Approach of the storm Chapter 32

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Approach of the storm Chapter 32

By
Thomas Arthur Russell

We completed our mission successfully and the old warrior went on to further glory. Every man in the “Andrew” had a soft spot for the Warspite, her very name inspired confidence. I remember another mission escorting supply ships off Salerno when the flotilla, along with other destroyers, had a hectic night. I was just off watch and snatched a quick meal, when the alarm went for A.A. action stations. On ‘B’ deck the clatter of boots on the steel decks had died away and only the voices of damage control and fire parties from various parts of the ship as they reported to the bridge, could be heard. We could see ‘A’ gun down below us all ready for action, its mechanism turning. The ready use racks we had already filled with shells and the cordite lockers were ready. All we had to do now was wait. Radar had picked up large formations of aircraft, which could only be enemy planes. They were headed in our direction.

Then, the unmistakable drone somewhere outside the destroyer screen, resulting in that funny feeling in the pit of the stomach at the prospect of imminent action. A brilliant flash, which left the eyes momentarily blinded, lit up the superstructure and bridge, then a terrific detonation seemed like a punch on the bridge of the nose. The other ships had opened fire, noise and flashes rumbled across the sea. The great breach block swung open and spewed the empty brass cordite case across the decks. The 4.7s were putting a continued barrage up now. I felt a kind of exhilaration, nearly intoxication, after the first few rounds; I no longer felt any discomfort. My main concern now was the speed at which I could take the ammunition and pass it on, while at the same time, dodging the brass cartridges as they clattered across the deck. The guardrails had been dropped and we were told to kick some of the cartridges into the sea so that they would not interfere with me, and the working of the gun. Now the planes went away and suddenly, the order to cease-fire was given, the moon had risen and its brilliance lit up a beautiful calm night now that the action was over. No damage or causalities so far.

The moon couldn’t light the outer fringes of the screen. We seemed to be in the middle of a brightly lit bowl with edges fading into blue-black darkness and a brilliant path sparkling across its centre. Suddenly, there was the murmur of voices. “Aircraft approaching in Area ‘D’, range 20 miles, numbers 20 plus aircraft at 15 then 10. Aircraft closing Red 050 all gun follow director, load, open, fire.”

Again, the night was torn asunder by noise and flashes. This time they must have been a more determined team. A star shell exploded; its eerie chandeliers slowly descended out behind the moonlight, giving brightness that flickered over the scene. The planes were very near, their droning fading, then rising again as they pressed their attack home. The steady solid “Bong, bong, bong” of Bofers and Pom Poms, the staccato of the Oerlikons, a sky crossed by the red, green and white streams of tracer, some of it so low, ricocheted off the surface of the sea, threatening to inflict causalities and damage on our own ships. Loading and firing, passing ammunition had got me into a sweat - the anti-flash hood itched more than ever - then the aircraft noise subsided and finally ceased. Two kills were claimed although I never knew if they were substantiated

Suddenly, A.A. Action stations again. Again the noise of aero engines and the tracer streams into the sky. As the noise gets louder a star shell illuminates brief dark shapes, torpedo planes, low down to the sea coming low and fast. Our guns fire, then cease for fear of putting a 4.7 into one of our own ships, but the close range Oerlikons started hammering away as they pick up a target, a crescendo of noise and bright tracer, tracer ricocheting all around. The clatter of empty Oerlikons pans as they are dropped to the deck, while new ones are clipped on, then a louder roar and suddenly in the moonlight’s path, I see a great big plane and a towering splash of white water behind him as he came in from the starboard side on the stern quarter

The ship started turning at full speed to starboard, keeling right over with her deck guardrails nearly in the water until it seemed that she would roll over. The splash was from a torpedo and we had avoided it by a few feet. The plane carried on over the ship and I’m sure that I could have hit it with a catapult - a great, big, black object.
I half expected a machine gun burst from him, but no. Some of our close-range weapons, which should have riddled him right along his belly, seemed remarkably quiet; they must have thought it more prudent to keep their heads down. The skipper played merry hell, “That bastard should have been ours,” and on reflection I’m sure that he should. Maybe a merciful God spared us and also spared the plane and it’s crew. If that tin fish had hit, I’m sure I wouldn’t be around to write these recollections.

The ships appeared to have a faint pink glow in the east as the rising sun gradually rose, and as it became brighter, tired faces showed relief. They wouldn’t be back now. How good that first cigarette tasted. It was good to draw the cool tobacco smoke down into the lungs, nothing quite like it for settling the nerves, I was never a great smoker, but in times like these, I could enjoy a “tickler” with the most avid smoker there was.

I remember the voices murmuring as if we’d be overheard. I remember the faces so well, of young boys who not so long ago had been school kids, who had been called upon to be men before their youth had run out. I still feel, after all these years and I’m now in my late sixties, a great affection for them. I never knew such comradeship. We were a crew of about 120 officers and men, we could kid each other, disagree among ourselves on some things, even have an occasional scrap ashore after a “piss up”, but every one knew that he would stand by his ship and his crewmates.

Now as the early morning sun lit up the faces that peered out from the anti-flash hoods, I felt tired but I felt good. We had fought and we had fought well, as the expended cordite cases that still littered the gun positions showed. We were not long before we had handed our supply convoy over, then we turned south again, increasing to full speed. I had now gone below but I had to check the steering engine temperatures in the tiller flat every hour, to log and to phone over to the engine room. Such times, I would sit for five minutes on top of the tiller flat hatch, enjoying the cool wind that the speed of about 32 knots created and looking back at the wake just a few feet away. When at full speed, it was exhilarating to do this and you felt more secure, the stern would look lower in the water and looking along the length of the ship, you could see the slope from stem to stern as her bows lifted to send the water hissing along her sides.

A flotilla of destroyers, each creating a creamy white wake against an incredible blue sea, is something that you never forget. On a wild winter’s day or a hot summer evening, when walking in the woods, weeding the garden or fishing, my favourite sport, or anytime on my own at all, my thoughts often are of such a scene or my lost comrades. When I look at my kids or grandchildren, I hope that they never see the stupidity or horror of war and I hope that their friends are the sorts of friends I served with. We were still all a happy crowd on our way back to Malta and the “Gut” where we could feed on steak, eggs and chips, get drunk on Farson’s Blue Label bitter and try to forget for a while and refresh body and soul.
We were not to have many days for all this. We did manage an A.A.’s shoot at a sleeve target off Malta, probably to bring our gunners up to a high peak performance. I had a feeling that the skipper still wasn’t satisfied and wanted to be able to make some operational claims for the Quail.

I remember that it wasn’t long after that, that several of the flotillas headed out of Grand Harbour and sailed in a more northerly direction. It wasn’t long before we passed off the eastward coast of Sicily and carried on in a north-easterly course. It was obvious that our objective was Italy and so it turned out. We were to commence operations from Bari, the port on the east coast of Italy, our duties were to make offensive sweeps, hunting for enemy shipping and bombarding in support of partisans who were harassing German shore installations. At the other side of Italy, the Salerno beachhead had led to fierce fighting. The Germans had tried hard to throw the landing back into the sea. Naval gunfire had broken the large enemy armoured thrusts, no wonder they’d made a go at the Warspite, for battleship, cruiser and destroyer fire can combine to inflict enormous damage and casualties on such forces within their range. This period would be about the middle of September, 12th to 19th. Naples fell to the fifth Army on October 1st. 1943. By now the Germans had evacuated their Foggia airfield so we felt more secure using Bari as a naval base.

Bari was a fair size harbour, ideally suited to receive the large amount of supplies that the allied forces needed. Its sea frontage was modern and clean looking and the Lungomare Nararcio sauro and promenade that ran right along must have been a source of pride to its citizens. It was lines with large squarish solid buildings. In peacetime, much of its length had been lit up by a system of electric lights set in globes like inverted chandeliers with four globes as big as footballs to each one. It must have been a grand sight from seaward. We had refuelled as soon as we arrived, each ship topping her tanks up ready for any eventuality.

Everyone was eager for shore leave; the reputation of the Italian “signorinas” had infected the lads with an air of curiosity and anticipation. It was noticeable that there was an extra try to be that bit smarter. The mess deck was more like a crowd of debutantes getting ready for a garden party. The boys were really going to town, or so they hoped!
Cigarettes, which were as good a currency as any, were carefully tucked away along with any chocolate ration, even some small tins of action rations, barley sugar, chewing gum and a couple of Horlicks tablets. In fact, anything that might induce an Italian girl to surrender to the wishes of the men, who hadn’t seen a girl friend or had a woman for months. All the warnings of “clap” or ??? Vino had probably gone in one ear and out the other. I remember that I was on watch aboard and heard that I’d get a chance of liberty on the morrow if we weren’t ordered out on patrol.

Pr-BR

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