The Atlantic Express
by: justjames17
(Copyright 2004 -2007 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...
 

Chapter 32

After the chaos of the daring attack by the Italian frogmen on the cruiser in Gibraltar's harbour security increased with guard boats patrolling dropping small depth charges to dissuade any further attempts by these unbelievably daring men. The harbour resounded to the thumping booms of the depth bombs exploding which disturbed the sleep of the men on the ships and set their nerves jangling, but at least the frogmen hadn't returned.

A new convoy arrived from England to run the gauntlet to supply Malta and then on to Alexandria carrying urgently needed fuel for the hard-pressed aircraft defending this vital island as well as food and other much needed necessities for both areas. The Axis forces were desperate to destroy Malta and drive out the British based there, they hated that this tiny island had so far resisted their daily bombings and continued to thumb their noses at the might of the Luftwaffe and Italy's bombers. The battered island was a mass of rubble where people lived huddled in cellars and caves, the British Air defence consisted of three old bi winged Gladiator aircraft, these outdated throw backs had earned the names of Faith, Hope and Charity as they valiantly flew off the damaged air strip daily to do battle with the attackers.

The convoy formed up outside Gibraltar's harbour and the naval escorts steamed out to protect them on the long dangerous journey down Mussolini's Mare Nostrum. The first days passed uneventfully as there were few submarines in the Med at the time it being a shallow sea not conducive to under water craft but as the gaggle of ships plodded on nearer to the Italian homeland the aircraft appeared on the horizon. The warships alarm bells sounded shrilly and the crews raced to their posts, the gun turrets came to life and began swivelling as they turned to confront the approaching winged marauders. Orders were passed to the guns for long-range barrage fire and they roared their angry song flame and cordite smoke surrounded them as their multiple shells sped up into the clear blue sky.

Away in front of the approaching planes black puffs of smoke appeared pock marking the sky with destructive bursts, the planes flew on unharmed but the next bursts were in their midst and the shrapnel tore through the flimsy fuselages ripping flesh and doing damage to the machines. Two of the black specks faltered and began leaving a thin black diaphanous trail behind them, one began the long death dive towards the sea until half way down it blossomed into a bright red flower as its fuel and bombs exploded in mid air, the second damaged plane turned back limping towards its base.

The ships guns fired again and again with great precision, their training so good they seemed to fire at the same time as they sent their harbingers of death screaming towards the oncoming aircraft. Seemingly innocent black and red puffs met black aircraft shapes as the formation of bombers flew relentlessly on towards the smoke wreathed ships of the convoy. Three more bombers turned away trailing smoke two of which slowly slewed towards the sea to crash in a surge of spray but the remainder pressed on until cannons were almost vertical firing as the bombs left the bellies of the enemy to begin their whistling journey towards the vessels below.

Spray flew skywards as bombs exploded alongside weaving ships but not all missed their targets, the tanker San Pedro erupted in a huge ball of fire as one of her holds of high-octane petrol exploded shattering her mid deck and blowing a huge hole above her waterline. She slewed to port nearly colliding with the freighter in the next column which altered course sharply through the burning sea, her bridge windows shattered by the force of the tanker's eruption had wreaked havoc on the men, many gushed blood from the glass cuts and one lookout dead with his head nearly severed by a flying piece of steel from the tanker. The San Pedro lurched out of line to slow and begin drifting as the convoy sailed on, Charles was ordered to stand by her as the bombers, their job done turned away back towards their base on the large island of Sardinia.

The convoy steamed on towards Malta leaving Foxhound and the San Pedro wallowing in their wake, the tanker still afloat was ablaze as her crew battled to extinguish the fire as her deck began to glow red-hot. The fears of her other hold exploding, as the heat built was a big problem as the still shocked crew hosed the area down with seawater. Foxhound standing close by played her fire fighting hoses onto the gaping hole as steam gushed upwards like smoke, if the tanker blew up she would take the destroyer with her in a cataclysmic eruption but still Charles held position almost rubbing against the tanker's higher hull. The heat was causing paint to bubble on the warship's hull but gradually as the day waned they cooled the heat and beat the fire into submission until just a cloud of steam hung over both vessels.

Charles asked if the tanker was able to raise steam and was elated to hear she could and would do so, he captain a fat grizzled old salt bellowed to his crew to get things sorted and they went off to man their posts leaving a small number still playing cooling water on the hot wrecked hold. Some time passed and the tanker's funnel coughed smoke as her engines turned over, a ragged cheer rose as Foxhound's crew saw her propellers froth under her stern and she began to move sluggishly ahead. The damaged hull groaned and they could see the deck of the tanker beginning to buckle under the stress of going ahead, Charles shouted through the loud hailer and the tanker's engines stopped. She drifted to a halt as darkness descended and Charles had a discussion with her captain suggesting the tanker try going astern to ease the strain on the badly damaged hull.

The tanker began to go astern and swung about slowly till she was once again on course for Malta, her hull seemed to ride easier and the buckling ceased as she built up her speed. Charles smiled happily at the valiant ship as she struggled on and prayed that the enemy would be concentrating on the convoy now steaming further and further away from their position, as they would be sitting ducks if the bombers returned. He guessed and prayed that the enemy would have thought the tanker would be on the bottom after the huge explosion when some of her cargo blew up and wouldn't bother looking for her again.

For some days his prayers seemed to be answered and their slow trip continued unmolested, the weather was calm and balmy the crews were relaxing under the peaceful conditions alas not for long though as they neared the narrow stretch of sea between the island of Sardinia and Tunis on the North African mainland an aircraft was sighted away off in the distance. It slowly flew closer and they saw it was a tri engined Fokker transport on its way towards Africa probably carrying troops for the Afrika Corps. The plane passed some distance ahead of the two slowly moving ships and continued on her way, Charles was worried she had seen them and would call in the bombers once again to finish off the struggling tanker.

Night fell without any unwelcome attention and they fell out from action stations, the two ships slid quietly through the calm blackness creeping east towards Malta. The lookouts were on their toes looking for trouble when the port lookout called bow wave on the port side, Charles grabbed his binoculars staring out into the black night and saw the white flash of a vessel approaching at high speed. Then he could hear the sound of engines revving hard and he decided it was not a warship but something much smaller, a second bow wave was observed slightly to the right of the first and Charles ordered the search light on to illuminate the craft.

Two low fast vessels roared into the light, low but fast and he knew immediately what they faced as he ordered the pom poms and machine guns to open fire on the marauders. Tracers illuminated the night sky as the close range weapons burst into life while the two enemy E boats responded with machine gun fire in response. The enemy, now their approach had been observed began weaving about trying to close the range and avoid the missiles fired at them so they could send their torpedos into the British ships. They were no match for even an old destroyer like Foxhound, her forbears were built just for such a task as destroyers were originally known and designed as a torpedo boat destroyer.

Foxhounds firepower was too much for the smaller attackers even with their speed and manoeuvrability one erupted on a huge gout of flames as a round hit one of her torpedos setting off the warhead and the boat vanished into a shower of water and flying splinters as her wooden hull disintegrated, the second weaving frantically now the centre of the converging fire power had no hope and turned away trying to escape destruction but all to no avail her stern was blown off and she lost power as she slid stern first under the sea. The Foxhound eased across to where she had sunk leaving a huge spreading iridescent pool of fuel on the surface in which her crew were floundering coughing and gasping.

The destroyer stopped her engines and lowered a boarding net calling on the Germans to come aboard, they did so and were greeted by an armed party despatched to greet them. The enemy were young and the commanding officer was a young very handsome lieutenant who looked completely shocked and was bleeding profusely from a nasty scalp wound. The Foxhound moved off to catch up with the San Pedro while the prisoners were taken below after being searched for weapons and disarmed. The wounded skipper and the wounded crewmember were taken to the sick bay where they stripped off their petrol and seawater soaked uniforms then the sick bay attendant cleaned their wounds. He stitched the young officer's scalp as he moaned in pain as they had no anaesthetic available to dull his misery, the two German's were showered and given some pyjamas and tucked up in bunks with a guard watching them, the rest of the crew were locked in a cabin with a sentry outside the door.

Charles ordered the gunnery officer to the bridge and congratulated Malcolm on the results of firefight before broadcasting it to the crew, he ordered a course change towards the African coast in an attempt to throw off the enemy and the two ships limped on into the night. Bryce was standing behind the two officers his eyes locked on the gunner's bubble bum and sexy almost smooth legs just visible in the dim light of the binnacle compass as he stood beside Charles. He watched his captain as he moved closer to the young officer brushing his bare forearm against Malcolm's before slipping his hand softly against and across the white shorts covered arse.

Bryce saw Malcolm stiffen in shock but not a gasp escaped his lips as Charles gave his delicious bum a good squeeze then a pat as he moved away, the gunner's head turned to watch his commander walk across the bridge while Bryce adjusted his own rapidly rising weapon. Bryce's imagination stripped the clothing off the young officer's taut fit body as he imagined the firm pale buttocks divided by a deep slightly hairy cleft leading to his hatchway of delight and pleasure. The young sailor saw in his mind the delicate rosebud of muscle closing off the pathway to paradise and dreamed of opening it with his now hard throbbing muscle, he could almost feel that tight flesh straining and stretching to accommodate his prick as the gunner moaned in pain and pleasure.

Bryce was massaging himself in the dark as he trembled with lust to take and root the sexy officer and he pictured Charles watching him take the young man's cherry while applauding his efforts. Bryce trembled on the brink as his hand kneaded his pud, his knees wobbled as his hard on pulsed and swelled in his grasp, he gasped then bucked spewing sperm into his underwear a clammy goo soaking into his uniform pants as his load seeped through the material. Charles heard the faint sound as Bryce gasped and turned to stare at him a grin widening on his handsome face as he saw Bryce blow his load, he looked towards Malcolm to see if he'd noticed and saw the gunner's head turned staring at the fumbling heavy breathing lad.

Bryce was red faced in the dark his hand stickily moist with the fruit of his loins as he held himself grasping his still pulsing pud, leaning against the bulkhead to help steady himself. Charles grinned at him and said, "Bryce go below and check the heads for me then you can do a quick run through the forward mess and check all is well."

Bryce knew the captain was giving him the opportunity to go and change his clothing to hide the evidence of his almost spontaneous ejaculation, he thanked the Lord for giving him such a sexy understanding commanding officer and not some martinet who was all rules and regulations. Bryce saluted Charles and hurried away down into the superstructure and hurried to his mess to clean up and change his uniform. His cannon even though just fired still maintained a stiffy in his sodden pants.

He reached the mess deck to thankfully find all seemed asleep, snores and heavy breathing filled the air as Bryce undressed and started wiping himself down. A voice whispered in the gloom, "Brycey! Don't waste that delicious cum, I'll lick it off your sexy young body if you'll come here."

Bryce startled looked across to see Johnston a leading seaman lying there eyes locked on his cock as he beckoned him to approach. Bryce waddled across to the man's bunk as he reached out clutching Bryce's warm arse cheeks pulling him closer to the bunk, he opened his mouth tongue out licking the cum from the sparse blond pubes and smooth ball sack then took the younger lad's cummy cock into his hungry orifice. Bryce moaned softly clutching the man's close-cropped head as he drove his cock deep into the sucking throat; Johnston gulped him down gullet muscles caressing the sensitive cock head. Bryce was all-atremble again as he raced towards a second climax, his pubes mashed against the guy's nose as he rammed hard into the wonderful warm wet suction of Johnstone's throat.

Bryce arched and tensed his young balls drawn tight as his juice raced rapidly up his burning urethra to flood out into the incredible suction and tongue caresses of the obviously experienced man's mouth. Johnston gulped down the nectar as if he was dying of thirst; Bryce was humping his bristly face as if it was his last chance on earth, grinding his sparse covered pubic mound against Johnston's snuffling squashed nose. As the sensitivity increased Bryce dragged his still throbbing tool from the thick moist lips as the man drained every last lingering drop of his sweet essence then as Bryce's semi hard noodle flopped out he licked his lips eyes staring lovingly up at the young sexy seamen.

Johnston licked his puffy lips and whispered, "Oh Brycey, you've no idea how long I've longed to eat your cock, ever since you joined the boat I've wanted to play with you like this. Did you enjoy it?"

Bryce nodded and placed a warm soft hand on the be whiskered cheek and gave the man a quick peck on the forehead whispering, "Thanks mate you are a great sucker I really enjoyed that and maybe we can organise more fun at times, let's hope so anyway."

Bryce walked back to his gear and changed his underwear and trousers giving Johnston a delightful view of his tight arse then winking at the man he left the mess and hurried back to the bridge. Charles meanwhile had been chatting to Malcolm with much touching until he saw the young officer was aroused and his shorts were pointing their course better than the compass needle. He watched the stretched tented shorts and even in the dimness he could see the pulsing as Malcolm's heart pounded driving blood into his turgid engorged muscle.

To be continued...
 

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Posted: 08/17/07