last two trucks in the group while consolidating his own men in the front vehicles. The vehicles were refueled, the wounded loaded aboard the Model T, and the convoy got under way reasonably close to the planned departure time.
As Burke and the convoy captain had feared, they were attacked twice while en route by German aircraft patrolling behind the lines. The first time it was by a lone Fokker D.VII biplane that must have been low on fuel, for it strafed the convoy just once before continuing on its way. The second time they were caught on the open road by a trio of aircraft, Albatroses, Burke thought, given their rounded tails, and took some heavy fire for several minutes before a pair of Sopwith Camels turned up and chased the German fighters off. Having come under fire from a determined fighter pilot in the past, Burke knew they got away pretty easily.
Night had fallen by the time they reached the city. They said their good-Âbyes to the convoy crew and headed for the docks. Once there, Burke sent the men over to the enlisted mess while he slipped into the officersâ club to try to track down their contact, Captain Wattley.
It took a few tries, but eventually Burke was directed to berth number eighteen. He headed in that direction, expecting to find another fishing trawler like the one that had taken him to Southend-Âon-ÂSea just a few days before, and was shocked upon arrival to find a submarine bobbing gently in the waters at the end of the dock, a British flag flying over it. Two sailors stood guard duty at the end of the gangplank leading to the deck of the submarine and they watched him cautiously as he approached.
âIâm looking for Captain Wattley,â Burke told them.
One of the guards looked him over for a moment, then said, âWait here,â and disappeared up the gangplank and through the hatch.
The other guard wasnât the talkative type, replying to Burkeâs inquiries with one-Âword responses, so after a few attempts at conversation Burke moved to one side and shook out a cigarette to smoke while he waited. Heâd just about finished when the guard returned, this time with a lieutenant in tow.
âMajor Burke? Lieutenant Sanders, HMS Reliant .â
The two men shook hands.
âIâm Captain Wattleyâs executive officer. The captain is asleep at the moment; itâs his off-Âshift. Can I help you with something?â
âSorry to spring this on you unannounced, Lieutenant, but Iâm afraid youâre going to have to go wake the old man up. Iâve got sealed orders for him and him alone and weâre on a bit of a timetable on this one.â
The lieutenant didnât look happy, but he didnât have much choice in the matter. Sanders led Burke up the gangplank, across the deck, and over to the conning tower hatch from which Sanders had emerged moments before. With a warning to watch his head, Sanders led him below.
Burke had never been aboard a submarine before, and the tight quarters were the first thing he noticed. It was hard not to when the ceiling seemed to press down from above and the walls felt closer than he knew they actually were. He couldnât imagine being trapped inside this contraption with thousands of pounds of pressure pushing in on it from the outside; the thought made him claustrophobic.
Sanders slipped past the crew members working around them and led Burke to a bulkhead door at the back of the room. He knocked and then slipped inside the door, leaving Burke standing there alone under the curious eyes of the crew for several minutes. Eventually Sanders stepped back out and gestured for Burke to go on in.
The room was tiny and clearly served two purposes, if the radio he glimpsed behind the captainâs hammock was any indication. Captain Wattley turned out to be a slim, narrow-Âfaced man with a shaved head and the bushiest set of eyebrows Burke had ever seen. He stood next to his hammock, a cup of
As Burke and the convoy captain had feared, they were attacked twice while en route by German aircraft patrolling behind the lines. The first time it was by a lone Fokker D.VII biplane that must have been low on fuel, for it strafed the convoy just once before continuing on its way. The second time they were caught on the open road by a trio of aircraft, Albatroses, Burke thought, given their rounded tails, and took some heavy fire for several minutes before a pair of Sopwith Camels turned up and chased the German fighters off. Having come under fire from a determined fighter pilot in the past, Burke knew they got away pretty easily.
Night had fallen by the time they reached the city. They said their good-Âbyes to the convoy crew and headed for the docks. Once there, Burke sent the men over to the enlisted mess while he slipped into the officersâ club to try to track down their contact, Captain Wattley.
It took a few tries, but eventually Burke was directed to berth number eighteen. He headed in that direction, expecting to find another fishing trawler like the one that had taken him to Southend-Âon-ÂSea just a few days before, and was shocked upon arrival to find a submarine bobbing gently in the waters at the end of the dock, a British flag flying over it. Two sailors stood guard duty at the end of the gangplank leading to the deck of the submarine and they watched him cautiously as he approached.
âIâm looking for Captain Wattley,â Burke told them.
One of the guards looked him over for a moment, then said, âWait here,â and disappeared up the gangplank and through the hatch.
The other guard wasnât the talkative type, replying to Burkeâs inquiries with one-Âword responses, so after a few attempts at conversation Burke moved to one side and shook out a cigarette to smoke while he waited. Heâd just about finished when the guard returned, this time with a lieutenant in tow.
âMajor Burke? Lieutenant Sanders, HMS Reliant .â
The two men shook hands.
âIâm Captain Wattleyâs executive officer. The captain is asleep at the moment; itâs his off-Âshift. Can I help you with something?â
âSorry to spring this on you unannounced, Lieutenant, but Iâm afraid youâre going to have to go wake the old man up. Iâve got sealed orders for him and him alone and weâre on a bit of a timetable on this one.â
The lieutenant didnât look happy, but he didnât have much choice in the matter. Sanders led Burke up the gangplank, across the deck, and over to the conning tower hatch from which Sanders had emerged moments before. With a warning to watch his head, Sanders led him below.
Burke had never been aboard a submarine before, and the tight quarters were the first thing he noticed. It was hard not to when the ceiling seemed to press down from above and the walls felt closer than he knew they actually were. He couldnât imagine being trapped inside this contraption with thousands of pounds of pressure pushing in on it from the outside; the thought made him claustrophobic.
Sanders slipped past the crew members working around them and led Burke to a bulkhead door at the back of the room. He knocked and then slipped inside the door, leaving Burke standing there alone under the curious eyes of the crew for several minutes. Eventually Sanders stepped back out and gestured for Burke to go on in.
The room was tiny and clearly served two purposes, if the radio he glimpsed behind the captainâs hammock was any indication. Captain Wattley turned out to be a slim, narrow-Âfaced man with a shaved head and the bushiest set of eyebrows Burke had ever seen. He stood next to his hammock, a cup of
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