WesWorld

Sorry that this has been so long coming.......
Hope you like it!

Chief Petty Officer Michael Laudrup stood in the bridge of STC 17 as it swung gently on its mooring lines beside the solid wall of steel that was Loki’s flank, bathed in light from the lamps mounted low on the gunwales on the leeward side. His was the lead boat of the section of 4 that were alongside as the last of the Iberian Marines scrambled down the cargo nets which were slung over the ships’ side. All the boats were loading on the starboard side, using the ships bulk to block the light from the island 10 miles off the port side.
The slight swell made the operation much easier than they had any right to hope for, particularly after the near disaster 2 weeks earlier when they were training for the same embarkation that was being conducted. It had been a miracle that no-one had drowned, and as a direct result of that incident, the decision had been made to have the Marines embark without their equipment, it being preloaded onto the boats. Some of the Marines had grumbled about it but they couldn’t fault the logic of it. It meant that each boat had its’ own dedicated squad of 16 soldiers, and it was inevitable that friendships would form between the men of the STCs’ and their Iberian “passengers” as they jokingly called them.

“Xavier, are you going to join us today?” Laudrup called up to the last Iberian making his way down the net, “Or did you not get your invitation in time?”
Chuckles broke out among the Marines already aboard the STC, as they watched their squad leader negotiate the last few feet of the netting. A swell lifted the boat and Sergeant Major Xavier Dominguez dropped the 3 feet to the boat’s deck as it reached the peak of the swell.
He steadied himself on the splinter screen that had been fitted to the boat in place of the torpedo tubes, and looked straight into the faces of 3 of his men.
“WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT? GET TO YOUR POSTS NOW!” he bellowed into the smiling faces Iniesta, Valdez and Silvino, 3 of his men who suddenly realised that where they were was not a good place, and scurried out of his immediate vicinity.
Walking into the bridge, he smiled. ”I am desperately sorry, Michael, but my tuxedo was delayed coming back from the cleaners”. Michael laughed, “Don’t worry about it.” He said,”I’ve heard that this soiree is informal attire, sort of ‘come as you are’. Shall we be on our way, it would be rude to keep our hosts waiting, don’t you think?” The Iberian Marine nodded, patted his new friend on the shoulder and replied “Let’s get it over with” as he made his way to his spot behind the shielding on the starboard side of the boat.

Laudrup called out a string of orders to his crew. “Cast off for’ard.” “Port engine ahead slow.” “Cast off aft.” “All engines ahead one third.” “Coxswain, take us to the staging point.”
His men carried out their instructions with the well-oiled precision of a Swiss watch, and a steady stream of replies came back to the bridge.
“For’ard away Chief” replied Schmidt as he made his way back to the 20mm cannon tub in the bow.
“Port engine ahead slow, aye Chief” said Poulsson, the coxswain, as he gently swung the bow of the boat out from Loki’s side.
“Aft line away Chief” came the shout from Anders, the engineer’s mate; as he made himself heard over the sound of the 3 engines that Martens, the engineer, was throttling up in response the telegraph signals fro m Poulsson. The little boat pulled away steadily from its parent, the increasing speed opening the distance, taking it into the relative safety of the darkness.

Dominguez looked around at his men before the darkness robbed him of his vision. It would be a while before his eyes re-adjusted to the moonlight after the floodlights of Loki. They were looking nervous and maybe even a little frightened, but that was good. Fear gave men an edge if they controlled it, and he was sure that every one of them would hold it together. Sure, they were trying something new and untried, but that meant that it would be a surprise for the Philippinos dug in on Triton Island. The latest intelligence they had speculated on the weapons available to the revolutionaries. Worst estimates gave them between 10 and 15 100mm howitzers, and possibly 25 to 30 machine guns. Best estimates reduced those numbers by about half to a third, but the number of men involved stayed roughly the same – 250 to 300. He went over the numbers in his head for what felt like the thousandth time. 16 boats with 16 men each meant 256 men on the beach. He shook his head slowly, knowing full well that it was wishful thinking to believe that all the boats would deposit all their charges safely on the shore. If they were using the launches that he and all his fellow Marines had trained on in the Balearics, then if the worst case held, he would expect about half of the slower boats to be hit. But the extra speed of the STCs’ gave them an edge, and he expected that edge to lower that number to about 4. So possibly 192 men on the beach, possibly outnumbered 3 to 2. He took a deep breath and cleared his mind of the fog of numbers. He had a job to do, and if he had anything to do about it, he was going to bring as many of his men back as he could.

Laudrup looked back to check that the other 3 boats of his section were following him into position at the staging point. P.O.Thuesen had STC 28 in position off the port quarter, with P.O.Andersson in STC 9 off the starboard quarter, and P.O.Laurssen in STC 32 off Andersson’s starboard quarter. Each of the STCs’ was carrying 2 position lights on the transom, low wattage lights that were barely visible at 100 meters. The idea that he was carrying lights into combat worried Laudrup, but it was a necessary evil if they were to keep the sections in formation for the run into the island in the pre-dawn darkness. The plan was to hit the beaches as the sun rose behind the boats, hopefully obscuring the vision of the defenders. That was another thing that worried him more than a little about this whole thing. He was going to deliberately beach his boat! The artificers aboard Loki had fixed reinforcing strips to all the boats to help protect their hulls from the impact with the beaches, and had added guards to the prop shaft skegs in an effort to protect the screws. They had also strengthened the cleats on the transom, as it was likely that most of the boats would have to be towed back off the beaches after the shooting stopped. Between the weight of the splinter shields and everything else that had been added to the boats, it was just as well that the tubes had been removed, because Michael didn’t want to join the submarine branch. He chuckled to himself as he thought of a 40 knot submarine, and wondered how long he could hold his breath.

In the distance off his starboard bow, he could just make out the wakes of the boats of one of the other sections as they foamed the water into pale photoluminescence. That should be Lt. Nielsen’s section, the assault commander, with the Marines commanding officer, Col. Sanchez, and the Philipino observer, Capitan de Fragata Romero Serrano aboard. Michael had a lot of respect for the Iberian commander, who had insisted on leading his men into the attack.
Off the port side, somewhere in the darkness, were the other 2 sections. Ensign Carlsson with his section, and C.P.O.Rasmussen somewhere beyond him, cloaked by the darkness, with his section. They were all heading for the staging point about 6 miles off the island, to rendezvous with Ud-1, which had been keeping an eye on the island over the last 2 weeks.
If Thorssen, his navigator, was doing his usual good job of getting him from A to B, they should be seeing the signal light from the submarine any min…...
”Chief, signal lamp 5 points off the starboard bow” said Poulsson, breaking into Laudrup’s thoughts, pointing in the direction of the flashing signal lamp. “S-Q-T, S-Q-T, that is the correct code Chief.”
“Ok Poulsson, flash the formation lights so the others know what’s happening, and bring us in slowly.”
“Aye Chief”


The lead boats of the 4 sections nosed in gently to the side of the submarine, and on STC 17, Schmidt threw a line to one of the sailors on the deck, while on the stern, Anders caught a line from the stern of Lt.Nielsen’s STC 12. Within a few minutes, the 4 boats were rafted together for a brief meeting with Capt. Olaf Olafssen of the Ud.1 and Major Jesus Montoya of the Iberian Marines. The 2 men had been busy updating their information on the revolutionaries’ positions, their last sightings having been taken at sundown the previous evening.
The 2 men made their way onto the bow of Lt.Nielsen’s boat, carrying charts on which they had marked the enemy positions. Major Montoya briefed Col.Sanchez and the other Iberian section leaders, none of them above the rank of Sergeant Major. Sanchez had deliberately chosen only NCOs’ for this mission, as he wanted the most combat experience he could get among the sections.
“Colonel, we have noticed some movement among the enemy. As far as we can tell, they have repositioned some of their howitzers on the headlands either side of beach Alpha.” Montoya explained, as he pointed out the new positions on the chart spread over the cabin roof, illuminated by the faint red light from a small torch.
“They seem to have come to the conclusion that Alpha is the best location for a landing, and have strengthened its defences” he continued, “but in turn they have weakened their positions on both Gamma and Delta”
Sanchez frowned as he looked at the map. Gamma and Delta were the 2 smaller beaches on the northeast corner of the Island, both too small to land the entire force on at the one time. If they changed the plans now and went for either of them, it would involve 2 or even 3 waves, and they didn’t have the numbers to allow that.
“What about Beta, any change in their forces their?” Sanchez inquired, as he tried to rework his attack.
“No Sir, it remains the same as before”
Beta had been their first choice when planning the attack initially, but they had rejected it when the Danes had managed to get 16 STCs’ aboard Loki. Beta was only big enough for 12 boats to land simultaneously, which brought them back to the problem of landing in waves.
“Sir, might I make a suggestion?”
“Go ahead, Sergeant Major”.
Dominguez reached over to the map, using his trench knife to point out his thoughts.
“Sir, could we land on both Beta and Gamma? The Major says that the Phillipinos have moved some of their defences from Gamma, and if we could get a section of boats in there, we would be able to outflank their positions on the Northern end of Beta. And with the reduced forces on Delta, the Gamma section should be able to hold against any reply from there”.
“You might have something, Sergeant Major. Lt.Nielsen, your opinion please”.
“It would make no difference to the run-in to Beta Colonel. It has the cleanest approach of all the beaches.” The Lieutenant replied. “The charts show that the run to Gamma would have to be at an angle to the beach to avoid a small reef on the South-Eastern edge, but as the tide will be high as dawn breaks, there should be enough water to allow a final turn to finish the run-in straight into the beach”
Sanchez thought for a few moments, weighing up the benefits of a pincer attack on the headland between Beta and Gamma, giving them a good chance at a solid foothold on the island, against the risk of attacking with 2 forces, one of them considerably smaller than the other.
“Gentlemen, we will go ahead with Sergeant Major Dominguez’ plan. Sergeant Major, as it is your idea, you will lead the Gamma assault. The rest of us will assault Beta with myself in the centre, Almovar on the left, and Reyes on the right. Capt. Olafssen, would you contact El Cid and inform Capt. Alvarez of the changes to the plans and to adjust his fire plan accordingly. Lt.Nielsen, would you inform your men of the changes. We will hit the beaches at the same time as originally planned.”
The Colonel turned to the Philipino observer. “Do you wish to add anything, Captain?” he asked.
“I just wish to remind you all that these men are fanatical, and will give no quarter.”
“Thank you Captain. Well then Gentlemen, let us be about it” the Colonel said.
The assembled group came to attention, saluted the Colonel, who returned their salutes saying “Via con Diaz, mi amigos”.
Dominguez, having been near the centre of the group, was one of the last to make his way back to his boat. Standing on the foredeck shaking his head as he stepped aboard, was C.P.O. Laudrup.
“Xavier, Xavier, Xavier” he said, shaking his head slowly. “What have you done?”
“What’s wrong Michael?” he replied, smiling as he knew what the reply would be.
“Has no one ever told you that you NEVER volunteer?”

The first rays of sunlight were lighting up the underside of the few clouds that were drifting over the Paracels. Laudrup was watching those clouds when something flashed as the light caught it.
“Ahh, I see your ‘Guardian Angel’ is watching over us, Xavier”
Dominguez looked up at the mention of the nickname that the Marines used for the Armada’s airships, and just caught sight of one of those assigned to San Hainando as it disappeared behind a cloud.
“The bombardment should be starting soon” he said, retuning his gaze to the Islands in the distance. The boats had already started their run into the beaches, and were up to about 20 knots be now with about 2 miles still to go. A brilliant flash on the horizon heralded the start of the bombardment as El Cid engaged the enemy with her main guns. Soon all the cruisers in the squadron were adding their guns to the rain of high explosive that would be falling on the island on a matter of moments. The destroyers had not engaged yet, as their duty was to supply close support for the Marines after the preliminary barrage was over.
“Coxswain, 30 knots please” Laudrup ordered as he turned to Xavier.
“30 knots, aye Chief” replied Poulsson, as he pushed forward on the engine room telegraph.

Down in the engine room, Martens rapped a wrench twice on the engine room ladder to attract his mate’s attention. The noise from the 3 engines made speech impossible, and the only practical way to get messages across was through sign language and rapping on the ladder. Anders turned on hearing the summons, and saw the engineer pointing to the telegraph. He nodded, crossed his fingers and pushed the throttles forward. “This is it” he shouted at the top of his voice, his words getting drowned out as the engine note rose.

Overheard, the sound of the shells could be likened to that of a train, Michael thought.
Split seconds later, the island erupted in ear shattering explosions as El Cid’s first salvo landed just in shore of Beta beach.
“Sweet Jesus!” exclaimed the coxswain, the power of the explosions ripping the words unbidden from his lips. “Sorry Chief” he said after a moment.
“Don’t worry, Poulsson. You only just beat me to it” replied the Chief, pulling the strap on his helmet a little tighter. He raised the flare pistol in his hand and fired the single green flare into the air ahead of his boat to signal the final phase of the run in to the rest of his section. The four boats pulled level with each other, the gunners all scanning the beach for targets.
The boats raced across the water, bouncing from wave to wave. The Marines hung on for dear life behind the protective screens. Over the noise of the shelling, the staccato sound of machineguns could be heard coming from the headland. In the bow, Schmidt swung his Madsen 20mm cannon off to port and started firing at the gun flashes that gave away the enemy gunner’s position. Johansson, manning the port side twin machine guns added his contribution to the melee, each gun spitting out rounds at about twice the rate of the cannon. They would probably argue it out over a drink later as to which of them get the gunner.

“NOW” screamed Laudrup. Poulsson pulled the telegraph handle as far back is it would go, and prayed that Martens would be quick enough to prevent the boat climbing the rocks at the back of the beach. There was less than 200 meters to go. The last of the shells in the barrage landed, and everything seemed to go quite. Laudrup knew it hadn’t, but the absence of shelling was so sudden that the other noises around him failed to take up the slack.

For the last 5 minutes, Martens had not taken his eyes away from the telegraph on the for’ard bulkhead of the engine room. Anders and he had been waiting for what both of them knew would be the fastest turnaround they had ever been asked to perform. Suddenly, and with a speed that reflected the urgency that Poulsson had willed into the device, the telegraph moved. It’s pointer flew around the markings on the face and slammed to a halt on the end stop of the last section, that section marked ‘Full Astern’.
Martens hauled back on the throttles, using his years on experience to keep the engines from dying from fuel starvation. Anders disengaged the drive and switched it through the reversing gearboxes, hoping that they would be able for the sudden strain. Martens opened the throttles again, careful not to flood the engines this time with a sudden wave of fuel, but his “little girls” did him proud, not missing a single beat as they roared back to life. The boat started to vibrate under them as the props cut into the water viciously, beating it to steam as they fought for grip that couldn’t be found in the cavatation.

On the bridge, the sound of screaming engines was only barely audible above the sounds of gunfire. The Phillipinos were coming out of their dug-outs scrambling back towards their positions. With the position on the headland now silenced, all guns were raking the rock outcrops at the top of the beach. There was now only 100 meters to go but the boat had only just started to slow perceptibly. The bow dropped a degree or 2, making Schmidt’s job a bit easier as he was now able to target more of the rocks. Bullets raked across the front of the boat, the armour around him being the only thing that kept Schmidt alive. Poulsson’s luck was not that good. A bullet caught him in the right shoulder, tearing his hand off the wheel and throwing him backward between the 2 machine gun towers. The boat started to turn, but Laudrup threw himself at the helm, scrambling to prevent the boat from careening off-line this close to the beach, if they hit at an angle there was a real danger of rolling her.

Back in the engine room, Martens was waiting to complete his last appointed task in this madness. He was waiting for the impact that told him that they had hit the beach, the signal he needed to kill the engines, to try and protect his little girls from over-revving and destroying themselves. He braced himself, waiting, waiting, waiting…….

The boat hit the beach with a sound very like that of a rock fall, not a solid thump, but more of a sound that heralded impending disaster. Martens threw himself at the kill switches that would cut the ignition circuits to the engine, as Anders disengaged the drives to try to protect the gearboxes. The boat ground to a halt and both men were thrown across the engine room, Anders landing in a heap at the bottom of the ladder while Martens bounced off the bulkhead.
The last thing he heard before unconsciousness took him was the sound of his little girls going to sleep.

The shrill blast from the Sergeant Major’s whistle was totally unnecessary. The sudden stop two thirds of the way up the beach had launched all his men forward from their ready positions.
“Thank God we had those foot blocks fitted to the deck” he thought as he came up to a standing position through no more effort than that imparted to him by the momentum of the boat. Before the thought had fully left his mind he was jumping off the foredeck of the boat, his men and the men from the other 3 boats following him as he charged for the cover of the rocks. Dominguez threw himself at the base of the rocks, and turned to see that of the 63 men under him only 3 had fallen in the run up the beach, and all the sergeants were still in action. At least the first part of this assault was going alright….so far.
He looked at the group of 14 men around him, Silvino was down on the beach, just in front of the boat, and he wasn’t moving. There was a mix of fear and excitement on their faces.
He pulled a pair of grenades from his webbing.
“Well boys, this is what we have trained for. Fix bayonets"
The men quietly slid their bayonets out of their scabbards and onto their rifles.
"OK, on 3, grenades then rush them. 1…2…3!” and with a series of grunts, 15 grenades sailed high in the air, arcing towards the back of the rocks where the enemy were holed up. Explosions threw up clouds of sand and coral, men screamed, and the Marines charged across the rocks into the gates of Hell.

The Phillipinos were dug in well, but they were not soldiers, they were sailors, and a sailors place was on a ship. Against any other sailor they probably would have given a good account of themselves, but they weren’t up against sailors. No, unfortunately for them, they were up against the best troops in the Iberian order of battle, The Iberian Marines. The Marines had trained long and hard for just this type of beach assault, and all that training was coming out now. Foxhole after foxhole was overrun in a never slowing advance as inexorable as the tide.
Less than 15 minutes after they had landed, Dominguez was standing at the base of the headland that separated Beta and Gamma beaches, with 2 other sections with him, the third staying on guard at the far end of Gamma, keeping a eye on Delta. Twelve men from the STCs’ had dismounted their machine guns and were making their way across the beach towards him, 6 men carrying guns, the others bringing boxes of ammo.
The first man to reach Dominguez, Johansson saluted him, and in a mildly breathless voice, said, “The Chief said, and I use his words, Sergeant Major, that it ‘might be nice to give our Iberian friends a little house-warming present’. Where do you want us, Boss?”
Dominguez looked back at the boats, and laughed as he saw CPO Laudrup bow with a flurry that would have passed muster in the Royal Court in Madrid.

About 3 hours later, it was all over. The last pocket of resistance finally folded when the destroyers offshore dropped a salvo onto the heads of the defenders. The last act of the survivors was to strike their flag after their officers had died in the barrage. The Marines rounded up a total of 47 Philipino prisoners, 17 able-bodied and 30 wounded. The Marines had lost a total of 13 men, with a further 12 wounded. The Danes were luckier, even considering the men who carried their guns into battle, they had 1 fatality and 12 wounded.
Their one fatality, Engineer’s Mate Johann Anders, broke his neck in the beaching of STC 17.

And thus, the 'Keystone Kops Revolution' is finis. ;-)

Excellent piece, Commodore. Well worth the wait.

Thank you Sir, nice to know someone other than Swampy and I still remember the Paracels!!

Its an interesting use of the STCs. I'm not sure how possible it would be given the need for propellor shaft clearance. Depends on the nature of the beach more than anything else.