Dunkirk Spirit Part 67

'Yes, sir. The bunting's all up.'

The Skipper lowered his voice. 'Has that gin come aboard yet?'

'Uh, yes, sir. Chef's got it put away for you.'

The Skipper tugged at his lapels and sucked in his belly. 'How do I look? The belle of the ball?'

'Pardon, sir?'

'How do I look, Frank?'

'Much smarter than any monkey, sir.'

'I shall take that as a compliment.' He nodded, dismissing his steward.

'Just one think, sir,' said Frank. 'The yeoman just handed me this for you.'

Commander Edward Bishop looked with horror at the small buff envelope. 'Fetch Commander Hubbard to me immediately. Go now, Frank.'

The Skipper sat down heavily on his bunk and stared at the envelope.

Knock, knock!

'You wanted me, sir?'

'Come in, Gordon. Pour us both a stiff one, will you?' He nodded to his cabinet containing the bottles of Canadian whisky.

'What's up, sir?' Gordon poured a double finger into both gla.s.ses.

The Skipper made a gesture with his hand, indicating more. And then he waved the envelope. Gordon continued to pour.

'This is a general signal from the Vice-Admiral that has been pa.s.sed to us,' the Skipper told him. 'It points out that the evacuation of the BEF had only been made possible by the very gallant rear-guard action fought by a French division. It says that the majority of these Frenchmen are anxious to come to England, rather than face who knows how long in an internment camp. And the admiral asks that every ship that can possibly manage it should make just one more trip. He wants to know if we are up for it, Number One.'

'It's not the party invitation one would hope for, sir.'

'And not one we can easily refuse.'

'What are you going to signal, sir?'

'Clear the lower deck and a.s.semble the ship's company.' The Skipper stood up and tugged again at his lapels. 'We are going to put this one to the vote.'

I had hoped and believed that last night would see us through but the French who were covering the retirement of the British rear-guard had to repel a strong German attack and so were unable to send their troops to the pier in time to be embarked. We cannot leave our Allies in the lurch and I must call on all officers and men to let the world see that we never let down our Ally.

'Those are the words of Admiral Ramsay,' said Commander Bishop gravely. 'He wants to know whether we can make the trip or not.'

The Skipper looked at the faces in front of him. He could put a name to every one. He smiled. 'I know old Cameron is sorely battered. She has chips off both props, a d.a.m.n great hole in the port bow, and only just above the waterline. Her compa.s.s is still on the blink and I know you are all well nigh exhausted.'

He let the men voice their agreement. 'What is being asked here is something that has never been asked of the Royal Navy before, because there has never been an operation like this before.'

The Skipper looked for reactions and found few. He nodded. 'We have already accomplished nine trips and some might say we would be pushing our luck if we tried any more. Cameron's engines and boilers have been run to death, she's badly in need of a thoroughgoing overhaul, and they might break down or blow up at any moment. And yet, I feel that if we do not accept this invitation, if we were to say No, we could never hold up our heads again. And I think in many ways we would be letting the old girl down. She's nearing the end of her useful life and she has an unblemished record.'

The Skipper looked proudly at his men. 'I think we ought to go, chaps. What do you say?'

When the roar on the lower deck died away, Commander Edward Bishop turned to his First Officer and said, 'Signal: Cameron can do!'

'Aye, aye, sir!'

22:50 Monday 3 June 1940.

Dunkirk, France The gulls were trying their hardest to out-screech the sirens of the French destroyer. The larger sounds of artillery had long since died away. With the Germans now into the streets, the sharper report of mortars, machine-guns and rifles crackled like a forest fire. High above the burning docks, almost prehistoric in silhouette, the seabirds swarmed in their thousands, tricked by the light into singeing their feathers in the flames.

'Hold her steady, Number One.'

'Steady!'

HMS Cameron, an aging Scotts-cla.s.s destroyer, rode uncomfortably a cable's length from the harbour entrance. The sea, now turned choppy by the fresh easterly wind, was on the ebb.

'No one said it was going to be easy, sir,' observed Gordon.

The Skipper did not bother to reply.

The turbulent waters, red with the glow of the port, highlighted the myriad and motley boats of the French armada. The yells, screams and sirens carried easily across the water. This was chaos on a grand scale.

'Still no reply to our signal, sir,' called the yeoman.

'Keep her steady, Number One.'

'Steady it is, sir.'

'Finally, eh!' beamed Rear-Admiral Wake-Walker. 'Wonderful to see you, old boy! You look b.l.o.o.d.y well considering.' He shook his head. 'I didn't mean to stand you up, you know.'

Binky beamed back and clasped the hand. 'Not a problem. I got your invitation.'

The admiral laughed aloud. 'Someone said you'd gone walkabout.'

'Shopping and sightseeing,' smiled the Commander. The admiral gave his arm an affectionate squeeze and steered him up the East Mole.

'Talking of invitations,' said the admiral. 'It was a rather dismal party last night. Hardly anybody turned up.'

'But not so tonight.' Commander Babbington struggled to take in the scene. Countless small boats and their crews fought to come alongside. They squeezed their way between the destroyers Whitshed and Sabre and the personnel ship Autocarrier, and they called out like crazed fishmongers to the throngs of Poilus who lined the pier. 'They're making up for it now.'

'It's like a b.l.o.o.d.y madhouse! Look at 'em! Look over there! That b.l.o.o.d.y boat is going full astern, not looking where she's going! Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Open your eyes, dimwit!' called out the admiral. 'And look at that one coming full on, not a care in the world. I despair!'

They continued to push their way along the Mole through the press of troops, many clutching mattresses and heavy bundles, until the admiral spotted a French naval officer in full dress uniform. 'Captain de Revoir!' he called, adding in an aside to Binky, 'The French Naval Attache.'

'Captain! This really is impossible! All these small boats, they're clogging the whole place up. How the h.e.l.l am I supposed to get my destroyers in or out, eh?'

'But it is not just the French boats,' insisted the attache, touching his cap. 'I have seen your own little boats here, too, and Belgian boats, also.'

'Captain! We have a very small window.' The admiral turned on his famous glare. 'We must be out of here, Germans aside, in under four hours at the very, very latest. And this pier has been clearly earmarked for the personnel vessels, the destroyers and paddle minesweepers. Everything else, and that includes all these b.l.o.o.d.y trawlers and whatnot, are to use the inner harbour.'

'But I say again, sir. These are not just our boats. I will signal for them to pull out but you must signal to your boats also.'

'Agreed,' snapped the admiral. 'And where is General Lucas?' The admiral pulled back his braided sleeve and tapped his wrist.w.a.tch. 'We will never be able to evacuate his whole division in time if this carries on.'

'He will be here soon, sir.'

'He'd better be, and I want him and his division here at the East Mole.' He jabbed a finger at the rickety boards beneath their feet.

'I agree, admiral.' The captain came to stiff attention and knocked off a quick salute.

The admiral took Binky aside. 'Between you and me, old boy, there's virtually no ammunition left. The rear-guard will have to throw rocks at the Huns soon! I sent off a signal asking for some light stuff, but never heard a word. It's all a bit tense, I can tell you.'

He turned with a jerk and caught the eye of his yeoman. 'Flash off a general signal, will you? Get everybody out of here and into the b.l.o.o.d.y inner harbour!'

'Signal from the Mole, sir.'

'What's it say?'

'It's a bit ambiguous, sir. It would appear that they are asking us to use the inner harbour.'

'We haven't been in there before have we, Number One?'

'No, sir. We never fancied it, not after the first day. And it's a bit tight getting in.'

'Better do as we're told,' said the Skipper. 'Take us in, please.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

HMS Cameron cruised slowly through the busy waters. The easterly wind caught hold of the rich black smoke from the refinery and pulled in across the surface like a ghostly blanket. The lookouts saw the flickering light catch on the protruding funnels and upper works, and they saw their razor bows slicing the dark fog aside.

'Drop the revs a bit, Number One.'

Gordon lent to the pipe. 'Dead slow ahead.'

'Wreck off the port bow!' called a lookout.

'Wheelhouse,' called Gordon. 'Starboard five.'

's.h.i.t!' shouted someone from the front of the ship as a heavy coaster was seen to swing across Cameron's bows. 'Vessel ahead!' screamed the same voice.

'Hard astern! Hard astern!' shouted Gordon. He waited for the crunch of impact while Cameron's twin propellers tore at the water. He gripped the rail as she came to a halt and then suddenly began to surge back.

'Wreck off the starboard bow!' called another lookout.

'Midships!' called Gordon. 'All stop!' He turned to the Skipper, his forehead glistening. 'This is impossible, sir. What do I do? I can't even run them down! We already have a gapping great hole in our side.'

It was then that Cameron, continuing her backward course, collided with something in the dark. Rather than knocking the vessel out of the way, the destroyer appeared to rise momentarily out of the water. Gordon, along with everyone else on the bridge, held his breath. There came the sound of splintering wood and Cameron bobbed back on the level. Gordon leant to the pipes. 'Slow ahead both. Steer starboard five.'

He caught sight of the entrance. Gently he steered Cameron between the two dead beacons that marked the tips of East and West Piers.

'Let's have a little light on the subject,' called the Skipper. He tapped a seaman on the back and one of the powerful bridge spotlights snapped on, illuminating the black water. The stark light travelled along the side of the pier searching for a gap large enough to accommodate a destroyer. Masts and spars, suddenly in the spotlight, protruded as if from a drowned forest, along with a.s.sorted debris and a few heads that bobbed in the water. The destroyer glided on.

She glided on until the worst thing that was possible happened. A shocking tearing sound rose up from beneath Cameron's bows: a grinding noise akin to a heavy safe being dragged across a very long concrete floor; and it seemed that it might never stop. Gordon gripped tight on the rail as the fifteen hundred ton destroyer began to lift out of the water.

's.h.i.t!' Gordon could only just speak. He could not swallow.

'Cutter approaching, sir!'

Gordon raced to the port wing of the bridge and looked down. A naval cutter puttered towards them.

'Ahoy, Cameron!'

'Ahoy to you, too!'

'Well there!' called the voice. 'You seem to have got yourself in a bit of a pickle.'

'You could say that,' answered Gordon.

'We're going to have a tug pull you off.'

'Thank you. Thanks a lot.'

'You can do us a favour,' continued the voice.

'What's that?'

'The admiral wants to use you as a blockship. We'll tow you down to the New Lock gates and you can scuttle her there!'

'Scuttle her!' The Skipper, who now stood beside Gordon, felt as if he were floating free of his body. A loud humming noise filled his ears.

Gordon looked over the side. The officer stood balancing in the cutter's bows, his hands raised to his mouth. 'Leave a skeleton crew. I'll send a couple of schuitjes over. Then abandon ship!'

Day Ten.

02:40 Tuesday 4 June 1940.

Dunkirk, France.

'As soon as she's off, chief, I need to know if she'll float. I need to know immediately.'

'Aye, aye, sir!' The elderly chief slid sprightly down the ladder and Gordon leant over the port wing of the bridge. The tug sounded her horn.

'Here we go.'