On the Edge of Darkness (Special Force Orca Book 1) by Anthony Molloy Page B
Authors: Anthony Molloy
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was broken. They drafted us all off anyway…except for some of the gun’s crew… It’ll be months, if at all, before she gets back in commission.”
“ Was she your first ship sir?…the ‘Belfast’?”
“ Yes, joined as a subby…straight out of training…Eighteenth Cruiser Squadron based at Scapa.”
They talked on in bursts, yelling above the roar of the engines, as they bounced their way south with the velvet black of the island looming to port.
* * *
“Ship fine on the starboard bow, sir!”
They slowed to a sedate ten knots, only slightly faster than the enemy convoy as it crept along, hugging the coastline like a child with its comfort-blanket.
“ That’s the arse-end Charlie, Middy, shouted Grant from the for’ard screen. We’ll pass her well to port and see what’s happening up front.”
“ There’s the lighthouse sir,” he pointed at the loom of a light flashing its sequence across the black sky ahead of the convoy… looks real enough doesn’t it.”
“ It seems to have fooled them anyway, no one’s altered aw, if anything they’re closer inshore than we estimated.”
“ Seems a bit of a shame really”, said Hogg, “sinking all these ships, I mean.”
“ They’re doing murder to our lads in the Atlantic…At least the crews of this little lot will have a chance to get ashore, they won’t be treading water hundreds of miles from anywhere.”
“ I didn’t mean that sir, what I meant was it’s a pity we couldn’t take the lot back, help the war effort.”
“ And our pockets, I got a nice little sum from the prize we took on my last ship. Mind you that would be nothing compared to what this little lot would be worth… I think that’s the lead ship… stop engines.”
Their speed fell abruptly and the engine noise dropped to a soft purr, the bow sinking back down as the way came off her. They drifted slowly onward watching the enemy ships through their night glasses.
“ Right, Yeo! Make to the convoy, ‘Keep closed up, enemy ship to port’.”
“ Plain language?”
“ Affirmative.”
* * *
A burst of iridescent white foam spurted from the stern of the nearest merchantman as it blindly obeyed Grant’s order. Only two ship’s lengths had separated the vessels in the convoy, now it was down to one.
Suddenly the lead ship began to turn sharply to port.
“She’s seen the land ahead of her,” yelled Grant, “But she’s too late, I’ll wager!”
She began blaring out a warning on her steam siren , her screws stopped and then started again as her captain desperately tried to stop her headlong rush to destruction. Her manoeuvring and the wailing of her siren seemed to cause more confusion. Ships were turning to port and to starboard in frantic attempts to avoid running into the ship ahead.
The convoy leader had turned to port, the next in line found himself heading straight for her. He put the wheel hard over to starboard trying to go round her stern. Then he too must have seen the headland. The screws stopped turning and then burst into life again as her engines went full astern.
The grating, booming sound of metal plate on unforgiving rock filled t he air. The rest of the convoy, now visibly slower, began an emergency turn to port, signal lamps flashed urgently as they realised the dangers ahead. Some were managing the turn faster than their fellows, but this only caused more problems in an already congested channel. Collision followed collision like a skittle alley from hell.
Two ships, helplessly locked together, drifted down onto the two columns slowly and inexorably ripping and tearing their way through their battered ranks.
The last two merchantmen , weaving and twisting from in amongst their fellows, managed, somehow, to get through the nightmare, but found themselves heading straight for the island. The smaller vessel, to seaward, was too late in her turn away; with the tide and wind against her she
“ Was she your first ship sir?…the ‘Belfast’?”
“ Yes, joined as a subby…straight out of training…Eighteenth Cruiser Squadron based at Scapa.”
They talked on in bursts, yelling above the roar of the engines, as they bounced their way south with the velvet black of the island looming to port.
* * *
“Ship fine on the starboard bow, sir!”
They slowed to a sedate ten knots, only slightly faster than the enemy convoy as it crept along, hugging the coastline like a child with its comfort-blanket.
“ That’s the arse-end Charlie, Middy, shouted Grant from the for’ard screen. We’ll pass her well to port and see what’s happening up front.”
“ There’s the lighthouse sir,” he pointed at the loom of a light flashing its sequence across the black sky ahead of the convoy… looks real enough doesn’t it.”
“ It seems to have fooled them anyway, no one’s altered aw, if anything they’re closer inshore than we estimated.”
“ Seems a bit of a shame really”, said Hogg, “sinking all these ships, I mean.”
“ They’re doing murder to our lads in the Atlantic…At least the crews of this little lot will have a chance to get ashore, they won’t be treading water hundreds of miles from anywhere.”
“ I didn’t mean that sir, what I meant was it’s a pity we couldn’t take the lot back, help the war effort.”
“ And our pockets, I got a nice little sum from the prize we took on my last ship. Mind you that would be nothing compared to what this little lot would be worth… I think that’s the lead ship… stop engines.”
Their speed fell abruptly and the engine noise dropped to a soft purr, the bow sinking back down as the way came off her. They drifted slowly onward watching the enemy ships through their night glasses.
“ Right, Yeo! Make to the convoy, ‘Keep closed up, enemy ship to port’.”
“ Plain language?”
“ Affirmative.”
* * *
A burst of iridescent white foam spurted from the stern of the nearest merchantman as it blindly obeyed Grant’s order. Only two ship’s lengths had separated the vessels in the convoy, now it was down to one.
Suddenly the lead ship began to turn sharply to port.
“She’s seen the land ahead of her,” yelled Grant, “But she’s too late, I’ll wager!”
She began blaring out a warning on her steam siren , her screws stopped and then started again as her captain desperately tried to stop her headlong rush to destruction. Her manoeuvring and the wailing of her siren seemed to cause more confusion. Ships were turning to port and to starboard in frantic attempts to avoid running into the ship ahead.
The convoy leader had turned to port, the next in line found himself heading straight for her. He put the wheel hard over to starboard trying to go round her stern. Then he too must have seen the headland. The screws stopped turning and then burst into life again as her engines went full astern.
The grating, booming sound of metal plate on unforgiving rock filled t he air. The rest of the convoy, now visibly slower, began an emergency turn to port, signal lamps flashed urgently as they realised the dangers ahead. Some were managing the turn faster than their fellows, but this only caused more problems in an already congested channel. Collision followed collision like a skittle alley from hell.
Two ships, helplessly locked together, drifted down onto the two columns slowly and inexorably ripping and tearing their way through their battered ranks.
The last two merchantmen , weaving and twisting from in amongst their fellows, managed, somehow, to get through the nightmare, but found themselves heading straight for the island. The smaller vessel, to seaward, was too late in her turn away; with the tide and wind against her she
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