The launching of the surf boat back into the breaking waves was not a graceful affair. Getting wet was unavoidable. The Canadians almost missed the boat and had to be roughly dragged over the transom at the last minute by the burly oarsmen. This introduction to Royal Navy seamanship did not produce a lot of confidence. However, this quickly improved in the trip out to MGB 5700 when the strength of the oarsmen and Jimmy’s steering skills became evident.
Finding the MGB was not easy. They used a course of 35 degrees, and knowledge that the anchorage was about one mile distant from the beach. Jackson had a walkie-talkie which he could have used to contact the boat in an emergency. However, at this point he did not want to risk a radio communication being detected by the Germans, so, not finding the MGB to be where it should have been according to his dead reckoning, he had no alternative but to conduct a square search. This was not popular with the oarsmen for it meant more strenuous exercise and they were already very tired. The wind continued to freshen and became laced with a cold rain.
Twenty minutes into the square search, Jimmy saw a light flash on their port bow. It was more than a flash; it was the MGB’s code letter. The growing anxiety of the surf boat’s crew and passengers disappeared in an instant when Jimmy changed course towards the light source; Jackson responded with his hooded flashlight. Within ten minutes the indistinct image of 5700 became a well-defined and very real MGB. After a further five minutes of hectic activity, conducted with a minimum of noise, the surf boat occupants were on board sipping hot cocoa, and Lieutenant Harrington was stealthily underway, heading for more friendly shores.
After five miles, the MGB was switched to her main engines, and with rising bows and foaming wake showed her grace and power. Harrington, ever vigilant, stood on the bridge scanning the darkness with binoculars pressed hard against his eye sockets. He knew he was still in enemy coastal waters and had to be prepared for an encounter at any time. He was looking astern when a voice bellowed above the roar of the engines:
“Flashing light dead ahead, sir. Closing fast. Moving to starb’d.” Harrington turned around quickly and homed in on the light.
“Good work, Gunner. I’ve spotted it. Action stations all hands! Look lively! We’ve got company.” Damn and blast! thought Harrington. The last thing I want is an enforced gun battle. The crew’s tired and I’ve got guests on board.
“Signalman, get the Aldis ready. I’m beginning to recognize the silhouette of an E-boat, and that ain’t good. We’re going to try an fool them. Next time they send their single recognition letter, respond with three or four letters. That should confuse them for a while. Shake the Aldis up and down then maybe they’ll think there’s something wrong with it and give us the benefit of the doubt.”
“Aye, aye, skipper.”
The E-boat, now on a parallel but opposite course, was only 100 yards away. Harrington held his breath. The E-boat stopped signaling when the boats were almost opposite one another. Surely they can make out that we’re an MGB. Any moment now they’re going to fire at us; I know it. Harrington was right. A stream of 20 mm shells came from the E-boat across the MGB’s bow. Was it a warning shot for them to heave to, or were the Germans just poor marksmen?
“Carry on flashing, Signalman, and every man on deck wave like mad,” shouted Harrington, “there’s still a chance we can avoid an engagement.”
Harrington ground his teeth and firmed up his jaw; he desperately wanted to attack the E-boat but he knew the rules of SOE Operations:
Do not attack the enemy except in self defense.
In the wheelhouse Jimmy boiled over for a fight. It was against his nature, his training and his past experience to let this opportunity slip away. But he held his tongue; he was not the CO.
If just one shell hits my boat, I’m going after this bastard, thought Harrington, wishing that that would happen.
But it did not. The E-boat continued on its course at maximum speed without firing again. It obviously had a more important mission than establishing whether 5700 was friend or foe. With a relative separation speed of close to 80 knots, each boat was lost to the other in a matter of seconds. The night, the waves and the wind filled the area of the encounter as though it had never happened. Nature ignored these arrogant, petty, man-made disturbances in Her domain.
Four hours later 5700 entered the Dartmouth boom; the boat and her crew were proud of their night’s work.