AN OCEAN DUEL
"ACTION Stations!"
Billy Barcroft leapt from his bunk, labouring under the delusion
that he had turned in only a few minutes before.
The deadlights screwed to the brass rims of the scuttles and the
electric lights in the wardroom gave him the impression that it was
still night, and it was not until he scrambled on deck that he was
aware that grey dawn was breaking.
The wind had piped down considerably. The seas, still running high,
no longer showed their teeth in the form of vicious, foam-crested
breakers. Yet the decks of the "Audax" were at regular intervals
ankle-deep in water, as the destroyer cut through the billows.
A cloud of steam, caused by showers of spray striking the hot,
salt-encrusted funnel casings, drifted aft, temporarily obscuring
the flight-sub's range of vision. As it cleared he could discern the
greatcoated figures of Aubyn and his brother-officers on the bridge,
and the indistinct forms of the men as they passed ammunition from
the shell-hoists to the guns.
"Got her this time, sir," remarked a burly petty officer, the
rotundity of whose figure was still further accentuated by the
prodigious quantity of clothing he wore.
He pointed to a dark grey, indistinct object almost dead ahead, her
outlines rendered almost invisible by the trailing clouds of smoke
that poured from her funnels. Barcroft estimated her distance at two
thousand yards. It was impossible to see whether she flew her
ensign.
The vessel was a German ocean-going torpedo-boat, one of the nine
which had stolen out of Zeebrugge. By sheer good luck she had gone
northward over practically the extreme length of the North Sea
without being sighted by the British patrols. An hour, or even half
an hour earlier she might have slipped unobserved past the "Audax"
without being seen by the latter. As it was, one of the British
destroyer's look-out men "spotted" the strange craft in the
deceptive half-light of the late autumnal dawn.
The "Audax" threw out her private signal by means of a flash lamp
from the bridge. The stranger replied by an unintelligible jumble of
long and short flashes.
"Either that is a Hun or her signalman is three sheets in the wind,"
declared Lieutenant-commander Aubyn. "Tell her to make her number,
or we'll open fire. And wireless the 'Antipas'; give her our
position, and say we are in touch with a suspicious craft."
Aubyn, though brave as a lion, was of a discreet and cautious
nature. Dearly would he have liked to engage in an ocean duel with
the hostile craft, for such, he now felt convinced she would prove
to be. Both vessels were equally matched in the matter of armament,
tonnage and number of complement: it was necessary only to again
prove the moral and physical superiority of Jack Tar over Hans and
Fritz, unless something in the nature of sheer ill-luck allowed the
coveted prize to slip through his fingers. It was against the
possibility that Aubyn had to guard. The fight had to end in only
one way--annihilation to the foe. Hence the call to the destroyer
"Antipas" to eliminate that element of chance.
"Let her have it!" shouted the skipper of the "Audax," just as
Barcroft gained the bridge.
The four-inch gun on the fo'c'sle barked. It was still dark enough
for the flash to cast a lurid glow upon the set faces of the British
officers, who stood by with their glasses ready to bear upon the
flying torpedo-boat the moment the acrid fumes from the burnt
cordite drifted clear of the bridge.
The first shell struck the water close to the German vessel's port
side, throwing up a column of water fifty feet in the air as it
ricochetted and finally disappeared beneath the waves a mile or so
ahead of the target.
Fritz replied promptly. He must have fired; directly the flash of
the "Audax's" bow gun was observed. The projectile screeched above
the heads of the men on the bridge, seemingly so close that Barcroft
involuntarily ducked. It was quite a different sensation from being
potted at by "Archibalds." Up aloft the roar of the seaplane's
engines and the rush of the wind practically overwhelmed the crash
of the bursting shrapnel. This weird moaning, as the four-inch shell
flew by, was somewhat disconcerting as far as Billy was concerned,
while to heighten the effect a rending crash accompanied the passing
of the projectile.
"Our wireless top-hamper, dash it all!" exclaimed Aubyn, turning his
head for a brief instant. "Starboard a little, quartermaster."
The slight alteration of helm enabled the midship quick-firer on the
starboard side to bear upon the enemy. The latter, evidently with
the idea of dazzling the British destroyer, had switched on a
searchlight mounted on a raised platform aft. Probably the Huns
might have derived advantage from the rays, that still held their
own against the increasing dawn, had not a well-directed shell from
the "Audax" fo'c'sle gun blown searchlight, platform, and half a
dozen men to smithereens.
For the next ten minutes the adversaries were at it hammer and
tongs. More than one shell got home on board the British craft,
playing havoc with the after-funnel and deckfittings, while three
badly wounded but still irrepressibly cheerful seamen were taken
down below.
The German craft was being severely punished. The speed had fallen
off considerably, while she was on fire fore and aft, although the
for'ard conflagration was quickly got under by her crew. By this
time she bore broad on the British destroyer's bow, the range having
decreased to 1,500 yards.
Suddenly the Hun put her helm hard down. Either she saw that flight
was no longer possible, or else her stern quick-firers had been
knocked out, and she wished to bring her as yet unused guns to bear
upon her foe.
As she turned Aubyn saw through his binoculars a gleaming object
shoot over the German craft's side, quickly followed by another.
Both disappeared in a smother of foam beneath the waves. "Hard
a-port!" he shouted, knowing full well that at that moment a couple
of powerful Schwarzkopft torpedoes, propelled by superheated
compressed air, were heading towards the "Audax" at a rate of forty
to fifty miles an hour.
Round swung the destroyer, listing under excessive helm until the
deck on the starboard side dipped beneath the water. As she did so
the two torpedoes could be distinctly seen, as, adjusted to their
minimum depth to prevent them passing under the lightly draughted
objective, they appeared betwixt the crests of the waves.
One passed fifty yards away; the other almost scraped the
destroyer's quarter. Had the "Audax" not promptly answered to her
helm both torpedoes would have "got home." Yet, not in the least
perturbed, the British seamen continued their grim task of battering
the Hun out of recognition. They worked almost in silence. Each man
knew his particular job and did it. Time for shouting when the
business was finished to their satisfaction.
Yet there was a regular pandemonium of noise. The hiss of escaping
steam; the vicious thuds of the waves as the "Audax," at twenty
eight point something knots, tore through the water under the action
of engines of 14,000 horse-power; the rapid barking of the
quick-firers; the sharp clang of the breech-blocks and the clatter
of the ejected shell-cases upon the slippery decks--all combined to
bear testimony to the stress and strain of a destroyer action. The
"Audax" was the latest embodiment of naval science in that class of
boat, yet without the intrepid energies of the men behind the guns,
aided by the strenuous efforts of their mess-mates in the
engine-room stokehold, that science would be of little avail in
gaining the victory. Man-power still counts as much as it ever did,
provided an efficient fighting machine is at their disposal. British
Hearts of Oak are much the same as in Nelson's day--and yet the
average pay of the Lower Deck ratings is about three shillings a day
with no eight-hour shifts, risking life and limb for a wage at which
a navvy would sneer.
And why? It is the call of the sea--a call that appeals to Britons
more than to any other nation under the sun. In the piping times of
peace the Navy offers unrivalled facilities for poor men to travel
and see the world, it responds to their love of adventure. In
wartime it calls for hard and often unappreciated work with the
chance of a glorious scrap thrown in; and right loyally the Navy
answers to the call to maintain the freedom of the seas and to guard
our shores against the King's enemies.
By the time that the opposing vessels had steadied on their
respective helms the "Audax" was steaming obliquely on her foe's
broadside, sufficiently to enable three of her four guns to bear.
The Hun's fire was now slackening, and in spite of the shortness of
the range, decidedly erratic. Her hull was perforated in several
places, her funnels were riddled to such an extent that it seemed
remarkable that they had not already collapsed. Her masts had
vanished, also a portion of her bridge, while her deck was littered
with smoking debris.
"Cease fire!" ordered Lieutenant-commander Aubyn as the German no
longer replied to her severe punishment. What was more, her Black
Cross ensign, which she had hoisted after the commencement of the
engagement, was no longer visible.
Aubyn's chivalrous instincts were ill-repaid, for a couple of shells
screeched through the air from the vessel which he thought had
surrendered. One went wide; the other penetrated the ward-room of
the "Audax," fortunately without exploding. Simultaneously a German
bluejacket held aloft the tattered Black Cross emblem of unholy
kultur.
In an instant the British tars reopened fire; while to make matters
worse for the Huns, the "Antipas," racing up under forced draught,
let fly a salvo from the three guns that could be brought to bear
ahead. That settled the business. The hostile craft, literally
battered out of recognition, began to founder.
"Cease fire!" Aubyn ordered for the second time within two minutes.
Then, "Out boats."
It was an easy matter to order the boats away, but a most difficult
task to carry the instructions into effect. The gig had been
completely pulverised, while the other boats were in a more or less
unseaworthy condition.
"Look alive, lads!" exclaimed a petty officer of the carpenters'
crew. "T'other blokes'll be there first if we don't look out."
Hastily the holes in the bottom strakes of that particular boat were
plugged, and, quickly manned, the leaky craft pushed off, the men
urged by her coxswain to "pull like blazes an' get them chaps out o'
the bloomin' ditch."
By this time the German torpedo-boat had vanished beneath the waves,
leaving a rapidly-dispersing cloud of smoke and steam to mark the
spot where she had disappeared and the heads of about twenty
swimmers--the survivors of her complement.
In twos and threes the war-scarred and nerve-shattered Huns were
hauled into safety, for other help from both destroyers was now upon
the scene, and deeply laden the boats returned to their respective
parents.
Suddenly Barcroft, who was watching the arrival of the sorry-looking
crowd of German prisoners, gave vent to an uncontrolled shout of
joyous surprise, for huddled in the stern sheets of the whaler were
Flight-lieutenant-John Fuller and his comrade in peril, Bobby
Kirkwood.
"There's precious little of report," said Fuller in reply to the
skipper of the "Audax", when the two rescued officers were snugly
berthed in the ward-room--warm in spite of the additional
ventilation in the shape of a couple of neatly-drilled holes marking
the place of entry and the point of departure of the ill-advised
German "dud" shell. "We had to make a forced descent, got collared
by a strafed U-boat just as we had effected repairs. The U-boat
rattled herself to bits, so to speak, and had to be abandoned. I've
had quite enough submarining, thank you. Give me a seaplane any day
of the week, Sunday included. Then that torpedo-boat--V198's her
designation--picked us up. They stowed us in the forehold and forgot
to let us out when she went under. Suppose they had quite enough on
their hands and clean forgot about us," he added generously, giving
the kapitan-leutnant of the V198 the benefit of the doubt.
"Anyhow, there we were," continued the flight-lieutenant. "We knew
the rotten packet was going, and although we yelled the racket on
board prevented them hearing us, I suppose. Still, our luck was in,
for a shell burst in her fo'c'sle, ripping up the deck and bursting
the cable-tier bulkhead. It was pretty thick with the smoke, but we
groped for'ard----"
"You hauled me for'ard, you mean," interrupted the A.P.
"Shut up!" said Fuller reprovingly. "Well, by standing on the edge
of the manger we managed to haul ourselves on to the mess-deck.
There we stuck till the firing ceased, and the boat's stern was well
under water. Then--it was quite time for us to go, and we dived
overboard. The rest you know."
"And what might you be doing on board, old bird?" asked Kirkwood
addressing the overjoyed Billy.
"Passenger for the 'Hippodrome,'" replied the flight-sub.
"And it strikes me very forcibly," added Aubyn, "that at this rate
I'll find all the 'Hippodrome's' birds on board this hooker. The
trouble now is: how can I deliver the goods? We'll have to ask
permission to quit station and return for repairs and overhaul.
Another three weeks in dockyard hands, I suppose, and the fun only
just beginning. Just my luck."
The skipper went on deck. There was much to be done. Although the
"butcher's bill" was light, and the destroyer had sustained no
serious damage to her hull--thanks to the defective German
shells--the loss of the tophamper was considerable. In her present
state she was unable to carry out her duties as an efficient patrol
boat. With her wireless out of action she was impotent to perform
the vital function of communicating with her invisible consorts. For
centuries the British Navy had done very well without the aid of
wireless telegraphy, but, like many other things, Marconi's
discovery had come to stay. Its use enabled fewer vessels to
effectually do the work that hitherto required more to perform,
owing to the necessity of keeping within visible signalling
distance; and a destroyer without wireless was a "dead end," in
modern naval warfare.
But Lieutenant-commander Aubyn was not a man who would willingly
miss the opportunity of doing his friends a good turn, provided the
exigencies of the Service permitted.
Before parting company he signalled the "Antipas," which was still
standing by the injured destroyer, with the result that a boat put
off from the latter and came alongside.
"Look alive, you fellows!" shouted Aubyn down the ward-room
companion. "If you want to get on board the 'Hippodrome' within the
next few hours now's your chance. Tressidar, of the 'Antipas,' will
give you a passage. That's all right: stick to that gear till you
find the old 'Hippo.' I've had to borrow a kit myself before
to-day."