On the little bridge the captain directs the
laying down of the colored flags, while his second checks the distance between
the boats. If the dan ship gets too close, a mine may explode under her. With
instruments the distance is checked every few seconds. The little flotilla
moves very slowly, for when it has passed and marked the free channel the
ships with supplies must be able to come through in safety.
Suddenly the dan ship is struck by a heavy
blow, the sea about flattens out and shivers, and then a hundred yards ahead a
tower of water and mud bursts into the air with a roar. It seems to hang in the
air for a long time and when it falls back the dan ship is nearly over it.
There is a large, dirty place on the ocean,
bottom mud and a black gluey substance, which comes from the explosive. The crew
rush to the side of the ship and search the water anxiously. “No fish,” they
say. “What has happened to the fish? You’d think there would be one or two
killed by the blast.” They have set off one of the most terrible weapons in the
world and they are worried about the fish.
The captain marks with great care on his chart
the exact place where the mine was exploded. He takes several sights on the
coast to get the position. Another mine roars up on the other side of the lane.
The second in command takes up the blinker and signals, “Any fish?” and the
answer comes back, “No fish.”
The day is long and tedious, sweeping and turning
and sweeping, and when the job is done it is only done until the night, for on
this night the mine layers may creep over from the French coast and sow the
field again with the nasty things, or a plane may fly low in the darkness and
drop the mines on parachutes. The work of the sweepers is never finished.
It is late when they turn for home and it is
dark when the little ships file into the harbor and tie up to the pier. Then
the captain and his second relax. The strain goes out of their faces. No matter
how long or uneventful the sweep, the danger is never gone. The gun crew clean
and cover their guns and go to their quarters. The officers climb down to the
tiny wardroom. They kick off their fleece-lined boots and settle back into
their chairs. The captain picks up the work he has been doing for weeks. He is
making a beautifully exact model of—a minesweeper.
COAST BATTERY
SOMEWHERE IN ENGLAND, July 8, 1943—The
guns hide in a field of grain and red poppies. You can see the cannon muzzles
protruding and aiming at the sky. The battery is on the south coast, in sight
of France. There was a time when the great flights of German bombers came over
this undefended coast and carried their bomb loads to London and Canterbury.
But the coast is not undefended now.
