The Horizon (1993)

by Reeman, Douglas

  ‘Not yet. Have your assistant bring it to me first.’ He put down the handset and thought about Quitman, the words Top secret and Immediate standing out in his mind in huge red letters.

  He glanced at her face and then thrust the picture into the drawer again.

  The assistant O.O.W., Sub-Lieutenant Whittaker, entered the small cabin and stared owlishly at his captain. Soutter took the sealed folder and opened it with a silver paper-knife, his grey-blue eyes moving along the signal flimsy printed in their chief operator’s heavy hand.

  Then he looked up and saw the young officer try to extinguish all curiosity. ‘My compliments to the commander, Mr Whittaker. Ask him to take over the bridge. I have to go aft to see the admiral.’

  Outside in the bright sunshine again Captain Auriol George Soutter, who hated his first name, paused to stare aft along his ship, past the four-inch guns and the long barrels of Y turret to Reliant’s unending white wake in a flat calm sea.

  There was to be no visit to Port Said after all. Reliant was to alter course and head direct for the small island of Mudros where she would join the other ships of the bombarding squadron which had been repulsed so bloodily; and that was only yesterday.

  His jaw tightened and he made his way down a steep ladder to the deck below.

  He hoped Rear-Admiral Purves would be satisfied. He was not going to be too late after all. Instead he, the ship and all her company were to be thrown right into the middle of it.

  He saw some of the new marines drilling under a reedy-looking subaltern and remembered what Blackwood had written in his report.

  But by the time he had reached the admiral’s quarters right aft beneath the quarterdeck, his mind was clear of everything save what he must do. He was the captain, and nothing else could matter.

  Four

  ‘All present, sir.’ Captain Soutter glanced around the expectant faces, Reliant’s heads of department gathered here as they had that day at sea when he had told them of the losses in the Turkish minefields.

  The main chartroom, large though it was, felt like an oven, and with the battle-cruiser lying at anchor even the modern fans and air ducts could do little to ease their discomfort.

  Through the open scuttles Soutter could see the rocky outthrust of Mudros Bay. What a God-forsaken place, he thought. Now, crammed with troopships, large men-of-war and supply vessels, it looked more like a refuge than the launching point for an invasion. Ashore it was no better. Tents in neat lines covered every available piece of ground along with hastily-rigged field hospitals, red crosses on their sloping canvas roofs, machine-shops and cook-houses: an army preparing itself.

  If only they could get back to sea, Soutter thought wearily. But week had followed week in this dreadful place, with only rumour to feed their hungry minds.

  Now at least that was over. He watched the papers in the rear-admiral’s strong hands and saw Galpin, his flag-lieutenant, also staring at them as if to seek out his own fate.

  Rear-Admiral Purves stood quite still, his fingertips resting lightly on his papers, which he had now laid on the chart-table.

  ‘Gentlemen, the day we have all been waiting for is almost upon us.’ His resonant voice carried easily above the sounds of fans and other ship noises. ‘At dawn in a week’s time, on the twenty-fifth of April, the attack on the Gallipoli Peninsula will begin. The British Army will land at these points – V, W, X and Y beaches,’ he tapped the chart with a ruler, ‘at Cape Helles, led by the King’s Own Scottish Borderers. Halfway along the peninsula the Australians will land at Gaba Tepe. That’s where we come in.’ The ruler moved back again. ‘On the British right flank, the French division will be put ashore at S beach, Morto Bay.’

  Purves pulled out another sheet of paper. ‘The Royal Marines will of course be in full support.’ He waited as the marine officers grinned at one another, then said sharply, ‘We shall be taking part in the bombardment of Turkish batteries and forts, and anything else which might prove a real danger to our advance. The day after tomorrow the troopships will disembark their soldiers, who will be put aboard the escorting naval vessels without delay. Reliant will take on board another company or so of Royal Marines, contingents released from ships of the squadron.’ His eyes settled on Lieutenant-Colonel Jack Waring’s sun-reddened face. ‘As senior R.M. officer you will naturally be in command.’

  Waring brushed his moustache with one finger and gave a fierce grin. ‘Proud, sir. Very!’

  Soutter saw Purves watching him. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Anything you’d like to add? I know the ship is in good hands!’ He laughed, but there was no warmth in it.

  Soutter said, ‘We shall be towing extra boats when we leave here, as will other ships in this section. Picket boats will be used to tow the unpowered craft once they have left the safety of the ships.’ He saw an unspoken question on the navigating officer’s bearded face. ‘We shall remain a thousand yards offshore, although it is quite likely that the marines will not be ordered into the attack at that early stage.’

  Captain Jonathan Blackwood was right at the back of the silent figures. He could feel the marine officers’ disappointment at Soutter’s last remark. The marines were keen enough, but like their young platoon commanders they had almost no experience. Some of the older N.C.O.’s could be relied on, but Soutter’s words were still fixed in his mind. A thousand yards offshore, at best in pitch darkness, at worst in sunlight like this under the sights of those same Turkish batteries. If Waring had any doubts he did not reveal them.

  A few questions came from the various officers, but they were mainly concerned with individual departments. Quitman the gunnery officer wanted to know if they would have any spotting aircraft. Purves replied that there might possibly be two; more he could not say. He sounded as if he thought Quitman’s concern was a waste of time.

  Purves said abruptly, ‘Our job is to get the troops ashore and keep Johnny Turk’s head well down until they’re safely in position. I am sure that the army staff will know exactly what they’re doing.’

  Reliant’s captain of marines asked, ‘What about the possibility of German submarines being sent through the Mediterranean to support their ally?’

  Purves glanced meaningly at the clock. ‘It would take weeks, even if they could get here. By that time the fleet will have forced the Dardanelles and then on to Constantinople, what?’

  He paused on his way to the door. ‘Remember at all times, gentlemen, this is the flagship, my flagship, and I want – no, I demand that each and every officer behaves accordingly!’ They parted before him as he strode stiffly out.

  Soutter beckoned to Lieutenant-Colonel Waring.

  ‘May I make a suggestion, just in case your people should be required?’

  Waring looked at him coldly. ‘I am banking on it, sir!’

  ‘Then forget the present arrangements in the various contingents. They will all be under your command. Why not mix the younger marines amongst the more experienced ones?’

  Waring seemed to enjoy it. ‘As you say, Captain Soutter, all under my command. I think I can be relied upon to handle such matters!’

  Soutter saw Coleridge looking for him and snapped, ‘Then do as you damn well please!’ He walked away, his back turned to hide his anger, with himself as much as with Beaky Waring.

  There was a burst of cheering from beneath the bridge. It was through the whole ship already. Soon every man on the island would know.

  Jonathan moved to follow the others but Waring blocked his way. He had heard some of the exchange between colonel and captain, and could guess the rest.

  ‘Ah, Blackwood. I shall want you to take over as adjutant. With all these extra men I want someone with a bit of seniority. They don’t know you like their own officers, and I think that’s all to the good. Get familiar with them and they take advantage, and any kind of softness I will not tolerate.’ He seemed to expect some sort of argument, but when Jonathan remained silent he said, ‘The admiral was right. This is the flagship
. People will be looking to us!’

  That night, his head throbbing from excitement and heavy drinking in the mess, Jonathan climbed to the upper bridge in search of some cooling breeze from the sea. The bridge was only shadow, the superstructure and funnels merely darker shapes against the thousands of tiny stars. He could hear the muted stammer of morse from the wireless room, the occasional scrape of feet from a lookout or the duty signalman. A door slid open and shut and he heard the commander’s shoes on the scrubbed gratings, which would soon be baking in the sun again.

  ‘Can’t you sleep, Jono? That was quite a party! Like peacetime again.’ He laughed and felt for his cigarette case in his mess jacket. Then he stared across the screen to where a hospital ship lay like a phantom in her white livery. ‘That couldn’t be thunder, could it? That would just about put the lid on any landings.’

  Jonathan climbed up beside him, glad of the darkness.

  ‘No. Not thunder.’ He remembered the bombardments in France: on and on, until he could neither think nor even be afraid. It had been beyond even fear. ‘It’s guns. Our ships or their coastal batteries.’ It was like a threat, a terrible warning. Someone had told him that in southern England on quiet nights, they could hear the roar of artillery from the Western Front.

  He thought of Rear-Admiral Purves, of Beaky Waring and the captain, recalling Soutter’s comment that the peninsula could have been seized and occupied with few casualties if they had not delayed so long, and the reinforcements from France had not been denied him.

  He was reminded of this fine ship’s crest and motto. We will never give in. He spoke aloud.

  ‘So be it then.’ But when he looked, the commander had gone, his cigarette still unlit.

  In his mind he saw Hawks Hill as it had been in that dream, with the girl dipping bare feet in the stream. But there was no stream just there.

  He found that he could still smile, despite the far-off thunder. No girl either.

  The mood quickly passed. Nor would there be, after all this.

  It was midnight, with just a gentle offshore breeze to fan the faces of the officers and men on Reliant’s upper bridge.

  Captain Soutter was in his chair, his shoulders swaying only slightly to the ship’s slow, corkscrew roll; he could have been asleep. Commander Coleridge stood on the opposite side, close to the hooded chart-table from which Lieutenant Rice’s considerable buttocks made a hump against the pale paintwork. Like interlopers, Lieutenant-Colonel Waring and Jonathan Blackwood, his new adjutant, watched the sea beyond the bows. The ship might have been steaming quite alone on some vast ocean: it was almost unnerving to realise that she was only a part of the fleet of transports and their escorts heading towards the Gallipoli Peninsula. Between decks Reliant had somehow absorbed all the extra marines who had arrived from other ships, as well as two companies of soldiers of the Australian Infantry. Despite the overcrowding and a cheerful rivalry between the Australians and the Royal Marines they had made the most of their time on board. If needed, they would disembark under cover of darkness and transfer to the clutter of boats towing astern of every major warship in the fleet.

  This tense stillness contrasted starkly with the very moving moment when they had weighed and steamed slowly from Mudros Bay. As they had passed abeam of each waiting transport and her mass of waving khaki figures, Reliant’s Royal Marine Band had formed a smart square on the quarterdeck, and after playing the national anthem of all the allies had broken into some lively marches, to the obvious delight of the madly cheering soldiers.

  Jonathan had snatched a few moments’ rest during the day, although like most of the officers he had given his quarters to the soldiers. Now, in retrospect, it seemed like another ship. The troops were being mustered by their own officers, sections checked and checked again.

  After leaving Mudros Reliant had steamed west and around the island of Lemnos as part of a deception to confuse the Turks before the final rendezvous was made.

  It was one of the few occasions on which Soutter had displayed his anger.

  ‘What kind of “deception” is that? Most of these troops have been transferred from Egypt. The Turks will likely know the exact strength of every regiment!’

  The navigator had told Jonathan quietly that the Turks would know anyway; they would have calculated that the attack would come between the waning of the old moon and the rising of the new. He recalled Rice’s white teeth grinning through his beard as he had added, ‘The Royal Navy isn’t the only one with navigators, you know!’ There was something very reassuring about the massive, bear-like lieutenant.

  He shivered, and yet his spine was wet with sweat. He probed his feelings. Fear, then? But he felt nothing, only the old need to get a move on, for better or worse.

  He had watched the ship’s own midshipmen, and there were fifteen all told in the gunroom ranging in age from children to self-possessed young men, who waited the chance for examination and promotion to sub-lieutenant. The first proper step up the ladder. They had stained their white uniforms into something like khaki, and were hung about with revolvers and water-bottles, which only made them look younger.

  He wondered about the other ships: some were said to be carrying horses and mules. That at least seemed like a note of confidence. Somewhere astern was another battle-cruiser, H.M.S. Impulsive, the sister-ship of Inflexible, which had struck a mine on that first attempt to force the Narrows. Seven years older than Reliant, with eight twelve-inch guns of the former design, her captain had nonetheless boasted that his was the best gunnery ship in the fleet. Jonathan had heard little about Impulsive’s Captain Vidal, other than that he was known as an iron disciplinarian and had been a midshipman in the same class as Soutter.

  Soutter stirred. ‘Have all the soldiers been fed again?’

  Waring said, ‘Yes,’ curtly. It sounded like ‘of course.’

  Somebody whispered, ‘The admiral’s comin’ up, sir!’

  Soutter slid from his chair and turned as Purves and his flag-lieutenant loomed into the darkened bridge.

  Purves looked around, picking out shadowy figures and their immediate functions.

  ‘I have had a signal from the flag.’ He sounded angry and subdued.

  Soutter said, ‘So we’re not going in after all, sir?’

  Purves must have known that everyone was listening but did not care.

  ‘The Australian Infantry are to go on their own and join up with the rest of their division on the beaches. They all know what to do.’ He suddenly exclaimed, ‘God damn it, Captain, what about our marines?’

  Waring bobbed forward. ‘We’re ready, sir! Just give the word!’

  Purves stared across the screen, seeking a place where the sea joined the sky, but it was still too dark.

  Soutter said, ‘Perhaps Admiral de Robeck believes they are too inexperienced.’

  Purves almost choked. ‘What about these damned colonials then? Rounding up sheep is more in their line, I’d have thought!’

  ‘Ready to alter course, sir.’

  ‘Very well.’ Soutter sounded almost disinterested. He did not even turn as the order was passed down to the wheelhouse, and a whiff of funnel smoke alone betrayed the change of course.

  Jonathan moved closer. It was much as he had expected; hoped perhaps. The marines he had spoken to were trained to the hilt for barracks or parade ground, but they were not the hard men his brothers had known and led or those he had seen in action himself. It took time. But there was no time. The doubting was over. It was now, for the soldiers anyway.

  Purves said in a more level voice, ‘Reliant will remain ready to offer covering fire if needed, as will Impulsive.’

  A boatswain’s mate stood back from a voicepipe. ‘Permission for tea to be brought up, sir?’

  Purves glared and strode to the ladder.

  Soutter smiled privately. Purves had probably gone to get something stronger. He had not done too badly already.

  ‘Permission granted.’

  Warin
g strode about, his boots clicking on the wooden gratings.

  ‘Waste of time! My men will perform as well as anybody!’

  Jonathan watched him warily. ‘Shall I tell Major Livesay, sir?’

  ‘No.’ He stared at the captain’s chair. ‘I shall reserve that pleasure!’

  Soutter said, ‘I’m not happy about slipping the tows. The time has been altered to four-thirty. That’s about four hours’ time – right, Pilot?’

  Rice sounded surprised. ‘It’ll be nearly daylight.’

  ‘Another point which someone in high places has missed. We’re now ordered to slip the tows at three thousand yards, not one.’

  Lieutenant Fittock, who was officer-of-the-watch, said helpfully, ‘Maybe the big ships would present too good a target, sir?’

  ‘I hope the soldiers appreciate that.’ Soutter came to a decision. He touched the commander’s arm and said quietly, ‘I’m going down for a shave. You know what to do.’

  ‘Aye, sir. Main and secondary armament stand to, then clear lower deck. The landing parties can assemble aft and amidships. They’ve got quite used to it. Then at first light the people will go to action stations.’

  ‘And then?’

  Commander Coleridge heard the muted cries of army N.C.O.’s and the sudden clatter of weapons being gathered so that they would require no further sorting. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Then you can tell the chief yeoman of signals to hoist battle ensigns.’

  He seemed to notice Jonathan for the first time, and smiled. ‘Can’t you stay away, Blackwood?’ He became serious and confidential. ‘You go around the marines yourself when—’

  Jonathan thought he was about to add, ‘When Waring’s finished.’ But Soutter said, ‘Try to keep their spirits up.’ He turned sharply as some of the Australian soldiers broke into a wave of laughter. ‘You know how it is.’ He moved to the inner ladder and Jonathan asked, ‘Are we going to be needed after all, sir?’

  For a brief instant he imagined he had tested their relationship too far. Soutter was staring at him in the darkness. Then he answered, ‘You never doubted it, did you?’ and was gone.