Captain Augustus Agar: ‘…the last of the Edwardian gentlemen. If he said a thing would be done, then it would be done.’
Peter Sokolov recovered quickly, but he was clearly so cold and exhausted that the crew had let him rest during the journey back from Petrograd. Because they had waited until the very last moment for him it was now 1.30 a.m. and almost daylight. Gus told John Hampsheir to fix the Commissar’s flag to the staff at the rear of the boat. It then took a considerable test of nerve to reduce speed and cruise between the forts at about twelve knots as though they had every right to be there. Gus kept one hand on the throttle ready to make a run for it if they were challenged, but once again the forts were silent as they cruised though the gap selected by Veroline.
Gus had planned to sail out to Tolboukin lighthouse from where he could take another look at the battlecruisers shelling Krasnaya Gorka, but there was no time for that now. The most important thing was to get Peter and his precious messages back to Terrioki as quickly as possible.
Once Peter was safely back at Broadbent’s villa in Terrioki, he was wrapped in blankets and given hot cocoa. Everyone gathered round to hear the story of how he had found ST-25 and, more importantly, why ST-25 was not coming out.
Peter had rowed the pram into the safety of the reeds which lined the shore of Krestovsky Island, made it secure and covered it over with vegetation. He picked out a particular tree as a landmark so that he would be able to find it 48 hours later. He was very careful – there were plenty of patrols in the area and he might need to find it in a hurry. Then, checking that his pistol was loaded and still dry, he had set off south towards the road which led into Petrograd. He had hardly travelled more than a mile when there was a shout in Russian, ordering him to stop. He never saw the patrol but had instantly plunged away into the undergrowth, keeping as low as possible. There had been a shot and he had thrown himself full length in the tall grass, but there were no sounds of pursuit. He lay still for some time, but heard nothing else and eventually stood up. At well over six feet tall, it was not easy for a man like Peter to remain inconspicuous, but all seemed quiet now so he pushed on towards the main road.
He headed for a set of rooms on Vasili Island, an apartment which had belonged to him when he’d been a law student before the Revolution and which he still rented. He had used it on his other runs into Petrograd to see Paul, but each time he’d had to check carefully before entering the building in case the Cheka were lying in wait for him. But everything seemed safe: his ‘tells’, objects left in certain positions around the room, had not been moved and there was a thick layer of dust over everything. Peter rested there for a few hours and then around noon he set off for the gardens of the Winter Palace. Paul had told him that this would be the fall-back contact point if they ever became separated for a long period. He would try and be there between midday and one o’clock each day. The gardens were an excellent choice: there were a large number of exits and entrances and the place was always full of people hanging around with nothing to do but listen to the dozens of public speakers who harangued the crowds from every possible vantage point. In such a busy and open area it would be hard for the Cheka to monitor any particular individual.
Peter wandered through the gardens for some time, looking for Paul but watching for any Cheka stooges as well. He knew that Paul would probably have changed his appearance, but although he saw several possible suspects none of them was him. The hour was nearly up and Peter was standing pretending to listen to a factory leader from one of the Soviets when he felt a tug at his sleeve.
He turned and looked down (everyone in Petrograd was shorter than Peter) at an old man in unkempt clothes and the dirtiest fur cap he had ever seen. The old man mumbled something and Peter thought he was begging for some money. He shrugged the old man off, only to feel a tug at his sleeve again. Once more he looked down and was shocked to realise that he was staring straight into the grimy but grinning face of Paul Dukes! Peter was horrified by the change in Paul’s condition in just six weeks – his eyes were sunken, his cheekbones could be seen through his skin and he had a dreadful pallor. But before Peter could say anything Paul had limped off through the trees. Peter waited for a few seconds and then wandered in the same direction, casually glancing around to see if anyone was paying undue attention. He followed Paul to a secluded and enclosed part of the gardens where he found him slumped on a stone bench.
Peter sat down next to him, but instead of the warm greeting he expected Paul immediately asked to see his papers. Peter handed them over and Paul quickly sorted through them, checking the dates and stamps. The untrained undercover officer of a year before was now a consummate professional. He knew that the greatest danger to them at that moment was that they would be approached by a Chekist patrol and asked for their papers. The stamps were being changed regularly these days, particularly for those who were pretending to be soldiers on leave as Peter was. If Peter’s papers were not up to scratch then they would both be arrested.
Next, Paul asked if he had brought money. Peter handed Paul a thick package wrapped in brown paper. Paul held the package for a moment and Peter was shocked to see that there were tears in his eyes. Then Paul shoved the package inside his own grubby black leather jacket. Money was the next most important thing in case they were suddenly split up and had to make a run for it. Only then did Paul embrace Peter and demand to know how on earth he had got back into the city.
Peter’s explanation was very confused. He told Paul that when he had arrived in Helsinki on his last run across the border a man called ‘Lemay’ had told him that he must wait before going back. Paul had no idea who Lemay was, but it was clear that Peter did not have a very high opinion of him. Weeks had passed, but every time Peter asked about leaving he was told to wait a little longer. And then a man had arrived in a wonderful craft which looked like a boat, but which flew. Peter described it as being like ‘a monstrous bird’. The description was so confused that at first Paul assumed it must be some sort of aircraft – such as a seaplane. Peter described how this craft, driven by a man called ‘Captain Eggar’, flew over the water at incredible speeds and had brought him all the way to Petrograd without the need to cross the border. The same craft would be ready tomorrow night to take both of them out of the city again to safety. Peter then emphasised that this would be the last chance to get away as after this the White Nights would make it impossible for Eggar to return until late July or early August.
Paul was clearly sorely tempted by this offer, but he told Peter that there were people in prison whom he must rescue before he could leave. There were also some valuable contacts he had only just met and it would take time to prepare them to work for the British before he left. Things had been bad – he told Peter how he had been sleeping rough for several nights – but now, with the money that Peter had brought him, he thought he could survive for another four weeks.
Gus had prepared for this possibility. Peter gave the British agent a small slip of paper from ‘Captain Eggar’ which listed three dates in late July when the mystery machine would be able to pick him up. Paul promised to do his best to be there.
The two men spoke for several hours, with Peter relaying various messages from MI6 as well as the latest news from outside Russia. Then they left, Paul for the cemetery, Peter for his old student rooms, but travelling most of the way together. It might seem that Peter had the best of the deal, but he did not sleep much that night. He had used these rooms for a very long time and he did not know whether someone in the building might have given him away. He lay awake most of the night, clutching his revolver and listening for the slightest creak on the stairs which might give him some warning of the Cheka’s arrival.
The next day the two men met in the gardens once again so that Peter could collect the various intelligence reports that had been stacking up since his last visit and which Paul had hidden away. Then Peter would make his own journey back to meet the CMB later that night.
The journey had been uneventful, though in order to avoid the curfew Peter had set out for Krestovsky Island in good time. But he had not realised how heavily the shore was patrolled. Time and again he had to turn back or skirt around a roadblock. At one stage he had to lie up in the reeds for half an hour as he edged past a Chekist outpost. Lying half in the water he had become soaked through and was soon very cold. His hands became so cramped that he could barely use the signal torch when he finally arrived at the rendezvous. If the situation did not improve, he doubted that Paul would be able to make the rendezvous in one month’s time.
By now it was three in the morning and the party broke up to get some sleep. The only sound was the steady boom of the guns of the Soviet battlecruisers pounding the fortress of Krasnaya Gorka. The garrison there was apparently still holding out. Gus stood at his window and watched the flashes in the night sky. He had managed to get word to ST-25 and that work was finished for at least a month. But now, as he watched the horizon, he wondered if he could save the garrison of Krasnaya Gorka as well.
The next morning, Gus and the CMB crews moved to a new residence, the Villa Sakharov. Gus had rented it because Broadbent’s villa was just too far away from the harbour and he wanted to be able to keep watch over the boats and any suspicious activity by the Finns at the yacht club. The cost was 3,600 marks a month (which, Gus noted in his diary, was ‘pretty ruinous’) but the villa had its own tennis court and came complete with a burly female housekeeper so it was a fairly comfortable choice. The housekeeper had a blonde-haired eight-year-old daughter who was always hanging around and the crew soon adopted her. A few days later Sindall produced a boxer dog called ‘Dinah’ from somewhere and then a variety of Russian refugee families who were billeted at neighbouring villas began to call. As a base of secret operations, the Villa Sakharov was quite lively.
To top it all, on that very first day the French military attaché from Helsinki called to see the operation. Clearly something was very wrong with MI6’s operational security in the Finnish capital. Gus and his crews were as welcoming as possible, although they hid Peter away upstairs and stuck carefully to the story that this was simply an advance post for Admiral Cowan’s forces. But with their lack of uniforms (still stored on the boats as per Cumming’s instructions) and general lack of order, they certainly did not look like a crack unit of the Royal Navy.
During the morning Gus visited the local fort to see Commandant Sarin again. The local troops were still causing problems, hanging around, being nosy and now the villagers had refused to loan the British any boats to get stores to and from the CMBs. Sarin apologised profusely and promised that he would sort it out. Together the two men walked the mile or so to the tower of the little Russian Orthodox Church behind the village.
From there they could just make out the battlecruisers still pounding the Krasnaya Gorka fortress, Gus using his favourite telescope, Sarin a pair of binoculars. After a lull, the bombardment had recommenced at eleven o’clock that morning. The resounding boom of the guns echoed around the Gulf. Gus said that it was a shame to watch Russians killing each other. Sarin explained that the garrison of the fort were not Russians but Ingrians. Ingria was a region on the coast of northern Estonia. These people were not just fighting the Bolsheviks, they were fighting for their independence. Sarin lamented the fact that Cowan could not move in and destroy the battlecruisers or force them back into Kronstadt. He speculated that to prevent their families being taken as hostage many of the Ingrians would have moved their wives and children inside the fortress before the revolt began. In a strange echo of the last stand at the Alamo in Texas, the Ingrians had risen believing that they only had to hold the fortress for a few days before the White army under Yudenitch would arrive to save them. But, as with the Alamo, help was not coming. The leaders of the White armies, aristocrats and Tsarist snobs to a man, wanted the old Russia back and for them this meant the Russian empire complete with all its subject peoples. They had no interest in helping Ingrian nationalists.
Sarin pointed out that if the fortress fell, then all those women and children who had not already been killed in the bombardment would surely be executed. It was all so short-sighted of the British and the Whites. The intelligence that Sarin was receiving from interviews with refugees held in the quarantine camp was that the garrison of Kronstadt was considering whether to join with Krasnaya Gorka and if Kronstadt fell to the Whites the Bolsheviks could not hold Petrograd. And if they could not hold Petrograd, they could not hold Russia. In Sarin’s opinion, he and Gus were watching not just the fate of one fortress as they stood on the church tower, they were watching the fate of the entire Bolshevik revolution. The Ingrians could hold out for one day under the ferocity of such a bombardment, maybe for two, but not more.
Gus tried to explain to Sarin yet again that it was not Admiral Cowan’s fault. The minefields made it impossible for the British squadron to attack and, even if they did the guns of Kronstadt, the sea fortresses and the Russian armoured battlecruisers would destroy the lightly armed British cruisers before they could engage. It would be a massacre. But he did not tell Sarin something else: he still had one hope. He had sent a telegram to Cumming in London asking for permission to attack the Russian battleships. He had explained the vital balance of the current position and said that if his two CMBs could sink or even just damage one of the battlecruisers then he was sure that they would be forced to return to Kronstadt and the Krasnaya Gorka fortress would be saved.
But he was to be bitterly disappointed. Around midday, Hall appeared with Cumming’s reply. It was curt and undeniably clear:
TAKE NO OFFENSIVE WITHOUT DIRECT INSTRUCTIONS FROM SNO BALTIC STOP
Cumming knew that Admiral Cowan would not order Gus to attack without secret-service support and in any case there was no time now to consult Admiral Cowan all the way over at Biorko Sound.
Gus listened to the guns on the far side of the Gulf. The White flag was still flying. He could not bear the thought of all those people trapped there, unable to fight back, just waiting for the end. And to know that the fate of Kronstadt hung on this revolt as well! What was the point of the CMBs being here if they couldn’t be used for offensive action? Cumming was a fool.
All through lunch he turned the problem over in his mind. The repeated sound of the guns, easily audible wherever he walked in Terrioki, kept emphasising over and over again that something had to be done. These people could not just be left to their fate. Gus decided there was one last chance: it was possible that both CMBs might be destroyed in the attack and Cumming was obviously afraid that this would endanger the link with ST-25. Fine. But they could not make a run to Petrograd for another month because of the White Nights. Even if he and Sindall were killed that still left plenty of time to send two more boats from Osea. Now that he had shown there was a safe passage through the forts, the Admiralty could hardly object.
Gus knew that Hall and Broadbent had a radio at their dacha. From there they could contact Le May at Viborg and then a message could be relayed via Helsinki and Stockholm directly to Cumming in London. Gus ran all the way to the dacha and hastily dictated a second telegram. He emphasised the desperation of the situation. He explained that more boats could be sent. Finally he let Cumming know that if permission were given he could attack across the minefields that night.
Now all he could do was wait. He told Sindall to prepare both CMBs for launch that evening. Knowing that the courier runs were over, Sindall looked confused but he did not question his commander’s orders.
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. Gus confided in Sindall and asked what he thought of the problem. Young and impetuous as ever, ‘Sinbad’ was all for taking the boats out and damning Admiralty orders. Hall and Broadbent already knew what Gus wanted to do. Broadbent did not express an opinion, but Hall disapproved strongly. As far as he was concerned the CMBs had been sent to work for MI6 and that did not include waltzing off on glory trips. Gus ignored him. He had already formed a pretty damning opinion of Hall’s worth. It did not matter anyway. Everything hung on Cumming’s reply.
The telegram arrived late that evening:
ADMIRALTY DOES NOT APPROVE OF ANY FURTHER BOATS BEING SENT STOP YOU MUST DO THE BEST YOU CAN WITH THE MATERIAL AT YOUR DISPOSAL STOP BOATS SHOULD NOT BE USED FOR ANY OTHER BUT INTELLIGENCE WORK STOP
So that was it. His orders were clear.
And yet …
Gus felt sure that if he attacked the Soviet battlecruisers, he would have Cowan’s support. The Admiral’s parting words – ‘Always choose the boldest course!’ – kept coming back to him.
He reread Cumming’s telegram. He handed it back to Hall.
‘Get the crews together,’ he told Sindall. ‘We’re going out.’
As soon as Gus said those words the pressure lifted. The decision was made – now all that remained was action. Damn Hall, damn Cumming and damn MI6! If they could not realise what was happening out here then he would disobey his orders and go it alone.
And it would be either death or the end of his career if he failed.
Down in the little harbour Piper and Beeley had already fired up the CMB engines using the compressed air pumps. The covers were off the Lewis guns, all crew members were wearing their uniform caps and the white ensign was flying from both boats. Shortly before 11 p.m., as soon as it was as dark as they could hope for, the two CMBs chugged slowly out of the harbour mouth and then picked up speed in line astern as Gus changed course to the southwest. His plan was to travel in a wide circle away from the battlecruisers and then sail along the southern coast of the Gulf right under the guns of Krasnaya Gorka. This would keep the CMBs away from the protecting screen of destroyers and make them less likely to be seen against the darkness of the coastline. Gus also calculated that the Russians would be less likely to expect an attack from the south and afterwards the CMBs would have a straight run at maximum speed back north to Terrioki. With only two torpedoes they did not have much of a chance, but Gus decided he could maximise that chance if they concentrated both torpedoes on the Petropavlovsk: she was the more heavily armed of the two. If he could cripple or sink her, then the Bolshevik fleet would be more likely to withdraw.
The guns were silent now. As on previous nights they might open up for a few rounds to continue the war of nerves on those trapped inside the fortress, but otherwise they would wait for full daylight before continuing the attack. This meant that there would be no cover for the tremendous noise of the CMB engines as they approached and Gus made sure that they gave the Russian ships a very wide berth as they swung across the Gulf.
They had been travelling at a steady speed for almost half an hour and the southern coast was clearly visible ahead when Gus felt John Hampsheir tap him on the shoulder. Gus looked back and saw that CMB7 had dropped far behind and was now almost invisible in the distance. He swung CMB4 about and headed straight for them. CMB7 was dead in the water. All three men looked pretty shaken.
They had struck some kind of obstruction, almost certainly a loose mine. By rights Sindall and his crew should have been dead. It was no wonder they looked shocked. This mine had not exploded but it had smashed something on the bottom of the boat, almost certainly the propeller shaft. The engine was still running, but they were getting no forward momentum at all.
It was dreadfully cruel luck. The odds against a small boat hitting a loose mine in the middle of the Gulf were astronomic. But there was nothing for it. Gus could not leave them stranded out at sea. The attack would have to be abandoned and CMB7 towed back to Terrioki. Gus reflected grimly that at least his career was safe for another day.
It was 3.30 a.m. but already daylight by the time they limped back into harbour. Piper immediately stripped off and dived overboard to inspect the damage. He confirmed that the propeller shaft was smashed clean through. There was also a gash in the hull and CMB7 was steadily shipping water. They had no spare propeller shaft, not even at Helsinki, although one was being shipped from England sometime in the next few weeks. There was nothing they could do. Gus sent the crews to get some sleep.
Later that morning Gus wrote in his diary that Ed Sindall was ‘… heartbroken as he is so keen to do a bit’ and then added: ‘If only he was more solid and paid more attention to details and spade work and treated his boat less like a motor car plus chauffeur complete. But then I suppose we all have our failings.’
Gus rolled over and tried to get some sleep but a few hours later he was back in the church tower, watching the battlecruisers through his telescope. It was now Tuesday, 17 June. Commandant Sarin was already there. They had both been disturbed by the same thing. The bombardment had not restarted at its usual time that morning and each of them was wondering what the Bolsheviks were up to. They could see that both the battlecruisers were under way and together with their escort of destroyers were making the short journey back into Kronstadt military harbour. But the White flag was still flying over Krasnaya Gorka, so what was going on? Had the sailors of Kronstadt finally risen in support? If this was a reprieve for the fortress it seemed too good to be true.
An hour later the answer became clear. The same force of four destroyers which had guarded the Petropavlovsk and the Andrei Pervozvanni during the bombardment escorted the powerful armoured cruiser Oleg out of port. She displaced 6,645 tons, had a crew of 565 and was armed with 12 six-inch guns – more than enough to finish the job. Other than the two battlecruisers she was the largest warship in the Russian fleet. The Oleg was soon taking up a position to recommence the bombardment and in the early afternoon the pounding of the fortress started once again.
Once more Gus spent an afternoon of anguish wondering where his duty lay. Yesterday he had been prepared to risk everything by attacking with two boats. If he attacked tonight he would only have one. There was almost no chance with just one torpedo. Even if he made it through the destroyer screen without being detected and launched his torpedo, half the time the underwater missiles did not strike what they were aimed at. Why should he risk the lives of his men and his entire career on such a dreadfully slim chance? His orders from London, both from the Admiralty and C, were clear: he must not attack. The Navy was all he had known since he had joined as a young cadet. Even if he returned from such a mission he would be dismissed from the service in disgrace, his whole career thrown away.
But having disobeyed his orders the day before, this time the choice was strangely easier. If there was only one chance that the lives of those in the fort could be saved then Gus felt that he was honour bound to take it. If he stood here and let those people die, then what kind of man was he?
That night CMB4 set off from the little harbour again. On board were Gus, Hugh Beeley and John Hampsheir. It was just before eleven p.m. and fully dark. There was no sound from the direction of the Oleg. She had shelled Krasnaya Gorka for about four hours and had then ceased fire some time before 7 p.m. But Gus had seen from the church tower that she was still there and he was still determined to do what he could, either to sink her or force her back into Kronstadt. Everything seemed to be urging him to return. Weather conditions were far worse than on the previous day. A southerly wind had sprung up at about 9 p.m. and, blowing across the current in the Gulf, it created a choppy sea. It was not enough to slow CMB4 down, but it made for a rough ride and the boat threw up so much spray that it was hard for Gus to see where they were going. Soon all three men were soaked to the skin.
Once more they circled around and attacked from the south to give themselves the clearest run, but they would still have to penetrate the destroyer screen. Gus eased the engines back to dead slow and they began to edge forward between two of the destroyers, keeping watch all the time for a small motor patrol boat which was cruising in the area. The destroyers drew closer until they were only two hundred metres away on either side. Ahead the distinctive three funnels of the Oleg could be seen against the pale night sky. Gus whispered to John Hampsheir to get ready for the attack run. This meant removing the safety pins from both the torpedo and the cartridge that fired the launching ram.
Keeping his eyes trained on the destroyers, ready to throw open the throttle at the slightest indication that they had been seen, Gus was vaguely aware of Hampsheir climbing onto the forward deck of the CMB. It had taken them fifteen minutes to creep this far through the destroyers. They were almost there. Out of the corner of his eye Gus saw Hampsheir come back to the cockpit.
Still there was no sign that they had been seen. Suddenly there was a muffled bang and CMB4 shook hard through her whole length. Gus looked around wildly, wondering what had happened – it did not feel like an explosion, more as though they had run aground. But CMB4 was still moving freely.
John Hampsheir grabbed Gus by the shoulder. There was panic on his face. He crouched down and hissed at Gus to turn back – the cordite charge for the launching ram had fired prematurely. It had almost taken his hand off and now there was no way of launching the torpedo. Gus looked behind. The torpedo was still there. The metal stops which held it securely in the trough had prevented the torpedo from launching when the ram had fired. But surely the hydraulic ram must have been damaged?
Beeley had rushed up from the engine compartment at the sound of the explosion. Their stares met. If the ram would still fire then there was a spare charge in the boat which was kept in case the original cartridge became soaked and refused to fire. But replacing it would be a tricky job and they could both see that Hampsheir was badly shaken. Also, the boat was still pitching heavily in the rough seas. Gus was grateful that the noise of the explosion had been muffled due to it having been enclosed in the cartridge chamber. Even so, every ship in the Russian fleet must now have lookouts on deck – how much longer did they have before they were spotted? If he had any sense they would make a run for it now while they still had a chance.
‘Set a new charge,’ ordered Gus, reducing the engine’s revolutions until it was barely idling.
‘You hold her steady sir. I’ll help Mr Hampsheir,’ said Beeley, clambering into the cockpit.
Keeping low in the darkness of the cockpit, Beeley could not see what had happened to make the charge fire, but he could guess. The safety pin in the cartridge was no more than a small T-shaped piece of metal. In order to help remove it the pin was usually attached to a length of brightly coloured lanyard. But if whoever was priming the charge yanked too hard on that lanyard it was apt to come away in their hand, leaving the pin still in the charge. Feeling around on the floor of the cockpit compartment Beeley found a pair of pliers. He guessed that Hampsheir must have accidentally pulled the lanyard off and had then tried to remove the tiny pin using the pliers. It must have been the devil’s own job trying to get a purchase on that slippery piece of metal in these rough seas. When Hampsheir had succeeded he must have given a hard tug and somehow struck the lever which set the cartridge off. They were lucky that they had not all been killed. The stops were down, preventing the torpedo from launching. It could well have blown up under the pressure from the ram. It was the sort of accident that could have happened to anyone – but no wonder Hampsheir was shaken.
Using a screwdriver, Beeley prised the remains of the cartridge out of the chamber and then, using only his sense of touch, he cleared the chamber and checked for any damage to the mechanism. It still seemed strange to him that the stops had held against the power of the hydraulic ram. Reaching around, he found that the union nut connecting a copper tube to a piece of the mechanism known as the explosion bottle had worked loose. That was why the pressure had not been enough to launch the torpedo. Beeley shook his head in amazement at their luck. John Hampsheir had actually done them a favour: if they had committed to the attack run and tried to fire the torpedo, the ram would probably have failed. Now they had a chance to fix it. Using the pliers Beeley tightened the nut. The rest of the mechanism felt as if it was OK. The arm of the ram might have been warped by the pressure and if so it would jam next time. They would just have to take a chance.
Hampsheir had fetched the new cartridge and now he helped Beeley to lower it into position. The job only took a little over five minutes, but for Gus, standing in the cockpit with nothing to do but watch the silhouettes of Russian warships all around him, this brief delay seemed to last an eternity.
Finally Beeley tapped Gus on the shoulder.
‘All clear, sir,’ whispered Beeley. ‘Let’s go’.
Gus slowly eased the engine back into life and they crept forward once again. They could not afford to start the attack run too soon because the noise of the engine would wake every sailor in the entire Bolshevik fleet, but he had to judge the distance precisely so that there was enough distance for CMB4 to reach launch speed and release the torpedo at the right point. In the darkness and the heavy spray it was an almost impossible task. For another ten minutes they continued to creep forward until Gus decided this was about as close as they could expect to get.
‘OK – this is it!’ he shouted and threw the throttle wide open.
Immediately the stern of CMB4 was thrust down into the water and her nose rose. Gus fought to correct the CMB’s natural desire to swing to the right and then corrected her course, aiming for the funnels of the Oleg which was about all he could see against the night sky. Next to him John Hampsheir crouched low over the fairing, holding a stop watch. As first officer it was his job to time the run of the torpedo.
The CMB’s engine noise immediately alerted the Russians. The first Soviet destroyer opened fire with surprising speed. It was as though they had been waiting for CMB4 to make her run. The first shot went wild over their heads and landed about one hundred metres away. Gus stuck grimly to his course, watching the funnels of the Oleg grow steadily larger. Hampsheir bellowed the revolution count into his ear. There was no other accurate way of judging their speed and the right moment to launch.
Tracer fire lit the sky above their heads. Over the roar of the Thornycroft engine they could not hear it but they knew that they had been spotted now. Another fountain of spray directly ahead showed them where another shell had struck. Gus took CMB4 straight through the churned-up sea water.
‘One thousand rpm!’ bellowed Hampsheir.
At this point they were about nine hundred metres from the Oleg and now she too was opening fire. The first shell from her guns whistled over their heads. That was close enough. Gus pulled the toggle which fired the cartridge and there was a loud hiss behind them as three-quarters of a ton of eighteen-inch torpedo slid smoothly out of the trough. It was precisely three minutes past midnight.
Gus immediately put the helm hard over to the right and the Oleg disappeared behind a wall of spray as CMB4, freed of the weight of the torpedo, accelerated and fought to stay in the water. Leaping from wavetop to wavetop, Gus took the boat almost in a full circle. He headed west for home. Next to him John Hampsheir was shouting out the time every ten seconds. There was no point in manning the Lewis guns – they were being thrown about so violently that there was no way he could have hit anything.
‘Thirty seconds … Forty seconds … Fifty seconds …’
They had missed! The torpedo should have struck by now. The sea was erupting all around them and it seemed to Gus that every vessel in the Soviet Baltic fleet was firing at them as they raced for a gap between two of the destroyers. He threw CMB4 violently from side to side as he tried to make them as difficult a target as possible. But some of the shells detonated as close as ten metres away, throwing great cascades of water across the boat.
Above the roar of the engine they felt rather than heard the tremendous explosion behind them. There was a brilliant flash which lit up the entire night sky and, glancing behind them, Gus had a brief vision of a column of thick smoke billowing into the air just behind the Oleg’s foremost funnel. Her sirens wailed as she immediately began to keel over.
CMB4 broke out of the Russians’ defensive circle, but the warships were still firing and now the sea fortresses had joined in with their massive guns, even though there was no way they could have seen what they were shooting at from this distance. Gus felt himself being slapped on the back and looked round. Although he could not hear anything, both Beeley and Hampsheir were standing alongside him in the cockpit, laughing and cheering as they were thrown about. Hampsheir threw his cap into the air and it disappeared over the side in the slipstream. Even though they were still being shot at, Gus laughed with them.
CMB4 was in range for another five minutes, but the firing was very erratic and soon seemed to go in all directions as if the Russians were not sure what they were shooting at. Gradually the shellfire fell further and further behind. Gus was sure they could not be seen any more. He watched the compass and kept them on a bearing north for Biorko Sound. The brief night was over and it was almost full daylight now – he wanted anyone who saw them to think that the attack had been launched by Cowan’s squadron rather than from a secret base. When they were within sight of the coast he turned east and they headed for Terrioki.
At the harbour mouth Piper and Sindall were standing on the wall, waving and cheering. Even from Terrioki they had heard the explosion and in the early light of dawn a column of thick acrid smoke on the horizon marked the spot where the Oleg had been struck. Hall and Broadbent were nowhere to be seen. But the victory had not been without cost. John Hampsheir had collapsed during the journey home and he had to be helped from CMB4 into the skiff. He had been vomiting and Gus had thought this was due to seasickness from the very rough ride in the choppy conditions. But now Hampsheir was shaking all over and it was clear that something very serious was wrong. Gus asked Sindall and Marshall to take Hampsheir to their dacha. He glanced at his watch. It was still only 12.50 a.m.
Leaving the others to look after the boat, Gus went straight to Broadbent’s dacha. He sent two signals, one to Cumming in London via Stockholm, the other to Admiral Cowan at Biorko: ‘Have attacked Oleg and have hit her.’ He did not dare to hope that he had sunk an armoured cruiser with just one shot, but hitting her was good enough. He then wrote a quick report about the attack while the details were fresh in his mind. Then he returned to the ‘Villa Sakharov’ where the three men who had taken part in the attack posed for a photograph on a bench outside. Hampsheir looked as though he barely registered being there.
At 3.30 a.m. Gus finally clambered into bed but was too excited to sleep. He scribbled a long letter to his beloved ‘Dor’ about how his last thoughts before they had started the attack run had been of her. And then, eventually, there was just time to scribble one last note in his diary: ‘Hope all the decent sailors were taken off by the destroyers.’ He finished by writing: ‘What a life!’ Minutes later he was asleep.
By next morning it was clear that Hampsheir needed professional medical care, but he refused to be sent home. He insisted that he would be fine in a day or so. Gus knew how much it meant to him to be with his comrades and did not have the heart to send him away. They would not be making another courier run for at least a month. He hoped that with plenty of rest John Hampsheir would have recovered by then.
Gus had planned to tow CMB7 back to Biorko for repairs, but the weather had continued to deteriorate overnight and the journey would clearly have to wait at least until the next day. Gus was just wondering what to do about the problem of reporting to Admiral Cowan (chiefly to explain why he had disobeyed orders) when a summons arrived from Commandant Sarin. Together with Broadbent as an interpreter, Gus strode off from the dacha for what he guessed might be a difficult meeting.
He was right. Sarin was confused and extremely angry. Gus had never told him that the CMBs were armed with torpedoes and the Finnish guards had never seen them because the troughs at the rear of the boats had been covered with tarpaulins. The sound of the guns firing at CMB4 had been audible right across the Gulf, news of the disappearance of the Oleg had already spread and it was clear from reports by Sarin’s shore patrols that Gus and his boats were somehow behind it. He demanded to know what was going on.
Gus explained about the torpedoes and gave a brief outline of the attack. Sarin was astonished that such a small boat could launch an assault but, like Admiral Cowan, he was absolutely appalled at the idea that Gus had carried out this attack while pretending to be a civilian. It was against every rule of war. Gus then had to explain about the uniforms and the white ensigns. When he’d attacked he had done so not as a civilian but as an officer of the Royal Navy (although even as he said it he had his fingers tightly crossed that Admiral Cowan would back him up on this …) Sarin’s next worry was that it would not take Bolshevik spies long to find out that Terrioki was the base for the CMBs. Didn’t Gus know that Russia had seaplanes based at Orienbaum and could launch a bombing raid within minutes? Some of the closer sea forts could even bombard Terrioki directly. He was putting the lives of everyone in the area at risk.
Gus took some time to explain that the CMBs were the only weapon that could drive the Russian battleships back into their port. He had broken none of the rules of war and, whilst he apologised to Sarin for any deception, he had only misled the commandant because of the need for absolute secrecy. Hadn’t Sarin himself asked why the British would not save Krasnaya Gorka? That was why they had attacked.
Gus’s little speech must have worked because when he had finished Sarin came around the desk, embraced him and said something that Gus did not understand but which was obviously meant sincerely. Broadbent later told Gus that it was a saying in Russian about being in the presence of a very brave man and that if he could ever do anything to help Gus could rely on him. However, as the meeting broke up Sarin also suggested to Gus that it would be a good idea to take his boats out of Terrioki for a while in case the planes came looking for them. Since CMB7 needed to be towed to Biorko for repairs anyway, Gus was quite happy to agree.
All that afternoon Gus and members of the crew watched from the church tower, eager to see what the results of the night’s work had been. Of the Oleg and her destroyers there was no sign. They could just make out Krasnaya Gorka. Worryingly, the White flag was no longer flying there but there was no sign of a Red flag either. Instead, there was just a haze of smoke as if many fires were burning. Gus didn’t know whether his gamble had paid off or not.
The next day, Thursday, 19 June, dawned fine. Gus was none too sure what sort of welcome awaited them so they did not set off until three o’clock in the afternoon and arrived at Biorko Sound at about 7.45 p.m. To the astonishment of all of them, the entire squadron was waiting. As they eased past the outlying destroyers they could see that the rails along the decks of every vessel in the Sound were lined with sailors. Warships began to sound their klaxons and crews waved their caps in celebration. As they passed each ship in turn the little boats were given three resounding cheers. By the time they were tying up alongside HMS Dragon it was all Gus could do to keep the tears from his eyes. In all his time in the Royal Navy he had never seen such a reception.
That evening Gus was invited to dine with Admiral Cowan on the flagship HMS Cleopatra. Champagne was served and Cowan insisted on hearing every little detail of the attack. Slightly embarrassed, Gus stressed that he still did not know if they had actually sunk the Oleg, but Cowan told him not to worry and that he would wait for confirmation before claiming too much at the Admiralty. Gus had been dreading the meeting, knowing that everything hung on whether or not the Admiral backed his defiance of Cumming’s order. He need not have worried. Cowan understood the courage this act had taken and when he heard how the first attack had failed his admiration grew. Cowan told Gus that he could forget whatever MI6, the Foreign Office or even the Admiralty said – he, Cowan, would tell them that the attack had had his full support right from the outset (even if he hadn’t known about it, he added with a twinkle in his eye).
This was just as well because the reaction in Whitehall was highly negative. Labour Party politicians who were strongly pro-Soviet claimed that Gus’s actions had destroyed any hope of ever reaching a peaceful accommodation with the Bolsheviks, MI6 was outraged that their explicit orders had been defied and the Foreign Office complained that months of patient diplomacy had been undermined. The Bolsheviks had turned the attack into a propaganda victory, claiming that they had been attacked by the entire British fleet which had been forced to retreat before the Bolshevik navy’s heroic defence and the sacrifice of the valiant Oleg. Only the British press received the news of the attack with approval. If it had not been for Cowan’s backing Gus would have been in a very tight spot indeed. He remained deeply grateful to Cowan for the rest of his life.
But something else happened at the dinner. Cowan told Gus that the principal value of the attack was in letting the Bolsheviks know that the British squadron now had a ‘sting’ and that they were not afraid to use it. Even so, the Petropavovsk and the Andrei Pervozvanni remained afloat and the newly independent Baltic states would never be sure of their freedom as long as the warships remained to threaten their coasts. Yes, the attack on the Oleg had been audacious, but Cowan wondered: if Gus were provided with a dozen or so more CMBs, could he repeat it? Could he do what he had offered to do at their very first meeting and hit the Bolshevik navy at its very heart in Kronstadt harbour?
At first Gus was stunned – it seemed impossible. Kronstadt was the most strongly defended harbour in the world and within its narrow confines the CMBs would lose their greatest advantage: speed. He knew that the harbour was enclosed on every side apart from a narrow entrance and that it was ringed with artillery and machine guns. The flimsy CMBs would truly be like fish in a barrel.
But the more the two men and Cowan’s flag captain, Commander Clark, discussed the proposal, the more interesting it became. After all, the CMBs had originally been created for just this sort of raid. If the Great War had not ended in November 1918 they would have been used to attack the German High Seas Fleet at Wilhelmshaven, so why not Kronstadt? Still, there was the problem of the Russian guns. None of them could see the way around that particular problem, but they agreed to think about it and reconvene in a few days’ time for a planning session.
The next day, Friday, 20 June, CMB4 returned to Terrioki with Hampsheir and Beeley, under the command of Ed Sindall. Gus remained in Biorko at Admiral Cowan’s suggestion. As has been noted the attack on the Oleg, launched from Finnish territory, had caused quite a storm. Gus was expected to go to Helsinki to brief the Consul-General and representatives of the Finnish naval staff. Then Cowan recommended that he should travel to Reval where General Gough was currently staying. HMS Vanity would be leaving for Helsinki and Reval the following day.
Gus spent the rest of the day making arrangements with the Finnish naval liaison officer, Lieutenant Foch, to have CMB7’s damaged propeller shaft repaired in the naval dockyard at Helsinki. He then travelled to the nearby Finnish seaplane base at Fort Ino. Arrangements had been made for him to take a flight to inspect the site of the attack on the Oleg and confirm her fate.
Gus’s pilot was actually a Swede, Arthur Reichel. Gus mentioned that as well as looking at the Oleg he hoped to be able to get a look at the Kronstadt naval base. The Finnish commandant in charge of the squadron said that sadly they were forbidden to fly over Kronstadt because it was Russian territory and the Kronstadt antiaircraft batteries were known to be disturbingly accurate. Then he smiled and said that, on the other hand, if Reichel’s compass was out a few degrees and they accidentally flew over Kronstadt he could hardly be blamed for such a basic navigational error …
Gus climbed into the front seat of the aircraft and, together with another seaplane flying as escort, they set off south for the Oleg’s last known position. At six o’clock that evening Reichel descended to 2,000 feet and there they could see the wreck of the great ship lying on its side in just six fathoms of water. Parts of her superstructure were breaking the surface. Gus later described it as looking like ‘a great dead whale’ and his first reaction was not one of triumph but of revulsion that he had caused the death of so many men. But then Reichel turned south for a look at Krasnaya Gorka and Gus’s feelings changed. As he had seen from the church tower, the White flag was no longer flying. Now in its place flew not one but three Red flags. And so, even after all that he and his team had risked, the fortress had fallen. It had all been for nothing.
Gus learned later that he had sunk the Oleg only a few agonising hours too late. The garrison of Krasnaya Gorka had held out against the initial bombardment, but when the Oleg opened up on the afternoon of 17 June she very quickly smashed a final breach in the weakened defences. There was no way of holding the defence and the garrison had surrendered that evening hoping for mercy – once they had destroyed the locks of the fortress’s great guns, thus rendering them useless. But they were not to receive any leniency. Gus was later told how the survivors, including the women and children, were lined up in pits and machine-gunned. Many of them were not killed by the Bolshevik bullets but were buried alive. It was every bit as horrific as he had imagined. The man who commanded the assault on Krasnaya Gorka was a then relatively unknown Bolshevik leader. His name was Josef Stalin.
Gus was still pondering matters when he realised that Reichel had taken them within sight of Kronstadt. For the first time Gus was able to get a complete view of the sea fortresses and understood how they linked to form a defensive line. He also saw the heavy defences of the port itself. The harbour guns commanded every vantage point. It did not seem possible that a CMB would survive longer than a few moments if it tried to attack that target.
Gus had much to think about as they turned for Finland once again. Then the engine of the aircraft suddenly cut out and despite his best efforts Reichel was unable to start it. Reichel put the plane into a shallow glide. He signalled to the second aircraft that they would not be able to make it back to Finland and that he was going to have to ditch in the sea. Since this was a seaplane it was not quite the problem it might have been. As a pilot himself, Gus was not unduly worried: aircraft engines were as unreliable as the engines of CMBs and during his training he had suffered several problems like this himself. On the other hand, he had never had to make a forced landing at sea before. It promised to be … interesting.
He need not have worried. Reichel was an excellent pilot and put the aircraft down smoothly in the water just a few hundred metres from the shore at Stirs Point. The second aircraft landed in the sea a short distance away and taxied over to them. Reichel invited Gus to hop across from the float of one aircraft to the other so that he could fly home. Reichel stayed with his aircraft and waited for a boat to come and tow him to shore where they would make repairs.
Gus made his way back to Biorko Sound, but it took a long time and it was well past midnight when he arrived at the flagship. Admiral Cowan was already in bed. Even so, he insisted on sitting up in his cabin to hear the news that the Oleg had definitely been sunk. As for Krasnaya Gorka, Cowan told Gus not to worry – he doubted that the Whites could have held the fortress for long even if the attack on the Oleg had been in time.
Gus also gave Admiral Cowan his opinion of the Kronstadt defences, particularly the number of guns. Cowan acknowledged that it sounded like a tough nut to crack, but he had already enquired about the availability of more CMBs and still thought it was worth considering further. As Gus was leaving, Admiral Cowan told him, informally, that he had recommended him for the Victoria Cross.
Captain Augustus Agar: ‘…the last of the Edwardian gentlemen. If he said a thing would be done, then it would be done.’
A typical street scene in Petrograd before the famine began to take hold showing the sort of horse-drawn sleigh in which Paul Dukes helped Mrs Merritt escape from No. 2 Gorohovaya.
A suspect is stopped and searched in a Petrograd street. It was just this sort of random detention that John Merritt had to fight his way out of.
The frozen bodies of victims of the Cheka. These people were from Omsk. In all 4,000 bodies were found. All had been tortured before they were executed. Every day of his mission, Paul Dukes knew that this was the fate awaiting him if he were caught.
Midshipman John Hampsheir, whose bravery was possibly all the greater because he was struggling against a nervous breakdown.
Midshipman Richard Marshall, the team’s crack shot who refused to be left behind despite the prospect of overwhelming odds.
Chief Motor Mechanic ‘Faithful’ Hugh Beeley, the mechanical genius of the team in a self-portrait using a mechanism that he had designed himself.
CMBs on their storage racks at Osea Island. From front to rear the versions are: 55-ft, 40-ft, 70-ft, 40-ft, 55-ft and 55-ft. The 40-ft version used by Gus Agar seems tiny when compared with the 55-ft version used on the Kronstadt Raid.
The engine compartment of a CMB. This was the cramped space in which Beeley had to work on every mission, often in complete darkness.
The layout of a 40-ft CMB. Note the cables running to the rudder wheel at the left rear of the boat. It was one of these cables which was severed by shell splinters during Agar’s last rescue attempt. There are petrol drums in the torpedo trough.
CMB4 and CMB7 on tow behind HMS Voyager en route to Biorko Sound. Eventually the cables snapped, both boats were swamped and the seawater ruined CMB4’s delicate engine.
The view aft from a 40-ft CMB. The wheel at the top of the rudder post is on the right clearly showing the steering cables which were shot through on Agar’s last mission.
Hugh Beeley (left), Chief Motor Mechanic Albert Piper (centre) and Vic Jones (right) relax after a swim at Terrioki.
John Hampsheir (left) in the only known photograph of MI6 officer Raleigh Le May (right), the man who destroyed Hampsheir’s health and tried to have Agar dismissed.
The Russian Orthodox Church at Terrioki showing the tower from which Agar and Commandant Sarin watched naval movements around Kronstadt.
The team victorious: Beeley (left), Agar (centre) and Hampsheir (right) photographed outside the Villa Sakharov just hours after their successful attack on the Oleg. Capless, Hampsheir already shows signs of the mental breakdown he was struggling against.
An aerial view of Kronstadt Harbour taken shortly before the Raid.
KEY: 1. Petropavlovsk 2. Andrei Pervozvanni 3. Pamiat Azova 4. Gavriil (possibly) 5. Hospital ship 6. Military harbour 7. Dry dock
HMS Vindictive with her improvised flight deck and six of her complement of aircraft, their wings folded. Two 55-ft CMBs are tethered aft and the smaller CMB7 is tethered alongside.
Richard Marshall setting up CMB4’s Lewis guns on the roof of the old Yacht Club the day after Russian planes bombed the secret base at Terrioki.
A close run thing: the almost completely submerged wreck of CMB7 at Terrioki after the team’s miraculous final voyage.
1967. After almost fifty years at Platt’s Eyot, a weather-beaten CMB4 is taken to her new berth in Southampton. It was arranged that the low loader would stop outside Agar’s cottage in Hampshire. Here he salutes her one last time. He died the following year.
The next day Gus travelled with Marshall and Piper in the destroyer HMS Vanity, which was going to tow CMB7 to Helsinki for repairs. They set out at 9 a.m. but even before he left Gus received worrying news from Terrioki. Apparently Raleigh Le May had arrived from Helsinki with Harold Hall. They had told Sindall that they intended to send Peter Sokolov back into Petrograd that very evening. Gus sent a strongly worded telegram back to Terrioki telling them to wait as it was far too light now to attempt the run. He then sent another telegram to Mansfield Cumming in London summing up the current position:
1 BOAT OUT OF ACTION STOP 3 WEEKS TO REPAIR STOP REQUEST 2 MORE BOATS STOP 1 SPARE ENGINE, 1 MORE CREW STOP OLEG SUNK STOP OCCUPATION OF PETROGRAD BY ALLIES THOUGHT IMMINENT END.
Gus wanted to achieve several things with this telegram. In the first place, he thought that Cumming had overestimated the capabilities of the CMBs and that more resources were needed if the courier system was to be reopened in late July. He also wanted to let Cumming know that his disobedience to orders had been worthwhile and, in the last line, to give the very pressing reason for that disobedience: that the situation in the Baltic was now very delicately balanced. But if he had hoped for understanding from Cumming on any of these points he was to be sorely disappointed.
The tow to Helsinki took almost 24 hours because HMS Vanity had to crawl along to avoid swamping CMB7, which was still leaking badly. At eight o’clock on the Sunday morning they finally crawled into the harbour. Gus left Marshall and Piper to arrange the repairs and immediately went to the Consulate to see Henry Bell, the Consul-General. He also met Raleigh Le May’s new and enthusiastic young assistant whose surname, he thought, was ‘Card’. Gus contacted Le May at Terrioki for a second time and told him to wait to make any decision about a run through the forts until he returned on Monday. Le May said he would. Le May lied.
Later that day, HMS Vanity made the short run across the Gulf to Reval where Gus hoped to be able to brief General Hubert Gough. He was disappointed in this and for the first time encountered the professional jealousy which Victoria Cross winners sometimes have to endure.
Upon arriving in Reval, Gus asked for General Gough, but was instead directed to his naval intelligence officer, Captain C. W. Bruton. Commander Goff at the Admiralty in London had privately warned Gus about Bruton before he had left. One of the reasons Bruton had been sent to the Baltic as an ‘advisor’ had been to get him out of the way. He had an exaggerated sense of his own importance and as the man responsible for naval intelligence in the Baltic he was likely to feel that MI6 had no business nosing around in his area without referring to him first. Goff warned Gus that, as a young naval officer under MI6 orders, he might find himself particularly unpopular. So Gus was prepared for a difficult meeting. What he did not know was that news of the sinking of the Oleg and Gus’s recommendation for the Victoria Cross had already reached Bruton. Who was not pleased.
Despite Goff’s warning, Gus at least expected the meeting to start with polite congratulations. Instead, Bruton immediately laid into Gus, saying that he had received numerous complaints from Raleigh Le May that Gus had been uncooperative, had caused friction and that he had kept a very important courier for Petrograd waiting for over a week and a half with no good excuse. What, demanded Bruton, did Gus have to say for himself?
Gus was caught completely off balance. He realised that Bruton must be referring to the delay while CMB4 was repaired. Gus protested, quite honestly, that Le May had never complained to him and that the delay for essential repairs had been agreed by MI6. But Bruton persisted with his accusations and the tone of the conversation very quickly turned nasty as Gus unwisely retorted that, in any case, he was very surprised that Le May would discuss secret intelligence matters with ‘a third party’.
Bruton was livid. As a senior officer he took great exception to the term ‘third party’ and demanded that Gus withdraw the phrase. Gus would not. Then, in a scene straight out of a Patrick O’Brien novel, Bruton coldly reminded Gus that he was a mere lieutenant talking to a post captain and that he would soon learn damned well that it did not do for mere lieutenants to get on the wrong side of post captains!
Still Gus refused to back down. He countered that he might only be a ‘mere lieutenant’ but he was under orders of a ‘very particular department’ in London so he had nothing to fear from a post captain, one who, he noted, was only a post captain working in a staff position (a clear gibe that Bruton had not been entrusted with a ship).
And so it went on. At increasing volume, Bruton said that Gus’s ‘particular department’ was only part of the NID and therefore Gus came under his orders. As the senior NID officer in the area he demanded that Gus tell him everything, including what his orders were. Gus refused. Bruton then changed tack and pretended that it did not matter anyway as he knew what Gus’s orders were. Besides, he continued, he had been warned about Gus and given very particular instructions about him. Gus knew that this was a lie and a pretty poor one at that. He shot back that he too had been warned and had been given very particular instructions about Bruton.
Gus did not record how the meeting ended, but the upshot was that Gus did not get to see General Gough. It is hard to know who Gus was more angry with: Bruton for his attitude or himself for allowing the situation to escalate out of control. ‘Pompous ass,’ he wrote that night, ‘I think he will work tooth and nail to get me placed under his orders, but sooner than do that I will take the boats home … Wish I had never set eyes on this blooming evil genius. Why the devil can’t he mind his own business and let people alone as I feel that if there is going to be any misunderstanding it is entirely due to him and no one else.’
Bruton had seemed disturbingly sure of himself when he claimed that MI6 was unhappy, and at Helsinki Gus had been unable to get any information at all out of young ‘Card’. It seemed very suspicious and Gus now began to worry about what was happening at Terrioki during his absence. As soon as he arrived back at Biorko Sound, he borrowed a car from the commander of the Finnish squadron he had flown with a few days before and drove at breakneck speed to the base at Terrioki. He radioed ahead to say that he was coming and when he arrived at 2 a.m. on Monday, 23 June he found Ed Sindall and Peter Sokolov waiting for him. From the looks on their faces he could immediately tell that something was very wrong.
Apparently Raleigh Le May had arrived at Terrioki on Saturday, 21 June. He had been full of energy and had told Sindall to prepare to take Peter into Petrograd that night. Ed Sindall knew as well as anyone that it was now far too light to take a boat through the forts, but Le May, backed by Hall, seemed determined that they would go anyway. When Sindall asked what Gus had said about this Le May sidestepped the question and reminded Sindall that both he and Gus were under MI6 orders and MI6 would make the decisions about when to go or not to go. He pointed out that there had never been any trouble from the forts before and there would be none now.
Ed Sindall had the distinct feeling that, following Gus’s disobedience and the attack on the Oleg, Le May had either decided – or had been told by Cumming – to come to Terrioki and lay down the law. Sindall was still reluctant, but then Le May hinted that perhaps he had cold feet and lacked the nerve of his more successful senior officer. That did it. Sindall told Le May that he would take Peter in that night. Peter, who spoke very little English, could see that something was wrong, but he had long been resigned to simply going whenever and wherever MI6 told him.
Shortly before 11 p.m. CMB4 set out from the harbour with Sindall, Beeley, Peter Sokolov and the smuggler Veroline. Also in the boat was John Hampsheir. He was still very ill, but had left his sickbed because it was Sindall’s first time through the forts. He thought Sindall might need his help. He was still shaky and it must have taken tremendous courage to go out again.
Hugh Beeley was also very unhappy about the trip. CMB4’s engine was giving problems after the strain of the Oleg attack and badly needed an overhaul. The induct was shaking violently and the boat was making a lot of exhaust noise even at low revolutions. He warned Ed Sindall that he could not vouch for the engine if they suddenly needed full speed.
Because of the number of passengers, CMB4 was towing the pram as she moved steadily towards the forts at midnight. It was barely even twilight, but this was as good as it was going to get. The forts grew larger, looming black and silent as they always had. Just as Gus had done on the first trip, Sindall aimed for the middle of the gap that Veroline indicated. They crept forward until they were only four hundred metres away.
Suddenly the guns of the forts roared into life and two shells whistled low over the boat. Sindall uttered an oath and threw open the throttle, putting CMB4 into a rapid turn as he did so. But although the stern of the boat sank down for maximum power, the helm did not seem to respond – it was like trying to accelerate with the brakes on. Hampsheir opened fire with the Lewis guns, knowing that they were almost out of range but hoping it would do some good.
A third fort now opened fire. These were massive eight-inch naval guns (by comparison, the Oleg’s guns were six-inch). With that calibre of shell the forts did not need a direct hit: anything close was likely to reduce CMB4 to matchwood.
Sindall shouted at Beeley, asking what was wrong. Beeley leapt up from the engine compartment, knowing that the engine was working flat out and that the problem must be elsewhere. He pointed at the back of the boat, shouting, but no one could hear him over the roar of the struggling engine. Peter glanced back and understood immediately: the sharp turn had dragged the skiff under water and she was now acting like a sea anchor. As Sindall applied more power to get away it only dragged the skiff deeper.
Shouting in Russian for Sindall to stop, Peter began to fumble with the knot of the rope, but it was impossible to untie: the spray from the churning propeller had made his hands wet and the strain between the skiff and CMB4 pulled the rope bar-taut.
A second salvo of shells now bracketed CMB4 about twenty metres on either side and the entire boat rocked with the shock. The forts had found their range and they all knew that if they did not move now they were dead. Peter gave up the fight with the knot and fumbled for his pocket knife to cut the rope. But just then an axe wielded by John Hampsheir whistled past his head and sliced the rope in two.
That action probably saved their lives. CMB4 sprang forward, suddenly freed of her burden, but almost immediately stopped dead in the water again. Sindall hammered at the controls, but nothing happened. The clutch had sprung out under the sudden strain and now the engine was running full out but delivering no power. The detonation from the next shell was so close that it lifted them clean out of the water and drenched them with spray. Down in the engine room CMB4’s watertight seams began to split.
Hugh Beeley had been thrown off his feet as he tried to get back into the engine compartment but now he scrambled across the floor of the cockpit, reaching for his carpenter’s mallet. He dealt the engine one thunderous blow, the clutch re-engaged and CMB4 accelerated once more, almost throwing Peter and Veroline over the stern. As their speed increased and they roared away Sindall twisted and turned the little boat as the forts continued to fire, but after twelve minutes the gunfire finally ceased. CMB4 had disappeared into the night-time murk.
At first the crew thought they had escaped unscathed. They had lost the skiff, but that was a small matter. Then they saw John Hampsheir curled up on the floor at the rear of the cockpit with Peter Sokolov tending to him. He might have been suffering from shock before but he was in a very much more serious condition now.
Sindall told Gus that John Hampsheir was still in bed suffering from complete nervous shock and exhaustion. Even after two days he seemed no better. He would have to go home this time.
Once he had heard the whole story, Gus left the dacha and headed straight through the forest to Broadbent’s residence where Le May and Hall were staying. He hammered on the door until he had roused them out of bed. These men had endangered his crew, ruined the health of one of his closest friends and blown any chance that a CMB could sneak through the sea fortresses safely in future. Gus never said what he did when the door of the dacha finally opened, but he would have been justified in punching Raleigh Le May clear across the room.
However, although Gus didn’t record what he did, he did make a note of what he told them. In the first place, he reminded them that Cumming had chosen him to lead this mission and insisted that in future only he would decide when and where they went through the line of forts. In the second place, he forced Le May to agree that there would be no more attempts to get through the forts until at least the end of July. He then asked Le May if he had spoken to Bruton. Le May admitted that he had. Gus was disgusted and left Le May in no doubt that if he went behind his back again there would be very serious consequences. Finally, he told them that the Consul-General had found a sanatorium where Hampsheir could be cared for until he recovered. Since they were responsible for his medical condition one of them would be taking him there tomorrow. Harold Hall sheepishly agreed that he would go.
Gus then stormed out. He noted in his diary that night: ‘I don’t think they expected a full frontal attack – the air is much clearer now.’
Unfortunately he was soon to find out that the air was going to become very murky indeed.
