Action This Day (A Commander Steadfast Thriller) Page 12

  ‘Aim for the bridge and the guns,’ ordered Truscott. 453T’s guns roared, thundered and boomed as tracer, shell and bullets sped into the darkness out to sea. Each crack and thump of the exploding ordnance was echoed off the cliffs on the port side of the boat, creating the impression of a battle raging around them.

  Truscott was concerned that the MAS was on his beam so 453T was offering a big target. The MAS – a 500-class (first series) – was only 55-feet long, so it was a tiny target compared to 453T’s 120-feet. Not that Truscott had much concern about the MAS’s two torpedoes. There was not much chance of their scoring a hit on his gunboat’s shallow four-feet draught.

  ‘90-degrees to starboard, coxswain. Head for the enemy. Engine room: full ahead.’

  453T shot forward, turning and heeling. Her prow rose up under the power of the huge Paxman engines and sliced through the still sea with ease. Astern, her wake thrust out like a demented hydroelectric power plant. As 453T closed on the MAS, tracer and bullets from the sole Italian machine gun were flying overhead. Truscott expected the MAS to flee at any moment, but it kept on firing. Bullets began to ping off the superstructure of 453T. Then the first hits came as a pane of glass shattered on the bridge. Next a gunner on the bridge fell back, bleeding from the chest. He picked himself up, took hold of his gun once more and continued firing. No sooner had the gunner begun firing again than a ‘zing’ above Truscott’s head and a clatter of metal indicated that the radio aerial had been shot away.

  453T was closing fast and, just as Truscott was despairing of the pom-pom gunner Tom Hutton, he finally found his mark. The bridge of the MAS seemed to just disappear in a cloud of splinters, smoke and dust. Hutton lowered his sights, now aiming for the hull. A few more squeezes of the trigger were enough to tear a mortal hole in the side of the vessel. As he watched the battle through his glasses, Truscott saw men diving over the side of the MAS.

  ‘Cease firing,’ ordered Truscott. ‘Well done, men. A triumphant end to the night.’

  But hardly had his voice died away when there was a roaring sign aft, a sudden ‘whoosh’ and a mass of flame. No one had seen the bullet pass through the fuel drum. No one had smelt the leaking fuel.

  ‘Fire party aft!’ yelled Truscott.

  Men grabbed the methyl bromide fire extinguishers and raced towards the seat of the fire. Within less than a minute the fire on the deck was out, and the men reeled back, choking and coughing from the toxic fumes from the extinguisher. But the fuel had run below the deck, where it quickly reached some stored munitions. Fire, smoke and explosions tore off the deck to expose the inferno below. Once more the men moved in and blasted their extinguishers towards the heart of the fire, now aided by the water pumps. But neither the extinguishers nor the pumps were of use when the stored munitions blew. The blast tore off the last ten or fifteen feet of the boat, the men disappearing in the clouds of fire and smoke. The fiery debris rose into the air before falling back down on the vessel and the surrounding sea.

  Truscott had no need to ask for a damage report. 453F now had no rudder and no propellers. She was a motionless target on the still sea. Her stern was a mass of flame, fed by munitions and fuel. The fire began to spread along the ship, undeterred by the pumps. Every now and then there would be another explosion as the fire reached ammunition lockers. It was obvious to Truscott that the boat could not last.

  Forgetting the shot-away aerial, Truscott called out, ‘Sparks, send our position to Mr Steadfast. Coxswain, prepare to abandon ship.’

  Sparks turned to his transmitter, while the coxswain began to supervise putting the rafts overboard. Neither completed their task. One last great explosion tore the boat apart and she sank within a minute. Only a few of the men escaped going down with her.

  ***

  If Truscott thought that he had been singled out for special treatment, he was much mistaken. There was trouble in Bay C as well.

  Baines had been standing off to guard Fergusson’s boat, which had taken Steadfast’s party in for the final attack on the fort. Steadfast and his men were on their way back to the beach with the rescued prisoners when Baines heard the sound of an approaching boat. At first he assumed it was Truscott returning from his feint. His challenge went unanswered.

  ‘What do think, Number One?’

  ‘It’s not like Truscott to ignore a challenge, sir.’

  ‘Give him another minute,’ replied Baines.

  But Number One was not happy. He stared into the darkness and then turned to Baines. ‘Sir, it’s too small for Truscott. That boat’s not one of ours.’

  ‘Good God, what do you mean?’

  ‘Italian, of course.’

  ‘Oh, I see, Number One.’

  Baines was later to claim that he had ordered action stations before the first bullet struck 349B, but others disputed this. Whatever the case was, he was ill-prepared for the first tracer that sped across the foredeck and the first bullets that thudded into the side of the boat. It was then that the truth of his situation dawned on him.

  ‘Sir,’ cried Number One, ‘there are more boats out there – and they’re coming this way. Could be half-a-dozen.’

  ‘Christ, so they are. Fergusson’s going to be trapped. We must draw the boats off to sea. He was most insistent about our doing that.’

  ‘Coxswain: up anchor and full ahead course 215.’

  He then ordered Sparks to radio Fergusson of the danger that he was in.

  The signal that Fergusson received ran: ‘Italian gunboats approaching inlet. Am drawing them off to sea.’

  ‘Baines! Drawing off a flotilla of gunboats! Hell!’ said Fergusson when he read the message. The idea had sounded all right in theory a few days ago when they were training together. Now, when specifically applied to the hapless Baines, it sounded suicidal.

  Fergusson had only moments to think about what to do. His orders were to stay in Bay C and wait to take off Steadfast and his partisans. But when Steadfast had given that order, he had assumed that Fergusson was being covered by Baines and that Truscott would be nearby. Not knowing the fate of Truscott, but with Baines gone, he assumed that he and Truscott were about to be separated by a flotilla of MAS boats – each to be picked off at the Italian’s leisure.

  ‘You know, Number One,’ said Fergusson, ‘if we remain here, when Steadfast comes we’ll have to fight our way out with about dozen or more extra bodies on board between us.’

  ‘Looks like it, sir.’

  ‘I’m not sure that Steadfast would be too pleased at that. Once the partisans are on board, he’ll want a free run to the open sea, and then away to Alex. It’s up to us to clear that way for him.’

  And with that Fergusson ordered his men to action stations. A quarter of an hour later, Fergusson had found Baines several miles off the coast and not a MAS boat in sight. He manoeuvred his boat alongside that of Baines.

  ‘Where are the MAS boats?’ asked Fergusson?

  ‘Following me. I’m drawing them off,’ replied Baines.

  ‘And when did you last see one?’

  ‘Perhaps ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Well we haven’t seen any sign of them. One thing is damned sure: they’re not following you.’

  ‘So where are they?’

  ‘There’s only one possible place. You’ve got it all wrong and done just what they wanted us to do.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Vacate Bay C. I only left because of your signal.’

  ‘Coxswain, reverse course. Bay C. Engine room: slow ahead.’

  A few minutes later the two commanders were staring into Bay C,where the dim light revealed five moored MAS boats. Behind them was the sandy beach on which Steadfast should shortly appear. Steadfast was stranded.

  12 - Stranded

  When Steadfast reached the dinghies on the beach at Bay C he was accompanied by the three remaining Gozhita men and six rescued partisans. He had no idea whom he had rescued but fervently hoped that Dobransky was amongst them. He attempted to ide
ntify the scientist, pointing to each in turn and saying ‘Dobransky?’ Some shook their heads to indicate ‘No’; others showed no reaction at all. The futility of this inquisition was all too plain to him. None of them would admit to being Dobransky – not even Dobransky himself – for fear of being shipped to Germany.

  ‘So,’ he quipped to the baffled men, ‘You’re all called “don’t know”. I think I’ll christen you “the anonymouses”.’

  One glance to sea was enough for Steadfast to realise that the bay was now occupied by the MAS boats. There was no sign of Fergusson so Steadfast assumed that he had gone off to avoid a fight with far superior numbers. The dinghy, though, was still on the shore. With no means of communication with his commanders, he realised that he had two options: wait on beach in the hope that his boats would return to fight off the Italians, or go off in search of the MGBs and organise the battle himself. He decided on the latter course. He turned to the partisans:

  ‘I [pointing at himself] go [pointing towards the sea] find [looking actions] boats [drew a boat in the sand]. You [pointing at the men] stay here [pointing to rocks to hide behind].’

  Nodding heads indicated that his charges had understood. With the aid of further sign language he got Gozhita’s men into the dinghy and they set off to look for the MGBs.

  It was still dark so Steadfast decided not to risk a dinghy search at sea. He asked himself where he would go if he wanted to be found by one of his commanders in a dinghy. There were only two possible answers: Bay X or Bay T. Since X was the most accessible, he set off in that direction.

  About twenty minutes later Steadfast heard the low rumble of a slow motor. He ordered the men to stop rowing and put a finger to his lips. He listened. The partisans listened. There was no doubt that a boat was near, fine off the port bow. Steadfast signalled to the men to row slowly and quietly, while he manoeuvred the tiller towards the source of the sound.

  He had no chance to think more on the sound since the dinghy had hardly swung round towards the boat when a rattle of automatic fire alerted him to the peril he was in. Tracer swept overhead, bullets whistled threw the air and died in sharp splashes in the sea. One oarsman was hit almost immediately as a bullet passed through his head. He fell heavily into the well of the dinghy. His oar leapt into the air and slid off into the sea. Now the dinghy was motionless and in the sights of the MAS. When the second oarsman was flung back by the force of the bullets in his chest, Steadfast knew that he had to go. Over the side he went and swam strongly back towards the shore.

  He had not gone far when he heard a new sound: the thump, thump, thump of a pom-pom gun. Around here only his boats carried those guns. He paused, rolled onto his back and looked towards the MAS. Its bridge was being cut to pieces under the fire of an MGB. The MAS boat switched from firing at the dinghy to some other target that Steadfast could not see. In a very few minutes the MAS ceased firing. Its bridge was shredded and its gun mounting was a tangle of ragged metal.

  Steadfast searched the darkness for any sign of something to hold on to and soon found a spar of wood. Clinging to the wood he waited in the hope that his boats would come racing into the bay for the final pickup. After ten minutes or so he decided that he couldn’t risk being carried further out to sea. His only hope was to return to land. Abandoning his spar, he struck out once more towards the shore. Hardly had he started when he heard a voice: ‘Steady does it, they might be injured.’

  Steadfast immediately recognised Fergusson’s voice. So 371F had finished off the MAS and was now collecting survivors. He turned around, abandoned his swim to the shore and headed for the voices.

  ‘Another one here, sir,’ said a seaman.

  Steadfast felt a pair of strong hands hauling him up a scrambling net. He pulled himself up the last few feet, and attempted to stand.

  A firm clout accompanied by the command ‘Sit!’ caused him to fall back on the deck.

  ‘Steady on, seaman. Is that how you treat your officers?’

  ‘Commander!’

  Fergusson was called over and Steadfast quickly explained how he came to be in the sea at the time of the attack.

  ‘So you see, Fergusson, I’ve still got half-a-dozen freed partisans on the beach at Bay C. And, between us and them there are five or so MAS boats.’

  ‘Shall we attack now, sir?’

  ‘Where are the other boats?’

  ‘Baines is a mile or so off Bay T. Truscott has not come back from Bay X.’

  ‘Looks tight then. Two MGBs against five MAS looks doubtful, very doubtful.’

  ‘What else can we do, sir?’

  ‘I’ve got a plan, Fergusson. I think we can have the men on board tonight without any action at all.’

  ‘Really, sir?’

  ‘Really. There’s another “fishing” boat in Bay X. This one’s got its nets out, but I’ll bet my return ticket back to Alex that it’s an Italian look out. I think I shall commandeer it as a ferry. I need two of your men who can manage a sail. Can you do that?’

  ‘Easily.’

  ‘Right, let’s get them in the dinghy – armed, of course.’

  The two seamen rowed Steadfast over to the fishing boat. It was about the same size as the one that he had sunk only two nights ago. His assumption that, with a bay full of MAS boats, there would be no need for the fishing boat to be manned, proved correct. He left the two seaman in charge of the fishing boat, with the dinghy moored to it. Then he slipped over the side into the water.

  Steadfast rather enjoyed the swim to the shore as he passed between the MAS boats, supposedly there to prevent his passage. He was almost tempted to give them a friendly wave. On shore he shook himself down and went in search of his freed partisans. They had obviously been watching the shore line because one came forward to meet him.

  ‘Boat [sign of a boat bobbing on sea] over there [pointed out to sea]. Swim [swimming actions].’

  The rescued partisan nodded to show that he had understood Steadfast’s instructions and then went off to tell the others. Into the water they went, following Steadfast towards the fishing boat. Within fifteen minutes they were all aboard. A light breeze caught the sail and the boat moved off seawards. The boat was hardly under way when Steadfast heard a MAS somewhere ahead of him. He pushed on the partisans’ shoulders to indicate that they were to lie low in the boat. A minute later the MAS came into view. On seeing the apparently innocent fishing boat, the MAS gave way and allowed Steadfast to sail across its bows. It was the one bit of good luck that he was to have that night. The rescued partisans were soon on Fergusson’s boat, where the seamen did their best to find some dry clothing and hot drinks.

  ‘Well, Fergusson, we’ve got them at last,’ said Steadfast.

  ‘Which one’s Dobransky?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Are you sure he’s here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But, sir …’

  ‘I know, Fergusson. But the fact is that not one of them will admit he’s Dobransky until we’re clear of enemy territory. We just have to trust he’s here. And, if he isn’t what else can we do? Anyone accidently left at the fort is in a hundred pieces by now.’

  ‘Is it back to Alex, now?’

  ‘It is.’

  13 - A Fighting Return

  It was still dark as Steadfast gave the order to set course for Alexandria. The engineers had transferred the fuel in the drums to the boats’ tanks and jettisoned the drums. During odd moments in the night they had checked valves, seals and lubrication systems in the hope of ensuring a trouble free return.

  The two boats were about ten miles off shore when a look-out on Fergusson’s boat cried out, ‘Boat on port bow’.

  ‘They’re too damned clever these Ities,’ said Steadfast to Fergusson. ‘Trust them to work out which route we’d be taking back. Bang in our path. Too late for detours. Too late for bluff.’

  Both boats went to action stations. Each boat now had its six guns manned: the pom-pom forward, the two machine g
uns midships, the 20-mm Oerlikon and a couple of stand-mounted Vickers machine guns.

  ‘Twelve guns for one MAS. Reasonable odds, eh?’ said Fergusson.

  But no sooner had he spoken than the cries ‘Boat on starboard bow,’ ‘Boat on starboard quarter,’ and ‘Boat on port quarter’ rang out.

  ‘Four of them, Mr Fergusson – rather different odds now. And they don’t mean to let us pass.’

  ‘Yeoman, make a signal to Baines: “You take the two port MAS”,’ ordered Steadfast. ‘Fergusson, you take the starboard pair.’

  Fergusson gave his orders to his men. He allocated the MAS on the starboard port to the pom-pom and the two bridge machine gunners: ‘They should blast a way through,’ he remarked to Steadfast. The other gunners were to take the MAS on the starboard quarter.

  Back on 349B Baines was near to panicking, but was saved by his gunners. Peters on the pom-pom suggested a similar arrangement to the one on 371F, to which Baines readily agreed.

  The two MAS forward were keeping their distance. They were too far away for serious firing, almost as if they wished to avoid action.

  ‘Hold your fire forward. Rear gunners, fire at will,’ called Fergusson.

  The MAS to the rear of 371F engaged in sporadic fire but at long range. Steadfast was puzzled.

  ‘What’s their game? They’ve surrounded us but don’t want to engage,’ he said.

  ‘Hanging on for reinforcements?’ suggested Fergusson.

  ‘I damn well hope not. There’s enough trouble here as it is.’

  The two gunboats continued on course at around 15 knots. As they advanced, so the two forward MAS fell back. In the rear the other two MAS followed at a discrete distance.

  ‘Looks more like a convoy than a battle,’ remarked Steadfast. ‘Are they going to keep this up all the way back to Alex?’

  Ten minutes later, nothing had changed.

  ‘Fergusson, we’re going to have make the first move.’

  ‘Yeoman, make a signal to Baines,’ ordered Steadfast, ‘“Fight your way through full-ahead”. OK, Fergusson, you as well.’