The Destroyers Read online

  Beaumont was -saying in the same steady, tone, “Fog is usually a bad enemy to any sailor. This time it will be our ally. The met chaps can put it into better words for you later, but as far as we are concerned there has been a prevailing bank of fog moving up from the Baltic for several days. It now extends right along the Norwegian coast north of the sixty-fifth parallel, and shows no sign at all of clearing away. It is fairly common at this time of year, but it seems heavier than usual.”

  The others nodded and moved their feet.

  Drummond watched Kimber as he walked to the table. He showed a certain weariness, and he looked as if he had slept badly. But his voice was the same. Unemotional.

  “It is all arranged. The flotilla will leave here tonight and head north-east to a rendezvous point off Bear Island. There you will be met by two oilers and replenish supplies. As explained in your final orders, you will then proceed south again. To your objective. “

  There was a pause while the R. A. F. met officer assembled his coloured chart on a little easel, showing all the areas of high and low pressure, and bunches of darting arrows which might mean almost anything.

  Drummond was still thinking of Kimber’s bare announcement. Up to Bear Island, that bleak hump of land south of Spitzbergen, then over a thousand miles towards their target. All the way there, and all the way back, would total well over six thousand miles. He bit his lip. When it still lay ahead of you, it seemed impossible. An endless nightmare.

  Kimber looked above the meteorological chart. “Carrier support is prepared for your withdrawal. Fuelling facilities are in hand in case either of the oilers we already have are lost or damaged by enemy action. ” He tapped his own chart. “Thanks to the ice-edge falling back to the north, you will be able to keep clear of normal enemy patrol areas. A fast convoy will be passing south of Bear Island en route for Murmansk, so that should keep the German spotting planes well occupied and away from you.”

  He looked at Drummond. “Well, Commander, d’you have any points to raise?”

  Drummond shook his head. “If the fog lifts …” He began again: “Can we expect support from the Norwegian agents, sir?”

  “That is being arranged as of now. One of our submarines has been patrolling the edge of the enemy minefield for well over a week. You will make contact with her as laid down in your written orders. Up to that moment, and until you receive the final go-ahead from the submarine, you must be prepared to delay the attack.” He turned and sought out LieutenantCommander Kydd. “Your ship is fitted with rails for dropping mines?” It sounded like a statement.

  Kydd nodded. “Yes, sir, Whirlpool did a bit of mine-laying last year.”

  “Yes, quite so.” Kimber was speaking faster. “I have arranged for mines to be taken aboard your ship immediately. A tender should be on way to her now. ” He studied Kydd’s face grimly. “A precaution. Nothing more.”

  Drummond glanced at Kydd and gave a quick grimace. It was bad enough as it was, without carrying a lethal cargo on your quarterdeck.

  Kimber looked at Beaumont. “That’s it then.”

  Beaumont cleared his throat. “Return to your ships, gentlemen. You can brief your officers right away. Tell them that this is a raid of maximum importance. Cool heads, steady hands.” He seemed to falter. “Well, you know the sort of thing. “

  They all stood up, wanting to leave, to discuss it and find strength with their officers and men. It was always like this before something big, Drummond thought. Few smiles, not even a handshake. That only happened in films.

  Afterwards it would be different.

  Beaumont said, “Just a second, Keith.” He waited until the other captains had trooped out. “I merely wanted to know how you feel about it. ” He studied him meaningly. “I mean, really feel. “

  Drummond followed him into his big day cabin. There were charts and folios on every piece of furniture, or so it appeared. He caught sight of himself in the-bulkhead mirror, remembering his first meeting with Beaumont as Captain (D). In his hurriedly delivered uniform, with its three bright stripes, he looked younger than ever, he thought.

  He said, “It could work smoothly.”

  “Could?” Beaumont’s forehead was damp with sweat. “That’s not damn well good enough, Keith.”

  Drummond looked at him gravely. He had imagined Beaumont was testing him in his new role as second in command of the Scrapyard Flotilla. Measuring him, gauging where the gaps might need to be filled when they were committed to action. But it was riot like that at all, and the realisation was unnerving.

  “I think that there are too many links, sir. The submarine, the oilers, this gap in the Jerry minefield, the Norwegian underground, the targets, and, of course, us at the tag-end of it. ” He smiled slightly. “Quite a few things could go adrift.”

  Beaumont nodded, his eyes distant. “Yes. I see. I see that. But it was your part which interested me. In yourself.” His eyes were intense. “You feel we can make a go of it?”

  “Yes.” How easy it came. “I do.”

  Beaumont rubbed his palms together. The sound was like paper. “I’d ask you to have a glass with me. But I’ve things to do. Aubrey Kimber. ” He shrugged vaguely. “You know the drill. “

  Drummond was relieved. He wanted to go. Needed to be on his own and think out the flaws, the faults in the pattern.

  Beaumont smiled. “Good luck then, Keith. Rather have you with me than anyone right at this moment.”

  De Pass peered round the door. “I was wondering, sir-” He got no further.

  “What the bloody helld’you mean by interrupting!” His face was almost crimson. “Can’t I do anything without some idiot eavesdropping?”

  De Pass seemed to shrink. “I-I’m sorry, sir.” He fled.

  Beaumont prodded Drummond’s arm. “Damn fool. That’ll teach him, eh?”

  “I think it will.”

  Drummond picked up his brand new cap with the gold oak leaves around its peak. Once, promotion had been a dream. Now the reality seemed without any substance at-all.

  Another glimpse of the hero. Beaumont had really lost control for a few seconds. .

  They walked from the cabin.

  But then, in battle, it only took seconds to wreck everything.

  Beaumont said, “I won’t come up, if you don’t mind.” He turned and strode back to the chaos of charts.

  On deck the air was crisper, but every gun and fitting retained its damp sheen. No wonder Icelanders were said to be chronic T.B. sufferers, he thought vaguely. He glanced at the motor boat which was waiting to collect him. And what a party it’s going to be, right down the line, as Beaumont had once promised.

  The O.O.D. said, “Your boat’s alongside, sir.”

  Drummond raised his hand in salute and ran quickly down the short accommodation ladder.

  As the motor boat pounded past the Whirlpool he saw that the job of swaying the big, ugly mines aboard had already begun. A precaution. Nothing more.

  Kydd was on deck speaking with his first lieutenant. He had known Kydd longer than anyone. They had been in the same division at Dartmouth. Just boys in uniform. And now? He waved as the boat surged abeam.

  Kydd was one of the few who knew how he had felt about Helen before she had married Frank Cowley. She had never even guessed. It all seemed so long ago. An eternity.

  They passed under Whirlpool’s dented stem and he saw his own ship lying directly ahead. Despite her new paint, she looked tired, he thought. Like the rest of us.

  The bowman raised his boathook and the boat sighed against the rope fender below the ladder. He adjusted his face to meet the side party and stepped from the boat. It had started.

  Drummond settled himself more comfortably in his tall chair and waited while Sheridan completed his conversation on a telephone.

  Sheridan said at length, “Exercise completed, sir.” “Thanks. “

  It was pitch dark, and above the bridge the stars looked tiny and feeble. The flotilla was steaming a steady twel
ve knots in two parallel lines, with Lomond leading the shorter column to starboard. They had been under way for three hours, testing guns, checking everything and then checking it again.

  He slid from the chair and waited for the deck to steady in the deep swell which was coming almost abeam.

  “Give me the mike.”

  He saw Hillier and Wingate by the compass platform, could tell from the stiff shoulders of the bridge lookouts that like everyone else aboard they were waiting for his voice. He snapped down the button.

  “This is the captain speaking. Most of you know something of what is expected from us in the next few days. It is quite a lot, but no more than we can manage. In the past we have often been alone, or too late to help our friends and messmates. This time it’s different.”

  He pictured the other captains preparing the ground in their own way. Beaumont would no doubt make a fine speech. Something memorable. He had an insane thought that Miles’s cameraman would be recording every action, even Beaumont having a last meal before battle.

  He continued, “We’ll all be together. The old crowd. Whatever we meet with ;when we reach our objective, I am certain you will do your best for each other, and for the ship. That is all. “

  Faintly above the whirr of fans and the sluice of water along the hull he heard someone give a solitary cheer, like the sole supporter of an unpopular team.

  Wingate grinned, his teeth very white in the gloom. “That sounded fine, sir. Just enough.”

  Drummond returned to his chair. “One chap seemed to u.pprove. “

  He looked for Sheridan. “You can fall out action stations. Port watch to defence stations, if you please.”

  The pipe trilled over the tannoy, and he heard feet and bodies thudding down ladders and through screen doors as the offwatch men scurried to the warmth of the messdecks.

  Not that it was too cold. He looked up at the masthead. It even felt like rain although there was no cloud in sight. They just wanted to get below. To shut out the sea for a bit. Put up their individual barriers as best they could.

  “Wheel relieved, sir. Able Seaman Jevers on it now.” Sheridan dropped his voice. “Is it all right about him yet, sir?”

  “I don’t know, Number One. I haven’t heard anything about Vaughan’s handling of the matter.”

  Sheridan ducked as some droplets of spray danced over the screen. “I’m off then, sir. I’ve got the morning watch.”

  Wingate was saying to Hillier, “We will alter course in ten minutes. Course to steer zero-three-zero. ” He called across, “It seems peaceful enough.” It was his way of giving a hint.

  Drummond smiled. “Yes. I’ll go to my sea cabin for a nap. “

  As he left the bridge Wingate relaxed and unbuttoned the throat of his leather jacket. He heard Hillier breathing heavily as he sprawled beneath the canvas hood on the chart table, and grinned. Nice and quiet. Time to think. To put yourself together. He thought suddenly of the girl at the hotel. Georgina. It was a bloody shame really. But then…

  He crossed the bridge and trained his glasses above the salt-dappled screen. He could just make out the jagged line of Lomond’s small bow wave, the darker smudge of her hull riding above it. Right on station. He hoped the ones at the tail-end were keeping a good lookout. Despite all the information and monitoring which had been done, it was still possible for a solitary, sneaky U-boat to be in the area.

  Georgina. What a girl. So alive and sensual, and as fluffy as a young kitten. And what a figure. Through her dress he had seen the full curve of her breasts, the restless way she crossed her legs as she had spoken with him. When he had started to tell her what Keyes had said she had sounded puzzled. Then, “Oh, him!” She had leaned forward and laid one hand on his knee. “Such a sweet boy!” After that, Wingate had known the full extent of her interest in poor Allan Keyes.

  She had asked, “Will you be going home to England soon?”

  “Can’t tell you that, my love.” He had grinned, feeling the surge of desire running through him. “Ask_ me something else. “

  She had pretended to scowl. “This show is going to London next month.” She had given him a small card. `‘This is the number to ring.”

  He had said bluntly, “I’d like that. ” She had not budged as he had run his fingers up her arm. “I think we’d be rather good with each other, don’t you?”

  She had been called away, but had kissed him very quickly on the cheek, her breast brushing his shoulder for just those few extra seconds.

  “I think we’d be perfect.”

  He had returned to the ship, wondering how he was going to explain the facts of life to Keyes. When he had seen him fidgeting at the top of the gangway, all his resolve had crumbled. After all, he might never make it to London. They could very well get made into mincemeat within the next few days.

  He had lied cheerfully, “She sends her love, Allan. She’s a real fine girl.”

  It had been worth it to lie. Keyes had looked so pathetically happy.

  “She is, Pilot! I shall write to her when we get back. Buy her something. “

  Aloud Wingate said, “You do that thing.” Hillier asked, “What was that?”

  “Nothing. I’m getting bloody old. ” He peered at his watch. “Get ready. The flotilla will be taking up the new course soon. Tell the captain. He’ll want to know, although thank God he trusts me.”

  “Unlike some, I suppose?”

  “You could say that.” Wingate trained his glasses again. “Some skippers would check the toilet paper used by each watch just to satisfy their officers were not wasteful!”

  In the stuffy wheelhouse beneath Wingate’s booted feet Able Seaman Jevers leaned on the spokes, the lower half of his face glowing faintly in the compass light. The telegraphsmen lounged nearby, and behind a thick canvas screen he could hear Midshipman Keyes speaking quietly with the navigator’s yeoman as they adjusted the vibrating plot table.

  What the hell was the doctor up to? Was he trying to discover something about Janice? Or did they think he was so much under strain that he needed special leave? He relaxed slightly, watching the luminous gyro repeater as it ticked a degree off course. That would be a laugh. A nice long leave. He would give a year’s pay to see that bloody Yank’s face!

  “Port ten!” Wingate’s voice through the great bell-mouth above his head made him flinch.

  “Port ten, sir. Ten of port wheel on.”

  “Midships. ” He heard feet on the internal ladder. Hot kye for the watchkeepers. “Steady.”

  “Steady, sir. Course zero-three-three. “

  “Steer zero-three-zero. And watch your head, Quartermaster!” There was a rasp in Wingate’s voice.

  “Aye, aye, sir. ” Jevers grinned and muttered, “Bugger you, mate. “

  A bosun’s mate called, “Kye up, lads!”

  Through the stout canvas curtain Keyes heard the clatter of mugs and tried to keep awake as he stared at the clicking light which marked the ship’s course and position on the plot table. Further and further away from land. Like heading out into a desert. He peered at the chart. And God, it was deep. Close on two thousand fathoms. A black, silent, unmoving world. There would be wrecks, too. Right back to-he tried to think what sort of ships would have been in these waters when men first ventured towards the top of the world.

  Rigge, the navigator’s yeoman, brought two mugs of cocoa from the wheelhouse and smiled to himself as Keyes’ head lolled slowly forward on to the chart.

  He said, “I reckon you should go below, sir.”

  Keyes shook himself. “I will. Thanks.”

  As he thrust out of the curtain, still holding his mug of cocoa, the yeoman whispered to the bosun’s mate, “Got it bad, Taff. Picked up some party ashore, by the looks of him. “

  The other seaman grinned. “So long as that’s all he’s picked up, boyo!”

  And so with her consorts Warlock steamed into the darkness, while within her hull her company slept or stood watch as their roles dictated
. Only two were absent, the man who was in hospital for observation, and Badger, the cat. A few minutes before sailing he had been secretly transferred to the repair ship in his basket. He would be waiting for his own ship when they got back. It was safer, everyone agreed. But not to see his belligerent stare from some dark corner or other made more than one sailor feel uneasy.

  In his little cabin behind the bridge Drummond sat wedged in his bunk, filling his new pipe and remembering her voice, the touch of her hand. Her husband must be a bloody fool. He rolled over and snatched the phone before it had buzzed for more than two seconds.

  ” Captain! “

  “It’s getting light, sir.”

  ” Already?”

  He rubbed his eyes. They felt sore. And they had not even reached Bear Island yet. He yawned.

  “I’ll come up. Have some coffee brought to the bridge, will you?”

  He thrust the pipe into his pocket and stretched his arms. At moments like this he wished he had made the Army his career after all.

  11

  Side by Side

  “SIGNAL from the Santiago, sir.” The yeoman of signals had his stocky legs wide apart in order to steady himself and hold his telescope on the nearest oil tanker. “Come alongside when ready. “

  “Thank you, Yeo. ” Drummond watched the Lomond’s screws thrashing great gouts of froth as she swung away from the other tanker. “Acknowledge.”

  From first light, when they had taken up their places like customers in a food queue, the destroyers had gone through the tiresome and sometimes dangerous business of fuelling while under way. The two tanker captains were old hands at the game, although their fat, rust-streaked hulls showed plenty of deep scars and dents where naval vessels had found the operation more hazardous than they might have expected.

  Drummond lit his pipe and watched Sheridan mustering his men on the forecastle and iron deck below the bridge. It had taken a week to reach this invisible point on the chart, although it felt like a year. It had been hard on nerves and tempers, as rumour followed rumour and all the early excitement of going into action gave way to doubt and open scorn for the far-off planners in Whitehall.