On the Edge of Darkness (Special Force Orca Book 1) (2 page)

*     *     *

As night fell and concealed the ‘Nishga’ from inquisitive eyes, she turned north- east and increased to her maximum speed.

The cloud cover was total, the ship darkened, no lights showing above decks, below only the red warm glow of the night lights guided the men to their stations as the watches changed. The
loudspeaker clicked in a fog of static.

“
Do you hear there, this is the Captain speaking.”

Men all over the ship, closed up at their Steaming Stations, stopped to listen.

“I am taking this opportunity to update you on events unfolding in Norway. You’ll all be glad to hear that, since I last spoke, we’ve bagged two more Jerry destroyers bringing the tally to four. Ashore things are not looking so good. The Germans have landed paratroopers at all the main airfields and are, as I speak, attacking many of the large cities.

For our part, we are proceeding, under new orders to Vest Fjord, as you may or may not kn
ow that’s quite close to Narvik. There we will join up with the battleship ‘Warspite’ and her escorting destroyers.

We will remain at
Steaming Stations for the time being, I advise you all to get as much rest as possible. That is all.”

*     *     *

The watches changed again at midnight, port watch swinging up, fully clothed, into the still warm hammocks recently vacated by their opposite numbers.

Up top Hogg
, the ship’s only midshipman, paced the bridge, lost in thoughts of the glories of a possible battle to come, he passed by the array of voice pipes; the bridge end of the ship’s internal communication system.

He noticed one of the lids was hanging by its chain. How long had that bee
n off? He glanced quickly at the Captain in his bridge chair.

As the second officer of the watch he
was supposed to keep an eye on such things. Just as well the ‘Old Man’ was asleep. He put his hand out to replace it and heard someone humming a tune. It came from the wheelhouse… he instantly recognised it, ‘The Girl I left behind me’… One of his dad’s favourite songs, he could remember the words. His dad used to sing it as he worked in their potting shed. It seemed a long time ago now. The quartermaster on the wheel was whistling, melodiously and… illegally! He suddenly remembered with a frown…No whistling allowed aboard one of His Majesty’s Ships. He was about to call down the tube when the whistling stopped and the rating burst into song.

“Ooh! I don’t give a fuck for the Officer of the Watch,

Or the
‘Killick’ of the fo’c’s’le party

‘
Cause I’m off ashore at ‘alf past four,

I
’m Jack me fucking hearty!

The midshipman’s mouth gaped open and blushing brightly in the dark he quickly and quietly replaced the lid.

Lieutenant Commander
Alexander Barr, slumped in his bridge chair, smiled from under the peak of his battered cap. He was a man of indeterminable age, his face deeply lined and deeply wind-tanned. His long frame ill formed for a uniform of any kind, he managed to look more like a badly dressed art teacher than a commissioned officer in His Majesty’s Navy. He was, however, living proof that you should never judge a book by its jacket which unfortunately the Navy invariable did. The result was there for all to see, two and a half rings on his sleeve where at his age and with his unquestionable abilities there should have been a lot more.

*     *     *

Ofotfjord

“Interrogative, sir!”

“
Very good, make the reply, Yeo.”

The Yeoman of
Signals nodded to the visual signalman and the Aldis chattered out their call sign.

Saturday had dawned
furtively behind an early morning mist that hung about the ‘Nishga’ eerily like a wet shroud. The visibility in Ofotfjord was down to a few hundred yards. The guard ship, posted close to the entrance had done well to spot them at all.

“
Guard ship’s pennant number is … Foxtrot seven five, sir; she’s the ‘Eskimo.’

Barr raised his binoculars to study her; she was a fellow Tribal.

He looked for damage; the majority of ‘Warspite’s’ escorting destroyers had been engaged in the fight at Narvik three days earlier. He could see no visible damage. He noticed her cable was shortened in readiness to weigh anchor and proceed, it seemed they had arrived in the nick of time.

The
‘Eskimo’s’ Aldis began to flash once more this time it was directed away from them into the swirling mist astern of her. An answer flashed briefly and then the same light transferred its attentions to them.

He heard the sound of their signal lamp
chattering in reply.

‘
Flag ship signalling, sir.’

Barr lowered his glasses and watched as
the towering structure of the ‘Warspite emerged gradually like a grey ghost from the folds of the mist. She was unmistakable, with her huge gunnery director, bigger than ‘Nishga’s’ bridge, poised seemingly precariously atop her foremast.

She was old
, nearly thirty years old, if his memory served him right, he had heard how she’d taken fifteen direct hits at the Battle of Jutland but she was still with them. Rightly so, she was magnificent, her designers had her just right, a perfect combination of firepower, speed and armour.

“‘
Captain report to Flag’, sir”

“
Very good, officer of the watch, make the arrangements, if you please. I’ll be below.”

*     *     *

Vice Admiral William ‘Jock’ Whitworth CB, DSO, sat at the end of the wardroom table his snowy head leaning forward as he read a signal. He was approaching his fifty-sixth birthday and already had some considerable claim to fame after seeing off the Gneisenau and the Scharnhorst whilst flying his Flag in the ‘Renown’ earlier that spring. Around him sat the Captains of the other nine destroyers. Barr recognised Sherbrooke of the ‘Cossack’ and nodded greetings.

The Admiral signed
for the signal and, handing it to the Chief Yeoman at his side, waved Barr to the one remaining chair at the highly polished mahogany table.

“
Good to see you, there’s coffee on the side table behind you”

“
I’m fine, thank you, sir.”

“
No? Right then I’ll bring you up to date, if I may. As you probably know we lost the ‘Hunter’’ and the ‘Hardy’ three days ago, besides that we had two other ships badly damaged during the action at Narvik; so your presence will go some way to making up our numbers and will be most welcome.

Now, according to aerial recognisance Jerry has eight destroyers and two
U Boats as well as several merchantmen, all survivors from Wednesday, in Narvik. Our intelligence chaps ashore assure us they are too low on fuel to come out, probably as a result of Wednesday’s action.

I intend, as they seem somewhat reluctant to come out to
play, to take the game to them” He turned and beckoned to a Flag Lieutenant waiting at the back of the compartment who quickly carried forward a wooden easel with a chart of Ofotfjord pinned to it.

“
The old hands with their prior knowledge of the anchorage will take the lead; ‘Cossack’ in the van. I will follow in the ‘Warspite’. Barr your ‘Nishga’ will be our rearguard. I am hoping to take Jerry by surprise but it’s a thirty-mile trip up fjord so it should take us about an hour, if all goes well.

The
‘Warspite’ will engage Jerry’s shore installations which were, apparently, captured more or less intact from our Norwegian friends. This means they have eight-inch guns and shore-based torpedoes at their disposal. So be ready to receive a warm welcome.

We have aircraft from the
‘Victorious’ available as air cover so make sure your Gunnery Officers are up to par on aircraft recognition. I don’t want any home goals!

My
Flag Lieutenant will give you your written orders. Address any queries to him. Well, gentleman, we will shortly be having a seat in the front row of history. Good luck and good hunting.”

*     *     *

Barr lowered his glasses; on the beam the Flagship was turning into the wind in order to fly off her Fairy Swordfish. Beyond the destroyer screen was nearing the headland that hid the enemy held harbour from view. His job was to stay close to the flagship as anti-submarine protection and to provide a rearguard.

“
Clear away all guns!”

“
All guns clear!”

At full speed and in line ahead the
van of the destroyers was already sweeping round into the harbour, their Battle Ensigns rippling and snapping at their mastheads. It looked as if the enemy ships had been taken completely by surprise.

The
‘Cossack’ in the lead engaged a large German destroyer moored to the jetty, the target, at very close range, was hit by her first salvo and oily black smoke began to pour from her shattered fo’c’s’le.

“
All guns closed up and cleared away, communications tested, sir”

Astern of the
‘Nishga’ a rolling crash with the power of a thousand thunderstorms echoed around the fjord as the ‘Warspite’ opened fire; the broadside, from her fifteen-inch guns, howled overhead and on into the enemy’s positions ashore.

The
‘Nishga’s’ gunnery control could now see the target.

“
Target enemy destroyers, Green eight seven, range one thousand two hundred yards.”

Through his glasses Barr could see that t
he four point sevens of the lead destroyers were doing terrible damage. It looked as though none of the enemy guns were yet in action, although it was difficult to be sure through the thick smoke already drifting out across the town.

Barr stood at the for
’ard screen he could hear the preparations being made for his ‘Nishga’ to join the bombardment.

“
All guns with H.E. Load! Load! Load! Follow TVI.” That was ‘Guns’ ordering all his four point sevens to load with high explosive shells and to follow the director rather than engage the target separately over open sights.

“
Open shutters.”

He could hear the men in
‘B’ Turret, close up and below the bridge, repeating the orders, clearly and calmly as if they were on exercise rather than about to enter what must be their first major action.

“
Trainer on! Layer on!”

“
Left gun ready! Right gun ready!”

“
Shutters open.’B’ Turret ready!”

Guns
’ voice echoed down from the director above his head. “Permission to open fire”

Barr leant over the voice pipe,
“Permission granted.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before the blast from the for
’ard guns hit the bridge, a flash of light and noise, a whiff of acrid cordite, the whistle of the shells roaring away like express trains and then the yell of the gun captain below. “Reload!”

Barr had his binoculars raised once
more; this time they were focused on the ‘Cossack’ she was taking hit after hit. The size of some of the explosions indicated she was taking punishment from both the shore battery and the smaller guns on the enemy destroyers. Barr could only imagin the damage they must be doing below decks as each eight-inch shell, weighing more two hundredweight tore into her thin unarmoured sides.

The Navigating Officer called from the compass platform
, his binoculars still raised to his eyes, “There’s the battery of eight-inch we were warned about, sir.”

“
Where away?”

“
Green eight oh, compass bearing one oh five.”

“‘
Guns’ shift target. New target the shore battery bearing one oh five magnetic.”

“
All guns Check! Check! Check! Shift target left…”

There was a f
lutter of red and white from the ‘Cossacks’ foremast. “Yeoman can you make out what the ‘Cossacks’ flying.”

The Yeoman at his side yelled above the roar of another broadside,
“That’s Foxtrot, sir. She’s disabled.”

They must have hit her boiler or engine room or perhaps her steering gear. As they watched she veered sharply out of the line and began to
lose way drifting downwind towards the north shore, all her guns still blazing.

Both sides were now doing terrific
damage; several of the enemy had cut their moorings and were now under way. The harbour was full of smoke and the din of battle with destroyers weaving and turning, firing their guns and torpedoes over open sights.

Right ahead a
Tribal suddenly appeared from the smoke of the battle. She was drifting helplessly downwind, smoke billowing from her superstructure in an oil-black cloud. Very few of her guns were returning fire.