“Mr Strachan, prisoners to the brow, please. Hand them over to the Military Police who are waiting for them.”
The Germans left the ship in silence, apart from the calls of the photographers as they posed them for the best drama, British hands carrying the single stretcher.
“Bastards!”
“Admiralty, Military Police, Press or Germans, Number One? Might be a difficult choice.”
Strachan chose not to reply.
“Commodore’s staff lieutenant coming aboard, sir.”
Simon was invited to the offices, not to speak to the newspapers until he had briefed his master.
“Coming up to Christmas and the Admiralty does not want bad news, Sturton. Lightning’s loss will be slipped out in the evening papers tomorrow. As it stands, there will be photographs of your damaged gun and mention of a few brave tars who lost their lives and over all will be the German prisoners, ‘plucked from the night seas’, no doubt. Such honourable fellows we are!”
“They get more dishonest every month, sir.”
“I think you are right, Sturton. Don’t matter, do it? We have no choice other than to fight on. Back to the yard at Chatham for your ships, it would seem, Sturton, possibly for a long time. Might well end up simply transferring the bulk of your crews into different boats. I shall wait for orders from on high for that. What happened?”
“Five German destroyers, waiting for us. They spotted us first, how I do not know. They opened the party with just four torpedoes, fortunately. Had they each fired four, crossing, we would have been hit for sure.”
Tyrwhitt nodded.
“Confirms a bit of intelligence we have received. Shortage of munitions. They are permitted to use only one torpedo on a small ship such as a destroyer. They fired one for each of you, in a single salvo to increase their chance of hitting any. Bending the rules, you might say.”
“They might have done better to wait another minute or two and then use gunfire only, sir. As it was, we were able to commence evasive action. The question arises, how did they see us first?”
“They knew where you were, within a mile. A submarine spotted you and sent a wireless message when it surfaced after dark. Then it followed you at two or three miles distant, continuing to send messages. Not worth using their few torpedoes on small, fast ships. So they called for help. Our people picked up the transmissions, did not decode them in time. You were patrolling at low speed. I think in future we must set a minimum of fifteen knots on night patrol. No sub will match that.”
“At least it was not a question of efficiency, of their lookouts being better than ours.”
“No. An effective ambush. We have a new light cruiser on station, sister to Arethusa. Naiad. She is yours, Sturton, with seven destroyers, all L Class. Take command tomorrow with your fellow Strachan as your Number One. I don’t think he is ready for command yet, do you agree?”
“Three more months, sir. He is learning fast. My thanks for the command, sir. Anything particular you must tell me of her, sir?”
“Not really, Sturton. You will discover why captain and first are replaced – it should not affect the efficiency of the ship and is best kept quiet. If I say nothing in this office, nothing can be overheard. Oh, you know one of the lieutenants, thought he should join up with you again.”
Tyrwhitt was trying to suppress his grin. Simon felt a sick certainty.
“Can I refuse the command, sir?”
“No! You’ve got it. And him. As you have guessed, Mr Higgins is coming back to you, Sturton. You have made him all he is, my dear fellow, and he is all yours!”
“I cannot express my thanks too profusely, sir!”
Tyrwhitt, collapsed over his desk, roaring with laughter.
“The Coastal Motor Boats are not ready for action yet. Some sort of problem with the motors, it seems, needing a rebuild. He is at a loose end, as a result.”
“Describes the boy only too well, sir!”
“You are acting commander with immediate effect, Sturton. Well done, sir! Are there any of your people who should be mentioned?”
“Williams, sir, of Lynx. Brought his ship alongside and held her long enough for Lightning’s crew to step across. Very deserving, sir. I have a list of casualties who will need replacing in their ships, sir. Lucifer is down to her midshipman, her officers all dead or severely wounded. Campbell-Barnes survived. I do not know his condition. The mid did well to bring her back – I offered one of my people to relieve him, he replied he had his certificate and could hold the bridge until he had brought her in. A Mention at the least, sir?”
“DSC for that, I think, Sturton. Impressive behaviour. I do not doubt the Admiralty will accept my recommendation for him and for Williams. What of this destroyer you sank? Whose was it?”
“Lancelot’s, sir. My Mr Rees saw the opportunity and fired his torpedoes. My orders for night action give him the scope to select targets and fire torpedoes or guns at his discretion. He tells me that the Hotchkiss was very effective, by the way. Far more so than the Maxim would have been. I would recommend their use on all destroyers, sir.”
“Noted. Whether Their Lordships will want a French gun on an English ship is another matter, of course. They are capable of being very petty on occasion. I was surprised they permitted the experiment of placing one aboard Lancelot.”
Tyrwhitt was sufficiently senior to criticise the Admiralty. Simon was not.
“The promotion, sir, makes it sensible for me to bring my marriage forward. May I have your permission to wed, sir?”
“Granted, Sturton. My best wishes. Who is the young lady?”
“Miss Alice Parrett, sir. Sister to Polly.”
“Ah! All is clear! Congratulations – a good family, the Parretts, and naval as well now. I cannot give you leave for a few months, Sturton. Won’t fit in with our plans for the winter, I am afraid. As you know, we are short of boats at the moment and have to keep you all out on patrol. Should be better by May – we are getting things called patrol boats as well as more destroyers. The Coastal Motor Boats should be in commission as well. All of them capable of chasing a submarine. Assume that the month of May will be yours. Your Naiad will probably be in need of dockyard time by then; all of the problems of new ships should have surfaced after five months of seatime. While I think of it, is your boy Waller capable of taking over as First of Lancelot?”
Simon shook his head.
“Too soon, sir. He is an able lad, no question of that, but he hasn’t got the seatime in. Six months at least. McCracken could step up - and is senior besides.”
“The youngster with the harsh Ulster accent? Never liked that sound, you know, Sturton! If he is capable, then the good of the service demands he must rise. Tell him, if you please.”
It seemed strange to Simon that an accent might be a reason to hold a man down. He made no comment.
Returning to Lancelot he found he was ahead of the news, he was in front of the lower deck grapevine. Packer had not started to pack his cabin.
“We are for Naiad, Packer. Put up my third ring. Acting, not permanent yet.”
Simon ran up to the bridge, found Strachan acting as officer of the day.
“Naiad for you, Mr Strachan, as my Number One. Flotilla leader. Command for you within six months, if all goes as it should. McCracken will be taking over from you. I don’t know who the new captain will be. The ship won’t be sailing for a week or two in any case.”
McCracken was in his bunk, getting an hour or two of sleep in. He staggered out drowsily, woke up fast as he heard of his promotion and that he had two hours to speak to Strachan before he left.
“It’s no worry, sir. Mr Strachan has been showing me the way about against need. I can do the job.”
“I know that, Mr McCracken. I would not otherwise have recommended you. I expect to see you as a captain before the end of the coming year!”
A few farewells, taking pains to speak to Malcolm in his engineroom, and he left an empty cabin, Packer and t
hree hands having packed at the run and gone ahead of him to Naiad, giving warning to them that the new man was coming. Simon was aware that he had missed his dinner, thought it better to board his new command at the earliest. Tyrwhitt had said nothing; he should have explained why the captaincy was vacant; it was out of the ordinary.
Captains were normally appointed to new ships before they were launched, acting as overseers of the construction process and particularly of fitting out. Naiad’s previous owner should have been six months aboard and would presumably have brought her down from the yard, likely to have been on the northeast coast, Newcastle way. Now, the cabin was empty.
It was unlikely that the captain would have been promoted out from a new ship, leaving much to be done to create an efficient crew.
That left room for conjecture.
Naiad was tied up, almost opposite the Commodore’s offices, an easy walk across from the yard. It had the advantage that he was visible in the evening light at a good two hundred yards. Strachan, who had gone ahead of him, knowing the ship to be absent its senior lieutenant, had spotted him and had the side party waiting, all as it should be. Being late in the day, he had chosen not to muster the crew in divisions to greet the new captain. That could better be done in the morning, would cause far less disruption to routine.
Simon stopped for a few seconds to view the ship, far larger than a destroyer.
Two six-inch guns in single turrets on the centre line forward, one stepped above the other. Six four inch aft of the bridge, single turrets on either beam. All quick firing. A single high angle gun immediately abaft the bridge, he could not see exactly what it was - small, a three pounder, perhaps. Machine guns to the bridge wings; bigger than Lewises, so most likely to be Vickers Guns, requiring two men apiece, a permanent crew rather than being available to any spare hand. There were lumps at the stern which he thought might be depth bombs. Four torpedo tubes set between the forward four inch and the high angle gun.
The deck was cluttered, he thought, additional gun and depth bombs simply squeezed in, not allowed for in the original design.
Good lines otherwise, a fast twenty-eight knot ship, possibly pushing a little more if the Engineer was good.
He stepped out again, reached the brow and a sentry dockside, presenting arms smartly. Unusual for a seaman, that. Most hands knew how to load and fire a rifle but were strangers to drill. Not impossible that the man had a record as a defaulter. If he had been sent off for thirty days in the naval prison he might have spent many hours on the parade ground, at the double with a rifle and pack, the drill shouted into him from dawn till dusk. Men sentenced to thirty days – the least they could be sent off to serve in the glasshouse – were treated especially harshly in the hope that they would not wish to come back again. It worked, sometimes.
“Thank you!”
The seaman blinked at the courtesy, almost smiled in return.
‘Not a bad man, whatever his record may be.’
He trotted up, pipes sounding as soon as his hat became visible above the deck. He still thrilled to that sharp squawk, the spine-tingling salute to the captain boarding his ship.
Strachan was stood at the salute, a line of officers at his side. Far more than on a destroyer.
Complement with wartime additions and additional signalmen as a destroyer leader must be around the three hundred mark, he suspected.
What had he got?
Strachan was at a disadvantage, unable to introduce the officers by name, knowing none of them yet.
Eight seamen lieutenants, salt horse, all of them, no specialisation. A Paymaster lieutenant stood next, his main function to assist in the administration of a large flotilla, something Simon had little knowledge of. A Navigator, which was always handy. Gunnery Officer, useful, demanded by the heavier guns; a junior Guns as well, no doubt to take the torpedo tubes and depth bombs. A Doctor, distinguished by his tabs, and valuable to the whole flotilla. Three engineers, one a lieutenant commander, the others lieutenants. Two sublieutenants towards the end of the line, a pair of midshipmen making up the complement.
Higgins was towards the end of the line of lieutenants, smiling broadly. The DSC on his chest marked him out, none of the others visibly decorated. Simon nodded to him, to his pleasure, the grin widening even further.
“Thank you, gentlemen. I am sorry to disturb you at this time of the day. I thought it better to come aboard as soon as possible. We may expect to be busy in the early future. I will speak to you individually tomorrow. Mr Strachan, with me please.”
Strachan led him aft to his cabin. He was amazed at the luxury available, compared to Lancelot or Sheldrake. There was a separate sleeping cabin and a shower room and toilet facility that was big enough to turn around in. His working and dining cabin was a good twelve feet on a side, space for desk and several chairs. It had a pair of bookshelves.
“How big is the wardroom, Strachan?”
“Seventeen of us can fit in, sir, with space to sit down. Small cabins but adequate. The subs and mids share a gunroom, proper navy fashion, sir. Big enough for the four, possibly giving them a bit more space than the officers have. The hands are jam-packed in together, sir. Wartime additions to the complement together with the extra bodies needed for signals have pushed her up to three hundred and twelve. Peacetime would have been about two-eighty. The Doctor wants at least one more orderly, sir, and Guns wants a chief petty officer.”
“Tight. Have you spoken to the Coxswain yet?”
“Young for the job, sir. I doubt he is much more than thirty. If he joined as a seaman boy, that could still give him more than fifteen years at sea after his training. He looks right, sir.”
Strachan had a sufficiency of experience to be able to weigh men up.
“Good enough. I do not know how long we have, Number One. Assume that we may be at sea within two days. Try to have us ready in that time, anyway. Have you heard why the ship is missing both captain and premier?”
“Nothing yet, sir. Have you eaten yet today, sir?”
As Strachan knew, he had not, far too busy on the slow run back to Harwich and bustling since making harbour. It was one of the First’s duties to keep an eye on his captain’s well-being.
“Not since dinner last night, in fact. Now you mention it, I’m bloody starving!”
Packer’s voice came from the sleeping cabin where he was busy.
“Beg pardon, sir. In hand, sir. Spoke to the Cook PO when I got aboard, sir. He’s putting something together now.”
“Thank you, Packer! You do me well!”
Strachan nodded; he would ensure that the blind eye applied to Packer, knowing that he would bend regulations on occasion in service to his captain. Having accompanied him through two ships, he was now a servant for life, would be discharged to a pension and cottage on the Perceval estate if he became old before Simon retired, would leave the service with his master otherwise. As such, he remained a seaman but was to be treated as more of a civilian, a naval compromise that none aboard could see as odd.
“What’s your feeling of the ship, Mr Strachan?”
A formally expressed question, requiring a careful answer.
“In no way out of the ordinary, sir. Harbour routine, obviously, with the bulk of the hands off-duty and one watch ashore on liberty from mid-afternoon to twenty-three hundred hours. Those aboard are almost all in the messdecks, within reason quiet, a little of singing and whistling, many I saw with a mug of tea, which means boiling water to hand in the galley, everything as normal. I don’t know what happened, sir, but it was all kept shtum.”
“Strange. Not to worry. It will all come out sooner or later.”
Strachan shrugged – it might be that they would never know exactly what had occurred. They might well have to rely on the grapevine which often overstated when it did not actually invent.
“What is the plan for the morning, sir?”
“Lieutenants in order of seniority to the cabin, you to announce each - gives you a
chance to put name to face. Call the Paymaster to me now, please.”
Lieutenant Biggleswade appeared, in his best reporting uniform, having expected to be called to the Lord and Master before any of the other officers. He was in charge of ship and flotilla administration, knew where to find every piece of paper and what to do in any eventuality involving stores or men. Despite his title, he did a lot more than simply see to the men’s pay. Simon had been told that the Paymaster was a direct descendant of the Nelsonic purser, the function brought into the uniformed Navy rather than left as an anomalous cross of service and civilian role. Like most in his branch, he had been shifted across for being unable to meet the demands of a deck officer – some had weak chests, a large number were colour blind or needed spectacles.
“Welcome aboard, sir.”
“Thank you, Biggleswade. Officers’ personal reports, are they all up to date? Any out of the ordinary?”
The paymasters knew everything about their fellow-officers. They normally kept their mouths firmly closed, except in confidence to their captains.
“Nothing untoward, sir. Most were posted here, to a new ship, as a reward for showing more efficient than most. The sole anomaly, as one might say, is a young gentleman by the name of…”
“Let me guess,” Simon interrupted. “Higgins?”
“You have been forewarned, sir?”
“He came to me as a midshipman on Sheldrake, followed me to Lancelot as a sub and I thought I had finally got rid of him after he was decorated and promoted for an act of pure, unadulterated idiocy. Brave, mind you, but remarkably stupid. We came upon a cluster of new small craft not so far from Zeebrugge, were able to shoot them up and one almost collided with us. Higgins, will you believe, jumped aboard her and squashed two of her crew underfoot and shot most of the rest – no more than half a dozen all told.”
“Remarkable stuff, sir!”
“Unthinking! He has remarkable little to think with! Anyway, he is mine and we are lumbered with him.”
“He seems a pleasant young man, sir.”
The Death of Hope Page 21
