A command of his own, then. He glanced around the familiar chart room. No, it would not be the same.
The midshipman of the watch said, ‘Captain’s coming up, sir.’
‘Thanks, Tim. I’m about ready.’ He looked at the clock. Another alteration of course. He examined his feelings. The attack would begin on the morning after next. No recall, no turning back; it was on.
Rhodes was not married, although he had been close to it a few times. It had not fitted in with his service life, or so he had believed. Now, after seeing the Canadian two-ringer with his nurse, and the captain and the striking girl who had come to the party, he was not so certain.
He picked up his pad and walked into the bridge. His eyes moved unhurriedly across the pattern he knew so well: men at voicepipes and telephones, his assistant, Frost, peering through the screen, signalmen, messengers. They were all puny when he considered the ship that ruled their lives.
He saw Sherbrooke, and said, ‘About ready to alter course, sir.’
Sherbrooke climbed onto his chair, and felt the metal arms pressing against his ribs as the ship rolled heavily. Aboard the destroyers it must be impossible to keep dry.
He saw the correspondent Pat Drury talking quietly to one of the signalmen. Drury knew how to avoid disrupting the routine, and had a casual, almost offhand manner of approach when talking to the ship’s company; it made a big change from some journalists he had known. He wondered if Drury’s eventual broadcast would be any better for the experience, or have any real significance in the end.
Drury said, ‘I hope I’m not intruding, Captain.’
Sherbrooke smiled. ‘I thought you’d be down aft enjoying a good sleep. I know I would!’
Drury glanced across the bridge. ‘Your steward keeps a sharp eye on me, right enough. He’ll make a good butler one day!’
Rhodes heard him and grinned privately. If Long was like many other senior stewards he had known, he would probably end up wealthy enough to employ a butler of his own.
A messenger spoke into the big voicepipe, and then turned to Frost.
‘Wheelhouse, sir. Permission to relieve the quartermaster.’
Frost grunted. ‘Very good.’
‘Wheelhouse – bridge.’
Frost touched his face as if still expecting to feel the stubble of his beard. ‘Bridge?’
‘Leading Seaman Justice on the wheel, sir. Course zero-four-five.’
Frost glanced at the ticking gyro repeater. ‘Steady as you go.’
Sherbrooke asked, ‘What is your next assignment?’
Drury thought about it. ‘A victory parade, I hope. I’ve seen all the other aspects of it – Dunkirk, Norway, Crete. And it was almost touch and go in North Africa at one time. I want to see it, smell it, and be able to write about it, so that people will never forget.’
He stepped aside as Rhodes said, ‘Time, sir.’
Sherbrooke nodded. ‘Carry on.’
Rhodes leaned over the gyro. ‘Starboard twenty!’
‘Starboard twenty, sir. Twenty of starboard wheel on.’
Rhodes watched the moving gyro tape. ‘Ease to five. Midships!’
Frost exclaimed, ‘She’s not answering, sir!’
Sherbrooke slid off the chair and rested one hand on the wheelhouse voicepipe.
‘What’s the matter, Justice? Opposite helm, port fifteen!’
The gyro repeater was still moving, tick, tick, tick.
‘Not answering, sir!’
Reliant was still turning to starboard, her rudder locked over.
Sherbrooke said, ‘Stop engines!’
Even that seemed to take an eternity, the engine room staff dulled into the same revolutions and speed, watch after watch with barely a change. The bridge gave a shiver, and the sounds of the sea and the ship intruded like strangers.
Sherbrooke pressed the red handset to his ear. ‘This is the Captain.’
‘Sinclair, sir!’
Sherbrooke saw the face in his mind, Onslow’s second in command. A very experienced engineer.
‘What is it?’
Sinclair sounded miles away. ‘Steering won’t answer, sir. I’ve sent my lads to the tiller flat. Until then, I’m not . . .’
Sherbrooke swung round as a voice yelled, ‘Ship at Green four-five, sir!’
Rhodes muttered, ‘Christ, it must be Mastiff.’
Sherbrooke said, ‘Emergency. Full speed astern!’ He heard the distant clang of bells and strode to the bridge wing, his glasses already raised. Then he saw the other ship. The destroyer appeared to be turning inwards, her bow wave like a great white moustache against the darkness. In fact, she was still on course. Reliant was the one which was swinging round, as if intent on ramming her.
‘Shall I clear lower deck, sir?’
Sherbrooke re-entered the bridge and stood by the voicepipes, his eyes on the compass.
‘No time, Pilot. No time.’ He gripped the voicepipes and listened to the mounting clatter and scrape of the bridge structure, as from her keel to this point Reliant shook like a mad thing, all four screws thrashing astern.
Sherbrooke saw the destroyer’s dark outline appear to change direction. Another minute or so, and Reliant would have sliced her in half.
Sherbrooke said, ‘Stop engines. Make a signal to Seeker, repeated to the whole group. Keep clear of me – I am manoeuvring with difficulty.’
‘I’ll do that, sir!’ It was Yorke, naked to the waist and barefooted; he must have run all the way from his mess. What had brought him? A sound, a movement, or was it his signalman’s instinct?
‘Admiral’s on here, sir!’
Sherbrooke glanced at the dark water. ‘Good lookout for other ships. With luck, radar will earn its keep tonight!’
Somebody gave a short, frightened laugh.
‘Captain, sir?’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Not under command, sir. No steering. Engine room thinks the rudder is jammed.’
There was such a long pause that he thought Stagg had forgotten him.
‘How long?’
‘The engine room has people aft right now, sir. I can’t ask them to enter the tiller flat without stopping the engines.’
‘Ask? Bloody well tell them!’ Stagg seemed to control himself with a great effort. ‘I’ll come up. Inform Seeker.’
‘I have, sir.’
Stagg was thinking aloud. ‘It must be fixed! There’s no room for delays, or for the people who cause them, either.’
It sounded like a threat, but Sherbrooke knew what was really troubling Stagg. He had commanded three ships himself; he knew as well as any captain what the risks were. All he could see was his overall control of the landing forces slipping away.
Stagg said sharply, ‘Well, carry on. Fast as you can.’
Sherbrooke realized that Drury was still loitering by his chair.
‘Rough, was it?’
Sherbrooke felt his mouth crease into a smile. ‘He’s not pleased.’
Drury listened to muffled orders being shouted beneath the bridge, the slap of running feet. Men dazed by the realization that Reliant was stopped, and rolling slowly like any abandoned hulk, her power and strength suddenly gone.
Stagg slammed into the bridge, his eyes red-rimmed with anger.
‘What the hell is going on?’
Sherbrooke saw his new flag lieutenant hovering in the background, his appearance marred by the collar of his pyjama jacket, which protruded over his uniform.
‘The Chief’s down aft, sir. We should know soon.’
Stagg strode about, brushing against wary watchkeepers without apparently noticing them. ‘Soon? Soon? What the hell does that mean?’ He grasped Sherbrooke’s arm and said, ‘What was it? The bloody dockyard, or some oversight on board this ship?’
‘From Seeker, sir. Request instructions.’
Sherbrooke said, ‘Nothing they can do for us, sir. I would suggest they continue as before. The landing ships will be depending on it.’ He watc
hed the emotions and the arguments. ‘We cannot break radio silence at this stage.’
‘I know that, dammit!’ Stagg ran a finger around his collar as if it was choking him. ‘Very well. Tell Seeker to assume command.’
Sherbrooke pictured the carrier’s captain. Had he expected something like this?
They all turned as the Chief appeared in the bridge. His cap was awry, and his uniform streaked in grease, and there was a bandage on his wrist.
‘Sorry it took so long, sir.’ He sighed as the ship dipped heavily, not from the wind this time, but from the surging wash of a destroyer as she gathered speed to take station on Seeker.
Stagg snapped, ‘Well, get on with it!’
Onslow regarded him more with sadness than anger.
‘The rams that control the tiller and rudder head are locked solid.’ He held his greasy fingers together to demonstrate. ‘I’ve got my best tiffies working on it, but for the life of me I can’t think what caused it. It wasn’t damaged by the shell fire . . .’
Stagg held up his hand. ‘Did you check it yourself?’
Onslow studied him calmly. ‘Yes, sir.’ It sounded like of course. He looked at Sherbrooke. ‘The dockyard would have found it, say what you like about them!’
Stagg snapped at the navigating officer, ‘Show me on the chart where the group will be tomorrow morning.’
Rhodes showed neither surprise nor hesitation. ‘According to the orders, sir, they will make contact with the landing vessels tomorrow at eighteen hundred.’
Stagg repeated, ‘Tomorrow morning. As soon after first light as possible.’
Sherbrooke followed them into the chart room, and watched Rhodes pointing out bearings and landmarks which they had studied endlessly since Husky had become a part of their destiny, north of Bizerte where Reliant’s six big guns had destroyed the last of the German defences, and south of the Tyrrhenian Sea, to the narrow approaches of Sicily itself.
Stagg straightened up, his hands on his hips like crabs.
‘If the steering gear can be repaired by first light,’ every word seemed measured, ‘and I am not at all certain that the Chief is too hopeful . . . God, he makes Job sound like a bloody optimist!’ He seemed quite composed again. ‘Could Reliant still make the rendezvous on time?’
Sherbrooke said, ‘With our speed, yes, sir. Otherwise . . .’
‘Very well.’ Stagg turned as if to leave. ‘Chase them up!’
‘May I ask what you intend, sir?’
‘Of course. I intend to lead my section of the invasion forces up to the allotted beaches, no matter what. If Reliant cannot do it, then I will shift my flag to a ship that can. Understood?’
‘You intend to fly in one of our aircraft, sir?’
‘The Americans do it all the time.’ He smiled. ‘So why not?’
When he returned to the bridge, Sherbrooke found Frazier waiting for him.
He listened in silence, and then said, ‘We shall be without escorts, sir. And no chance of calling for assistance until the invasion has started.’ He winced as a booming crash echoed through the hull, as if something was bumping along the keel. ‘I know the area is supposed to be clear of enemy submarines, or so they tell us, but any U-Boat commander would have to be stone-deaf not to pick that up!’
Sherbrooke walked out on to the flag deck. He heard Rhodes saying angrily, ‘That bloody man! Shift his flag? I’d bloody shift him if I had my way!’
And Frazier’s calm response. ‘I didn’t hear a word of that, Pilot.’ Then they laughed, and Frazier added, ‘Ask me again later!’
The watches changed, and those relieved crouched or lay where they could, fully dressed, and with their lifebelts loose and ready.
A great ship, drifting and helpless in the darkness. Impossible to believe. And when daylight returned, they would still be drifting, stark and vulnerable.
Sherbrooke spent most of the night on the open bridge wing, the sea air and the flung spray keeping all thought of sleep at bay. He had his unfilled pipe clenched in his teeth, remembering the brief moments he had shared with the girl named Emma.
People came and went with messages, requests and questions. He acknowledged them, and barely heard them.
Another one who dared not rest was the war correspondent, Pat Drury.
He sat in the chart room, his stomach adjusting to the uncomfortable motion.
He wrote a lot in his much-used pad.
I watch this man, this quiet hero, a man who lives only for his ship, and would just as willingly die for her.
He closed the pad. He even gets to me.
John Frazier gripped a guardrail and watched the Chief and some of his men emerge from the hatch. He could not ever recall seeing Onslow so troubled and weary. His overalls were filthy, and there were streaks of oil on his forehead.
‘You look as if you’ve had a hard night, Chief.’
Onslow did not rise to it; he could not. ‘I’ve got everybody working on it, stokers, torpedomen, tiffies, as many as can get down there safely.’ He stared at the sea, as if he had not noticed it before. Dark blue, with the first hint of dawn on the horizon. The wind was still blowing, the ship heavy and lifeless under their feet.
He said, ‘My Chief Stoker has narrowed it down, he thinks, to the pump gear telemotor. He’s a good man, but I’m not sure of anything any more.’ He gazed at the water beyond the stern, usually so alive with Reliant’s wake. ‘She did this before, you know, at Jutland.’
Frazier said, ‘She was under fire then, Chief.’
Onslow stifled a yawn. ‘I’m going down again. See what we can sort out.’ He saw the question on Frazier’s face. ‘It might take another two hours just to strip it. They didn’t build this sort of gear for amateurs!’
Frazier walked towards the sheltered side-deck. There were off-watch men hanging about, waiting, trying to gauge what was happening. Usually they would stay in their messes until the last minute before they were piped to work or to watchkeeping duties.
Frazier thought of his wife and wondered what she would think if she could see this side of things. He smiled tightly. What she usually said. Oh, John, you and your old ship!
A seaman came sharply to a halt and said, ‘Captain’s compliments, sir, and would you join him on the bridge?’
He felt the wind whipping around him as he climbed the first ladder. This time tomorrow, the landing craft would be going in. The smaller ones steered like shoe-boxes, one skipper had told him, and that was in perfect conditions.
He saw the gun crews watching him as he climbed past their mountings. They had put up with most things, but this was something very different.
Sherbrooke was waiting for him as he entered the bridge, which seemed very hot and humid after the spray-dappled quarterdeck.
Frazier said, ‘Nothing, sir. Two more hours, and the Chief thinks they might reduce the possibilities. That’s about all he can offer. He’s taking it badly.’
Sherbrooke said, ‘He would.’ Then, ‘Well, we’ll have to put up with it. I’ll speak with the ship’s company later on.’ He glanced at the listless figures by the voicepipes, the revolving beam of light on the empty radar repeater. ‘In an emergency we can move the ship. But using engines alone in a vessel this size would be a disaster.’
The chart room door opened, and Frazier turned with surprise as Rear-Admiral Stagg walked to the centre of the bridge.
He looked cool and relaxed, when compared with his first appearance, freshly shaved, and wearing a pristine new uniform. Frazier thought it was like seeing a different person.
Stagg said, ‘No joy, then?’
Sherbrooke replied, ‘The Chief is working on it, sir.’
There was a thump, and Frazier saw the new flag lieutenant with two suitcases. He felt suddenly angry, sickened by what he was witnessing. It was all true. Stagg was leaving.
Stagg said, ‘Have my gear put aboard the Walrus, Flags. The rest can wait here.’ He looked directly at Sherbrooke, excluding everyone else. �
��You may require tugs. Eventually. There is nothing more I can do here.’
Several of the men on watch started with alarm as the Walrus engine coughed and then roared into life. They might not understand, or be able to reason why the officer whose flag flew over their lives was suddenly leaving them. The fighting admiral.
Pat Drury had also appeared from somewhere, tired and unshaven, but oddly cheerful.
Stagg regarded him impassively. ‘There’s room for another passenger, Mr Drury. You will miss the main event, otherwise.’
Drury shrugged. ‘My assignment is Reliant, sir. I’ll stay here, if the Captain can stand it.’
Stagg looked away. ‘You can go to hell!’
Drury said, ‘I very probably will, sir. So we might meet again, in that case.’
Stagg retorted coldly, ‘I shall have a word with your superiors about you!’
Drury turned his back to conceal his sudden rage. I’ll do the same for you, you bloody bastard!
Sherbrooke said, ‘Take over, John.’ Then he followed Stagg and his aide to the ladder.
Frazier had looked for some sign which might reveal Sherbrooke’s feelings at this moment. Stagg was entitled to take all available measures to retain his control of the group and the crowded landing craft which would be in his care. Suppose it had been Sherbrooke’s choice? He didn’t even have to ask.
Sherbrooke waited inside the hangar space forward of the catapult, while some seamen hoisted the admiral’s luggage into the Walrus. The other flying boat was standing under cover, and in the faint light he could see the red maple leaf painted below the cockpit. He knew Rayner was here too, with his friend the New Zealander. Of one company. So Rayner had chosen to remain in Reliant. The fact that it pleased him revealed more than anything how badly he had been hurt.
Stagg hesitated, seeking the right words. Something to be remembered.
‘You’ll be safe enough. I’ll see that assistance is available as soon as possible. No submarines anyway – that’s something, eh?’ But the mood eluded him. He touched the peak of his cap in a casual salute. ‘Come and see us when this is over!’
Battlecruiser (1997) Page 29
