Churchill's Secret Warriors: The Explosive True Story of the Special Forces Desperadoes of WWII by Damien Lewis
Authors: Damien Lewis
Ads: Link
free!’
It was all up to Tugmaster Coker now.
As the
Vulcan
gathered speed, Leslie Prout urged the sweating stokers to shovel on more coal, and the safety lever was physically held in place to prevent it cutting in and reducing the pressure on the dangerously overloaded engines. Demanding maximum power from his vessel, Tugmaster Coker got it. He managed to get both ships underway at a speedy 3 knots, as he began to steer the 7,872-tonne rudderless mass lying at the end of his towrope through the treacherous shallows.
*
All around the quay total confusion reigned. With the shore-batteries unleashing fire into the heavens, rhythmic flashespulsed across the bay. The momentary beats of illumination revealed to
Kapitan
Specht and his Italian comrade, Acting Captain Umberto Valle, glimpses of a terrible sight out on the bay. Somehow, their vessels seemed to be slipping out to sea.
It was unbelievable. Almost 10,000 tonnes of German and Italian shipping –
their ships
– was being spirited away beneath their very noses. As the
Likomba
and
Duchessa d’Aosta
melted into the darkness and cannon shells and gunfire rent the skies above Fernando Po, the Captain of the Spanish Colonial guard dashed hither and thither crying out: ‘Que pasa? Que pasa?’ –
what’s happening.
Panic gripped the townspeople, wild cries of ‘Alerta! Alerta! Alerta!’ rising up from the harbourside. Any hope of mustering some kind of concerted action to save the fast-disappearing vessels seemed lost, and the marvelous deception at the heart of Operation Postmaster appeared complete.
Out on the waters of the bay the more powerful
Vulcan
overhauled and passed the
Nuneaton
, as both dragged their prizes further and further towards the open sea. In the stern of the
Duchessa
Lassen, Longe and Haggis Taylor kept their Tommy Guns trained on the quayside, in case any form of last-minute resistance was mounted by either the Spanish defenders, or the German and the Italian ships’ officers.
It was fast becoming clear that the seemingly impossible had transpired: Operation Postmaster had been successful beyond anyone’s wildest imaginings. The raiders had stolen away the three target ships and while fierce gunfire still illuminated the sky above the town, not a shot seemed to have been directedtheir way. Apart from a few bruised and battered Italian captives they had not caused a single casualty – just as M had called for. The only shot fired by the raiders had been a negligent discharge – a revolver fired accidentally – and no one had been harmed.
As the ships drew further and further out to sea, it was as if a midnight firework display was underway above Santa Isabel town. Indeed, it was only just past the witching hour as the five ships powered past the buoys that marked the exit to the harbour and turned towards the open sea. The raid had taken just thirty-five minutes to execute.
*
Ashore in Santa Isabel town someone finally had the gumption to turn the power back on. Just as soon as the lights around the bay blinked into life it was clear what was missing from the harbour. Where the
Duchessa d’Aosta
and the smaller
Likomba
had stood there was now only open water. It was also abundantly clear that no Allied warplanes were thundering through the skies above the town, unleashing bombs.
The shore-side batteries ceased firing into the skies. In the comparative silence that followed, everyone was asking the same question: who had attacked the harbour and stolen the ships away? No one had the faintest clue. Some spoke of as many as five massive battleships stealing in under cover of darkness to execute the daring theft. Others remained convinced that the
Duchessa
and the
Likomba
had been somehow targeted from the air.
To add to the confusion, a handful of distinctive hats were seen lying in the water where the Italian and German ships hadbeen cut free from their moorings. Fished out of the sea, they proved to be Free French naval hats. As the
It was all up to Tugmaster Coker now.
As the
Vulcan
gathered speed, Leslie Prout urged the sweating stokers to shovel on more coal, and the safety lever was physically held in place to prevent it cutting in and reducing the pressure on the dangerously overloaded engines. Demanding maximum power from his vessel, Tugmaster Coker got it. He managed to get both ships underway at a speedy 3 knots, as he began to steer the 7,872-tonne rudderless mass lying at the end of his towrope through the treacherous shallows.
*
All around the quay total confusion reigned. With the shore-batteries unleashing fire into the heavens, rhythmic flashespulsed across the bay. The momentary beats of illumination revealed to
Kapitan
Specht and his Italian comrade, Acting Captain Umberto Valle, glimpses of a terrible sight out on the bay. Somehow, their vessels seemed to be slipping out to sea.
It was unbelievable. Almost 10,000 tonnes of German and Italian shipping –
their ships
– was being spirited away beneath their very noses. As the
Likomba
and
Duchessa d’Aosta
melted into the darkness and cannon shells and gunfire rent the skies above Fernando Po, the Captain of the Spanish Colonial guard dashed hither and thither crying out: ‘Que pasa? Que pasa?’ –
what’s happening.
Panic gripped the townspeople, wild cries of ‘Alerta! Alerta! Alerta!’ rising up from the harbourside. Any hope of mustering some kind of concerted action to save the fast-disappearing vessels seemed lost, and the marvelous deception at the heart of Operation Postmaster appeared complete.
Out on the waters of the bay the more powerful
Vulcan
overhauled and passed the
Nuneaton
, as both dragged their prizes further and further towards the open sea. In the stern of the
Duchessa
Lassen, Longe and Haggis Taylor kept their Tommy Guns trained on the quayside, in case any form of last-minute resistance was mounted by either the Spanish defenders, or the German and the Italian ships’ officers.
It was fast becoming clear that the seemingly impossible had transpired: Operation Postmaster had been successful beyond anyone’s wildest imaginings. The raiders had stolen away the three target ships and while fierce gunfire still illuminated the sky above the town, not a shot seemed to have been directedtheir way. Apart from a few bruised and battered Italian captives they had not caused a single casualty – just as M had called for. The only shot fired by the raiders had been a negligent discharge – a revolver fired accidentally – and no one had been harmed.
As the ships drew further and further out to sea, it was as if a midnight firework display was underway above Santa Isabel town. Indeed, it was only just past the witching hour as the five ships powered past the buoys that marked the exit to the harbour and turned towards the open sea. The raid had taken just thirty-five minutes to execute.
*
Ashore in Santa Isabel town someone finally had the gumption to turn the power back on. Just as soon as the lights around the bay blinked into life it was clear what was missing from the harbour. Where the
Duchessa d’Aosta
and the smaller
Likomba
had stood there was now only open water. It was also abundantly clear that no Allied warplanes were thundering through the skies above the town, unleashing bombs.
The shore-side batteries ceased firing into the skies. In the comparative silence that followed, everyone was asking the same question: who had attacked the harbour and stolen the ships away? No one had the faintest clue. Some spoke of as many as five massive battleships stealing in under cover of darkness to execute the daring theft. Others remained convinced that the
Duchessa
and the
Likomba
had been somehow targeted from the air.
To add to the confusion, a handful of distinctive hats were seen lying in the water where the Italian and German ships hadbeen cut free from their moorings. Fished out of the sea, they proved to be Free French naval hats. As the
Similar Books
