where the coastal batteries were mounted. He looked back to Sanders and his party and saw the survivors being manhandled up the nets, their faces pale and oil-stained — or was that blood? He could hear them coughing up the oil, rackingly. The men crowded the side and the cheering had stopped when the survivors drifted alongside. Now the hands were hauling them in, holding them up. “— ’right, Jock. Easy now.”…“’Old on to me. Come up, now.”…“Fetch us some blankets. This puir bastar’s frozen and shivering his teeth loose.”
Smith thought he could hear the crackling of the drifter as she burned herself out. He could certainly smell her, tar- and wood-smoke over the reek of the cordite that still hung about the bridge.
He turned up his face to the sky, wincing, hearing now the whistle that was faint but became piercing, grew to a shriek that ripped overhead. The shell burst in the sea a cable’s length to seaward of the drifter and the height of the water-spout it threw up showed it to be a biggish gun, six- or eight-inch. That would be from one of the batteries north of Nieuport.
Now Smith bellowed, “Get ’em in, Mr. Sanders!”
“All secure, sir!”
“Full astern port! Slow ahead starboard!” And as the engineroom telegraphs clanged he threw at Gow, “Port five!”
Sparrow
’s screws churned, she turned tightly and Smith watched her head come around. “Stop port…Slow ahead port…Starboard five!”
“Starboard five, sir!”
“Meet her…Steady!”
Sparrow
headed for the
Judy’s
boat and Smith leaned out over the screen again to shout at Sanders in the waist, “Get ready to do your stuff, Sub! And this time really fast! Haul ’em in!”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
Smith snapped, “Stop both!” Again the way came off
Sparrow
as she ran down on the boat and again she lay and wallowed in the beam sea. Smith held his breath as another shell howled overhead and burst to seaward of the drifter. He swallowed. But the boat was hooked on to the netting and the crew of the drifter were scrambling up and tumbling inboard. One man was hauled up on a line; Smith saw them yank him up and in like a sack of potatoes, a dozen hands grabbing at him.
“All secure, sir!” Sanders yelled it. Then he added, “An’ they picked up the airman, sir!”
That may have been the man on the line. Smith thought the airman was lucky to be alive — and aboard, because
Sparrow
could not search for anyone now she was under fire. “Full ahead both! Port ten!” The sooner he got them all out of these waters the better, but first he had to claw out to seaward of
Judy
so
Sparrow
would no longer be silhouetted against the glow of the drifter for the gunners ashore. “Ease to five…Midships!…Steady! Steer that!”
Sparrow
ran past the drifter that could not last long, had lasted too long for Smith’s liking, passed down her port side then left her astern. “Port five. Half ahead both…Midships. Steady. Two-four-oh.”
Gow answered, “Course two-four-oh, sir!”
Sparrow
headed back towards the West Deep and the Smal Bank. A minute or so later the drifter
Judy
sank. The glow of her was snuffed out like a candle as the sea claimed her. There were no more shells from the guns at Nieuport; they could not see a target.
Dunbar clambered up to the bridge, his head wrapped around with a white bandage, his cap stuck atop of it on the back of his head. Smith looked at him closely, saw his face pale as the bandage and asked him. “Are you all right?”
“Well enough, sir.” Dunbar put a hand to the bandage, tenderly. “I had a hell of a headache to start with. Being thrown off the bridge hasn’t helped it.” He glanced at Smith. “Good thing you were here, sir. After three years we finally sank a U-boat and I was down in my bunk with Brodie tying my head up.”
Smith shrugged. “You started the attack, anyway. After that your lads just did it by the book.” He did not have to lift his voice for all of them
Smith thought he could hear the crackling of the drifter as she burned herself out. He could certainly smell her, tar- and wood-smoke over the reek of the cordite that still hung about the bridge.
He turned up his face to the sky, wincing, hearing now the whistle that was faint but became piercing, grew to a shriek that ripped overhead. The shell burst in the sea a cable’s length to seaward of the drifter and the height of the water-spout it threw up showed it to be a biggish gun, six- or eight-inch. That would be from one of the batteries north of Nieuport.
Now Smith bellowed, “Get ’em in, Mr. Sanders!”
“All secure, sir!”
“Full astern port! Slow ahead starboard!” And as the engineroom telegraphs clanged he threw at Gow, “Port five!”
Sparrow
’s screws churned, she turned tightly and Smith watched her head come around. “Stop port…Slow ahead port…Starboard five!”
“Starboard five, sir!”
“Meet her…Steady!”
Sparrow
headed for the
Judy’s
boat and Smith leaned out over the screen again to shout at Sanders in the waist, “Get ready to do your stuff, Sub! And this time really fast! Haul ’em in!”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
Smith snapped, “Stop both!” Again the way came off
Sparrow
as she ran down on the boat and again she lay and wallowed in the beam sea. Smith held his breath as another shell howled overhead and burst to seaward of the drifter. He swallowed. But the boat was hooked on to the netting and the crew of the drifter were scrambling up and tumbling inboard. One man was hauled up on a line; Smith saw them yank him up and in like a sack of potatoes, a dozen hands grabbing at him.
“All secure, sir!” Sanders yelled it. Then he added, “An’ they picked up the airman, sir!”
That may have been the man on the line. Smith thought the airman was lucky to be alive — and aboard, because
Sparrow
could not search for anyone now she was under fire. “Full ahead both! Port ten!” The sooner he got them all out of these waters the better, but first he had to claw out to seaward of
Judy
so
Sparrow
would no longer be silhouetted against the glow of the drifter for the gunners ashore. “Ease to five…Midships!…Steady! Steer that!”
Sparrow
ran past the drifter that could not last long, had lasted too long for Smith’s liking, passed down her port side then left her astern. “Port five. Half ahead both…Midships. Steady. Two-four-oh.”
Gow answered, “Course two-four-oh, sir!”
Sparrow
headed back towards the West Deep and the Smal Bank. A minute or so later the drifter
Judy
sank. The glow of her was snuffed out like a candle as the sea claimed her. There were no more shells from the guns at Nieuport; they could not see a target.
Dunbar clambered up to the bridge, his head wrapped around with a white bandage, his cap stuck atop of it on the back of his head. Smith looked at him closely, saw his face pale as the bandage and asked him. “Are you all right?”
“Well enough, sir.” Dunbar put a hand to the bandage, tenderly. “I had a hell of a headache to start with. Being thrown off the bridge hasn’t helped it.” He glanced at Smith. “Good thing you were here, sir. After three years we finally sank a U-boat and I was down in my bunk with Brodie tying my head up.”
Smith shrugged. “You started the attack, anyway. After that your lads just did it by the book.” He did not have to lift his voice for all of them
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