by Stephen Ward
Wilkes sat uneasily in his chair, his face beginning to show some irritation.
“I have what it takes, sirs. I'm ready to strike out on my own and I'm perfectly confident that Peters will make an excellent First Officer.”
“Do you now. You're ready to go it alone,” scoffed Wilkes sarcastically. “That's rather conceited of you, isn't it? It seems to me your ego is running away with you. You're cocky. Too cocky by half in my opinion. You always have been and to my mind you could use another year to learn some humility.”
“Sir, with all due respect, I've taken this ship everywhere it has needed to go, performed above and beyond what's expected of me. You can't keep me here for ever,” Forrester said stiffly.
Turnbull stayed silent but realised that he'd have to speak his mind soon.
Captain Wilkes pondered Forrester's last statement for a moment before answering smugly, “If you don't like it here, you could always go back to that pretty wife of yours and be a civvie.”
Forrester felt a tide of rage bubble up inside him. How dare he? Something in the way Wilkes had said it, ignited memories of a countless number of previous arguments that he wished he had stood his ground on. Forrester looked over at Turnbull and with a reassuring smile, the Admiral calmed his temper.
Turnbull spoke curtly to Wilkes, “That was extremely harsh, Captain.”
Wilkes stared in amazement at the admiral, “Oh! I'm sorry if I've hurt his feelings. I meant no disrespect about that dainty little thing, of course, but I've been asked for my blunt assessment and I've given it.”
That was it. Forrester shot out of his chair, “How dare you sir. I don't like your tone or implication. Do you really think talking about the wife of a fellow officer in that way is in any way acceptable? Well it certainly wouldn't be on my ship.” Forrester's eyes burned with a fire Turnbull had seen once before.
Wilkes smirked, “But it isn't your ship. It's mine. How do you expect to run a boat when you can't even keep your temper? D'you see?” he sneered looking over at Turnbull, “Hot headed and cocky. You need more training, Forrester. That's my final word.”
“Permission to speak freely sir.”
“Granted,” said the admiral.
“Captain, this boat like you, is falling apart. Myself and the other officers have endeavoured to paper over the cracks and make her seem efficiently run but when other naval personnel come aboard the faults and inefficiencies stand out a mile”
Wilkes drawled “I would have thought that you would at least be professional enough to respect the rank which you yourself aspire to, but it appears that even common courtesy is beyond you. Your arrogance is breathtaking, Forrester.”
Turnbull raised his head, “Gentlemen, enough. Commander, please be so kind as to wait outside.”
Forrester picked up his hat and walked out of the door, closing it sharply behind him.
The Admiral turned to face the rather frazzled looking Wilkes. “What the hell are you playing at? That Officer out there is Captain material and we both know it.”
“May I speak plainly and off the record, sir?” Turnbull nodded his assent. “You think insubordination is a necessary quality in a Captain, do you? Where is the evidence of personal control in pressure situations?”
“You listen to me, Wilkes. Granted he was wrong to lose his temper but you clearly goaded him. You can take this on or off the record – if you spoke about my wife in that way, I would have personally thrown your lazy arse overboard. To be perfectly frank your rhetoric during what was a formal interview was anything but professional since we're using your word for the day.”
Outside, Forrester sat dejectedly, his head in his hands. What had he done? How was he going to tell Emma? A low quiet whistle came from the room next door. Moorhouse popped his head out. “Alright, pal?”
“No” replied Forrester glumly.
“I know. I heard it all. You fucked that one up didn't you? It stopped being formal and quickly became personal.”
“How the hell have you heard all that?” asked Forrester, part in anger, part amazement.
Moorhouse held up a glass, “Oldies are the goldies! Thin walls, my friend. It cost me money though,” he went on, “I had a tenner on it becoming physical.”
Forrester couldn't even bring himself to smile. “I've screwed it up, my friend. I'll be lucky to come out of this with my career.”
Moorhouse sat down in the next chair, “Listen, Turnbull protected you. He knows what the captain is like. A fool's word isn't worth anything, so just relax and take the slap you're going to get and deserve. After all, you've done what everyone on this ship has dreamed of doing. You'll be a legend by the time I've embellished a few things with this story”.
“Don't you dare, Paul....”
“That's my Sunday best name. Is it Sunday? You haven't called me that in years.”
At that moment, the door opened and Admiral Turnbull walked out into the vestibule and closed the door behind him. “Moorhouse,...”
“Yes, sir?”
Turnbull gave him one look.
“Sorry, sir, I'm gone.”
“The glass, please, Moorhouse.” The Admiral held out his hand, “Thank you, Moorhouse.”
Moorhouse moved away down the corridor, “I'm gone.” and disappeared around the corner.
“Turnbull snapped, “Moorhouse!”
A quiet, “Yes sir” could be heard, “I'm all the way gone, sir.”
Turnbull sat, looking at Forrester.
“I'm sorry, sir, I'll go and apologise,” the younger man said.
“Like hell you will. But you don't get away with it that easily. The captain lost control as well and he also crossed the line, but insubordination is just that, insubordination, even if what you said was true. So, this is what you're going to do. You're going to sit out these war games.”
“But sir,”
“No buts, Commander. I want to evaluate Captain Wilkes. I know you can do these in your sleep. No, you're going to go ashore. I'll arrange lodgings for you at a nice hotel in town. It's on me. Have some R and R.”
“Please, sir.
“Forrester, don't make me put an MP at your door and confine you to quarters.”
“Ok, sir.”
“Good. I'm rescheduling this review for a week's time. I'll contact you with details later. Now go and relax but don't leave Lorient. I may need you here. Take Moorhouse fishing tomorrow, but I want him back before we start the games, so don't lose him in a gutter somewhere.”
“No, Sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Forrester turned, but before walking away, said “Thank you, sir.”
Turnbull smiled and answered, “Nothing to thank me for yet.”
The Admiral walked back into Wilkes' office to find him at ease reading a magazine.
“Right, I have dismissed Forrester.”
“Excellent. I'm glad you've seen it my way, but I will, of course, expect a public apology. I think it's the least my rank entitles me to.”
“Now listen, you malicious little bastard.” hissed Turnbull, “He's sitting out these games and you're going to command and run your own ship for a change. I'm going to be assessing you at every turn. You'd better be up to scratch because if you're not, that's it, you're finished and done.”
“But Admiral”
“Don't you Admiral me. For this exercise Peters will be your First Officer. I've rescheduled Forrester's interview for next week and I'm handing his files and reports to Captain Hughes. Between the three of us we'll decide if he's worthy to be Captain. That is, of course, assuming that you've passed your own assessment. Start planning your strategies for the games. Briefing is at 0800 hours tomorrow morning, and remember, I'm watching every move and order you make,” and with that, he marched out of the door closing it with a bang.
Chapter 8
Forrester walked slowly back to his cabin, his head awash with thoughts about how he could possibly explain everything to Emma. She was so looking forwa
rd to moving into the new house. Although Turnbull had given him some reassurance that it was Wilkes who was going to be watched, he still felt frustrated that he'd allowed Wilkes to goad him into the argument. He also felt Turnbull was a little disappointed with him for his actions. Being confined to Port had made that quite clear. That said, part of him couldn't help but be relieved that he'd finally stood his ground and said what he'd wanted to say for five long years.
Turning the corner he entered the Mess Hall. It was filled with sailors on downtime going about their business. As he walked through the door, he quickly spotted Moorhouse sitting at a table with Granger, the Chief Engineer. A silence fell over the mess, followed by a spontaneous round of applause topped with whoops and hollers. Forrester couldn't help but grin. It was obvious that Moorhouse had been busy telling of his meeting with the captain. He raised his hand and smiled. It felt good. Even though he had been hard on the men it was clear that they did respect him after all. His hand brought order back to the room and in a moment, very unlike him, he called for drinks all round to be on his tab. Moorhouse smiled as he sat down “I see you've been spinning your yarns, Doctor,” said Forrester.
“Hey! Least I could do. You said everything this crew has wanted to say for years and got away with it.”
“Not quite, Doc. Turnbull has confined me to the Naval Base for the duration of the exercise.”
Moorhouse raised an eyebrow and looked over at Granger, who thus far had said nothing but had been listening intently. The Chief, a man in his mid-fifties was a pleasant fellow who had an uncanny knack of knowing when to speak his opinion and when not.
At this moment, Forrester needed all the positive reinforcement he could get and Granger seemed to instinctively sense that.
“You did what any man would do under the circumstances. I know a lot of men who would have kicked his ass all over that shit hole he calls an office. The fact is, he stepped way beyond the bounds of what is both professional and acceptable. The Admiral isn't mad at you as far as I can make out. You're off the ship so Wilkes can have his command style assessed without your influence on the crew. Did he confine you to the Base?”
Forrester grinned, “No. I'm free to go as I please. I'm just not to step foot on board until further notice.”
“Then there's nothing to worry about. The crew will do their best and follow orders, but as for the quality of those orders, that is what is being assessed.”
The Commander couldn't believe he'd never taken the time to speak off duty with the Chief before. “Thanks Chief, I know the ship will be in good hands. At least I can rely on the crew to ensure we perform well.”
Granger broke into a small laugh, “Yes sir. You can be sure we'll have some funny stories to tell to tell when this is all over next week.”
Moorhouse leant over the table and poured a small amount of liquid from a silver flask into the Chief's coffee which was downed speedily. Moorhouse then did the same into Forrester's mug. “Hey! What're you doing, I don't drink on duty and you know that.”
The doctor looked up at him from over the flask as he took a sly swig, “Ah yes, my friend, but you're not on duty. Have you forgotten the Admiral's orders? You're off the boat,. Now, doctor's orders, drink up and go and pack before I call the Master-at Arms to throw you off the ship.”
Forrester stood up, downed the coffee in one “You can't throw me off the boat, as you're supposed to be coming off as well. Admiral's orders. You're with me until the exercise begins.”
Granger laughed, “He has you there, Doc.”
“Shore leave? I know just where we can go. There's a bar in town...you want to see what the waitress can do with an ice cube.”
“No, Doctor, just a quiet few drinks will do,” replied Forrester.
“I'm seriously starting to worry about you. You're becoming a real a spoilsport, you know. Emma and the girls know how to have fun. Why don't you let your hair down just this once, pleeeeease!”
“Ok Doc, whatever you say. Get packed. The tender leaves at 1200 hours”
Forrester gestured to the Chief and walked out of the room still grinning.
From over his shoulder a shout from Moorhouse followed him, “Make sure you pack your dancing shoes. We're gonna burn up this town.”
Opening the door to his cabin, Forrester stepped inside, throwing his hat onto the chair. He stood in front of the washbasin looking into the mirror. Turning on the tap, he splashed cold water over his face and picked up the small hand towel hung on a nearby rail. Moving slowly, he perched on the edge of his bunk careful not to hit his head. Time off. When was the last time he'd had time off? At least when he was at home he could play with the kids or sit and relax with Em. What on earth was he going to do? He knew what Moorhouse would have him do, but he couldn't face a drinking session like that. Perhaps he could rent out a boat and go fishing. That was something he hadn't done for a long long time. Maybe it would take his mind off things. Lying back onto his pillow, he looked over at the photo of his girls and Em, checking the time with a glance. Reaching over onto his side cabinet, he pulled the telephone towards him. Should he call and tell Emma? It was only fair but he really didn't want to disappoint her. Finally plucking up courage, he dialled their home number. A few seconds passed until a soft voice answered. “Hi Honey, it's me.” He explained everything about the disastrous interview leaving no details out.
Emma listened patiently then spoke, “Don't worry. We'll manage. It seems it just might be for the best. The Admiral knows you're a good man and if you hang tight until after these exercises, I'm sure you'll be fine. Go and relax but tell Paul I'll kill him if I find out he's let you pass out in a gutter again. Remember, we love you and are very proud of you.”
Forrester said his goodbyes and put down the phone. Looking at the clock again, “Shit!” It was nearly 1200 hours. He sat up quickly, smashing his head yet again, “Oh for fuck's sake.”
Moving rapidly, he pulled a holdall from his locker and stuffed it full of clothes and necessary toiletries. Within five minutes he was done and already locking his cabin door. A strange feeling hit him as he was turning the key that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Moments later, he emerged onto the deck to find Moorhouse waiting for him.
“Hurry up lad. It's party time.”
“Listen, Doc. I was thinking of doing some fishing,” said Forrester.
“Fishing? Why the hell didn't you say sooner? Hang on. Hold the tender. I'll be back in a minute.”
“Paul, where ….?” but he was gone.
After what seemed like an age Moorhouse re-emerged back at his side slightly out of breath and re-arranging his holdall.
“What the hell was all that about?”
A very large grin spread over his friend's face. “Oh, I just had to get my fishing rod.”
Forrester shook his head. He knew better than to question the Doc's ideas as sometimes feigning ignorance was eminently preferable.
Chapter 9
Keller returned to the Drafts Room through the maze of dimly lit corridors. How was he going to do this? His plans were for a new boat. Could the existing designs really be suitably adapted? Nikolaus was already rolling out the plans on the large worn table as Keller walked through the double doors rubbing his forehead. Bending over the drafts table he moved the large angle poise lamp and pulled it back to his preferred position. The light illuminating the yellow paper highlighted the bold swastika motif. Nikolaus joined him after laying the plans of the new boat onto an adjacent table.
Pulling out his slide rule from a drawer and producing a pencil, he asked, “Bring me the tracing paper, please.” A moment later, Nikolaus had placed a huge roll of semi-transparent paper over the drawing. The man was good and instinctively knew exactly what Keller wanted.
“We're going to have to widen her from bow to stern by at least three feet if we're to have a prayer of fitting everything in.”
Nikolaus shook his head and motioned towards the new drawing, “That may not be neces
sary if we insert a new eight metre section just aft of the conning tower.”
Keller smiled thinking to himself that just maybe it would be possible after all. “We would need to separate her here,” pointing with his pencil, “It would allow the tracks to be manufactured in sections. Let's get to work.”
Over the next few hours the two men worked intently, accompanied by nothing except the steady sound of the kettle bubbling away on the small stove across the room. Smoke curled from their cigarettes as the scratch of pencil on paper came from both desks.
Nikolaus sat staring at his work, trying desperately not to think about what had been said that morning. His concentration was momentarily broken as a metal mug of coffee was placed at his elbow. “Thank you, sir.” he said to Herr Weib who acknowledged with a nod.
Keller turned from his table to face them both, his coffee in his hand.
Weib took a long suck on his pipe before he spoke, “Your friend has gone to Germany for a few days so for now you can just concentrate on the job in hand. I really wish you had spoken to me first before sending those plans.”
Keller knew he was right. “I know, sir, it was a foolish mistake. I wanted this boat built so badly that I wasn't thinking straight.”
Weib looked long and hard at Keller, “Can it be done?”
Keller had a new optimistic outlook and replied, “If we don't have any manufacturing setbacks, I don't see why not. I'll have to pull two teams morning and night for the next few weeks. We'll have the drawings for all the parts finished by tomorrow morning and with your permission I would like to hold a meeting with both department heads at nine o'clock.”
“It would appear that this takes precedence over some of the other scheduled jobs here so do as you see fit. Keep me posted. It's most important that we keep Herr Richter off our backs. We don't want him reporting back to anyone,” and with that Weib walked out of the door.
Nikolaus turned back to his desk and reached for another cigarette. Keller's voice came softly from behind him, “What's wrong?”
