1916 Angels over the Somme (British Ace Book 3) (33 page)

“Hutton, have you any grenades?”

“Two sir in my pack.”

I reached in and found one. The gunner was still firing at the better target, the boat with the white sail.  I turned the rudder to the end of the breakwater and the gun. We were safer here for the gun could not fire at us.  We slowed a little but, as we came near to the wall I pulled the pin and lobbed the grenade in the air.  When I put the tiller hard over, the wind caught our sails and we leapt across the water like a greyhound. The grenade’s explosion filled the harbour with light and actually made us fly faster as the concussion spread. I saw the patrol boat.  It was heading for the boat with the dead Germans.  We had bought some time.

The light faded and I pushed the tiller in the opposite direction.  We skidded around the end of the mole and into the open sea.  I felt the difference in motion as soon as we did so.

The machine gun on the patrol boat barked and I saw the other fishing boat begin to sink. The patrol boat slowed and I saw a searchlight play along the water then it disappeared as we became hidden by the end of the mole.

“Hutton, watch out for mines.”

“Mines!”

“Yes I intend to go through the minefield.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I think they are intended to stop big ships so with luck we should be able to sail through them. You just watch out for them.  Shout when you see one.”

I smiled as he crossed himself. The wind was pushing us along quickly now.  We had no second boat as an anchor.  Of course the Germans had an engine but they were four times the width of us.  I would choose the narrower channels. I glanced over my shoulder; the patrol boat was half a mile behind and emerging from the harbour.  The searchlight was playing around the area in front of the bows.

“Hutton, rifle!”

He passed me the gun.  I leaned on the tiller to keep the same course and then I rested my elbow on the transom. I aimed at the searchlight.  I was not helped by the fishing boat rising and falling.  My first shot struck the bridge and elicited a scream of pain. My second hit the bow.  I had one bullet left. I breathed slowly and, as the stern came up, fired and the searchlight shattered as it was hit. I began to turn and as I did a rogue wave hit us and the Lee Enfield slipped to the bottom of the channel.  It had served us well.

“Sir, minefield ahead!”

I heard the patrol boat engine as it was gunned.  They were following our last course.  They could not see us. The red sail would be almost invisible at night. “I will head to starboard.  Shout out when you see a mine.”

This was like a game of Russian Roulette with the biggest bullets in the world. “Mine ahead!”

I turned the tiller the smallest amount I could and waited for Lumpy’s next shout.  Nothing came but the patrol boat’s machine gun began to fire ahead. He was to our left.  Suddenly a mine exploded.  The little fishing boat seemed to rise in the air.  In that brief instant the patrol boat saw us and began to turn.

I reached into Hutton’s bag and found the last grenade. “Lumpy, what fuse is in these Mills Bombs?”

“Ten seconds sir.”

“Thanks.”

The patrol boat had slowed and I could see a man on the bow directing the captain.  Had I a rifle I could have hit him easily. They fired ahead again.  I jammed the tiller to the left, towards them.

“Mine ahead!”

I edged the tiller to starboard. The bullets struck another mine behind us and sent us on a little tidal wave as it exploded. I heard Hutton shout, “Shit!” I saw the prickly points of the mine less than a hand span away.  The light from the explosion sent the patrol boat back on our tail.  I pulled the pin on the grenade.  I had one chance.  If I failed then it would either be the prisoner of war camp or a damp grave for the two of us. I released the handle and counted to five.  I threw the grenade as far in the air as I could.

“Hold on Hutton.  This could get messy!”

The grenade exploded in the air just over the bow of the patrol boat. Whether it was shrapnel which hurt the captain or an instinctive reaction to the explosion I have no idea but the patrol boat veered into a mine and was thrown into the air.  We were hurled forward.  We had no control over our direction.  If fate had a mine waiting for us then we, like the crew of the patrol boat, would be dead.

We almost crashed back into the water.  “Hutton, let the sail go slack.” I had worked out that a tight sail meant we sailed quickly. I needed time to think. The remains of the patrol boat burned behind me and I looked at the German map. If we headed due west we would be out of the treacherous minefield. I looked at the compass. I pushed the tiller over.  We went through the mines slowly but we went through safely.  When we reached the other side I grinned and began to laugh. “Now we just need to cross the English Channel.”

“After that sir, it should be no problem!”

He was, of course, tempting fate. I took out a canteen and drank some water. Once that was done I took the compass and laid it on the thwarts before me. “Tight sail again Lumpy.  We now need speed.”

As we headed through the dark towards the invisible coast of England I filled and lit my pipe. We had done well.  I knew we were not home, not even close to home but there was, at least, light at the end of this tunnel.

I saw Hutton lighting Albert’s pipe.  He made a better stab at his second effort. The compass showed we were still heading north by north west and we were on course. I glanced at my hand which was still covered in the blood of the man whose throat I cut. It was the first time I had ever killed with a knife. If I had thought about it I would not have gone through with it but I just reacted. I shuddered at the memory. War makes a man do things which are alien to his nature.

The wind picked up a mile or so off shore.  “We’ll be home in no time if this keeps up sir.”

I looked up at the rag of canvas tied to the mast head.  It had begun to veer alarmingly so that we were being pushed further north than north west. I glanced behind and saw that the waves were growing in size. This was where my inexperience could hurt us. Did I reduce sail?  Did I tack?

“I am going to try to bring us further west Lumpy.  Hang on this could get rough.”

As I pushed the tiller over slightly a huge wave deposited an enormous amount of water into the bottom of the boat.  I quickly put the tiller back to its original position.  We were almost flooded to the sides of the boat.  Lumpy’s legs were under water.

“Blood hell, sir! Don’t do that again or we will be in Davy Jones’ locker!”

“Get bailing, Lumpy.”

He found a tin mug which was used for bailing and I began to throw handfuls out with my free hand. My move had been a disaster.  We were so heavy that we were barely making headway. I looked behind and saw that the waves were now five or six feet high.  A sudden storm had blown up.  The rain began to fall too. We were in danger of being swamped. Lumpy could not reduce sail for he was desperately trying to bail us out and I had to hold a straight course or we would be sunk. I had felt so clever at outwitting the Germans I had forgotten that the sea was the common enemy. In addition we were now out of sight of land. I looked down to the compass.  It had gone; washed overboard.  With a cloud filled sky I had no means of navigating.  We would have to go where the wind took us.

The wind was gaining in intensity but Hutton was bravely battling the water in the bottom of the boat and he was winning.  It was now just below the thwarts. 

“When you can, Lumpy, reduce the sails a little or we will end up with rags.”

“Right sir.  It is bloody tiring, I’ll tell you that. I couldn’t be a sailor!”

“I don’t think the Royal Navy uses sailing vessels now.” 

“And I can see why!”

When the water was around his ankles he lowered the sail slightly.  We still moved forwards but we didn’t tip into the waves so much. After another hour of solid bailing we just had a little water slopping around the bottom.  The canvas the fishermen had rigged at the bow deflected much of the bow water else we would have been sunk.

“See what we have lost.”

I saw him rummage around the bottom of the boat. “We have the two haversacks sir. They are a bit wet though.”

“We need to conserve some food and water. Bring me my canteen and divide the food up.  You can be quartermaster.  We are on rations from now on.” He gave me a worried look and I shrugged, “We lost the compass.  I have no idea where we are. When daylight comes we will know which way is the east and I intended to head due west.  Until then we let the wind take us.” I thought, ruefully, not that we could do anything about that.

We had some soggy, salty bread and the remains of the cheese. The nuts would last us a little longer. Lumpy found the last of his fig rolls and we had the last four there and then. They would not last another day of soaking. Washed down with the water it gave us some sustenance and I was glad that we had eaten in Ostend.  Who knew when we would eat again?

It was a soggy red dawn which broke the darkness.  The old adage of
red sky in the morning, sailors warning
, rang through my head. There was nothing to be seen and that in itself was worrying. British and German shipping kept close to the shore and the fact that we were alone meant we were miles from either Belgium or England. The wind had not abated and we were driven north.  I assumed north from the position of the sun but we could be sailing north east or north west. Both would bring us to land but in which country?  Poor Lumpy looked ready to drop.

“Sergeant, lie down on the haversacks and try to get some sleep.”

“No sir, I’ll be fine.”

I pointed behind us.  “With the wind in this direction there is little than you can do anyway. Get some rest and when you wake I’ll show you how to steer so that I can get some sleep too.”

That seemed to persuade him.  “Very well, sir.  I need a lie down and that’s no error.”

Like all good soldiers Lumpy could fall asleep as soon as his head hit the ground and his eyes closed. I set myself a target of four hours before I woke him. We had left the minefield in such high hopes and I had thought we would have reached the Thames estuary by dawn.  In my mind we had sailed triumphantly into port to be greeted by cheers and the flash of the press; so much for that fantasy.

The salt made me so thirsty and yet I knew I must not drink the last of our precious water.  I would have a drink when I woke Hutton.  That thought would keep me going a little longer. The horizon kept rising and falling as we climbed the peaks of waves and crashed into the troughs. Sergeant Hutton slept all the way through it. My fingers holding the tiller were white with salt and I could barely feel them.  The German greatcoat was now soaked. It did not keep out the wet like my own flying coat.  We should have changed coats as soon as we could. I laughed. This would have been the first opportunity to do so and that would have been difficult with the precocious wind and waves.

I must have closed my eyes for a moment but the boat dipped alarmingly and I awoke. The wind had been easing a little but suddenly it seemed to attack us with renewed force.  I suspect we had been in the eye of the storm for a brief moment. I was going to wake Hutton but I thought I would give him a little longer to rest. Suddenly there was a huge gust of wind.  It seemed to whip the sail around and it must have woken Hutton.  He lifted his head and was smacked hard by the swinging boom.  I saw blood and he slumped, face down, to the bottom of the boat. I just reacted and I half stood.  In doing so I let go of the tiller and the boat suddenly veered to port. The main mast and the sail had taken a lot of damage and I heard a crack and saw, to my horror the mast break and it came crashing down. I just reacted.  I lifted my arm to stop it and I did.  There was an ugly crack as my left arm broke and I fell backwards. I saw a trickle of blood dripping down my arm.  The bone must have come through the skin.

The sail and the mast were dragged behind us.  I later realised that had saved our lives for it acted as an anchor and kept the small boat stern on to the waves. Holding my broken arm before me I gingerly made my way to Hutton. I put my fingers to his neck and felt a heartbeat, he was alive. I saw the bloody wound at the side of his head but the bleeding appeared to have stopped.  He was face down and there was water in the bottom of the boat and so I moved his head to the side. I did not want him drowning nor did I want him to choke on his tongue. I had done all that I could for him.  I opened his haversack and took out his RFC great coat.  I laid it over his unconscious form. 

I spied Albert’s stick.  Hutton had fallen on it and broken it in two.  I grabbed the narrow end and made my way back to the stern. The ropes holding the sails were useless now and so I cut six short lengths. I jammed the knife into the thwarts and carefully placed the broken piece of walking stick next to my broken forearm. I unwrapped my scarf from around my neck and wrapped it around the arm and the stick. Next came the hard and painful part. I took one of the lengths of rope and looped it around the arm. I knew how to make a one handed knot.  I did not tighten it. I repeated it four times along the length of the forearm.

I took the other end of the broken stick and jammed it in my mouth. I had to do this quickly or I would not be able to do it at all. I tightened the knots as much as I could one by one.  The pain was agonising.  I closed my eyes with the pain and bit down on Albert’s old stick. Shock waves seemed to race through my body but I persevered and as I tied the last knot I spat the wood out.