On the Edge of Darkness (Special Force Orca Book 1) (26 page)

Within minutes the iron deck of the destroyer was overrun with the drunken,
hysterical soldiers. Orders were shouted from the bridge and, as if by magic, the mob began to scramble back onto the jetty. Quickly, an area, amidships, began to clear and the Nishgas saw a line of grim-faced seamen advancing bayonets fixed. Quickly, professionally and none too gently, they cleared the deck of their unwanted guests. In their wake other seamen appeared dragging a gangway between them, with Grey’s men giving what assistance they could from the overcrowded jetty, it was dragged into place.

With
the restoration of order, the destroyer’s medical team began the task of ferrying the wounded from the jetty and taking them to relative safety below decks.

HMS
Vimiera, rust streaked and soot-stained, glided silently in outboard of her consort. Lines snaked across between the two warships and within minutes she, too, began loading the wounded.

Suddenly shots rang out from buildings across the harbour near to the river mouth. Men ran for cover as bullets chipped sparks from the metal superstructure of the two warships. Th
e fire was accurate and unrelenting. The stretcher-wounded, were still on deck, twitching and groaning as their inert bodies took the brunt of the merciless sniper fire.

The
‘Vimiera’s’ two-pounder opened up in reply and great chunks of masonry flew like shrapnel from around the enemy position. The enemy and the fire faltered and then stopped. Immediately, men ran forward and the loading of the wounded resumed.

The enemy were
now in the town in some numbers and remnants of the Guard’s Brigade, who only hours before had been landed at Boulogne to protect it for use as an evacuation port, were engaged in fierce hand to hand fighting in and around the old warehouses.

French troops could be seen, on the far side of the harbour, pushing cars and lorries into the water to ensure they did not fall into enemy hands.

The news of the arrival of the ships of the Dover Squadron quickly spread and numbers of civilians joined the hundreds of people already on the jetty. Men and women pleaded to be taken aboard. Grey’s men were appalled to hear British voices amongst them.

During the afternoon, in the thick of renewed sniper fire, the Commanding Officer of the Guard
’s Brigade came aboard and the rumour quickly spread that the destroyers would be sailing before long.

A little while after the Guard
’s officer’s arrival on board, men from the ‘Keith’s’ crew carried the body of a Royal Navy captain across the gangway. Only hours before he had gone ashore as officer in charge of a demolition team blowing bridges and railway lines.

About mid afternoon, two more destroyers appeared in the approaches to the harbour. Shortly afterwards the short range weapons on the
‘Keith’ and the ‘Vimiera’ opened fire again; their target, a high-flying plane which was slowly circling the harbour. It must have been spotting for other aircraft for it made no attempt to approach the two ships and within minutes of its appearance, the drone of approaching bombers was heard. The two-pounder’s rapid pom pom beat suddenly ceased. The Nishgas, looking up, saw a flight of Hurricanes had swooped down on the German aircraft, scattering them to the four winds. The fierce dog-fight continued while the men returned to their work. Minutes later the scream of Stuka sirens filled the air and again the seamen ran for cover.

The dive-bombers dropped from the sky, like stones, sirens screaming. The men looking up, could see the bombs, five-hundred pounders, slung beneath the aircraft
’s bellies like giant yellow eggs. The note of the wing-mounted sirens began to change as they pulled out of their dives. Alongside the ‘Vimey’, a gusher of water twenty foot high shot into the air. Miraculously the bomb itself failed to detonate, but elsewhere, in the smoke filled dockyard, whole buildings crumpled and collapsed in clouds of dust from direct hits.

Exposed
as they were, to sniper fire and shrapnel, the gun’s crews on the two destroyers were, inevitably, taking causalities and shortly after the Stuka attack the captain of the ‘Keith’ asked Grey for men to fill in as loading numbers.

It was a terrible sight that greeted these men as they arrived at the
Bofors’ guns. Taking advantage of a lull in the fighting, sand was being scattered over the decks where they had become slippery with the blood of the killed and wounded.

There was a sudden loud explosion and a mortar shell landed on the end of the jetty. The
throng of people ducked as one. A second explosion tore through the air, even closer to the ships. Evidently the Germans had a spotter somewhere nearby. A third round landed in the water between ship and jetty. Water and stinking mud from the harbour bottom covered the men exposed on the upper deck. Thankfully, the mortar suddenly fell silent, no one knew why, perhaps the crew of the mortar had been hit or they had simply run out of ammunition.

The main force of Germans were very close now, they could be seen, running from cover to cover among the ruin
ed buildings and on the hillside above the town.

Petty Officer Stone o
rdered the unemployed Nishgas to grab rifles from the ‘Keith’s’ ready-use lockers and return the fire.

Grey appeared, ducking and diving along the length of the upper deck jumpi
ng over Kaki figures as he ran. He dropped down, panting furiously, beside his PO.

“
Getting a bit close for comfort, Petty Officer.”

Stone squeezed the trigger of his rifle and Grey saw a distant German soldier throw his arms into the air and roll slowly down the slope until his body came to rest in a bush.
“Excuse me French, sir, but I think it’s about time we got the fuck out of here.” He licked one thumb and rubbed it across the rifle’s foresight. “All our men are back from the ‘Keith’s’ gun crews.” He snatched the rifle to his shoulder and fired another round in the direction of the enemy held hillside.

“
I’ll go up to the bridge and see what’s what. Stay here until I get back.”

As Grey sprinted forward, intent on keeping as much of the destroyer
’s superstructure between him and the sniper fire, he heard Stones gravel-deep voice calling. “White, you horrible little sailor, don’t bloody well waste ammunition, Mark your target before you fire… the Navy’s not made of money, you know.”

*     *     *

Lieutenant Grey climbed the bridge ladder two at a time and arrived to…”Get your bloody head down if you don’t want it shot off.”

Everyone on the open bridge w
as crouching behind the armoured screens. Grey could hear a noise like a clipping hammer at work on the exterior plating. Two of the bridge crew were dragging an officer across the deck towards the ladder he had just ascended. Grey recognised the destroyer’s second in command. Both his hands were clasping his leg, blood pouring from between white fingers.

The bridge
had become like a magnet to sniper fire. “Keep low,” yelled the same voice, “They’re after the officers, they already got the ‘Vimiera’s’ skipper.”

Grey crawled across to the only other officer
left on the open bridge; a red-haired, fellow two-ringer. “I’m in charge of the berthing party what do you want us to do?”

“
Unfortunately for you, the ‘Whitshed’ and the ‘Venamous’ are coming in now. They’ll need a berthing party, they’ll be taking off more of the Pongoes once we’re out of the way. Take my advice and cadge a lift off them when they leave. This place isn’t going to hold out for much longer.” He shrugged, “But then, I’m not in charge of your chaps, you are old boy, the choice is yours, stay on board if you like, no one will notice in this bloody mess.”

Just
as a sound powered telephone shrieked suddenly, as a signalman called, “The ‘Vimy’s’ leaving!” The Lieutenant reached cautiously up and pulled the receiver down, from its hook, by its cable.

Grey crawled across the few yards
to the signalman’s side. The ‘Vimiera’ was going out stern first, sparks flying from her bridge superstructure as sniper rounds ricocheted off her armour plate. She hadn’t even bothered to slip her moorings; she’d gone full astern and snapped them in two, their ragged ends hung down from her fairleads like dead man’s hair. As she came level Grey could see an officer hanging over the bridge screen blood pouring from a head wound.

The Lieutenant
, now in charge of the ‘Keith’s’ bridge, shouted across, “ Our Skipper’s bought it, sniper’s got him, That was the Navigating Officer on the line. He’s taking her out, conning her from the wheelhouse, if you and your chaps are going, you’d better make yourselves scarce.”

“
Oh!… I’m sorry… about your skipper, I mean… You’re’ right, we’ll have to make tracks…Thanks.” Grey crawled backwards towards the ladder as he added “See you in Blighty”.

“
By God, I do hope so, old chap…I do hope so…Good luck.”

As Grey hit the iron deck running, he was
already yelling to Petty Officer Stone. “We’re leaving, PO, get the men together.”

The
‘Keith’s’ engines were already going astern as the ‘Nishgas’ leapt for the guardrails. As they ran for cover they could hear the berthing wires singing under the strain. There was a huge bang from forward and the remains of the fore spring shot aft, with the power of a bull whip. As the screws madly churned the harbour water to murky froth, another wire parted with a bang and the ‘Keith’ surged astern.

Grey
watched from cover as the destroyer’s fo’c’s’le flashed by, her decks were still crowded with dead and wounded. The head of the ‘Keith’s’ Navigation Officer bobbed in and out of the wheelhouse porthole as he gave orders to the helmsman. Whenever the helmeted head appeared the snipers ashore opened up and sparks and chipped paint-work showered down like falling snow.

*     *     *

Minutes after the two destroyers had roared out of the harbour mouth, the ‘Whitshed’ and the ‘Venamous’ appeared through the smoke, their guns blazing away.

“
P.O!” yelled Grey, “Quick as you can get someone back to the other jetty. I want the men there to stove in the planks of the sea boat, sink her under the jetty.

“
Aye, Aye, sir, understood. We’d better wait until the destroyers get alongside, they’ll give us some cover.”

Grey
nodded; he should have thought of that, he turned his attention back to the rapidly approaching warships, now only yards from the crowded jetty. The leading destroyer’s for’ard turrets suddenly belched fire and smoke and four rounds of H.E. crashed into a hotel on the water’s edge. It was then that Grey noticed the tanks that were her target. The two steel monsters disappeared under a mighty avalanche of dust and brick rubble, the whole front of the hotel had collapsed on top of them burying them completely.

Now
that Jerry had tanks in the town, he felt the old panic grip at his stomach, tight as a vice.

Petty officer Stone appeared at his side,
“I’ve detailed the men to take the wires, sir, and I’ve sent Gordon back to get the lads from the sea boat.

“
Good man…Volunteered did he?”

“
Not exactly, no sir.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
This is the Navy, sir. You won’t get Jack to volunteer. Not unless you bribe them with a tot of rum and we ain’t got any of that here, mores the pity.”

“
That’s a very cynical attitude you got there, P.O.”

“
Cynical…me, sir, no sir…Realistic, maybe.”

“
So you just ordered this man…what’s his name…Gordon to …”

“
Not ordered …no, sir… You have to use, what’s it called… psychology. His nickname’s ‘Galloping’, you see, so I said. ‘Galloping’, ‘You’ll do nicely as a runner’. Once his mates laugh, Jack don’t like to look as if he ain’t got a sense of humour, not in front of his mates. You can get more out of your people with a joke or a bit of friendly abuse then a direct order. But no, you’ll never get them to volunteer, sir. Not without the rum…”

*     *     *

“A lot steadier than that last lot, PO.” Grey and Stone stood side by side watching another half platoon of the Guard’s Brigade march smartly towards the Whitshed’s gangway.

“
‘Taffies’ sir…Welsh Guards, talk the hind leg off a donkey your Welsh.”

“
The crew of the ‘Whitshed’ seem to know them.”

“
I think it was them what brought them here from Holland a week or so back…How long are we staying here for, sir, any idea?”

“
I simply don’t know P.O. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“
And what’s your best guess, sir?”

“
The way things are going… I doubt if we will be here tomorrow.”

“
Wouldn’t let the lads hear you say that, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“
What? …Why?…We’ll simply cadge a lift off the last warship, sometime today.”