The hit shook her. Smith heard yelling aft and one voice, high pitched, that was Lorimer’s and knew that the boy was leading a fire-fighting and damage control party. Lorimer sent a man running to report, “Knocked the tube about a bit more, but that’s all, sir.”
“Very good.”
But one bit was too many. “Starboard ten!..Midships!”
Sparrow swung away from her head-on charge at the German boat and turned broadside to her. Now the six-pounders cracked away and the German boat eased to starboard in her turn and all her guns fired at virtually point-blank range. Through the din Smith yelled, “Look out for torpedoes!” Because they would come. And they did. He saw them, two of them, leap from the side of the big destroyer and plunge into the sea. Seconds later he saw their tracks as Sanders shouted and pointed, as the guns slammed and recoiled and Sparrow was hit and hit again, hammer blows punching into her, punishment she could not take.
“Port ten!..Meet her!”
Gow had been waiting for it. Sparrow swerved and heeled again to turn inside of those twin tracks, to tear down past the torpedoes that raced away down her starboard side, and tore on, firing and being hit — and passing astern of the German boat.
A slamming, clanging explosion aft and Smith whirled to see the aftermost of the three funnels cut in half, the top half blasted away and going over the side, dragging Sparrow over, so for a second she steamed with the sea reaching up for her deck. Then she recovered. He stared forward, ordered, “Starboard five! Midships! Steer that!” Shouting it almost in Gow’s ear against the bedlam of pounding engines, bellowed orders and the crack! and slam! of the guns. Gow’s long face was twisted tight with concentration and his eyes were slitted as he glared ahead at Siegfried, Sparrow now steaming on a course to intercept her.
Smith shot a swift glance astern and glimpsed through Sparrow’s rolling smoke Buckley loading the six-pounder himself, his loader sprawled on the deck. And beyond was the enemy destroyer, heeled over in a tight turn, turning to chase Sparrow. All that smoke was not from the funnels, there was a fire aft, he saw Lorimer and two men dragging a hose. He faced forward. That destroyer had been intended to beat off Sparrow or destroy her and the little ship had been mauled but not stopped. Siegfried was only three or four miles away, signals flying from her yard and a light winking rapidly. But the other two destroyers to port of the battlecruiser had closed up, overhauled her and were now obeying those desperate signals, their shapes fore-shortening till they were bows-on and pointing at Sparrow.
They were firing and he staggered as Sparrow was hit again and the air around him was alive with droning, snarling splinters, something plucked at his arm and he saw the sleeve was ripped. Gow was on his knees, clawing back to his feet and standing on one leg, the foot of the other just balancing him. Sparrow wavered, then steadied as the cox’n’s big hands clamped on the wheel. His cap had gone and the grizzled hair had a monk’s bald patch that was streaked with blood. There were four men sprawled on the bridge, the signalman was one of them and the engine-room telegraphs were unmanned but the twelve-pounder still fired at the two destroyers as they came on. They roared down on Sparrow with deadly purpose. She could not be allowed within torpedo range of Siegfried so they came on with big white bow-waves and their forward four-inch guns firing rapidly and they were going to sink Sparrow. They were not going to fight her, engage her with guns or torpedoes though they were using the one and the other would come. They had no time for fighting because Sparrow was too close to the battlecruiser. The little ship that had seemed to pose no threat was now a real danger, could be mounting a torpedo attack on the giant the destroyers were there to protect. They had been ordered to get rid of her and they would run her down.
Smith knew it and that he could not stop it.
He looked just once more at the battlecruiser as she steamed on, saw that her secondary armament was firing and realised the big 5.9’s were firing at Sparrow. The water-spouts alongside were huge now, but he also saw that Siegfried had been hit and had fires, so Marshall Marmont had hurt her. He turned to look at the course Siegfried was taking, at the quiet sea that lay ahead of her, sparkling with sunlight. Sparrow had to keep on a little longer. Just a little longer. And God help them all…
He put a hand on Gow’s shoulder. “Starboard five…meet her…Steady. Keep her head on that destroyer.”
“Aye, sir!”
Sparrow’s stem pointed at one of the oncoming destroyers. The other was fine on Sparrow’s starboard bow and about two cables astern of the first. Both of them were firing hard and Smith could feel them hitting. The crack and blast of the bursts were enough but he could feel the shock of each hit shudder through the ship and she was slowing like a fighter who had not been hit in a vital spot but had simply soaked up too much punishment, an accumulation of blows. Sanders clawed his way up a twisted ladder on to the bridge to bawl at Smith. “Holed four places — two on the water-line — the carpenter’s trying to plug ’em but we’re making water!”
Smith nodded but he was intent on the destroyers that filled his vision and claimed him totally. He heard Sanders say hoarsely, “God!” He had just seen the enemy within a thousand yards, bows high and sterns tucked right down and the smoke and flame of their guns flickering and blossoming. They were growing with every second, filling the eye and the mind so that the great mass of Siegfried faded into a moving backdrop as she slid along with a distant, silent grace. Only the destroyers existed.
But Siegfried had to be the target. She was not firing now because the destroyers were too close to Sparrow. Smith ordered “Port five…steer that.” So Sparrow’s bow edged away from the destroyers and she was on a course to meet Siegfried and the destroyers were on her starboard bow. And they turned so they were on a course to meet her before she could reach Siegfried or get within torpedo range of her. And they were still firing. Broadside to them like this, Sparrow should have been firing three or four guns but only the twelve-pounder banged away.
Smith shouted, “All other guns out of action?”
“Yes, sir.” Sanders added, eyes on the destroyers, “Brodie’s got his hands full.” The little steward would be trying again to cope with the wounded but there would be too many. Smith could see the deck astern seemed impassable because of twisted steel and the ripped plates of the iron deck. The funnels, what was left of them, were shot full of holes that spurted flame and Sparrow dragged their smoke and the smoke from her fires that Lorimer was fighting and she dragged it in a thick black trail. It was an empty deck; he could see just one man, Lorimer, peering up at the bridge as he staggered aft. This was not a battleship nor a cruiser. There was no big crew so you could move men from one part of the ship to another to meet an emergency. This was a little, old TBD and her crew was small. Some of them were below manning her engines or stoking. Some of them were dead or near it so he looked at a bridge and a deck near-deserted. He did not want to think about the wounded and dying crammed into the wardroom now. He had no time.