Ship of Force by Alan Evans Read Free Book Online Page A

need to watch him. I says to him, ‘You’ll have your work cut out, Geordie, wi’ the dark an all.’ ‘I can burn a flare,’ he says! I told him not to be so bloody silly but I don’t know if it did any good.”
    ‘Bloody silly’ was a mild phrase. It would be madness to burn a flare when the Nieuport Bank was only three or four miles from the enemy-held Belgian coast and the guns there, and barely ten miles from Ostende where the Germans had destroyers and from whence came U-boats. Smith raised the megaphone. “I’ll look out for him. Thank you.”
    The oilskinned figure lifted an arm in acknowledgment.
    Smith ordered, “Port ten.” And “I’ll take her now, Sub.”
    Sanders said, “Lorimer reports course is six-seven degrees, sir, on this leg.”
    Smith had laid off that course himself before
Sparrow
got to sea. He told Gow, “Course six-seven degrees.”
    And to Sanders, “I want a good man in the chains.” As they would be running through shoal waters.
    “Aye, aye, sir.” answered Sanders. He turned on the bosun’s mate. “Get McGraw. Send him for’ard.”
    It was a long time since Smith had served in the Channel. He would have to remember a lot of things and very quickly. “Revolutions for ten knots.” There were two men in the sea and it was
Sparrow
’s and Smith’s job to try to save them, but it would do no good to run
Sparrow
aground or into collision and Geordie Byers’ drifter
Judy
was somewhere in the darkness ahead.
    They turned to starboard when short of the minefields that closed the gap at the southern end of the mine-net barrage, reduced to five knots and stole over the Smal Bank with McGraw in the chains and swinging the lead, chanting the soundings.
Sparrow
turned to port, increased to ten knots and headed up the West Deep. To starboard a searchlight stabbed at the night, swept briefly, went out. That was the monitor on guard at La Panne and a landmark for Smith. Nieuport was another, of sorts. There was a glow in the night off the starboard bow that faded then brightened, a pulsing glow from the guns’ firing and the flares that went on through the night and every night. Men were dying there.
    As the men in the RE8 might well be. If they were not already dead. Smith knew something of the effect of a flimsy aeroplane smashing into the solidity of the sea. It would break up. The engine would sink like a stone and drag some of the aircraft down with it. And maybe the men. There would be floating wreckage because the Harry Tate was mostly fabric and wood but spotting that wreckage on a night like this would not be easy. He knew what it must be like for the men in the sea and the darkness, the cold darkness. He shivered and one of the crew of the twelvepounder looked at him curiously. This wasn’t cold. Not really Channel-cold.

Chapter Two
    They reached the Nieuport Bank. Smith ordered, “Revolutions for five knots.”
    Sanders spoke into the engine-room voice pipe and
Sparrow
’s speed fell from ten knots to a creeping five. Except for Gow at the wheel and intent on the compass, every man on the bridge and on deck was searching the dark sea for wreckage — or a man. Smith knew how easy it was to run down a man in the sea and so had reduced speed, but even so they would be on him almost as soon as they saw him.
    Smith glanced around as someone climbed on to the bridge. It was Dunbar. Smith said, “Course is five — five degrees and that’s Nieuport coming abeam. We’re looking for a Harry Tate that crashed in the sea a couple of hours ago.”
    Dunbar was silent a moment then said huskily, “Poor devils. It’ll be hell’s own job finding them on a night like this.” His head turned, eyes going over the ship.
    Smith said dryly, “I haven’t bent her nor lost the wireless shack overboard.”
Sparrow
had not been designed for wireless so the equipment was housed in a shack erected between the first and second funnels.
    Dunbar said stiffly, “Of course not, sir.”