The admiral untwisted his fingers and tapped them softly together.
"No," he said, "you do not have to answer that question."
Relief swamped through Bentley. But he had sense enough to answer, simply and without enlargement:
"Thank you, sir."
The admiral had made his decision. He was too loftily separated from his visitor to have to worry about face. He said genially:
"That was one of the most interesting fights I've ever seen, Bentley. And I've seen more than a few. My congratulations on a splendid win."
Women, and admirals... Bentley's taut face muscles let go in a grin. He instantly regretted the exercise.
"Sore, eh?"
"Damn sore, sir!"
"At your age you ought to have more sense," Granville smiled. He looked up at the flag-lieutenant near the door and he said crisply:
"All right, Flag, bring them in."
It took some minutes for the thirty or so officers to get seated round the long polished table. Bentley, by virtue of his unexalted rank, found himself placed at the end, directly opposite the admiral. But patently his intimate contact with high Authority was concluded-Granville was busy scanning a sheaf of papers in front of him.
The flag-lieutenant murmured in his ear and Granville looked up. His eyes travelled round their faces, then he laid his hands on the table and spoke.
"I haven't much time to spare, and I'm sure you haven't. I brought you here because I am worried about the frequency and weight of the air-attacks the Fleet has undergone in the past month."
Bentley listened with interest. He had assumed what the conference would be about, as had the officers waiting outside, and his main interest was centred in his study of Granville's face. The expression of the chubby features somehow managed to retain their geniality, at the same time as the voice issuing from them was brittle, and curtly authoritative. If I, closed my eyes, Bentley thought, I'd imagine him to be a disciplinary martinet-which, of course, face regardless, he is.
"Obviously," the admiral continued, "this Fleet is the prime interest of those aircraft. Just as obviously, once the Fleet is knocked out the way will be open for some major enemy exercise-invasion.
We don't know where, but by the time we do know it will be too late for the knowledge to benefit us.
"Air and submarine patrols have satisfied me that the enemy is using no carriers in his strikes against us. Therefore it would seem apparent that he is coming from Sabang, or possibly the Nicobars. and using long-range tanks."
His head turned slowly and his eyes trained on them one by one.
"I and my staff can come to no other conclusion. But there may be another answer. That is why I have called you together. I am open to suggestions, ideas. In fact, I'd be glad of them."
He stopped, and the big cabin was silent except for one or two coughs. Then a captain who, simply because he spoke first, Bentley knew must be very senior, said;
"I agree, sir. There's no black magic about these attacks. Extra long-range tanks could get them over us and back safely enough. Admittedly the distance is long, but we cannot assume that the Japs have not been able to fit the necessary tanks. In fact, we cannot assume anything. What we know is that they have an air-base at Sabang, and almost certainly another in the Nicobars, which is even closer. I suggest a bombardment of both, or either place might solve the problem."
The voice was crisp-that was natural in a cruiser captain. But there was also an inflection of almost pompous conviction which vaguely irritated Bentley. The speaker's face was not prepossessing- thin, pinched, it owned a predatory nose and a thin gash of a mouth. He finished talking and his lips drew together, as if in conviction that no further discussion was needed.
The admiral's eyes looked round at them again.
"Well?" he invited.
Two factors governed Bentley's decision to speak. First, being a destroyer commander, and one who had been despatched several times on independent missions, his experience ran to a wider coverage of action than the captain of a battleship or cruiser, ships which of necessity are confined to more strictly defined purposes than a wide-ranging destroyer. Second, he already had had two friendly and personal contacts with the senior officer at the other end of the table.
Bentley had intended to speak, and with characteristic thoroughness he had prepared his argument. At the same time he realised that he might be faced with very senior objections, even disparagement. He realised the fact, and there his piratical nature finished with it.
He raised his head and the admiral looked at him.
"Bentley?"
"Yes, sir," the Australian answered in acknowledgment of the query.
Every face down that long table turned towards him. He kept his eyes on Granville.
"It is possible, sir, that the Japanese have a secret base on a nearer island."
"Secret base... ?"
It was not the admiral, but the captain who had spoken first who now uttered the deriding words. He snorted, and looked impatiently at Granville.
"One moment, Sheldon," the admiral warned. He nodded at Bentley.
"Yes, sir, a secret base. I doubt if any amount of extra fuel could fly fighters from Sabang to Ceylon. They could carry it all right, but they'd never get off the ground. A secret base, on the other hand, could..."
"Really, sir!" Sheldon expostulated. His stare at the young commander was unfriendly, just as it had been when Bentley had been sent for separately while Sheldon and the senior others had waited outside. The pinched face swung to accost the admiral, Granville's expression did not alter, but this time he nodded for Sheldon to continue. Believing that he had been deputed to handle, and quash, this junior upstart, Sheldon asked acidly:
"You seem obsessed by this nonsense about a secret base? Are you quite sure your experience of-ah-yesterday has not affected your brain?''
Granville was watching Bentley keenly. But his face showed no sign of his enjoyment. In his own mind the conference had achieved its object-all present, except the young Australian, agreed with him that Sabang had to be dealt with. So that now he could relax and watch how this colonial destroyer-captain would handle this senior and acid obstruction.
"No, sir," Bentley answered easily. But, Granville noted, his tone was still respectful.
"Then what is the reason for this obsession? Too much reading? Cloak and dagger nonsense Or perhaps..." the thin mouth curling, "you have had some experience of secret air-bases?"
"No, sir," Bentley said, and Sheldon smiled sourly "Not a great deal. Only of one."
"What?" Sheldon was not smiling now. His face was hard, and it was apparent to the watchers that he believed the youngster was trying to rib him. He opened his mouth to wither the destroyerman and assistance came to Bentley from an unexpected source.
"Let's hear about that, Bentley," suggested Jerrold, the rear-admiral in command of the cruiser squadron. "Where, when, and what happened about it."
The mouth of Granville, who had deliberately led Sheldon into this, puckered. He listened with interest, for he knew he would learn a good deal about this versatile destroyer captain from the manner in which he treated his victory over Sheldon, and in which he told his story.
Bentley's voice was calm and respectful.
"It was in the Louisiades, sir. Several months ago. We were lucky. I was en route Moresby to Guadalcanal, under orders from the American admiral to have a look at the Archipelago. We discovered the Japs had built a secret air-base there for an attack on Guadalcanal, and that night we went back and bombarded. As I said, sir, we were lucky. The base was destroyed."
"You said," Sheldon interposed, leaning forward to stare at Bentley, "you were en route. Alone? You bombarded an enemy airfield alone? One destroyer?"
The rapid sequences of questions, the tone of the voice, both indicated plainly that Sheldon believed the Australian was lying about his distant exploits. Granville decided it was time he took a band
"That's right," be said calml
y, "that D.S.C. there, Sheldon-the second one..."
Now Granville learned something about his cruiser captain. Sheldon, in the expressed opinion of his own ship's company, was a tiger. He had other qualities.
He looked at Bentley squarely and he said:
"I beg your pardon. Please go on,"
"Thank you, sir. I'm basing my opinion about this base wholly on the assumption that what the enemy has tried once, he might try again."
"Modus operandi," murmured Jerrold, and misinterpreted the slight smile which eased Bentley's tight expression. "I agree-if there was an island where they could establish such a base-one close enough to make it worthwhile."
"Yes, sir," Bentley nodded. "There is such an island." The whole table was interested now in the opinion of its junior member. It was also a very experienced gathering, one which knew the charts of the area like the mirrored reflections of its collective face. A voice, from a cruiser captain down near the admiral, said:
"You mean Naos Island? West of the Nicobars?''
Bentley hesitated. Up to nOW he had been on the solid ground of personal experience. Now he had to commit himself much further, and into the grounds of pure surmise.
"Naos?" Granville prompted.
"Yes, sir. It's not a large island, but certainly big enough to handle fighters and bombers."
The senior captains, almost as one man, leaned back from the table. Their interest patently had evaporated. Bentley's eyes narrowed. Obviously they knew more than he did. The admiral explained:
"To establish an air-base, Bentley, you must have wharves, piers, for oil-tankers to secure to. Nowhere nearly enough fuel could be flown in to service the number of aircraft which attacked us. Last week one of our submarines patrolled round Naos. Nothing."
"But, Mr..."
The admiral held up his hand. It was an even more effective gesture than the stubbing of a cigarette butt. Bentley subsided. Granville leaned forward to speak and the others forgot the air-base destroyer.
"We have to wipe out those bases," Granville said with quiet emphasis. "If we don't, we're in for heavy and continuous raiding. And we can't take too many more without air protection-which, as you know, is mainly unavailable to us. There is also the question of morale. The Japanese air-force must not be allowed to think they have bottled us up in or near our own base We will attack Sabang first, then the Nicobars." Several heads podded in agreement. Granville laid his hands with a slight thump on the table.
"The Fleet sails at 0900 tomorrow."
Dismissed, they got up from the table. It was not difficult for Bentley to leave the cabin last-junior as he was. When they had filed through the door he turned to face the table,
"Excuse me, sir."
Granville looked up.
"What is it now, Bentley?" His voice was not unkind, but neither did it encourage further discussion on secret bases.
"Lieutenant-Commander McQueen, sir," Bentley suggested.
"Oh, I see. No, he will not be sailing with you this time. Later. I shall let you know."
"Aye, aye, sir," Bentley acknowledged, and shut the door behind him.
CHAPTER NINE
"CIVVIES," GRINNED RANDALL, "pay thousands for this."
He stretched his arms to the warm blue sky and allowed the sun to beat down upon a face against which it had already done its worst- a weather-beaten, leathery epidermis which felt warmth, and no other inconvenience.
Bentley grunted, and for the hundredth time that day looked back at the Fleet. It was, as it had been for the past three days, steaming massively in battle-formation, the cruisers out on either side and the destroyers flung well ahead in their arrowhead screen. His glance had been automatic, casual, and he turned his head back to look at the next destroyer ahead. Then, again for the umpteenth time, his sight lifted and be scanned the cloudless dome of the sky.
"I can't understand it," he muttered.
"Eh?" Randall grunted helpfully.
"They should have been on to us long before this."
"You mean aircraft?" Randall's face was serious for a moment, but it was never in that state for long. "Oh, I wouldn't worry," he advised; "obviously they think they gave us such a clobbering last time that we won't poke our noses out for weeks. I quite agree with the old boy."
"He'd be happy to hear that!" Bentley sneered. "Agree about what?"
"On what he did, of course. Take the Fleet to sea straight away. Show those bastards they can't hole us up. We should've been out a day sooner only for certain bods who should have their heads read- and got `em battered!"
"My jaw's still sore," Bentley murmured irrelevantly.
"I bet that other ape's still in the sickbay," Randall said with quick loyalty-and regretted his show of feeling as quickly. "Bad luck he hit his bead on the deck when he fell. Otherwise..."
"Speaking of sickbays," the captain remarked in loftly disregard of his friend's grin, "it seems the Doc did a sound job."
Randall leaned sideways and peered down the deck. He saw Gellatly climbing down from the pompom platform. The petty-officer was obviously back on duty.
"Makes you think," he muttered enigmatically.
"That's doubtful. But what about? The Doc's ability?"
"No you..." Randall remembered he was on the bridge. "About what might have happened if Gellatly hadn't met that ape ashore before the fight." Bentley nodded.
"Better than having to stop the fight in the ring. And, incidentally and in passing," glancing sideways at his deputy, "that's the last time I get conned into a heavyweight ring with a fortnight's training."
"Conned?" Randall echoed. "A towing hawser wouldn't have held you back! And you know it!"
Bentley smiled. But he was thinking that it would need much less than a hawser to restrain him next time-what he had gone through against Floss, and the effort the win had cost him, was still vividly in his memory.
The smile faded. He looked round the inoffensive sea and rubbed at his chin. Then his eyes lifted up to the crow's nest.
"Put a man up there," he decided suddenly.
"In the crow's nest?"
Bentley nodded.
"I still don't like it. As the admiral said, the Japs are definitely aiming at this Fleet. And I agree with his reasons as to why. If we go, then the whole of eastern India is open to them."
Normally Randall would have had the bosun's mate on his way already in obedience to the captain's wish. But it seemed Bentley wished to talk-a not uncommon situation when he was not sure about something. Randall said:
"But radar will take care of any approaching aircraft formations. It did last time, remember? What's really on your mind?"
Bentley looked at the sun before he answered. Though still hot, it was lowering towards the horizon behind them. He estimated they had little more than half an hour left of daylight.
"As I said," he answered Randall soberly, "they're out to get us. And you don't leave alone for days something you're mighty interested in."
"Well... radar will take care of `em."
Bentley shook his head.
"It's not particularly effective against a periscope."
Randall looked at him, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"You mean you think they may have a line of submarines stationed across our path?"
"I've given up making definite statements after what they did to my last one in the admiral's cabin," Bentley said with a small smile. "But the Japs are no fools. And they know the British. They know that their attacks must have stung the old boy. They also know that he will do everything he can to pinch out their bases. Maybe they're not ready yet to launch another air raid, but they might be ready to watch and see that we don't deliver one of our own. Now-crow's nest."
"Right!" Randall said at once, "But if they're going to do anything about it they'd better smack it about. We bombard at dawn tomorrow, remember? Bosun's mate!"
Bentley remembered well enough. And he was still worried by a vague disquiet. He had been present at
this Fleet's first bombardment of Sabang, and knew how effective it had been. It takes a long time, he reflected, hearing the bosun's mate rattle down the ladder, for an enemy to build-up to an operating standard after a savage deluge of shells like that which the battleships had hurled ashore. Especially the Japanese, whose commitments here and in the Pacific were wide and heavy. Yet the Fleet had been heavily attacked a few days back.
He was aware that the admiral and his staff could well be in possession of intelligence information denied a lowly destroyer commander, yet still he could not rid himself of his doubts concerning Sabang, and its origin of the attacks. What he was sure of was that the enemy would not leave the approaches to his territory unpatrolled. The admiral of course would also be aware of that. But his destroyers were in asdic operation, and so far they had contacted nothing, and there was nothing further Granville could do about it.
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