debris of battles and could picture this ship after such a fight. He had seen too much of war. He believed the cause was just but the results sickened him.

  He turned to stare at Buckley, standing at ease but watchful at the back of the wheelhouse. Buckley’s face was grim as their eyes met and Smith thought, He knows what it’s like; he’s seen it.

  Two of the chief’s stokers appeared on the deck forward of the bridge, rolling an oildrum on its rim. Smith could see the oily waste and rags stuffed inside it, the holes punched around the bottom to make it a crude brazier, could sniff the reek of paraffin. He ordered, ‘Put it by the mast and set it alight. Then stand by with a hose to put it out when I tell you.’

  One of them lifted a hand to show he’d heard and Smith told McLeod, ‘Stand by with the lamp.’ He looked over the rail at the ‘panic party’, their faces turned up to him. ‘Remember you’re trying to get away from a sinking ship—and panic! But make sure the boats are lowered all right.’ Q-ships had sometimes sent such a party away in the boats after being attacked, in order to make it look as if the ship was abandoned and so persuade the U-boat it was safe to surface. Smith would not wait for a shell or torpedo to hit Audacity. The oildrum would serve instead.

  It was burning and the smoke swirled aft on the wind, around the bridge and the men gathered below it. One of them swore and some coughed. Smith shouted above it, ‘Who’s in command?’

  ‘I am, sir.’ A stoker petty officer stood at the front of the group.

  Smith told him, ‘Don’t start the motor-boat’s engine to begin with. Use the oars. Get away on the port side and steer on south towards Denmark if we don’t pick you up. Once the action starts you can use the motor-boat’s engine. All clear?’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  Smoke was trailing astern now, thick and oily, rolling across the sea. Smith ordered, ‘Stop her!’ The bridge telegraphs jangled and the steady beating beneath Smith’s feet slowed and stopped. Audacity lay still. Smith looked out at the raider, now less than a mile away and said, ‘Send, in Swedish, mind: On fire. Need assistance.’

  McLeod worked the shutter of the lamp, blinking out the signal. Smith waved at the stoker P.O., ‘Off you go!’ Then to Buckley: ‘I want Lewis guns up here on the bridge, the poop and fo’c’sle head.’

  ‘—sir!’ Buckley hurried aft but had to wait until the last of the ‘panic party’ had stumbled up the ladder before he could descend. Smith watched the men mill around the boats carried abaft the wheelhouse, waving their arms. The few airmen among them were novices at this, ignorant of boat work, fumbling and awkward anyway without need to put on an act. The stokers shoved them out of the way, simulated a botch-up of lowering one boat, letting it go with a run and bow first. But they checked it short of the surface of the sea, levelled it, got it into the water.

  McLeod reported, ‘She’s acknowledged, sir, and turned towards.’

  The raider’s bow pointed at Audacity now. She was a half-mile away and closing at ten or twelve knots, would be alongside Audacity in minutes. The boat was pulling away from Audacity’s starboard side, leaving the falls dangling from the davits so that the ship had an unkempt, abandoned look. The smoke still billowed from the drum standing by the mast. The two stokers, standing ready with the hose to put out the fire, had cannily stationed themselves upwind out of the choking stench of it. Smith crossed the front of the bridge and saw the motor-boat crabbing away with oars out, the P.O. in the stern looking back for the boat from the starboard side—that rounded the bow now. Both boats headed slowly south, away from the ship.

  Smith turned forward and shouted down to the two holding the hose, ‘Play it on the deck!’ The raider would see them soon and they should look as if they were fighting the fire.

  He watched the raider come on. She was half as big again as Audacity, maybe faster, certainly more heavily armed. It was a fine clear day, a beautiful day. There was neither darkness nor fog to hide Audacity. She had to fight this unequal contest in the open. Smith knew he had only one card to play, and that was surprise.

  His ruse was working. The raider was slowing, stopping less than a cable’s length away, little more than a hundred yards, still not showing a gun.

  One man with a Lewis now crouched out of sight on Audacity’s bridge-wing, still panting from his run up the ladders. Another lay in hiding on the fo’c’sle head, a third on the poop. The lookouts had gone down from the bridge and now there were only the coxswain, McLeod and Buckley in the wheelhouse, Smith standing outside its door. He looked across at the raider, saw nearly a dozen men on her bridge and the wink of light on the glasses being used by one or two of them. They would see nothing to alarm them, only a tramp stopped and on fire with most of her crew pulling away in the boats. They had seen sights like that often these last two weeks, had been the cause of them. The forward half of Audacity was now covered in smoke, the fo’c’sle standing out of it like an island, the men there flat on the deck and so hidden from the sight of those watching from the raider.

  Smith thought that now was the time. The raider would not remain stopped indefinitely, nor come closer because she would be wary of the fire spreading to her.

  He said quietly, but clearly, ‘Half ahead. Starboard twenty.’ To get way on Audacity so as to be able to manoeuvre.

  McLeod answered from the wheelhouse: ‘Half ahead. Starboard twenty, sir.’

  ‘Guns to concentrate forward of her bridge. All guns commence.’ Said in that conversational tone still. He heard McLeod repeat that and then bawled at the smoke below, ‘Put that fire out!’

  There was a yelled acknowledgment and the smoke swirled, was cut off from its source as the stokers played the hose on the fla
ming drum.

  The machine-gunner was on his feet and mounting the Lewis on the post on the bridge-wing. Smith shouted at him, ‘Sweep her bridge!’

  ‘—sir!’

  The housing around the four-inch fell apart as if knocked down by a hammer, the barrel of the gun swung out to point at the raider and the breech clashed shut behind the round. The twelve-pounders forward and aft were upright on their mountings and likewise trained out to starboard. There was a second’s pause as the gunlayers gave the last quarter-turn to their wheels to bring the sights on. In the near silence he heard the machine-gunner cock the Lewis, saw commotion on the raider’s bridge and the bobbing heads of men showing above the high false bulwarks as they ran along her deck. Then the storm broke.

  The guns fired a split second apart so the three reports blended in one long, rolling explosion that drowned the chattering of the Lewis. The three shells burst almost as one in the well forward of the raider’s bridge in a long yellow flash that filled the well. As the breeches clanged open he felt the slow beat of the engines through the gratings beneath his feet: Audacity was moving. He watched from the wing of the bridge as the guns fired again, a second apart this time, each shell bursting in flame in the other ship’s well. There was smoke and the dirty orange glare of a fire there; that would be the ready-use charges stored close by the six-inch guns, a few kept there so the guns could be brought into action quickly in an emergency without waiting for ammunition to come up from the magazines. No one stood on her bridge now. The Lewis gunner still fired but in short bursts, changing his target each time, looking for it.

  There was white water at Audacity’s blunt bow now and a spreading wake astern of her. The White Ensign flew from the jack on the poop, and those on each mast flapped out on the breeze as she got under way. The guns were having to train around as she slipped steadily astern of the raider, and she was turning to swing slowly around that stern. Great holes were smashed in the high bulwarks still in position forward of the German’s bridge and through them her big guns could just be seen in the smoke and flames there, still trained forward and aft.

  Audacity fired again, two shells bursting again in the well forward of the bridge, the third below the bridge itself. The bulwarks aft of it collapsed now, belatedly yanked down by men unseen behind them. The raider carried a single gun there, mounted on the centre-line and abaft the mast. It looked to be a four-inch and its barrel was training around towards Audacity.

  Smith bawled into the wheelhouse at McLeod, ‘Shift target! Gun abaft her bridge!’ He had to bawl to be heard above the din of the hammering Lewis guns. Also they were all deafened by the firing and the cotton wool plugged in their ears against that firing.

  ‘—sir!’ McLeod’s acknowledgment came faintly.

  ‘Ease to ten!’

  ‘Ease to ten, sir!’

  To make the turn less tight. The range was opening as Audacity steadily edged around to pass astern of the raider. There was white water churning at the raider’s stern. She was getting under way and someone was in command of her. Maybe her captain had survived the machine-gunning of his bridge or another officer had come from aft to take over. The Norwegian colours had gone now and she flew the German ensign with its spread eagle.

  The flash of the gun aboard the raider came as Audacity’s guns fired, so Smith felt their jar in successive shivers through the frame of the ship, then another shudder and a yellow flash right under the fo’c’sle as Audacity was hit. The crew of the twelve-pounder sprawled about the fo’c’sle, thrown down by the blast. He saw shells burst aboard the German but the four-inch there still stood and winked flame again. He thought the range had opened to a quarter-mile now, but in gunnery terms that was still point-blank. The shell passed over Audacity’s bridge with a ripping shriek. He crouched, too late and uselessly anyway, but instinctively, then straightened and saw McLeod doing the same in the wheelhouse.

  He stepped to the rail and looked forward. The deck was empty now, the drum standing in a pool of water and wisping smoke, the two stokers gone to seek some shelter. That hit below the fo’c’sle must have burst in the deserted mess of the twelve-pounder’s crew. If a few yards further aft it would have found the gun’s magazine and there would have been little left of the fo’c’sle, the gun or its crew. They were in action again, the twelve-pounder firing, recoiling. A damage-control party appeared on the deck below him, Ross at the head of a dozen men, off-watch stokers and airmen who had not gone with the boats. They ran forward to the fo’c’sle. The twelve-pounder aft on the poop was now commanded, in Ross’s absence, by the leading-seaman-gunner, who knew his business very well.

  Smith turned, seeking the raider. Audacity was passing astern of her now and her single gun aft was hidden by her poop and so unable to fire. He thought: Four big guns forward, a smaller one aft. It made control easy, maybe suited the trim of the ship. More than enough, anyway, for her job of sinking merchantmen, more than enough to finish Audacity if only they could all be brought into action.

  The four-inch slammed behind him, then the twelve-pounders. Audacity was still in the slow turn, had passed across the raider’s stern and now was opening her port side. That single gun aft was in sight again, just, and in action: there was the flame of it. The layer must have fired the instant Audacity moved into his sights. Was the raider turning? He felt the shudder and saw the flash as Audacity was hit again, this time between superstructure and poop. The bomb-throwers’ messes were there. He saw Ross and his damage-control party running aft again, so there was clearly no danger now from the hit below the fo’c’sle.

  The raider was turning to port, so she would be broadside to Audacity. There was still smoke forward of her bridge but streaming away to starboard on the wind now she was under way. The bulwarks were down at last, exposing the two six-inch guns on this port side, one of them leaning at a drunken angle, surely from a direct hit. But the other was manned and through his glasses he saw the barrel trained out to point at Audacity. Then it fired, the muzzle licking out a long red tongue and a second later the shell roared over Audacity with a sound like a train.

  McLeod, straightening from a crouch again, bellowed at Smith: ‘That was a big ‘un!’

  It was, and just one hit from one of those guns would—He ordered, ‘Full ahead! Hard astarboard!’

  ‘Full ahead, hard astarboard, sir!’ McLeod’s face, turned to him, was grimy from the smoke blown into the wheelhouse, shouting mouth showing pink. Smith knew his own face would be as filthy. He could taste the burnt oil on his lips as he could smell the burnt cordite from the guns. They were still firing, the breeches clanging open then slamming shut on the round with the regularity of a trip-hammer. The enemy had been hit at least a score of times already, while Audacity—

  ‘Sir!’ It was a messenger come running to the bridge, coated with dirt, oil and soot, face black with it but Smith knew him: one of the stokers who ran aft with Ross a minute ago.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘First Lieutenant says that hit forrard started a fire in the lamp room an’ paint store but it’s out now.’ He added, ‘Made a right mess o’ the gunners’ mess an’ all—if ye see what I mean, sir.’

  Lamp room and paint store were right forward in the bow and the gunners bunked just aft of them. Smith said, ‘I can believe it. Very good.’

  The stoker trotted away to re-join Ross and his party, now hidden below deck and seeking the damage from the hit taken aft. Smith thought that the gunners’ mess under the fo’c’sle head would be inches deep in water after the hosing and hard lying for them tonight.

  God knew where they would be tonight.

  The coxswain had the wheel hard over and Audacity was beginning to turn but too late, she was still starboard side to the raider. Smith saw a long finger of flame poke out again as the six-inch fired. He had time to suck in a breath and tense. Then the blast hurled him against the rail and almost toppled him over it to fall on the deck below. He shoved himself away from the rail, holding his mi
ddle. where it had cut into him, blinked eyes filled with tears from the pain and peered to see where Audacity was hit. Not the four-inch, that was still in action and fired as his head turned towards it. But there was a huge hole torn in the side of his cabin—

  McLeod appeared at the door of the wheelhouse. ‘It burst on the other side, sir, but no fire.’

  So there would be hard lying for Smith, too—if he was lucky. He turned towards the raider again, looked at her over Audacity’s bow that was now swinging rapidly in a tight turn and he could feel the quickening pulse of the engines as they began to work up to full speed. Only the twelve-pounder on the fo’c’sle would bear and was in action, the others masked by the superstructure and funnel. The burst of its shell was just one brief, brighter flame against a background of smoke and fire. The raider was burning in a dozen places and she was off Audacity’s port bow now as that bow continued to swing to starboard.

  Another shell from the six-inch crashed into the sea off the port side, too far away to do damage but in the engine room they would be deafened by the clanging shock of it on the hull. The raider was now off the port beam and sliding away astern. ‘Midships!’

  ‘Midships, sir!’

  To cross the wake of the other ship and take Audacity out of the field of fire of that murderous six-inch gun. It had not fired again although its layer would still have Audacity in his telescope sight. Some of its crew could be wounded, maybe the layer himself, or ammunition not reaching the gun from the magazine. It would be a chaos of smoke, flame and din, dead and wounded, aboard the German now.

  Audacity was almost astern of her when the single gun abaft her bridge fired and hit again between Audacity’s bridge and poop. Smith was on the port side of the wheelhouse, hanging out of its door by one hand and he saw the raider was on fire aft as well as forward, raising a yellow and brown curtain that almost hid the gun behind it.