Pride and the Anguish (44 page)

He was thrown back from the screen as Hammond's gun recoiled, and when he looked again he saw the shell strike home almost on the destroyer's waterline. The two ships tore towards each other, and Trewin judged that the enemy would pass down the port beam with not much room to spare.

Corbett was shouting, “Hit him!
Shoot,
lads!”

“X” gun fired at an extreme angle, so that its shell ripped past the
Porcupine
's bridge wing, flinging back the machine-gunner with its shock wave before exploding with a blinding flash below the enemy's forecastle.

From somewhere aft on the destroyer's low hull a single gun fired in reply. It was probably the first shot from that gun, and for that reason its crew were the best prepared for the
Porcupine
's
sudden appearance. The shell slammed into the port side of the bridge structure, so that Trewin felt the explosion through his feet and legs, as if he had been kicked in the spine.

Corbett seized his arm, his face contorted through the smoke. “We can't stop her now, Trewin!” He swung away as a voice shouted, “Wheel's jammed, sir! No answer from helm!”

“Are you hit, Cox'n?” Corbett cupped his hands above the voice-pipe.

Unwin's answer was clear even over the surge of water and the dogged explosions from both guns. “No, sir! But the wheel won't answer!”

Corbett said brokenly, “We must steer from aft, Trewin!” But as he looked across the voice-pipes Trewin saw the misery and defeat on his face.

Above the screen he could see the destroyer's topmast, the patch of colour from her battle flag. It would soon be over now. The last gesture of defiance had failed. Within the next few minutes the destroyer would swing away and pound them to scrap, without quarter, without pity.

Phelps almost fell across the gratings as he pulled at Trewin's arm. “Sir! We're
turnin
'!” His voice broke in a shriek. “Look! We're headin' for the destroyer!”

Trewin gripped the rail, his brain stunned by the sick madness of battle. For a moment longer he thought the other ship was already swinging inwards to smash into the gunboat's punctured hull and roll her under with the impetus of her charge. But Phelps was right. The
Porcupine
was turning, and with her maximum speed still making the screws race, the rudders were wrenching her round, so that her blunt bows were already pointing directly at the destroyer's high, raked stem.

A man screamed, “She'll cut us in half!” But nobody heeded his words.

From the wheelhouse Trewin heard Unwin shout in despair, “I can't shift it, sir! The rudders is hard over!”

Corbett stood upright against the screen, both hands firmly
on the rail. He seemed suddenly to relax, so that Trewin watched him instead of facing the charging force of destruction across the bows.

Corbett said, “We failed her, Trewin. So she's taking her own revenge!”

Trewin looked towards the enemy. She was so close that he could see the depth markings on her stem, the frantic figures running away from the forward gun, and the gesticulating officers on her high bridge.

The
Porcupine
was across those bows now, a diagonal barrier of solid steel, which would smash the destroyer's stem to fragments before it sliced into her own vitals and drove her down for the last time.

Corbett said, “She's got her helm down!” He sounded as if he no longer knew what to expect. “She's trying to turn!”

Across the narrowing gap they could hear the scream of power as the destroyer's thirty thousand horsepower roared against the rudder and threw her into a last, desperate turn.

Trewin tore his eyes away and swung on the shocked, mesmerised men behind him. “Open fire!
Shoot,
you bastards!” He pulled the seaman away from the starboard machine-gun and pressed his thumb down on the trigger.

The destroyer seemed above and around them, a swaying wall of grey steel with her deck slanting down towards them as she swung away like a mad thing. Away from the
Porcupine
's maddened charge, away from that final embrace.

Trewin kept his thumb on the trigger, seeing nothing but the steel deck alive with flying sparks as his bullets raked across it, cutting through a group of running seamen and tossing them aside like bloody rags.

He saw a line of tracer lifting from the destroyer's main-deck, watched it lift so very slowly before it plunged down to flay the
Porcupine
's reeling hull like a steel whip. It was like fighting a duel with that last enemy gunner to keep his head when his own ship was swaying over like a beast gone mad. Trewin followed
the ship across his jerking sights, ignoring the crash and whine of bullets around him, the sudden cries and the wild yells of the
Porcupine
's gunners. He knew it was Phelps by his side, his hands guiding the long ammunition belt, but his mind held nothing but that line of tracer and the small stabbing spurts of flame.

As if in a nightmare he heard Unwin yell, “Helm's answerin', sir! Comin' back on course now!”

Then he forgot even that miracle as the destroyer's bows appeared to lift, shudder, slide forward and then plough into a great welter of bursting spray and sand.

Dimly he remembered Corbett saying about the shallows. In his desperation to avoid the
Porcupine
's challenge, the other captain must have forgotten the nearness of danger below his racing keel. He saw the froth shooting helplessly from the destroyer's screws and heard the grinding crash of metal being buckled and prised apart by the force of the grounding. The tracer had stopped, and the enemy's decks were alive with running men, some of whom scattered and fell to another burst of automatic fire from aft. When Trewin looked over the rail he saw Sergeant Pitt striding along the battery deck, a Bren cradled on his hip as he fired continuously across the widening gap of churned, discoloured water.

Sweating, and bleeding from a cut across his cheek, Hammond ran up the bridge ladder and threw his arm around Trewin's neck. “We did it!” He was weeping with delirious excitement. “We
did
it!”

They both turned as Phelps said, “The captain, sir! He's been hit!”

With the gunboat already swinging back into her smokescreen, the stranded destroyer was lost within minutes, her menace gone.

Trewin knelt beside Corbett and lifted him against the side of the bridge. Corbett opened his eyes as Trewin unbuttoned the oilskin he had worn throughout the action. Then he looked past Trewin towards Hammond and the men of the bridge party who
crowded round behind him.

Trewin stared at the blood on Corbett's chest and at another clotted wound below his ribs. “Get Baker on the double!” He tried not to meet Corbett's eyes. Then he said, “You were already wounded, sir.” He eased his arm behind Corbett's shoulders, holding him away from the vibrating steel. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Corbett smiled. “We were all too busy, Trewin.”

Petty Officer Dancy pushed through the silent men, a wad of dressing in his hands. As he placed the pad across Corbett's chest he said quietly, “The admiral's been wounded, sir.” He tried to smile. “He really has this time.”

Corbett looked up at the flag and said wearily, “I'd forgotten about him.”

Trewin said, “The
Prawn
will be safe now. We pulled it off.” He felt his eyes smarting with despair and pride. “You were right about the
Porcupine,
sir. She's a mind of her own.”

Corbett smiled. “Help me up, Trewin. Into my chair.”

Trewin saw Baker watching him. He gave a small shrug.

Very carefully, with Hammond and Phelps beside him, he lifted Corbett on to the same scarred and chipped chair. The move must have been a torment of pain, but Corbett said, “Thank you. I can see her better now.” Then in an almost normal tone he added, “Reduce speed. She's taken enough for one day.” He grimaced and then said, “Alter course. Steer due south.” His fingers gripped the dressing into a bright red ball against his chest. “There's nothing ahead of us now except Java. The end of the voyage!”

Tweedie had climbed down from the rangefinder, and Trewin saw Nimmo too in his filthy overalls, and Petty Officer Kane carrying a Bren beneath his arm.

They were all looking at their ship, the battered, listing but defiant gunboat which had drawn them together and had held them so in the face of final disaster.

Corbett said suddenly, “This would have been the last one for
me anyway.” He sounded very tired. “But the darkness is here at last, thank God.”

Trewin saw the men look away. The bridge was still bronzed in the strange sunlight, and the horizon stood out clear, and sharp below the last of the clouds.

Trewin said quietly, “Yes, sir. It's dark now. You can rest.”

Unwin's voice echoed amongst the silent, smoke-grimed figures. “Course one eight oh, sir! Steady as you go!”

Corbett's hand dropped against the chair and his head lolled slightly in time with the ship's easy movement.

Trewin stood back and removed his cap. It was over.

Dancy was the first to break the silence. “This is something none of us'll forget. The mistakes and the failures.” He dropped his eyes. “And the shame.”

Trewin nodded. “There
was
shame, Buffer.” He let his eyes move along the splintered decks, the grotesque holes in the plating, and back over the straight, unbroken line of the
Porcupine
's wake. “And there was glory, too…”

D
OUGLAS
R
EEMAN
joined the Navy in 1941. He did convoy duty in the Atlantic, the Arctic, and the North Sea, and later served in motor torpedo boats.

As he says, “I am always asked to account for the perennial appeal of the sea story, and its enduring interest for the people of so many nationalities and cultures. It would seem that the eternal and sometimes elusive triangle of man, ship and ocean, particularly under the stress of war, produces the best qualities of courage and compassion, irrespective of the rights and wrongs of conflict…The sea has no understanding of righteous or unjust causes. It is the common enemy, respected by all who serve on it, ignored at their peril.”

Apart from the many novels he has written under his own name, he has also written more than two dozen historical novels featuring Richard Bolitho, under the pseudonym of Alexander Kent.

ALEXANDER KENT

The Complete

Midshipman Bolitho

Stand Into Danger

In Gallant Company

Sloop of War

To Glory We Steer

Command a King's Ship

Passage to Mutiny

With All Despatch

Form Line of Battle!

Enemy in Sight!

The Flag Captain

Signal–Close Action!

The Inshore Squadron

A Tradition of Victory

Success to the Brave

Colours Aloft!

Honour This Day

The Only Victor

Beyond the Reef

The Darkening Sea

For My Country's Freedom

Cross of St George

Sword of Honour

Second to None

Relentless Pursuit

Man of War

Heart of Oak

In the King's Name

DOUGLAS REEMAN

A Prayer for the Ship

HMS Saracen

The White Guns

Killing Ground

Battlecruiser

For Valour

Twelve Seconds to Live

The Pride and the Anguish

A Dawn Like Thunder

Badge of Glory

The First to Land

The Horizon

Dust on the Sea

Knife Edge

C.N. PARKINSON

The Guernseyman

Devil to Pay

The Fireship

Touch and Go

So Near So Far

Dead Reckoning

JULIAN STOCKWIN

Kydd

Artemis

Seaflower

Mutiny

Quarterdeck

Tenacious

Command

The Admiral's Daughter

The Privateer's Revenge

Invasion

Victory

Conquest

Betrayal

Caribbee

Pasha

Tyger

DEWEY LAMBDIN

The French Admiral

The Gun Ketch

HMS Cockerel

A King's Commander

Jester's Fortune

JOHN BIGGINS

A Sailor of Austria

The Emperor's Coloured Coat

The Two-Headed Eagle

Tomorrow the World

DAVID DONACHIE

The Devil's Own Luck

The Dying Trade

A Hanging Matter

An Element of Chance

The Scent of Betrayal

A Game of Bones

V.A. STUART

The Valiant Sailors

The Brave Captains

Hazard's Command

Hazard of Huntress

Hazard in Circassia

Victory at Sebastopol

Guns to the Far East

Escape from Hell

PHILIP MCCUTCHAN

Halfhyde at the Bight of Benin

Halfhyde's Island

Halfhyde and the Guns of Arrest

Halfhyde to the Narrows

Halfhyde for the Queen