Suddenly the lead ship began to turn sharply to port.
“She’s seen the land ahead of her,” yelled Grant, “But she’s too late, I’ll wager!”
She began blaring out a warning on her steam siren, her screws stopped and then started again as her captain desperately tried to stop her headlong rush to destruction. Her manoeuvring and the wailing of her siren seemed to cause more confusion. Ships were turning to port and to starboard in frantic attempts to avoid running into the ship ahead.
The convoy leader had turned to port, the next in line found himself heading straight for her. He put the wheel hard over to starboard trying to go round her stern. Then he too must have seen the headland. The screws stopped turning and then burst into life again as her engines went full astern.
The grating, booming sound of metal plate on unforgiving rock filled the air. The rest of the convoy, now visibly slower, began an emergency turn to port, signal lamps flashed urgently as they realised the dangers ahead. Some were managing the turn faster than their fellows, but this only caused more problems in an already congested channel. Collision followed collision like a skittle alley from hell.
Two ships, helplessly locked together, drifted down onto the two columns slowly and inexorably ripping and tearing their way through their battered ranks.
The last two merchantmen, weaving and twisting from in amongst their fellows, managed, somehow, to get through the nightmare, but found themselves heading straight for the island. The smaller vessel, to seaward, was too late in her turn away; with the tide and wind against her she was driven broadside-on into the shallows, her for’ard mast ripped from the deck by the impact, fell over the port side trailing the entangled entrails of her rigging.
The sole survivor of the ill-fated convoy kept to windward in her turn, heading for the gap between the island and the headland. She made the narrow channel and began to pick up speed. Suddenly there was the scream of metal on metal from her direction and she listed crazily to port.
Grant and Hogg, watching through their binoculars, could see her deck cargo, lashings parted by the impact, dropping into the sea.
“What’s happened there,” asked Hogg, “I could have sworn she was well clear of the shallows.”
“Grant lowered his glasses, “You’re right, she’s clear of the rocks. I think she’s hit the wreck of the escort.”
“But she’s on the bottom by now, surely.”
“It’s probably one. Or both halves are only half submerged…it happens; neutral buoyancy. Many a would-be rescuer has met her end on the half submerged wreck of the ship she was meant to rescue.”
“You mean the escort hasn’t completely sunk.”
“Precisely, there could be enough air trapped in her compartments to keep her bobbing about, just below the surface, at least for the time being.”
* * *
Bushel
Bushel and Stilson had stopped to listen to the racket emanating from the doomed convoy, “That’s our cue to bugger off ‘Snake’, let’s get that light”.
* * *
“We are going in to finish them off sir?” asked Hogg unable to take his eyes off the mayhem all around them.
“No, I think not, we’ve done enough damage for one night and I want to retrieve the marines before first light. Besides if we stay out of it there’s a good chance they might think it was all a terrible accident.”
Hogg nodded in the dark, “I see what you mean. That will leave us free to play another day.”
Chapter 6
Fuel and Ammunition
Olaf’s Inlet, 0730 hrs, Tuesday, 23rd April, 1940.
Lieutenant Grant waited while Wyatt and Wilson completed rigging the gangway across to the ‘Nishga’. The E-boat had made it back to Olaf’s Inlet before first light, but only just.
Across on the iron deck of the destroyer Lieutenant Grey arrived hastily, still straightening his cap to join the gangway staff already manning the side. Grant was entitled as captain of one of His Majesty’s ships to full gangway honours. He should have been piped aboard the ‘Nishga’. It would have been the first time he had been afforded the honour, but it was not to be, the clandestine nature of the operation and Captain Barr’s direct orders forbade such noisy displays of tradition.
He climbed the gangway and saluted the ‘Nishga’s’ quarter deck and grinning, shook Grey’s hand warmly. The two men walked quickly for’ard towards Captain Barr’s day cabin. As they chatted Grant was aware of just how much bigger the ‘Nishga’ now seemed after spending the last few days on his tiny command. He stopped and turned aft to watch his boat bobbing gently at her moorings. She was only slightly longer than the destroyer’s quarterdeck.
“Bit of a poisoned dwarf alongside the ‘Nishga’,” remarked Grey, “how did she perform.”
“Amazingly well, she managed to bag a few of her former comrades, if that’s what you mean.” Grant had snapped out the last part, irritated by Grey’s derogatory reference to his new charge’s lack of stature. For the first time he realised how attached he had become to the E-boat. “Sorry old chap, tired I suppose.”
“Think nothing of it, old boy,” replied Grey; “it’s the relief… I expect it’s been a hectic forty-eight hours.”
* * *
Grey knocked on Barr’s door, swung it wide to grandly announce Grant’s arrival.
“Lieutenant Grant of the…the E-boat sir.”
“That’s one of the things we need to sort out Grant…a name for your new command,” said Barr advancing hand out-stretched, a welcoming smile on his face.
“The crew have already done that, sir.”
“I can imagine.”
It was Grant’s turn to smile.
“No, sir, they have nicknamed her ‘Eddy’.”
Barr appeared shocked to his regular Navy core. “Eddy indeed… That will never do for one of His Majesty’s warships.”
The ‘Eddy’s’ captain nodded his agreement, “No, sir… but the men seem to find it amusing…’Eddy the E-boat’, to give her full title.”
“Of course in these stringent times she would normally only rate a number, but, you know me, I have enough difficulty remembering names let alone numbers!”
Grant sensed a new intimacy, the destroyer’s Captain was treating him differently, their relationship had subtly changed. Could Barr be thinking of them as equals, even though their commands were so very different, they were, after all, fellow captains with the same responsibilities, the same problems, if on a somewhat different scale?
“We need something with a bit more dignity than that.” Barr was saying.
“Edward sir?”
“Hmm… Edward… HMS Edward, that’ll do nicely.”
There was a knock at the door and Barr’s steward entered carrying a tray of coffee, placing it on Barr’s desk he quietly withdrew. The two captains lit cigarettes and sipped their coffees while Grant briefed his superior on the events of the last few days.
“Well, I knew you would do a good job…but I didn’t expect this! All I can say is you seem to have been formidably successful with your first command. Well done…”
“Thank you, sir,” said Grant, pleased with such a compliment from an officer he so admired.
Barr saw the effect he had had on the young officer and diplomatically changed the subject. “We carried out one raid in your absence much along the lines of the first one. I kept it to the north of here, so as not to interfere with your operation to the south. I think that should be policy from now on, don’t you? At the very least it’ll keep the buggers guessing.”
“I agree sir; otherwise we could end up stepping on each other’s toes. You said ‘from now on’ so am I to assume your intentions are to carry on as we are?”
“I’ve had no orders to the contrary and, in view of our successes so far, I can’t see the Admiral issuing any. Especially as Flag Officer he stands to get a tidy little sum in prize money. The ‘Nishga’s’ last raid produced two
ammunition barges, they surrendered as soon as we trained our guns on them… you couldn’t blame them for that, I’d do the same thing in their shoes. Their cargo was of no use to us, all the wrong calibre, but I’ve some useful acquisitions for your command. We have them stowed in the ‘Nishga’s’ magazine you can arrange for them to be transferred after this, along with your fuel.”
“Are the barges on their way to the ‘Flow’, sir?”
“No I couldn’t spare the men, especially with you and your men on detached duties; so I’ve had them taken to that hideaway Olaf found, to the south of here, we’ll lay them up for the future. Sort of money in the bank, as it were.”
“Sir, my chaps could do with some rest, they haven’t had much sleep since we parted company with you on Saturday night.”
“Of course, of course that’s one of the things I hope to have sorted out by the time we have to refuel at Scapa. I’ve already requested reinforcements from the Flagship to replace you and your men on the ‘Nishga’ and to provide you with a full crew for the …for the…”
“The ‘Eddy’ sir.”
“Hmm…Quite, for the ‘Eddy’, in fact I give you a toast,” he raised his coffee cup... to HMS Edward.”
“And all who sail in her! Have you had any ideas for future operations, sir?” asked Grant as Barr offered up the coffee pot.
“Now, it’s funny you should mention that…”
* * *
Twilight.
The Germans had reinforced the old medieval watchtower at the entrance to Trunsholm Fjord with sandbags and barbed wire as part of General Nikolaus Von Falkenhorst strategic plans to use its sheltered waters as replenishment and supply base for his campaign in central Norway.
The sentries, from the second signal regiment of the 21st Army Corp, were cold, bored and due for relief when their searchlight picked out a Schnellboote rounding the headland.
In close company, and slightly astern of the patrol craft, sailed a motorised barge of the type that had been entering and leaving the Fjord, regularly, since the invasion.
The watch tower guard paid scant attention to the two vessels as it coincided with the appearance of the lorry which contained the relief guard.
The signalmen did exchange call signs as the two vessels sailed slowly under the guns of the watchtower, the sailors on deck waving to their comrades in arms as they passed.
The vessels altered course for the anchorage and their crews turned to preparing the ropes for coming alongside.
Their course took them straight out from the watch tower towards a group of barges already moored in the middle of the fjord well away from the main concentration of shipping around the old town.
* * *
Bushel, Stilson and the Norwegian guide, Kristiansand, watched the lights of the German lorry from the high ground to the south of the tower as the overloaded vehicle carefully picked its way back down the steep road.
In their lying-up position they had spent a bitterly cold day watching the tower and the harbour beyond it. Concealed under a thick canopy of compacted snow, they had an excellent view of the fjord and the target far below. The ammunition barges moored out in the fjord were being used to store huge amounts of explosives.
Twice during the daylight hours they had seen men working on board, swinging up ammunition boxes and loading them into fast launches for dispatch to the front. The workers, wearing civilian clothes and under armed guard were obviously prisoners of some kind.
The launches, once loaded, had made their way back out of the fjord in the direction of the main German army base at Trondheim.
The reconnaissance team had carefully noted the times that the watchtower’s small garrison were relieved. They had signalled the ‘Eddy’ from the cliff top during the night and passed on the information.
Kristiansand lowered his camouflaged binoculars. “Clever of the Bosch to keep their ammunitions here, in this isolated fjord, away from the careful attention your RAF is paying to their main base.”
No one replied and the long silence continued. He tried again, “It was lucky my contacts had seen the toing and froing.” …Nothing…He was seriously worried about these two. He knew that the English weren’t known for their conversational abilities but these two were something else… and Stilson! He shivered despite his warm skiing overalls and duck-down sleeping bag: Stilson gave him the creeps.
* * *
Grant stopped engines, and allowed the wind and tide to take the boat crabwise in towards the darkened ammunition barges.
Twilight had been short, night falling with its usual swiftness as they crossed the fjord. The moored barges appeared suddenly from the edge of the darkness. Two German seamen armed with machine pistols rose from the bollards they had been sitting on. He beckoned Hogg forward and retreated into the shadows at the back of the bridge.
Hogg waved and shouted something in German, whatever it was, it seemed to work for the two men shouldered their arms and waited, in the icy wind, to take the mooring lines. Hogg again engaged the two seamen in conversation as O’Neill and three of his seamen arrived on the fo’c’s’le.
The E-boat bumped gently alongside. Grant stepped for’ard smiling and waved. At this signal O’Neill and his seamen leapt across onto the barge. The outnumbered Germans were wrestled to the ground, gagged, tied and unceremoniously bundled onto the E-boat.
The barge, skippered by Petty Officer Stone appeared out of the night, bumped alongside and was quickly secured.
Grant jumped aboard, “Well done Captain Stone. Start the timer and then get your men back on board the ‘Eddy’ as quickly as you can.”
“Thanks for the promotion, sir; I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”
Grant laughed, but then abruptly held up one hand commanding silence. “E-boat?”
“They could be coming here to re-ammo,” whispered Stone.
Grant nodded in the dark, “Wilson! Wyatt! If they come alongside take their lines… Mr Hogg stay on the jetty, we may need your German… How long have we got left on the timer P.O.?”
Stone looked at his watch, “Twenty- two minutes sir.”
“In that case you’d better switch the thing off until we know what Jerry’s intentions are. Get the rest of the men back on board and tell them to clean their guns…anything to look casual and no talking!”
* * *
Hogg and the small impromptu berthing party, now wearing Kriegsmarine caps and carrying the recently acquired machine pistols waited as the noise of the German’s engines drew nearer.
“I reckon we could get a job on the stage sir, whispered Wilson, “after all the acting we’ve had to do this trip. I can see it now, ‘The Eddy Repertory Company…”
“Quite, Wilson…” hissed Hogg,” Her she comes.”
The grey nose of an E-boat emerged from the gloom, on her fo’c’s’le a German seaman held a bow line curled in one hand.
“They’re coming alongside alright… stand by to take their lines.”
The English seamen shouldered their machine pistols and moved to their places by the barge’s mooring bollards.
The enemy bowman said something to Wilson as he threw the rope over the rail.
“You there!” shouted Hogg, “Keep silent! We have no time for idle chat. Get on with your work.”
Oberleutnant Kaleun, commanding the German boat, looked up from the clipboard he was studying,” Thank you, Herr Stabsoberfeldwebel, but I am quite capable of giving my men any orders they may require”
Hogg managed to look shocked at the reprimand and the hastily hidden grins from the German seamen. A long and awkward silence followed the telling off. Which suited Hogg to a tee it was exactly what he had hoped for; his quick thinking had stopped the Germans discovering his men couldn’t speak the language.
A working party of four Germans jumped across onto the ammunition barge and began clearing away the lashings of on the tarpaulins covering the holds. The wordless assurance with which
the Germans worked showed they had done it many times before. With the tarpaulins turned back they formed a chain and began to move ammunition.
On the bridge Kaleun was writing on his clipboard. He looked up from the paperwork with some surprise at yet another outburst from the young second Lieutenant directed at his men.
This time the irritable Stabsoberfeldwebel’s own captain laid into him, he couldn’t hear what was said, but it was clear from the expression on the youngsters face that his captain was not, to say the least, pleased with his subordinate’s conduct. Suddenly the captain grabbed the youngster by the elbow, and frog-marched him in Kaleun’s direction.
Kaleun, standing with one gloved hand on his hip and a smirk on his face, enjoyed the spectacle. It must have been a common occurrence, for the crew on the other boat took it all in their stride, hardly looking up from their work.
Kaleun turned as Grant propelled a sheepish looking Hogg up the ladder to Kaleun’s bridge. Grant smiled and shrugged apologetically and held out his hand. The German Captain took a pace forward and held out his. Suddenly, he found his arm twisted up his back and the barrel of a pistol thrust into his ear. The man holding the gun spoke in English, English which was immediately translated by the young Stabsoberfeldwebel.
“Stay still, keep quiet…Tell your crew, all of them, to muster on the jetty… now!”
* * *
With the ammunitioning completed by the German seamen, two British seamen moved quickly along the line tying the hands of their prisoners. With the heavy machine guns from both vessels trained on them the Germans offered no resistance.
“We’ve done it again, sir,” said Hogg awkwardly climbing the bridge ladder with a fat folder under one arm. He dropped his burden onto the chart table and opened it out.
Grant peered over his shoulder, “Done what?”
“A month’s worth of recognition signals and… look at this,” he drew out a buff envelope. “The skipper’s orders, signed by an Admiral, no less… can’t make out the signature; but they make interesting reading. Tonight, they were going to Trondheim to collect a group of Norwegian politicians and high-ranking officers, along with their Gestapo interrogators. They were meant to take them back to Germany. Looks as if we’ve spoilt a spot of home leave, for them; no wonder they look so glum.”