The Death of Hope by Andrew Wareham (inspirational books for women txt) 📕

left and right, to establish a line. We will not beadvancing beyond this position.”

“Yes, sir. Make a line, sir, back from hereto our old trench, holding both sides, sir.”

“That’s right. Off you go.”

The boy ran.

“Caton, pass the word to pick up thepacks. Men to dig in. Get me a list of the figures for the morning.”

An hour and Richard had a mug of tea inhis hand and was reading the reports from the eight companies that had made thefirst advance.

“Lost forty-five men dead and thirty moreseverely wounded. Fifty-three walking wounded, most of whom remain in the line.One man in every seven for the battalion as a whole. Far better than NeuveChapelle and we have actually advanced two hundred yards. What’s the positionto the left and right?”

Hawkeswill answered. He had chosen not toreturn to the rear, it seemed.

“No advance to our left, the north, thatis, sir. Battalion to our right has paralleled us. The salient has in effectbecome a dogleg in the line, sir. Likely to take fire from two sides, sir.”

“Get a written message to Brigade to thateffect, Hawkeswill. Draw a little map to go with it, so they can understandwhat we mean. Suggest strongly that the battalion to our left must pushforward. If they don’t, we will be shot to pieces in short time. Has anybodyinformation on Mr Michaels?”

Word came that Michaels had made hisattack, the little party going out an hour previously. Nothing had been seen ofhim since.

Captain Caton slid down from the lip ofthe trench where he had been laid flat with a pair of binoculars.

“Two of the seven bunkers have beensilenced, sir. Explosions in both. Possible that Mills Bombs detonated readyuse ammunition, sir. No sign of Michaels returning.”

That left five still active and certainlyalert to attack by small parties of bombers. There was little probable gain tosending out more men in daylight.

“Might be a chance of getting into themtonight, Caton?”

“There was wire going up around them, sir.”

“Forget it. Anything else is up toBrigade.”

Chapter Five

“Nothing,sir. Sea is empty.”

Simon glumly agreed. The pair of monitorswere merrily battering at the Belgian coast, their twelve inch guns making a vastnoise and jetting out huge plumes of flame from their muzzles, announcing theirposition to any interested sailorman, and nobody was coming to the party.

“Battery fire from the shore, sir.”

They watched as shells burst on the sea,the nearest half a mile wide and over their target. Firing at muzzle flasheswas a futile exercise for the most experienced gunners. The shore batteries hadbeen installed in the past few weeks, were still learning their trade.

“Big guns, Canning.”

“Must be a fifteen inch or close to, sir.Damned near a ton of shell. One hit and any ship will be in trouble.”

There was no gain to heaving to andwatching the fireworks.

“We might have overrun the response,Canning. Possible that they had nothing ready to sail… Unlikely. Better weshould find out. Reverse course. Signal the half-flotilla to follow in lineastern through the inshore channel.”

The signal was made and the fourdestroyers threaded their way along the narrow passage between the minefieldsand the shore, heading northeast, back towards the Dutch border.

Two hours at slow speed and they had seennothing. Simon was about to give up, to take the half-flotilla out through thenearest gap in the minefields and return to Dunkerque.

“Ships, sir. Inshore. Small. Headingtowards, sir. Starboard bow.”

The lookout’s report was more detailed thannormal, showed he thought his sighting was out of the ordinary.

Simon stared, could see nothing for sure.Little point to using the binoculars at night, particularly on this stretch ofcoast which had low cliffs, just sufficient for a ship to be lost against. Ifthere was anything there, and he believed his lookout, they would be beyondreach of the searchlight. It was reasonable to expect that they would have seenthe destroyers, larger than them, first.

“Small and coming towards the action, MrCanning… Why? Signal the other ships.”

The Yeoman ran to the stern with a smallelectric lantern, shaded on three sides, flashed a brief message. It wasreasonable to assume the enemy would not have seen the light, might be unawarethat they had been spotted.

“Come a point to port, Coxswain. Open theguns. Distance to minefield, Mr Canning?”

Simon had noticed that he became moreformal going into action; he had never asked himself why.

“Four cables, sir.”

Simon leant to the engineroom voicepipe.

“Mr Malcolm. We have enemy in sight and Imay call for everything you have at any moment.”

With the best will in the world, it wasnot possible to accelerate from a four knot crawl to full speed in seconds.Both men knew that fact.

“Aye aye, sir.”

The brief acknowledgement gave Malcolm’sopinion of the order. Simon had no understanding of the engineroom, trustedthat Malcolm would do his best, while not entirely knowing what that best mightbe.

“Mr Canning, if they have seen us and arestill heading in this direction, it must be with the intention of attacking.Assume torpedo boats with internal combustion engines, far greater ability toincrease speed quickly. Machine guns at the ready. Star shell to after andmidships four inch. Rifles ready.”

Canning called the orders to Mr Rees, waitedfor confirmation.

“Ready, sir.”

“Good. Yeoman, signal flotilla to reduceto steerage way, to drop back by at least four cables, ready for action. Fireonly after Lancelot.”

They waited, watching.

“Possible they have only seen Lancelot, MrCanning. Might be they have it in mind to capture a destroyer. It would lookgood in the neutral newspapers – a British destroyer taken into a German-heldport.”

They held course for another two anxiousminutes before the lookouts called.

“Small craft turning towards, sir.Increasing speed.”

“Star shell, Mr Rees! Open fire. Fullspeed, Mr Malcolm. Coxswain, steer us towards the action.”

That said, Simon had done all he could forthe moment. He had given the orders and it was up to the specialists to carrythem out.

The star shell gave its flickering light,showed a mob, twelve at least, of small, fast motorboats heading in towardsthem. They seemed to be of the same model, wooden built forty footers, deckedover with an inboard motor. Each had a tiny open bridge. The boats opened firewith light cannon or pompoms and machine guns.

“Gunboats, sir. No torpedoes.”

“Signal flotilla to close action, openfire. Searchlight.”

The