04:06 (GMT)
Thursday, October 24, 1940
Bristol Aircraft Factories
South-West coast of England
“Start the lift engines!”
On Lieutenant-Commander Stilwell’s command, the petty officer sitting at the engines control console in the small bridge of LCMAC-1 started up the four fan engines one after the other. The 86-ton hovercraft started lifting from the hangar’s floor as air blew inside its multiple rubber skirts, the noise and vibrations forcing Stilwell to raise his voice for his next orders to be heard.
“Signal the hangar doors to be opened. Start the main engines, neutral pitch on the propellers.”
The three pairs of Hercules radial engines with their variable pitch propellers came to life on top of the back of the 100-foot long hovercraft. Peter Stilwell turned briefly in his command chair to give a thumbs-up signal to Nancy Laplante, sitting in the starboard corner of the bridge with an excited United States Navy Commander Johnson. The American naval attaché was there on invitation from Nancy as a representative of the American Navy, which was a potential buyer for the hovercraft, in order to evaluate the initial sea trials of LCMAC-1. Further crowding the small bridge was the Bristol Factories engineer who had directed the building of the hovercraft under Nancy’s supervision, a Royal Navy commander from the Admiralty whose task was to officially record the trial performances of the hovercraft, the helmsman, two bridge signalers manning the radios and two watch seamen.
“Lift fan vectoring only. Clear the hangar!”
“Aye, sir!”
The helmsman, sitting in front of Stilwell’s elevated command chair, took hold of a small stick on the right side of his console and pushed it forward. The thirty bag-like air skirts, individually mounted under the craft’s belly on swiveling joints and surrounded themselves by a low pressure external skirt, pivoted rearward, the vectored airflow creating a forward thrust and propelling the hovercraft gently towards the open doors. The gray-painted prototype emerged out of the hangar where it had been secretly built and into the obscurity of the early morning.
“Helmsman, head for the river! One quarter power ahead!”
“One quarter power ahead, aye, sir!”
The petty officer turned the wheel on his aircraft-like control stick in front of him and pushed it forward while the engines petty officer sitting to his right pushed the throttles open a little. The hovercraft, loaded with extra fuel instead of military vehicles in its cargo deck, turned towards the Avon River and picked up speed. Leaving the perimeter of the Bristol Aircraft Factories, it crossed a small ditch as if it did not exist, the large angled nose with its cargo ramp barely pitching down, then up. Picking its way through a specially cleared lane, the hovercraft finally went down a gentle slope and slid on the surface of the Avon. A dark mass on the river, the noisy craft then headed for the Bristol Channel and the open seas.
06:58 (GMT)
Destroyer H.M.S. HESPERUS
Bristol Channel
“Sir, a message from the admiralty.”
Navy Captain Richard Jones took the dispatch from the signalman and read it. Puzzlement reflected on his face and he sat on his command chair to read it a second time aloud, so that his First Officer standing near him could hear.
“From Admiralty to all Navy ships in Bristol Channel and St George’s Channel areas. Be advised that experimental high-speed craft LCMAC-1 will conduct sea trials in the previously mentioned areas during the morning of October 24. Exercise caution and effect full identification before engaging any contact in those areas during that day. End of message.”
Commander Patrick Renfrew raised an eyebrow.
“LCMAC-1? LCM stands for Landing Craft Medium, not normally a very speedy craft. What could the letters AC stand for, though?”
Jones shook his head, obviously at a loss himself.
“It does not matter anyway, Mister Renfrew. Pass the word around: keep an eye for that LCMAC-1 and make sure that all safeties are kept on all weapons until I say otherwise.”
“Yes sir!”
The First Officer then walked away, leaving Jones to observe the sea from his bridge command chair.
Another hour passed quietly. The sea was calm and the sky was covered with low clouds. Only one small coastal freighter had been spotted lately as it headed towards Cardiff. That did not mean that Jones and his crew could relax, far from it. Dozens of ships had been sunk in the last few months by German submarines in this area. The low clouds, preventing aircraft patrols, would undoubtedly embolden German submariners in making more use of surface attacks, in order to save precious torpedoes by using their deck guns. If they did that around here, H.M.S. HESPERUS would be ready to deal with them. An alarmed report from the radar room suddenly put Captain Jones on the alert.
“Sir, radar contact from the East, approaching fast. Approximate range seven miles. Speed…”
After a few seconds, Jones grabbed the intercom set in frustration.
“Well, what is its speed, damn it?”
“Er, sir, my radar must be malfunctioning, sir: it is clocking that contact at over sixty knots.”
“WHAT?”
The whole bridge crew snapped their heads toward him when he yelled in surprise and disbelief.
“THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE! CONFIRM THE SPEED!”
One of the lookouts suddenly reported on the intercom.
“Visual contact to port, approaching fast!”
Jones grabbed his binoculars and ran to the open bridge.
08:02 (GMT)
LCMAC-1
The commander from the Admiralty stopped his precision chronometer as the log thrown by a seaman in the water swept by. This was his third clocking in order to confirm the results of the speed run trial without a doubt.
“Lieutenant-Commander Stilwell, your craft’s trial speed is officially confirmed at 65.5 knots.”
All the persons on the bridge, including Nancy Laplante and Commander Johnson, yelled and cheered: they were now by far the fastest naval craft in the world. Nancy went to shake Stilwell’s hand.
“And I thought that all that armament you had added on last week would ruin its top speed. Congratulations!”
“Hell, Nancy, we had to do something about that tail-heavy imbalance. No sense in simply loading inert ballast in the nose if good weapons could do the same thing.”
She had to agree with him on that point. As a result of this, LCMAC-1 was probably the most heavily armed LCM around: it packed one 5.5-inch gun recently removed from the battlecruiser H.M.S. HOOD following a refit, four 20mm cannons, four .50 caliber heavy machineguns and six 21-inch torpedo tubes. A beaming Stilwell signed the logbook entry, followed by the Admiralty’s commander. Stilwell then had one of the signalmen send a coded message to the Admiralty announcing the official results of the speed trial. He thought with glee at the number of admirals that would soon choke on their false teeth.
“SHIP DEAD AHEAD! DISTANCE SIX MILES!”
The shout from the lookout got everybody sobered up: it could be a German ship or submarine. A quick glance with his binoculars reassured Stilwell, who passed the word to his now tense passengers.
“It’s one of ours! ‘H’ class destroyer, number H57. Hey, that’s the HESPERUS, Jones’ ship! Hell, let that stiff ass croak on this. Helm! Alter course to cut path 500 yards in front of the HESPERUS.”
08:14 (GMT)
H.M.S. HESPERUS
Captain Jones and his crew were crowding the open bridge and the deck to watch with intense interest the approach of the experimental craft. Lamp signals started flashing from the craft as it was still one mile away. Renfrew read it aloud, slowly.
“LCMAC-1 to HESPERUS. Sending 65.5 knots good day to Captain Jones. Signed Stilwell.”
Renfrew saw his captain suddenly turn deep red.
“WHAT! That opportunist is commanding this wonder?”
“That craft is a wonder alright, Captain. Sixty-five point five knots! The Royal Navy certainly has something to toast about now. Look at the armament on this speedy bugger.”
A signalman ran to them, a dispatch in his hands.
“Sir! Distress call from a freighter about 24 miles west from here: it is under attack from a surfaced German submarine.”
“Bloody hell! Alter course to intercept! Full speed ahead! Mister Renfrew, pass this information by lamp to the LCMAC-1. Maybe they can chase away that submarine before it is too late for that freighter.”
The destroyer turned westward, forcing its engines to its maximum top speed of 36 knots. LCMAC-1, on its part, was soon little more than a dot on the horizon.
08:30 (GMT)
LCMAC-1
“Gunners, load armor piercing! Prepare all torpedo tubes, depth setting: twelve feet.”
Nancy waited until Stilwell had his crew ready for combat before tapping his shoulder. He looked at her with an amused smile.
“You really attract trouble, Major. Can you tell me something about hovercraft operations that I should know?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Since you are floating on a cushion of air, you can pivot on your vertical axis without changing your direction of travel, like a speeding car skidding on ice. You can thus use lift fan vectoring to spin around while putting your man engines at idle. I would not do it in a rough sea, but today you could do it without risk of capsizing. This will make you present the least target area to the enemy while making it easier to point your torpedo tubes.”
Stilwell’s eyes lit up as he saw the possibilities of such a maneuver.
“Of course! I’m also traveling at a high angular speed relative to the German gunners, which should make us difficult to hit. Nice move indeed. Thanks, Nancy!”
She then went to see the Bristol Company engineer, who was sitting besides the Admiralty’s officer. The middle-aged man was mostly succeeding in hiding his nervousness and smiled sheepishly at her when she crouched near him.
“What can I do to help, Miss Laplante?”
“Simple, Mister Price: stay alive! We need you so that you can build more of these hovercraft. So, no heroics, please.”
“What about you, Miss? Your knowledge is vital to us. You should not take risks.”
She wiggled her index at him, as if berating a child.
“Mister Price! I thought that you knew me better than that.”
Taking a pair of binoculars, Nancy joined Peter Stilwell in scanning the horizon. Not being a trained sailor, she didn’t see anything until he spoke.
“Smoke at two O’clock! Steer to heading 290!”
After another minute, he gave another warning.
“Target, twelve O’clock! Surfaced submarine. There is also a ship that appears to be listing heavily at our one O’clock. Gunners, submarine at our front! Wait for my order to open fire.”
Stilwell then turned towards Commander Bennett and Commander Johnson.
“Commander Bennett, I will ask you to take over if something happens to me. Commander Johnson, as a neutral observer I cannot ask you to participate in this fight, but I will not stop you if you want to help. My best advice is to stick with Major Laplante if you want to be in on the action.”
“I think that I will just do that.” Replied the American. By now, the German submarine and its prey were plainly visible to the naked eye. The freighter’s stern was already under water and its superstructures were on fire. A flash from the submarine, followed by an explosion on the freighter’s hull, showed that the Germans were not finished yet with the cargo ship. Stilwell then got on the general intercom.
“Main gun, target the sub’s conning tower and fire at will. Cannons and machineguns will concentrate their fire on the submarine’s deck guns. Do not give them a chance to reply and open fire at a thousand yards range. Tubes one and four, open the forward caps and stand by to fire.”
A flash and a loud boom announced the firing of the first 5.5-inch shell. It fell long by 300 yards. The second shot was still long, but by less than fifty yards. The third one splashed just in front of the submarine. The gun crew then started to feed shells in their weapon as fast as they could. Shells splashes bracketed the submarine at a rate of over nine rounds per minute, with a solid hit on the conning tower with the sixth round. The Germans were not taking it lying down either. They were now firing their 105mm and 37mm deck guns at the hovercraft, apparently confident that they could get the best of the exchange. Under the direction of Stilwell, the helmsman kept steering the hovercraft sideways by using lift vectoring, making themselves more difficult to hit. At a range of 2,000 yards, as the submarine had already taken four hits and with its 105mm gun destroyed, a 37mm shell exploded against the guardrail in front of the starboard bow 20mm cannon. Fragments cracked some of the armored glass bays of the bridge and swept both cannon servants. Nancy cringed as the explosion rattled the bridge. Looking around her, she saw with relief that nobody on the bridge had been hurt. Continued gun barks told her also that the rest of LCMAC-1 gunners were still alive and kicking. Leaving the bridge by its aft door, she ran out to the two blood-covered gunners and checked them out. One, a young boy barely old enough to be drafted, was dead. His partner was still alive but had taken multiple fragments in his torso and arms and was bleeding profusely. Nancy took out her regulation first aid dressing from the left leg pocket of her battledress and applied it to the worst hit area. She suddenly felt someone besides her and turned her head, to see Commander Johnson kneeling close by the wounded man and opening a first aid kit. She patted him on the shoulder.
“You take care of him, sir. I have customers to serve.”
She then took position behind the 20mm cannon and started firing at the submarine.
Realizing by now that they were in serious trouble, the Germans piled down the deck hatches as their submarine started to move forward, ready to dive. That was when Stilwell launched two torpedoes at short range before speeding past the submarine, all weapons still blazing. One of the torpedoes barely missed the stern of the submarine. The other did not. The sub was bodily raised out of the water by the underwater explosion at the level of its engine room, splashing back down and immediately taking a list by the stern. Nancy and the rest of the LCMAC-1’s crew cheered wildly as a few Germans started jumping out by the forward deck hatch. She abruptly stopped cheering when she remembered the freighter that had started this whole business. Its bow was now the only part visible above water, vertical and sinking in a cloud of steam. She could see some movement in the layer of floating oil and debris around it. Nancy went to see Stilwell inside the bridge as he was finishing a damage and casualties check. It appeared that the 37mm shell that had knocked down the two gunners had been the only hit on LCMAC-1.
“Mister Stilwell, I see survivors in the water from that unfortunate cargo ship. What do you say if we go pick them up?”
The British looked at the sinking freighter, then at the eastern horizon, where a smoke trail was announcing the approach of the hard-driving HESPERUS. He then nodded his head.
“You’re right. The HESPERUS can take care of those German submariners. Helmsman, one third ahead! Come to heading 098! We will pick up the survivors from the freighter.”
Him and Nancy then went to the back of the bridge, where Johnson, Bennett and Price were taking care of the wounded and still unconscious gunner. Stilwell’s face reflected genuine concern.
“How is he doing?”
Johnson shook his head in frustration.
“I’m not sure. One thing I can say is that he will die if not brought quickly to a hospital.”
“Where is the nearest port with a hospital?”
Nancy’s question made Stilwell hurry to his chart table. He pointed at a position due West of the Southwest tip of England.
“This is where we are now. Plymouth is the closest port but Portsmouth is our largest naval base in the area, plus it has a much better-equiped hospital than Plymouth. At top speed, we could be there in about four hours and still have a comfortable fuel reserve. Let’s pick up those survivors in the water as fast as we can, then we will dash for Portsmouth. I know that we are supposed to be still a secret experimental craft, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste lives on account of it.”
Nancy smiled at him and gently took hold of his hand on the chart table.
“Thanks, Peter! That’s the way I like you.”
“You’re welcome, Nancy. Now, let’s see how many people made it out of that freighter.”
Stilwell then turned towards Commander Bennett.
“Mister Bennett, could you advise Portsmouth that we will dash there with wounded on board? Also, please ask the HESPERUS to take care of those Germans in the water.”
Bennett nodded and went to the radio room, situated aft of the bridge.
What they soon saw around the wreckage from the freighter horrified them: mixed with a few merchantmen, dozens of children ranging from toddlers to adolescents clung to what they could at the surface of the oily water.
“NOOO!” Shouted Stilwell. “Those German bastards sank a ship transporting children to Canada for safekeeping.’’
Nancy had read before about such transports being sunk, but it did nothing to help her as she heard small, desperate voices crying for help. Tears in her eyes, she scrambled down the ladder to the vehicle deck and rushed to the bow vehicle ramp, followed by Horace Price and one sailor. She punched the opening button of the ramp and grabbed the telephone besides it. The big ramp was nearly down in the water by the time Stilwell answered.
“Listen to me carefully, Peter. We won’t need to put boats in the water if we do it right. First, send me all the men you can spare down to the vehicle deck, along with warm blankets, stretchers and first aid kits. Then, using lift fan vectoring only, maneuver the craft as I will tell you: I will scoop up the survivors by using the bow ramp as an elevator. Understood?”
‘’Got it!’’
The whole operation went better than she hoped for, LCMAC-1 proving to be a very agile craft indeed. The big bow ramp, meant to unload tanks and other vehicles, scooped up whole groups of survivors with ease. The last load was a survival raft filled with nine children and a Red Cross nurse, all shivering and wet. The nurse handed to Nancy a small girl covered with burns before crawling out of the raft: her left leg had a nasty compound fracture just under the knee. Horace Price rushed to her with a medical kit as Nancy hugged the small girl, who was severely burned and in a state of shock. Closing the bow ramp, Nancy advised Stilwell by intercom that he could get on his way, then wrapped the little girl in a blanket. Sitting besides the wounded nurse, now lying on a stretcher and with Price applying a rudimentary splint on her broken leg, Nancy gently caressed the woman’s hair.
“We are now heading towards Portsmouth’s hospital, Miss. You are out of danger now. Do you know the name of this little girl?”
“Yes: her name is Betty Myers.” Answered the nurse with difficulty, obviously in great pain. “My name is Julie Hargrove. Me and six other nurses were escorting 183 children to Canada when that submarine attacked us. Our ship was the JOHN IRVING.”
Nancy’s mouth opened in horror: they had picked up only 43 children, six merchantmen and this nurse. Excusing herself for a moment, Nancy went back to the intercom to pass that information to Stilwell, with the request that he passed it further on the radio. She hesitated for a second as she was going to put down the receiver, looking at little Betty Myers. The child’s burns were extensive and she was undoubtedly going to suffer horribly once the sedating effects of shock subsided. There was one way to get to Portsmouth even faster, a way she was alone on board to know fully about and one she was not supposed to disclose today because of the presence of Commander Johnson. Making her mind, Nancy climbed the ladder to the bridge, little Betty still in her arms. Emerging on the bridge, she signaled Stilwell to join him discreetly in one corner.
“The sea appears still to be fairly calm, Peter. Do you think that this craft could handle a faster speed?”
“Yes, if we could go faster. Our engines are however already at full power.”
“Not all of them, Peter. That mysterious tubular device I had installed between our two ducted propellers last week is an experimental aircraft engine. We were going to test it another day, when only British personnel would be present, but this is an emergency situation.”
“How powerful is that experimental engine?”
“Quite powerful, actually: it is meant to provide a 200 miles per hour speed boost to our heavy bombers. The whole thing is a self-contained unit, with its own fuel tank, and is designed so that it could be quickly bolted on top of a bomber as a booster engine. I know how to activate it but you will have to evacuate the weather deck and the open bridge first: the relative wind of our speed would blow away any sailor standing outside.”
“Christ! That I need to see. Alright, give me a minute.”
As Stilwell shouted orders to his men, Nancy approached the engines control console and, taking a key out of one pocket, unlocked a small box that had been bolted on it. Inside were three indicator gauges, two switches and a control knob.
“All the outside decks are clear, Major.” Announced Stilwell.
“Then, hang on to your suspenders.”
Switching on the circuits of the experimental pulse jet unit, Nancy then pressed the starter button. A deafening noise similar to that of a giant motorcycle then erupted, making everybody but Nancy jump in surprise. At the same time, the hovercraft was accelerated forward as if kicked by a giant.
“What the hell is that?” Exclaimed Commander Johnson. Nancy turned gradually the control knob to full thrust, making everybody brace against the acceleration, before answering.
“Something you were not supposed to know about, Mister Johnson. However, little Betty here can’t wait.”
09:50 (GMT)
H.M.S. HESPERUS
It was some very stern-faced British sailors who picked up the few German submariners floating on the ocean. The latter had by then seen more than a few small bodies on the surface of the water and had realized with horror what they had done. They didn’t expect any favors now from the British and got none either. One of the Germans had a last look at the departing LCMAC-1 as he climbed a rope ladder alongside the HESPERUS.
“Gott und Himmel! What chances do we have against things like this?”
A British officer who spoke German heard him and bent over the guardrail to look at him with pure hatred.
“Better chances than what you gave those kids in the water, bastard!”
13: 08 (GMT)
Harbormaster’s Office
Portsmouth
“Sir, another message from LCMAC-1.”
“Put it on loudspeaker, Leading Seaman Cross.”
Commander Matthew Vernon took the radio microphone in his hands as he listened to the short-range radio guard frequency.
“Portsmouth Harbor, this is LCMAC-1, come in, please.”
“LCMAC-1, this is Portsmouth Harbormaster, go ahead.”
“Portsmouth, we have severely wounded children on board. Request high speed approach to the harbor point, over.”
Vernon looked out through the windows of the office, then at the ships schedule before answering.
“LCMAC-1, there is no traffic in the harbor at this time. You are cleared for fast approach, over.”
“Portsmouth, how wide is the boat concrete ramp at the end of Gunwharf Road?”
“Wait, out!”
Vernon looked in puzzlement at Chief Petty Officer Sutton. Gunwharf Road was just behind the harbor point and close to the navy hospital. They could actually see it from one of the East side windows of the office. CPO Sutton grabbed a pair of binoculars and examined the boat ramp.
“I’d say that it is at a minimum a good fifty feet wide, sir.”
Vernon passed that information on the radio, which was acknowledged by LCMAC-1.
“Why would they need to know that?” Asked Vernon to nobody in particular. Sutton’s face suddenly lit up in comprehension.
“I got it, sir! This LCMAC-1 is some sort of landing craft, right?”
“Er, yes. So?”
“Well, sir, those kind of craft often have large bow ramps to unload vehicles and troops: they probably want to disembark their wounded as near as possible to the hospital. It all makes good sense.”
“I think that you are right, Mister Sutton. Please call the hospital and warn them that they will receive casualties soon, most of them children.”
“I’m on it, sir!”
As Sutton was calling the hospital, the shaken voice of the captain of a minesweeper currently twelve miles west of Portsmouth came in on the radio’s loudspeaker.
“Portsmouth Harbormaster, this is the COVINGTON. A… thing just drove past us, heading towards Portsmouth. I don’t know what it is but it was going at over eighty knots of speed and it was flying the Royal Navy ensign.”
“EIGHTY KNOTS? Are you sure, COVINGTON?”
“Positive, Portsmouth. I have never seen a craft like it before. I am not even sure if it is a ship or an aircraft.”
“Er, thanks for the warning, COVINGTON. Out!”
Everybody in the office, including Vernon, ran to the westward windows, grabbing any binoculars available. Vernon was the first to spot what looked like a smoke trail low on the horizon. That grew quickly into a speeding dot, then into the weirdest thing he had ever seen. Vernon then contacted the radar room by intercom.
“Radar, do you have a fast approaching contact about ten miles West of the harbor?”
“Yes sir, but you won’t believe its speed, sir.”
“Try me!”
“We just clocked it three times, to make sure we were not making a mistake, sir. That thing is going at 87 knots, sir.”
Vernon was swallowing hard when Sutton yelled a warning, his eyes still glued to a pair of binoculars.
“Something that looks like aircraft airbrakes just deployed on that thing, sir. It is now slowing down fast.”
A minute later, Sutton confirmed that the fast craft was flying the Royal Navy flag, making Vernon smile with glee.
“Hell, the Germans are in for quite a surprise when they will meet this baby!”
“I believe that they have already met it, sir: LCMAC-1 is flying the Jolly Rodgers.”
Vernon then saw himself the black flag with skull and crossed bones, a traditional sign to announce that one had destroyed an enemy ship. Cheers rang out as the strange craft sped by the harbormaster’s office, heading towards the boat ramp. They were not at the end of their surprises for the day, though. Lining up on the boat ramp, the craft started climbing the gentle slope, leaving the water and making Vernon’s jaw drop to the floor.
The heavy hovercraft finally stopped right in front of the hospital’s main entrance, dropping open its bow ramp as the rubber skirts deflated, the lift fans and main engines cut off. Nancy, with little Betty Myers in her arms, was the first to go down the ramp, followed closely by sailors carrying four stretchers. Walking at a rapid pace towards the small crowd of curious medical personnel who had emerged from the hospital to stare at the hovercraft, she waved at them.
“Don’t just stand there! There are wounded to bring in.”
Her shouted order finally got the doctors and nurses moving. It then took less than five minutes to bring the wounded and the unhurt children inside. Nancy saluted when four sailors passed by her, carrying the covered body of the young gunner to the hospital’s morgue.
“Thanks for caring, Nancy.”
She turned her head and saw Peter Stilwell standing besides her, his face solemn.
“It is a shame to die so young. Damn war!”
Stilwell nodded gravely.
“Right you are. If you will excuse me for a moment, I will get to a phone and arrange for our refueling and rearming. I will also advise the Admiralty that we are here.”
Left alone in front of LCMAC-1, Nancy looked at the sea, visible between buildings, letting her mind wander aimlessly. The sound of approaching footsteps brought her back to reality half a hour later.
“Major Laplante?”
The newcomer was a tall and thin man wearing a white coat over a navy captain’s uniform.
“Yes, Doctor?”
“I just wanted to thank you for bringing those wounded to Portsmouth so quickly: your diligence saved at least two of them.”