Where the Baltic Ice is Thin (For Those in Peril Book 4), page 1
WHERE THE BALTIC ICE IS THIN
by Shaun Lewis
"The Trade"
By Rudyard Kipling
They bear, in place of classic names,
Letters and numbers on their skin.
They play their grisly blindfold games
In little boxes made of tin.
Sometimes they stalk the Zeppelin,
Sometimes they learn where mines are laid,
Or where the Baltic ice is thin.
That is the custom of "The Trade."
© Shaun Lewis 2021
Shaun Lewis has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
Dedicated to Moira Eileen Lewis, 1936 – 2019
GAZETTEER
I have tended to use the names of places that were commonly in use at the time of my story. Since then, the countries of Finland, Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania have become independent of Russia. Moreover, following the Russian Revolutions, several of the street names have changed, too. For the purposes of clarification, the following list gives the modern names for some of the places named in my novel.
Old name Current name
Catherine CanalGriboyedov Canal
Dago Hiiumaa
Danzig Gdansk
Hango Hanko
Helsingfors Helsinski
Irben Strait Irbe Strait
Lake Bieloe Lake Beloye
Libau Lipaja
Memel Klaipeda
Moon Sound Muhu Vain
Nicholaevsky Bridge Annunciation Bridge
Nicholaevsky Station Moskovsky Station
Osel Saaremaa
Petrograd St Petersburg
Pernau Parnu
Reval Tallinn
RogekulRohukula
Tsarsko SeloPushkin
Vaist BayVaiste Laht
CHAPTER ONE
January 1916
Commander Richard Miller, VC, the newly appointed Commanding Officer of HMS E19, was beside himself with rage as he watched the dockyard foreman and his men down tools, walk away down the jetty and leave the work on the submarine unfinished. For the past three weeks, the submarine had been temporarily berthed away from her depot ship, just visible across the water. The loud noises of hammering and machinery of the Elswick shipyard enveloped him and the shorter officer standing next to him, much as the fog creeping up the Tyne threated to do. However, that was not the reason his second-in-command, E19’s first lieutenant, Lieutenant ‘Dai’ Evans, stood nervously in silence. Evans had only known the new CO for two weeks, but he had soon learned when it was best to leave him to his own thoughts. Already Miller had proved capable of a quick temper when frustrated, as well as being a hard task master, and the ship’s company had already christened him ‘Menty’ as an abbreviated form of ‘Demented’.
The sailors knew that ‘Menty’ had sealed orders for a secret mission… and it wasn’t for the Mediterranean where they knew the CO had operated his previous submarine, E9, with distinction to earn him the VC and instant promotion for his patrols in the Dardanelles and the Sea of Marmara. It was not usual for the Royal Navy to appoint such a high-ranking officer in command of an E-class submarine, so that meant he was taking command of a squadron somewhere in company with their sister submarine, HMS E13, at this moment berthed nearby alongside the depot ship, HMS Maidstone. Like the sailors, Evans deduced they must be headed for the Baltic.
A year earlier, other E-boats had been despatched to the Baltic in support of the Russian Navy with orders to stop Germany’s imports by sea of iron ore from Sweden. Evans did not relish the prospect of such a deployment. Just to enter the Baltic, the submarines would first have to pass through the shallow and narrow waters of the Skagerrak and Kattegat between Scandinavia and Denmark. These represented not just a massive navigational challenge to a submerged submarine, but were the home waters of the Imperial German Navy and heavily patrolled. Even if the submarines made it to Russia, the crew would then face the hardships and danger of the cold and ice. Evans shivered at the thought of it.
‘You think, perhaps, I was too hard on the dockyard mateys, First Lieutenant?’
‘I think, sir, that it might have been prudent not to have mentioned the fact your wife owned and ran a shipyard. The increasing role of women in the workplace is a bit of an issue round here.’
‘Quite, but there’s a war on and needs must. Hello, what’s this then?’ A small, tabby kitten had appeared from behind some oil drums, but cautiously, was not venturing closer than a few yards from the two officers.
‘It’s a stray that seems to have adopted us or been adopted by the men. I’m not sure which, sir. Either way, some of the men have taken to leaving it some food and have become attached to the little thing.’
‘It seems very timid. Does it let the men approach it?’
‘Only after it’s eaten, sir. It always shows its gratitude and then disappears off again. I think the ship’s company would like to adopt it as a mascot, sir, but, naturally, that’s your decision.’
‘Quite right.’
Evans noted that the CO seemed a little distracted, so he left him to his thoughts again. Whilst Evans’s attention was on the kitten, Miller was staring intently at E13, alongside the depot ship. Suddenly, he roused himself and turned back to his first lieutenant.
‘Very good, Number One. Kindly inform the CERA and Coxswain I wish to see them in my cabin on board the depot ship in thirty minutes. I require you at this meeting, too, First Lieutenant.’
Evans saluted his superior and watched him head over to Maidstone. He’s a cold fish, he thought. Evans wore the gold, double-intertwined stripes of the Royal Naval Reserve on his uniform sleeves. Prior to the war, he had been a merchant navy officer and had entered the submarine service as a navigating officer. A friend of his, or oppo in naval parlance, ‘Paddy’ O’Connell, was still serving in Miller’s former submarine, HMS E9. Paddy had warned him by letter that Miller was a devout Catholic and not a loveable character, but that his former ship’s company had worshipped him. Clearly, they had seen something yet to be revealed to the ship’s company of E19, Evans thought. So far, his impression of the new CO was that he was a martinet. He could not help but think that Miller had brought the current breakdown in dockyard relations on himself.
Before Christmas, the previous CO had taken the submarine out to a buoy to ‘swing the compasses’. Although the E-boats were fitted with gyro compasses, they still relied on magnetic compasses as a back-up. It was navy practice to check the magnetic deviation by manoeuvring ships and submarines around a buoy to record and compensate for magnetic variations on different headings. During this evolution, the starboard electric motor had burnt out. Although Vickers, the Barrow builder of the submarine, had sent out a new armature promptly, over the previous two weeks the Tyneside shipyard workers had worked at their own pace to fit it. This had infuriated the new CO, under Admiralty orders to sail in company with E13 within three weeks. Unfortunately, in Evans’s opinion, Miller had chosen to tackle the dockyard foreman about the lack of progress. The foreman, the electricians’ union’s shop steward and a Clydebanker known as ‘Lenny the Red’ for his Marxist views, had regarded Miller’s intervention as unwarranted interference and not been afraid to voice his opinion.
‘If ye dinnae mind me askin’, sah, what the fook do ye ken aboot it?’
Evans had witnessed Miller wince at the foul language. The CO had already made it clear to the ship’s company that he did not approve of swearing and blasphemy. It was just another facet of Miller’s character that didn’t endear him to the ship’s company.
‘Enough to know that you’ve been on this job now for two weeks and I have to be at sea within the week. There is a war on, after all,’ Miller had implored.
‘Aye, well it’s not my fookin’ war.’
‘Of course, it’s your war.’ Miller had clearly been bemused by the reply.
‘Nay, it’s you Sassenachs’s war. My war’s that of the proletariat against the fookin’ roolin’ class. Besides, pal. I say this is a three-week job and there’s none’ll persuade me differently.’ Thinking he had had the final word on the subject, Lenny had then resumed his work, but Miller had not been satisfied.
‘You could have had this job done inside a week.’
Lenny stopped working again and wiped his forehead with his bright-red scarf. ‘Oh, really? And what makes you such a fookin’ expert on the subject, pal?’
‘My wife is the expert. She runs a shipyard that builds these submarines, so she knows about the subject.’
‘A wench runnin’ a shipyard? Haud on a wee minute. That’s no’ the yard in Liverpool by chance?’
‘Well, Birkenhead actually.’
‘Aye, I’ve heard o’ it. The yard that’s takin’ on women to take over men’s jobs when they should rightly be at hame with the bairns. Well, that fookin’ does it. Lads pack up yer tools. We’re outta here.’
‘But where are you going?’ Miller had seemed stunned by the action.
‘I dinnae ken right noo, but I’ll tell ye this, pal. Ye’ll no’ get another member of the union workin’ on this boat. So you an’ yer wee wifie can fuck yersels.’
At that point, just as Lenny had made to leave the motor room, one of the Petty Officer Stokers, Hamon, a huge Irishman, had taken a firm hold of Lenny from behind. ‘No, Jock. You’re goin’ nowhere ’til you’ve apologised to the Captain. Un’erstond?’ Another stoker picked up a huge wrench and began to tap it in the palm of one hand menacingly. Lenny watched him warily.
‘Aye, fair enof. Mebbe I shouldna said the last bit, but it meks no difference. There’ll be nae more work on this boat.’
Hamon had looked at Evans questioningly and Evans had nodded. As apologies went, it had lacked something, but Evans had worried that any physical violence might bring the whole yard out on strike. He now wondered what Miller had in mind and went back on board the submarine to seek out the Chief Engine Room Artificer, the senior engineering rating of the submarine, and the Coxswain, the submarine’s senior rating.
‘Senior officers, hey?’ he muttered aloud. ‘What would we do without them?’
*****
For the next four days, all leave was cancelled. The new CO informed his senior ratings and first lieutenant that if the dockyard would not finish the task of fitting the new armature to the starboard motor, the task must fall to the ship’s company as he intended sailing on the fourth day as planned. He ordered all members of the crew, without exception, to work in twelve-hour shifts either to store ship, load torpedoes or to support the engineering department in reassembling the damaged motor. This was not universally popular. On the evening of the third day, E19’s ship’s company was still storing ship when ‘Hands to Dinner’ was called in the depot ship. Leading Telegraphist Dawes was near the end of the line, on a ladder, stowing the incoming gear wherever he could find space.
‘Do ye hear that, Shiner? Hands to scran, but not for us. Not for the poor fucking bastards of His Majesty’s Submarine E19.’
Dawes was so preoccupied by what sailors call ‘dripping’ that he failed to see the CO enter the compartment.
‘And I’ll tell you what, Shiner. I’m pissed off with those fucking Cheshire Cats of E13… smirking whilst they go off to the pubs and we’re still working. It ain’t fair, I tells you. Right, pass me that next hose.’ Dawes took the proffered long piece of flexible piping and sought to find a way of cramming it underneath the deckhead. He didn’t hear Richard Miller’s instruction to Able Seaman ‘Shiner’ Wright.
‘Wright, I’ll take over here. You nip and organise a fanny of tea for down here. The Cox’n reckons we’ll be finished in half an hour and Maidstone will hold your dinner until then.’ Meanwhile, Dawes continued his monologue.
‘I mean, what’s the fucking hurry? I ain’t in no hurry to freeze my fucking bollocks off. In any case, it was the new CO what upset the dockyard mateys. But for ’im, I could ’ve been ashore last night, getting my end away with that barmaid of The Marquis of Montagu. Get in there, you bastard.’ This last remark was addressed to the flexible hose as he forced it into its new stowage.
‘Got ’im. All right, Shiner. Room for just one more, I think.’ Richard passed him another hose.
‘I calls it insensitive. That’s the word. Insensitive. The CO’s not just demented, he’s insensitive. Just cos he’s a fucking war hero already, he seems to want to finish the war on his own. Fuck me! I don’t think I’m going to be able to fit this one in here. What you reckon, Shiner?’
‘I’m probably everything you say I am, Dawes, but for goodness sake get on with stowing that hose or we’ll all go hungry.’ Had Richard not steadied the ladder quickly, Dawes would certainly have come down to Earth with a great crash.
*****
The following day, the twenty-sixth of January, Richard was satisfied his submarine was ready for sea. He had sent a signal to the Admiralty reporting this fact and, accordingly, he ‘cleared lower deck’ to address the whole ship’s company of two other officers and twenty-eight ratings.
‘Men, thanks to you and your hard work these past few days, HMS E19 is once again ready for war. I have signalled our readiness for sea to the Admiralty and fully expect to be ordered to sail this evening in company with E13 for a secret rendezvous. Until we are well underway, I cannot divulge our destination, but I can tell you we are being sent to a spot where we can put maximum pressure on the enemy’s war effort. I appreciate that all of you have worked immensely hard to prepare for this deployment and it was made especially hard by the industrial unrest ashore.’ Richard spotted a couple of the senior rates exchanging wry grins, but he continued unabashed.
‘In recognition of that fact, I have given the Cox’n my permission for all hands to take it in turn to visit the depot ship’s canteen this afternoon. There you will each be entitled to partake of two pints of beer at my expense.’ A cheer erupted aft and through to the control room.
‘Leave will expire at 17.00 and the submarine is under sailing orders. I trust that every man will be back on board by that time and in a fit state to sail as ordered.’ Richard was pleased to see the men’s mood lighten, but he had one last surprise for them.
‘Finally, gentlemen, the Cox’n has informed me that some of you have taken a shine to a little stray on the dockside. We may be in need of some light relief where we’re going, so I have given permission for the kitten to be adopted as our mascot.’
The news was met with a chorus of approval. ‘There is, however, one condition.’ Richard held up a hand for silence. ‘I will name the cat. I expect every single member of my ship’s company to pull his weight over the coming months and that applies equally to the cat. I have seen his ability to make one laugh. Given that I expect him to continue to provide light relief, I am naming him after a Roman playwright, Publius Terentius Afer.’ A groan seemed to pass around the submarine, but Richard could not detect its source. Even so, he was not surprised to see the quizzical looks on the men’s faces and his first lieutenant’s look of disapproval.
‘As many of you will no doubt already be aware, Publius Terentius Afer was a great writer of comedies.’ Richard paused for effect. ‘He is better known in English as ‘Terence’ and to that end, I think the name ‘Terry’ might be a suitable diminutive.’
Slowly, the ship’s company cottoned on that the CO had just made a joke. After the tension of the past four days, any relief was welcome and, after a long pause, ripples of merriment passed throughout the whole ship’s company. Even so, Richard decided he was a better submarine CO than comedian. He resolved it be a long while before he cracked another joke.
CHAPTER 2
February 1916
Richard Miller and the lookouts ducked beneath the flimsy canvas screen as yet another wave swamped the bridge of HMS E19. It was a cold night, but mercifully dry. The lack of rain did not keep the men any drier, but it did offer better visibility for the passage through the
high waves of the North Sea. The wind had shifted to blow from the north-east and that meant E19 was heading into the waves as she carved her course for the northern Danish coastline in company with E13. Once the water had finished dripping from his oilskin hat and he could see again, Richard judged the wind strength to be about force six, perhaps twenty-five knots in speed, but as the boat ploughed through the waves into the wind, the speed across the bridge was nearly forty knots. He had ordered the lookouts to be relieved every hour, to keep them alert, but his own watch would last two hours.
Above, the sky was overcast, but there was a glimmer of moonlight to reflect off the white spumes of the waves as they crashed over the bows of the submarine. Despite the good visibility, Richard could see no sign of his charge, E13. Earlier, she had been about four miles ahead, but Richard had recently been forced to dive to avoid detection by an approaching merchant vessel. Both commanding officers were under orders to avoid neutral shipping for fear of alerting the Germans that two British submarines were en route to the Kattegat. The success of the British E-class submarines in the Baltic the year before had determined the Imperial German Navy to prevent any further submarines from entering the narrow entrance to the sea. Richard knew there would be patrols and it would be difficult for both submarines to avoid them. But neither that nor the present uncomfortable conditions were worrying him at that moment. He knew that the cold would be far worse in the Gulf of Finland, of course.
