The Destroyers

by Douglas Reeman

“You should smile more often, Commander.” She stood back and eyed him critically. “It makes you almost human.”

  She was swallowed up in the crush, and her slight figure was replaced instantly by a grave-faced captain, who introduced himself as being on the staff at A. C. H. Q. On a temporary basis. Neither he nor Drummond mentioned it, but he was quite obviously Nick Brooks’s man in Iceland. Until the raid was mounted. Or dropped.

  He sipped a large pink gin and said, “Fine-looking girl. Married, eh?”

  “Yes.” Funny that it did not seem to matter. Until now. “I don’t know her very well.”

  The captain signalled to a steward. “Someone was saying that her brother was in the same ship as Beaumont. Don’t know the truth of it.”

  Drummond watched him and smiled grimly. Not much, you don’t. Aloud he said, “I heard something like that, too, sir.”

  The captain saw another face across the crammed cabin. “I must be off. I’ll see you atA.C.H.Q. quite soon.” His gaze was very firm. “It’s on, by the way. Thought you should know, in view of what you’ve just gone through. “

  “Thank you, sir. ” For what? For the chance of being blown to pieces? “I’ll keep it to myself.”

  “I should hope so. ” He smiled shortly. “I expect Duvall will get a medal. Looks good. ” His gaze seemed to shift momentarily towards Beaumont. “Don’t care much for heroes of that sort. “

  Drummond waited. Who did he mean, Duvall or Beaumont? Both?

  The captain added, “Nelson had the right definition, I think. He said a hero was a man who inspired bravery in others. Not one who went out for his own glory.” He sighed. “But the Admiralty of the day didn’t like him much either. Must be a moral in it all somewhere! ” He pushed his way into the throng.

  “All right, Keith?” Beaumont appeared beside him.

  “I think I ought to get back to the ship, sir.”

  “Good show.” Beaumont’s eyes were moving busily over the people around him. “What was he saying, by the way?”

  Drummond shrugged. “Said we’d be meeting soon.”

  “Good. He told you. ” Beaumont grinned. “Nod’s as good as a wink, eh?” He followed Drummond to the door. “You’ll get your orders. The flotilla will be going round to a fjord on the east coast. Bit more private.” He was obviously eager to get back in the thick of the guests and added, “Paint up your stripe on Warlock’s funnel. You are officially half-leader.” He seemed to expect a display of emotion and said, “You should be pleased. Stick with me, and I’ll get you something worth while. “

  He turned and pushed back into the cabin, his voice reaching ahead like a radar beam.

  Drummond returned the salutes from the O.O.D. and side party and walked slowly along the jetty. How seriously could he take her? And was it fair anyway, with the raid becoming a grim reality?

  An American jeep, with U. S. A. A. F. painted on the side, was parked by some Nissen huts, and he saw a lean sergeant sitting inside it, a cigar sticking dead centre of his mouth, like a gun. As he got nearer, the American climbed down and watched him thoughtfully, as if trying to decide something. He wore heavy flying boots over his uniform trousers, and on his head he had a fur-lined hat, the flaps of which were tied over the top like an Alsatian’s ears. He was very tall and tough-looking.

  He said, “Can I ask you something?” The cigar moved slightly. “Sir?”

  Drummond nodded. “Try me.”

  The man grinned. “I never know where I am with Lime- I mean, the British, sir.” He became serious. “Sergeant Matthew Wagner. I was in H.Q. a while back and saw the name of our ship on the board. You are the Warlock’s skipper”

  Drummond nodded. “Yes. What can I do for you?”

  The American held out his hand. “I guess you think I’ve got one helluva nerve, but I have a problem. A serious one.” He seemed suddenly anxious. “You have a sailor aboard called Jevers, right?”

  “Yes.” Something from the crowded events of Warlock’s private world came back to him. “A quartermaster. You must be the … ?”

  He nodded ruefully. “Yeh. I’m the guy who took his wife away from him. But don’t be too hard on me, sir. He treated her bad. And Janice is a good kid. I’m taking her back to the States when I get out of this outfit. “

  “Well, I’m afraid I can’t do much for you. It’s not the sort of thing I deal with.”

  “I know, sir. ” Wagner threw the cigar on the stones and jammed his boot on it. “I ain’t breaking too many secrets when I tell you I fly the milk-run from here to England once a week. I was planning to get Janice moved to an apartment up in Scotland near the field. So she wouldn’t have to worry. But when I took some time off to tell her, she wasn’t there, at her home.” He sounded as if he still didn’t believe it. “The neighbours ain’t seen her, and believe me, they’d tell me. They’re nice folk. Jevers wasn’t too popular whenever he was around.”

  Drummond rubbed his chin. “There is the police enquiries department, she might have been injured in an air-raid.”

  “She never went out in raids, sir. I’ve checked every goddamn thing. Our provost, yours, the police, the town hall. I’ve been going out of my mind, believe me.”

  “Did she write to you?”

  “All the time. The letters stopped at the same time she disappeared. “

  “And you want to see her husband, is that it?”

  “I’m not certain, sir. I might spoil the whole deal. And this is the thing which worries me most. He was seen near the house. Leastways, a railway porter swears it was him. ” He looked very worried. “Am I getting out of line, sir?”

  Drummond eyed him gravely. “Leave it with me. I expect she’s gone away to think things out. It’s a bad time for this sort of thing to happen. Women have a lot to put up with in wartime.” He gestured to the warships along the jetty. “Not like you and me. Taking it easy all the time.” He wrote a number on a piece of paper from his notebook. “You can reach me through this office, naval security. They’ll keep our secret until we’ve found out something. And if you hear first, let me know. “

  He strode off, his mind seeing the sad-faced Jevers in an entirely new light.

  Behind him the American took out a fresh cigar and, lit it. His friend, another sergeant, came out of a Nissen hut carrying a carton of cigarettes.

  “Hey, Matt, that a Limey officer you was shooting the breeze with? “

  Wagner smiled grimly. “Quite a guy, too.” He swung his long legs into the jeep. “Let’s go!”

  His friend grinned. “Jeez! So suddenly we’re feeling better already!”

  Drummond reached the brow which led to Warlock’s iron deck and let his gaze move along her side, seeing each dent and scar like a separate memory. One day, probably sooner than he realised, he would have to let her go. The realisation never failed to move him.

  Figures wandered slowly along the upper deck and forecastle, and below the triple torpedo tubes he saw Badger, the cat, pause in the business of washing one paw to watch him, yellow eyes without surprise or warmth.

  Sheridan was at the head of the brow with the side party, and the silver calls shrilled in salute as Drummond stepped on to the metal deck.

  Sheridan asked, “Everything all right, sir?”

  Drummond nodded, watching him and wondering how much he had tried and how much she had resisted.

  “Yes. Shore leave for all but the duty part of the watch. Tell the libertymen about careless talk ashore, and the fact that the locals understand more English than they let on. The base recreation officer has all the gen about the cinemas, cafes which are out of bounds, that sort of thing.”

  Sheridan asked quickly, “Will you be going ashore, sir?”

  “Probably.” He hesitated by the quartermaster’s lobby. “I saw Mrs. Kemp, by the way. Sends her regards.”

  “Oh, thanks. ” Sheridan smiled awkwardly. “Quite a girl. “

  Drummond walked through the screen door. She had not lied. It was as clear as day
on Sheridan’s face.

  He whistled quietly as he lowered himself swiftly to the wardroom flat. And it wouldn’t do any harm to meet her; he saw Owles peering from his pantry. He was smiling.

  “You’ll be off ashore then, sir?” He hurried to the cabin. “Good, good. Just the ticket, sir. ” He never listened to anything.

  9

  A Slight Setback

  THE main operations room of Area Combined Headquarters, Iceland, was large and lined with steel cabinets and impressive coloured charts. Looking round, it was hard to believe he was inside yet another large Nissen hut, Drummond thought, and he was aware of the air of tense expectancy which had greeted his arrival and which was present in this room.

  He felt vaguely self-conscious in his best shore-going uniform, especially as some of the other commanding officers looked as if they had come straight from their bunks to be here. He had been about to go ashore to discover Sarah Kemp’s billet when the shore telephone had summoned him and all the other destroyer captains to an unexpected early briefing.

  Beaumont was bending over a chart at the top of the room, murmuring with the operations officer and his staff. Seated against the far wall, puffing a pipe with studied calm, was the captain he had met only that morning aboard Lomond. He caught Drummond’s glance and gave a brief smile before returning to his expression of detached indifference.

  Several of the officers were chatting quietly together, and Drummond tried to ignore-his feeling of uncertainty. Perhaps he was more tired and strained than he had believed. And yet as he glanced round at the other familiar faces he felt it again. Like a barrier which had risen between them. They had greeted him well enough. But no more than they would a visitor. A stranger.

  He shook himself angrily. He had known most of them since the beginning of the war. Had fought side by side with some of them, used his own ship to defend others damaged in battle while they all prayed for the enemy to fall back, or for a sign of air-cover, or a miracle. Now there was a distinct coolness which seemed to leave him isolated. Maybe they believed he should have tried to suppori Duvall’s lone attack on the U-boat? Or they resented the fact he had assumed Duvall’s role as half-leader as a direct result of Warden’s sinking?

  Most likely it was the war, just the bloody war, he told himself for the tenth time. Once they were working together again, training in the fjord on the east coast as Beaumont had described, things would all sort themselves out again.

  The voices died as Beaumont tapped briskly on the table.

  He looked at the captain and said, “Captain Kimber has something to tell you, gentlemen.”

  Drummond found himself sitting rigidly against the chair. The raid was off after all. He did not know if he felt glad or let down.

  Captain Kimber stood up slowly and tapped his pipe against one palm.

  “I am sorry to bring you here from your ships at so little notice. Most of you will be pretty tired after your run from England. Some,” his eyes moved to Drummond, “will be needing time to recover from a totally unexpected diversion. However … ” He looked at Beaumont. “`Time is short.”

  Drummond saw Beaumont’s expression. Grim but excited.

  Kimber continued calmly, “This morning, the British and American forces in the Mediterranean performed the first part of Operation Husky. The invasion of Sicily. “

  Drummond waited, seeing it in his mind. The drifting smoke from the bombarding squadrons, an anonymous flow of khaki as the soldiers swarmed up the beaches and into the tracer.

  “You will all be pleased to know that the invasion is being carried out with complete success. “

  Kimber smiled warmly. It lit up his face from side to side, as if like everyone else in the room, in every part of the unconquered world, he had been waiting, afraid even to dream, of this very moment.

  But nobody spoke, and when Drummond looked at the others he saw their expressions, each man thinking of the cost, of the

  waiting, of the hopes which had been pinned on this vital part of the road back from all those retreats and setbacks.

  Kimber said, “You do not have to be a master strategist to guess that an invasion of Italy will follow very shortly. After that,” he shrugged, “it will be up to the Combined Staffs to prepare the real thrust into Europe from the north.”

  He had everyone’s full attention now.

  “You already know that the presence of German heavy naval units in their Norwegian bases is a real menace to our convoys to Russia. The fact they exist at all means that many dearly needed ships and men are being tied down in case they should venture out to follow Bismarck’s example. We will need every ship if our future plans are to have a chance of success. I am entrusted to tell you that an attack by our midget submarines is being planned for the autumn. It is a top secret, that goes without saying, of course. The Tirpitz in particular is being held in her northern fjord to conserve fuel. Fuel needed by their army to fight against the Russian advances on the Eastern Front. But when winter closes in that battlefront will become a frozen stalemate once more. Tirpitz will be free to move out. To put pressure on our supply routes when our forces are required elsewhere.” He gave what might have been a sigh. “She will not move out. Our midget submarines must damage her to such an extent that she can be finished off at leisure at some later date. “

  Beaumont cleared his throat and said, “You know of our mission. At the same time we will attack, and if possible cripple the fuel dump which is situated in the same fjord.” His eyes flashed in the dull light. “These things we will do.”

  Drummond realised that Miles Salter was on the other side of the room, speaking softly to one of his assistants. A large camera stood on the ground at his feet. A record for all times.

  Kimber nodded. “However. ” He looked at each face in turn. “Intelligence have informed me that the enemy is preparing to move the midget sub school south, to Holland, in the near future. A surface attack on the fjord after that would show the Germans we are more concerned with the fuel dump. Any attempt to put midget submarines through the minefields, nets and God knows what else, would be met with instant disaster!” He looked hard at Beaumont.

  The latter breathed out slowly. “This is a slight setback for us. But it will mean that our attack must be mounted within the next week or so.”

  The commanding officers stared at him as if they had all misunderstood what he was saying.

  Then one, Cromwell of the Whiplash, exclaimed incredulously, “But, sir, the weather is too perfect for the enemy! Calm seas, good visibility, they’d kill every man-jack before he got within miles of the Norwegian coast!”

  There were several murmurs of agreement, and Drummond saw the brief gleam of anxiety in Beaumont’s bland expression before he said curtly, “I am aware of the meteorological disadvantages, thank you, Cromwell.”

  Kimber said hurriedly, “We will give you every available support. The Norwegian underground have been working closely for months with our agents. It is well known that the enemy has removed part of his northern minefield to facilitate the training of the midget submarine crews.”

  He was tapping his pipe stem against the chart table as if to emphasise each point.

  “A carrier will be laid on to provide air-cover as you withdraw from the combat area. Everything possible will be done to assist you. It is a very dangerous mission, some would say foolhardy. Because of this, however, it will carry the necessary element of surprise, enough to take the enemy aback just long enough for you to hit him where it really counts.”

  Beaumont looked round the room challengingly. “Questions?”

  Selkirk of the Ventnor said gruffly, “There are only seven ships in the flotilla. ” The merest pause. “Now. ” He gestured to the chart. “Why not send some more destroyers to support us?”

  Beaumont watched him narrowly. “The enemy intelligence is not without skill.” He could barely hide his dislike for Selkirk. “Any sudden, additional movement of shipping would give the game away be
fore it had begun. As it is, I am quite certain that the Germans have plenty of agents right here in Iceland. No, we will continue as a flotilla.”

  Selkirk remained standing. ” Warlock’s the half-leader, sir. Is that to be permanent?” He did not look at Drummond.

  Beaumont smiled gently. “A matter of seniority is always a

  problem. Perhaps I should have mentioned it earlier. Lieutenant-Commander Drummond has been promoted to acting commander.” The smile faded. “Are you satisfied?”

  Selkirk turned to Drummond, his face confused. “Congratulations, Keith.” But his eyes were angry. Hurt.

  Drummond said quietly, “It is the first I’d heard of it.”

  “Ah well.” Beaumont was watching him cheerfully. “You know the Admiralty.” He wagged one finger. “Just pray the war doesn’t end too quickly, eh? Or you’ll drop your new stripe before you’ve got used to it!”

  Drummond saw the others looking at him. It was all there. Pleasure, envy, even disapproval. Promoted over a dead man’s head. It was rarely popular.

  Kimber said, “The flotilla will be moving to the east coast in two sections as before. Beginning in three days’ time. The base staff will be inspecting each vessel, so have your spares and replacement lists ready. Once the show begins to move there’ll be no time for second thoughts.”

  Drummond asked, “Is there any chance of the attack being cancelled, sir?” They had to know. To clear the air.

  Kimber shrugged. “No. It is being given a priority rating.”

  He looked meaningly at the clock on the wall. “I expect you’ve a good deal to do. Tell your people as little as you can. They will resent it now. Later they may realise that security can save lives.”

  They all stood up, shuffling their feet. Each man concerned with his own ship, her role, the odds of survival. For those moments they were all strangers, Drummond thought.

  Lieutenant-Commander Mark Kydd, the Whirlpool’s captain, touched his arm and grinned. “Well done. Don’t mind the others. You deserve it. And by God, we’re going to need you before this little lot’s in the history books!”