The Mystery Ship: A Story of the 'Q' Ships During the Great War
Page 26
CHAPTER XXVI
HER LAST BOLT
IT was a formidable trap. Already there was less than seven milesbetween the jaws of these rapidly closing pincers as the twodivisions of hostile torpedo-craft steamed towards each other. Tomake matters more unpleasant a Zeppelin--a comparatively rare bird inthe latter stages of the Great War--appeared from the east'ard,possibly from the airsheds at Tondern, and without venturing to makea direct attack was evidently communicating by wireless with thetorpedo boats.
"Hoist our Ensign!" ordered Morpeth. "That'll show 'em we aren'tgoing to take it lying down. We'll give them a run for their money."
Up rose the White Ensign bravely in the breeze. Simultaneously camethe tell-tale bark of a torpedo. With a quick movement of her helm Q171 avoided the missile, but even as she did so another torpedo camehissing under the waves. To avoid the new menace by alteration ofcourse was impossible. The Q-boat carried too much way to reverse andgather sternway in time. To Meredith, standing by the afterquick-firer, the sight of the approaching torpedo was anerve-thrilling one. Gripping the rail, he watched its approach as itheaded almost under that part of the deck on which he stood.Mechanically he gripped the wire and waited. He could do nothing: noteven run a few paces in order to avoid, if possible, the directeffect of the explosion. He felt much as the French aristocrats musthave felt when they lay strapped to the bed of the guillotine waitingfor the fatal knife to fall....
"How much longer?" he thought. "How much----"
"Stand by with the depth-charges," roared Morpeth, as Q 171 swunground and made straight for the spot where the twin periscopes of aU-boat were disappearing.
The torpedo had been aimed truly, save in one respect. The commanderof the U-boat had gauged the draught of the mystery ship by that ofhis own craft, forgetting that, although above water Q 171 resembleda German submarine, her depth beneath the water-line was only sevenfeet six inches. The missile had travelled harmlessly under her tofinish its run three miles beyond.
Outboard toppled the two metal canisters. At the speed of an expresstrain the reel of wire ran out; then, with a detonation thatthreatened to shake every rivet in the Q-boat's hull, thedepth-charges exploded simultaneously.
There was no time to investigate whether the U-boat had beendestroyed, or whether, with buckled plates and gaping seams, she wasblowing her tanks in an attempt to reach the surface. In any case,even if she did survive, her crew would be so shaken by theconcussion that they would be "down and out" as far as furthersubmarine work was concerned.
The shrill whine of a 6-inch shell drew attention to the fact thatthe destroyers were getting within range, and that a "registeringshot" had been fired to test the accuracy of their range-finder.
Almost immediately after, and before a second flash came from thenearmost torpedo boat, Q 171 liberated her smoke-screen; then,answering rapidly to her helm, spun round and practically retracedher course.
There was a chance of escape--that of making for Danish waters--butMorpeth scorned the idea. As he had remarked, he meant to give Fritza run for his money. He would go down with flying colours, bitingsavagely till the last. And his men were with him. Discarding theirblack oilskin coats, and tightening their belts, they spat upon theirhands after the manner of sailor-men and prepared to take theirgruelling.
An artificial fog-screen cannot last indefinitely. Sooner or later Q171 had to emerge from her concealment. When she did she was steeringalmost due west, or towards the tail of the seven torpedo boats.
Directly the movement was observed, the Huns turned sixteen degreesto port, all firing as they swung round. At the same moment Q 171'squick-firers replied for the first time.
The bark of her own guns eased the tension amongst the crew. Althoughoutnumbered, they realised that there was some satisfaction in beingable to reply.
The Q-boat took her punishment grimly--and it was punishment!Several shells of varying calibre hit her in quick succession. Thedummy conning-tower had vanished, all but a few bent and twistedsteel girders. Acrid-smelling fumes swept down upon Meredith as heassisted the last member of the after quick-firer to load and trainthe weapon. Through the eddying vapour he could see men feverishlyworking the other gun. He fancied he could distinguish Wakefield, buthe was not sure... And Morpeth: where was he?
Suddenly Meredith felt his legs give way under him. The sensation wasakin to that of receiving an unexpected blow behind the knees.Surprised and resentful, he tried to regain his feet. Some one waslying across them. It was Ainslie--or rather all that was left ofAinslie.
For perhaps twenty seconds Meredith lay on the deck striving torecollect where he was and how he came there. A red mist swam beforehis eyes, then it cleared, and he saw Ainslie's body once more.
There were rents on the deck. The whole fabric of the vessel wasthrobbing under the continued concussions. Q 171 was turning in awide circle to starboard, exposing the whole of her broadside to thehostile fire.
With an effort Meredith freed his legs, and by the aid of theshoulder-piece of the now silent after quick-firer regained his feet.As he did so a man, grimy and blood-stained, lurched aft.
"Cap'n's down, sir," he reported. "Steering-gear carried away....There's the hand-gear, sir."
Heavens! Morpeth down, Ainslie killed, Wakefield nowhere to be seen.The responsibility of fighting Q 171 to a finish had fallen upon thesupernumerary, Sub-lieutenant Kenneth Meredith.
Staggering right aft, the Sub, assisted by the bluejacket who hadreported to him, contrived to unshackle the useless wires from theheavy tiller. Then in answer to a powerful heave on the metal bar theboat began to swing once more to port.
Standing up, Meredith gave directions by gesture to the emergencyhelmsman. It was impossible to be understood otherwise, so terrificwas the din, and, apart from that, Meredith's throat was so dry thathe was unable to utter a sound.
Rapidly the Sub took in the situation. Morpeth's idea was to "crossthe tee" of the approaching line of torpedo boats, which had changedtheir course so that the rearmost boat was now leading the flotilla.The demolition of the steering-gear, and Morpeth being knocked out ofaction, had temporarily thwarted the manoeuvre, but there was yettime to mend matters. The steady pulsations of the motors showed thatbelow decks the badly battered vessel was still making good. For'arda solitary gun was barking at wide intervals, keeping up a sullen anddetermined show of defiance. Otherwise the whole length of deckresembled, as far as the eddying smoke permitted, a gaunt and hideouscharnel-house.
"Fritz has got to have it in the neck," thought Meredith. "Heregoes!"
Conning the still swiftly moving Q-boat, he made straight for theleading German vessel. The latter held stubbornly on her course, atthe same time masking the fire of her consorts astern.
It was a tense moment. Approaching at a speed of about sixty miles anhour, the two vessels, British and German, were heading to mutualdestruction. With telescoped bows and interlocked framework, theywould assuredly founder together in a common and awe-inspiringdissolution.
But almost at the last moment the nerve of the German commanderfailed. He ported his helm in a vain attempt to avoid the despairingact of a mad Englishman. He was too late. Meredith held on.
It was true that the kapitan-leutnant of the V 199 saved the bows ofhis boat from being telescoped, but by giving the vessel starboardhelm he had neglected the important fact that the stern would swingto starboard more rapidly than the bows would turn to port.
Almost before he was aware of the fact, the bows of Q 171 bit deeplyinto the German torpedo boat's quarter. The shock was lighter thanthe Sub expected: it was the tortional wrench that hurled himsideways against the disabled quick-firer.
Then, swinging outwards under the way carried by her opponent, Q 171literally levered the partly severed stern away from the rest of therammed torpedo boat. With a gurgling sound, audible above the hiss ofsteam from the flooding engine-room, the after-part of the Hun boatsank, leaving two-thirds of the hull floating almost motionless andkept aflo
at solely by the badly strained bulkheads.
Freed from the interlocking embrace, Q 171 drifted clear, but she wasno longer under control. Both her propellers had fouled some of thewreckage, and the bosses were stripped clear of their phosphor-bronzeblades.
The gallant mystery ship, with the White Ensign flying from herstumpy mast--how it withstood that tornado of hurtling metal waslittle short of miraculous--was doomed.
But the end was not yet. The second enemy torpedo boat, unable tobring her guns to bear lest she should hit her disabled consort, wasmanoeuvring to obtain a favourable position to deliver the _coup degrâce_. It seemed an easy thing to do, for Q 171 was little betterthan a floating scrap-heap.
Suddenly, from what appeared to be a tangle of riddled steel-platingand grotesquely twisted girders, a gleaming steel cylinder flashed inthe sunlight.
Q 171 had shot her last bolt. One of the torpedo-tubes was stillintact, and a grievously wounded man had seized his chance.
Fifteen seconds later the torpedo got home, literally blowing the Hunin twain.
Meredith saw the Q-boat's last blow. Defiantly, almost exultantly, hedrew himself to full height, then a blinding flash seemed to leapfrom beneath his feet, and he toppled unconscious upon the deck.