The Destroyers

by Douglas Reeman

  Brooks said, “I’ve been hearing quite a bit about you, too.” He measured Drummond with a lingering stare. “Record’s a good one.” The teeth dipped down like a portcullis. “Considering you come of an army family!”

  Drummond smiled. “I am trying to live with it, sir. “

  The smile, if it was one, vanished. “Quite. You have served without any real break since the beginning. Convoy escort, anti-submarine work, Mediterranean and Atlantic.” He was ticking off his record like a grocer’s list. “But this may be something motes of a challenge.”

  He swung round on the corner of the table and stabbed his cigarette towards the nearest chart. It was of Norway. All the long, craggy coastline from the Skagerrak to North Cape.

  Brooks said, “It has been a hard slog. It is impossible to tell just how many valuable warships have been tied down because of Germany’s remaining heavy units. Bismarck has gone, Graf Spee and others either sunk or disabled. But up there, like wolves in their lairs, the greatest menace still remains. Tirpitz, with her more successful consort, Scharnhorst, can pounce on any Russian convoy they choose. To contain them and their escorts, we in turn must tie down our battleships and cruisers, use them to shadow the Arctic convoys, when they are needed, or soon will be, elsewhere. “

  Drummond said quietly, “To cover an invasion, sir. “

  “Yes.” Brooks looked round the room. “Even the word sounds like a betrayal of a secret.” He laughed shortly. “But you can’t keep a million men and a thousand ships in the dark forever.”

  Through a small doorway Drummond heard the muffled rattle of teleprinters, the jingle of phones, and imagined all the information which was coming into this bunker, to this small, remarkable man. It made the actual fighting part seem almost unimportant. For the moment.

  Brooks added softly, “And your old friend is about, too. ” He watched Beaumont’s reaction. “The one which put Conqueror on the bottom with a lot of fine men inside her.”

  Beaumont said, “That is why I’m so glad, no honoured, to be part of this, sir.”

  Drummond saw his hands opening and shutting, the way he was staring at the great chart.

  “Yes.” Brooks continued, “Last year we made an attempt to cripple Tirpitz in her Norwegian fjord by using chariots. Had ‘em slung on either side of a fishing boat, the idea being to release them once they were within range of the battleship. It sounds crazy, standing here looking at that chart. I am only moved to realise that men will volunteer for such impossible missions. ” The mood passed on. “Things have prospered since then. We have perfected a midget submarine which will, with luck, be able to penetrate the net defences and get right under the beast before releasing its saddle charges. We will be sending several such midgets, and I have no doubt from what I have seen of their crews, that some will be successful. Just a few months is all we need. Put her out of action, and Scharnhost will have to come out to make a play for the Russian convoys. And when that happens, gentlemen, our forces will no longer be split into fruitless search parties. We will catch her and put her down, and release our ships in readiness for invasion. “

  Drummond said, “I don’t quite see where we come in, sir?”

  “You will.” Brooks watched him through his smoke. “Your

  `catch’ has given me a headache, but in the end it may save us lives and valuable time.” He nodded to a sad-faced staff officer. “Show him.”

  The man lifted a long pointer and laid it on the top of the chart.

  Brooks said gravely, “Tirpitz is up there. To have a snowball’s chance in hell of crippling her, making her a stationary target for the R.A.F. to bash at leisure, our midget submarines must have complete freedom to approach.”

  He nodded again and the pointer moved down very slightly.

  “There, in that adjoining fjord, is the German experimental base for underwater weapons. These small submarines, human torpedoes, call them what you will, are being assembled and tested round the clock. The fact that you have discovered how near to perfection they may be is unsettling. Worse, any attempt by our midgets to slip through Tirpitz ‘s defences could be foiled by the enemy’s own exercises in the area. Our boats will have to be towed by conventional submarines almost to the threshhold, so to speak. Passage crews will have to be exchanged for the ones who are going to make the attack, and all that on the surface, within range of this damned base.”

  Beaumont said, “I suppose air attack is out of the question?”

  “Yes. They’re not much of a target, you see.” He looked at Drummond. “Well?”

  “I can see two problems, sir. One, for any proposed. underwater attack on Tirpitz, as you have just explained. And secondly, if and when we begin an invasion of Europe, these small subs could play havoc with our heavy landing ships, floating docks and the like.” He bit his lip and returned the admiral’s unwinking stare. “As a destroyer man, I’d say a surface attack into the fjord is the only choice.” He hesitated, waiting for a sign. “Or call off the British midgets’ attack. “

  “I see.” Brooks took out another cigarette and waited for a light. “And you Captain Beaumont?”

  I agree, sir. Like the attack on Narvik, We did it then. We can do it again.”

  “That was at the beginning.” Brooks spoke dryly. “The Germans have increased their vigilance since then. “

  “Perhaps they are too confident, sir.” Drummond stepped forward, his eyes moving along the coastline. “After all, we would hardly expect a surface attack in the Clyde! It would be madness, of course, but any determined commander could still do one hell of a lot of damage.”

  Brooks smiled. “Another Narvik, eh? Quite apart from the damage you might do, it would work wonders for morale.”

  Beaumont said, “Am I being offered this mission?” He sounded strange. As if he were holding his breath.

  “I have to visit the War Room.” Brooks glanced at a clock. “I must make reports to superiors like everyone else. But remember, not a living soul must learn a word of this. I have passed information for press release that our surface vessels sunk or severely damaged a U-boat near Biscay. That will keep the enemy from knowing we have actually captured one of his midget subs intact. If he knew that, you’d have about as much chance of a surprise attack as a nun would have of saving her honour in the Royal Marine Barracks.”

  Drummond asked, “Won’t the Spanish government complain about our being so close to their waters, sir?”

  “Would you? After their failure to prevent the enemy from using one of their vessels. ” He shook his head. “No. The next move must be ours, as I see it.” He walked towards the door. “See you later. I believe there’s some sort of press conference being arranged for this evening. Have dinner with me afterwards. “

  Beaumont nodded. “At the Savoy, sir?”

  “Where else?” Brooks walked briskly out of the bunker, adding, “Don’t expect too much. Things are not what they were. “

  Beaumont looked at Drummond for several long seconds. He was rubbing his palms down his sides and saying, “By God, eh? By God, how about that then?” He seemed unable to accept what Brooks had said.

  Drummond replied, “Probably nothing will come of it.” He pictured Warlock and the rest of the Scrapyard Flotilla shooting their way into one of those deep fjords, but the more he imagined it, the less impossible it seemed. Brooks was right about one thing. The effect on morale, especially the Norwegians’, would be considerable. Their country occupied, resources drained dry to feed the German war machine, their families living in constant fear of punishment or reprisal, it might show they had not after all been forgotten.

  They walked out of the bunker, their passes ready for more checking and inspections.

  Drummond asked, “This press conference, sir. Bit unusual, isn’t it?”

  Beaumont flicked something from one sleeve. “Oh, I don’t know much about that sort of stuff.” He sounded very vague. “Still, if it keeps the home fires burning, it can’t do much harm, wha
t?”

  They reached the lift to the surface, and Drummond wondered if the sun would still be shining. It was all like another existence. The bunker, Admiral Brooks. He smiled inwardly. The Savoy, too.

  Beaumont certainly seemed at home with it. Within minutes of escaping from the complex of Admiralty corridors and sandbagged doorways they were both in another staff car and speeding amongst the jostling traffic in a manner born.

  As he watched the hurrying figures on the pavements, the shabby clothes of the civilians, the varying uniforms from a dozen nations, he was reminded again of the war he would soon have to rejoin.

  Beaumont said abruptly, “We’ll have a drink before we meet the press boys. I expect you know your way around here, eh?”

  Drummond glanced at the hotel’s shining facade as the car roared past towards their next destination. The one where they would be dining with Nick Brooks.

  “Mostly second-hand, I’m afraid. I live on my pay.”

  Beaumont’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Ah well,” was all he said.

  The press conference turned out to be quite different from what Drummond had expected. It was held in a room at the rear of yet another ministry building, and the gathering of rather tired-looking journalists bore no relation to their counterparts in the films.

  It was obviously for Beaumont’s personal benefit. Several flash-pictures were taken, and Drummond saw Miles Salter, as untidy as ever, clearing up points as they arose with his colleagues.

  He heard him say, “You know the idea. The hero of the Conqueror returns. The smile on the face of the tiger. That sort of thing.”

  More bulbs popped, and someone passed around a tray of glasses. They had not apparently noticed Drummond at the end of the room.

  “Are you waiting for anyone?”

  Drummond turned in his chair and saw a girl looking down at him. She was wearing a green suit, and there was a smudge of ink on one of the cuffs.

  “I’m with him.”

  He made to stand but she waved one hand.

  “It’s all right. I’m not used to formal behaviour.”

  She sat down wearily and stretched her arms. She had short chestnut hair, dark eyes, and from what he could see through the suit, a very good figure.

  “God.” She turned and studied him gravely. “How do you stand it?”

  “It’s just a job …”

  She showed her teeth. “Not the Navy, I mean him, the rest of that lot!”

  Drummond looked again at the gathering, the way Beaumont seemed to glow amongst the rumpled suits and jackets.

  She added, “They’re so pleased with themselves, it’s obscene!”

  He replied, “I’ve not been to this sort of thing before.”

  Her mouth turned down. “Obviously.”

  He turned to face her. “Look; I don’t know what’s eating you, but I didn’t ask to be here. I don’t even know what it’s all about. “

  She rested her chin on her hand, studying him.

  “You’re the Warlock’s captain. ” She added slowly, “Younger than I’d expected. Are you on the Atlantic run?” She smiled again, but her eyes remained impassive. “It’s all right. I’m of the ministry, too. One of the image-makers around here. I expect I know more about the war than you do.”

  He said, “Well, I’m not on the Atlantic run, as it happens.” She made him angry, out of his depth.

  “No matter. But if you were … ” She raised one knee. “I thought you could get me some proper stockings from the Yanks. My ladders are getting ladders now.”

  He watched her while she had her eyes lowered. She was very attractive, despite her irritating way of getting under his guard. About twenty-five.

  He asked, “Can you tell me what all this is for?”

  The eyes lifted to his face again. “Your boss, Captain Beaumont, has influence. Read the newspapers tomorrow.” One hand moved through the air as if feeling the words. “Conqueror’s only officer-survivor returns to even the score! U-boat dies at his command, etc., etc.” She gestured to the crowd, which was getting noisier. “With a picture of him like that, you can’t miss.”

  “I gather you don’t approve?”

  She ignored the question. “It was an accident really, wasn’t it?” When he stayed silent she added, “I thought so. Beaumont seems to have a knack with accidents. ” She stood up. Quickly, angrily. “I may see you around.”

  Drummond was still staring after her when Miles Salter touched his arm and said cheerfully, “All for now. Let’s go and share some civilised company. ” He followed Drummond’s gaze. “That was our Sarah. Quite a girl. Don’t be put off by her attitude, she’s very good at this sort of thing.”

  “She doesn’t seem to like Beaumont. “

  It just slipped out, and he saw the guard drop in Salter’s eyes like a shutter.

  He snapped, “Her brother was in the Conqueror. She probably feels bitter. None of our concern right now.”

  “What is exactly?”

  Salter gripped his arm. “Look. I know you’re a good destroyer captain, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, believe me. You probably think that the only way to win wars is to go out and kill somebody, or blow up a few ships. Well, my friend, there’s a helluva lot more to it than that. ” He glanced at Beaumont. “But it all adds up.”

  Drummond thought of the girl’s quiet hostility. One of the image-makers.

  Beaumont strode across the room, his face shining, eyes questioning. “Went well, I thought.”

  “Yes.” Salter looked at Drummond guardedly.

  Beaumont nodded. “Nick Brooks seemed pleased with things, too. All helps.” He smiled warmly at Drummond. “You’re in luck, you know. It needn’t have been your ship. I can see big things for you. ” He seemed to recognise something in Salter’s glance and added hastily, “Still, early days, eh?”

  Salter said dourly, “He was speaking with our Sarah.”

  “I see.” Beaumont waved cheerfully to a departing journalist. “Well, I’d not waste your time there, Keith. Good at

  her work, but … ” “Anyway, she’s married.” Salter was showing impatience.

  “Though, God knows, you’d not think it, the way she carries on. I ought to see about getting her moved to another section. “

  Beaumont clapped him on the shoulder. “Rubbish. Just because you haven’t made any progress in her direction! Anyway, I like a bit of opposition in a girl. So take it off your back, Miles, for God’s sake!”

  “I’ve got to go and make a few phone calls. ” Salter studied his watch. “Meet you in an hour.”

  Beaumont watched him go and then walked with Drummond out into the fading light. People were hurrying past, on their way from offices and shops, trying to get to their homes before the sirens wailed again.

  Beaumont paused and stared up at a solitary barrage balloon which was lying motionless against the sky, holding on to the hidden sun like a sleeping whale.

  “What times to be living in. It makes you feel grateful. Humble in some ways, too.”

  Drummond watched his profile, recalling the burning ships, and all those other days and nights. Beaumont was either trying to forget that part of it, or else he really believed what he was saying.

  He heard himself ask, “That girl’s brother. Did you know much about him?”

  “What girl?” Beaumont turned sharply, the mood broken. “Oh, yes, I knew him vaguely. Not much bottle really.” He gave a huge sigh. “But he’s back there with the rest of the poor devils now, good or bad.”

  Drummond fell in step beside him. Just for those few seconds he had caught a glimpse of another Beaumont. Unsure, even guilty. It had been there as plain as the look in Helen’s eyes.

  Beaumont added, “But we’ll make the bastards pay for what they did to my ship, and all the others, too.” He smiled. “I can hardly wait. “

  Lieutenant David Sheridan sat with his feet on the leathertopped fender and leafed through an old copy of Lilliput. He was conscious of a great s
ense of peace and laziness, brought about partly by the sunshine which played through the scuttle, and by several drinks, one of which was close by his elbow.

  Apart from an occasional squeak from the pantry hatch, where a steward was patiently waiting to lock up the drinks until evening, Sheridan felt he had the Warlock, indeed the whole of Falmouth anchorage, to himself. Since Drummond had dashed off to London with Captain (D), the moored destroyers had enjoyed a complete rest. Other vessels moved fussily in and out of port, patrols slipped alongside oilers, took on fuel and put out to sea again, but the seven destroyers of Beaumont’s command remained happily idle. War quickly took an edge off guilt, and few of the destroyers’ companies cared much that others were working while they enjoyed shore leave and whatever else Falmouth had to offer. As Mangin had remarked more than once, “I reckon we’ve done our bloody share. Let some buggerelse take the strain for a bit.”

  Sheridan heard footsteps moving along the quarterdeck and smiled. That was Sub-lieutenant Tyson, the O.O.D. Like the rest of the wardroom, Sheridan found it extremely easy to dislike Tyson, but as first lieutenant he had to find some way of concealing the fact. He reached out and sipped his gin. A long afternoon, with nothing much to do but check on the duty part of the watch which remained aboard. They were completing the new paintwork on the forecastle, their brushes usually working only half-heartedly as they sat almost naked in the bright sunlight, their skins browning while they peered hungrily at the shore.

  It was strange about Drummond, he thought. It was four days since he had gone, and apart from the daily call from London, and that was made by some bored-sounding staff officer, there was no contact between them.

  Local leave was to be allowed, and as often as possible, but apart from that the flotilla was on the shelf.

  Sheridan had met several of his opposite numbers in the other ships, and a few of the commanding officers as well. Some, he suspected, were resentful that Beaumont had taken Warlock’s captain to London, even though this ship had been the one to capture the midget submarine. Everyone had been threatened with a fate worse than death if that particular secret leaked out, although if the ships remained in harbour much longer, Sheridan did not know how it could be prevented.