Andrew Wareham - End to Illusion

“Direct for Alex or by way of Cyprus, sir?”

“Sod Cyprus! I’m thirsty.”

The Mediterranean Fleet was at anchor in Alexandria, a new battleship and four pre-dreadnoughts showing their eminence and dozens of light cruisers and destroyers clustered around them. A pair of battlecruisers were leaving as Fanny Brown appeared outside the harbour.

“Your old Invincible there, Adams. Hardly marked by her battle.”

“She was almost undamaged, sir. One man killed as the sole result of more than two dozen hits. Almost all common shell exploding against her armour. Nothing pierced the deck. Lucky. If the Germans had had twelve inch guns with armour-piercing, she would have been shot to pieces.”

“Shouldn’t happen. Battlecruisers are not designed to take a place in the line of battle. Should be nowhere near a battleship.”

“Agreed, sir. I hope the Admiralty knows that.”

Hamworthy snorted.

“The Admiralty knows sweet nothing, Adams!”

They made their number and requested coaling.

There was no alternative – they had to be refuelled. The C-in-C demanded to know why they were present in Alex.

“Pursuit of submarine from convoy route. Submarine lost offshore during night.”

The Yeoman made the flag hoists and waited for a response.

“Captain, Fanny Brown, report to Admiral after tying up at coaling berth.”

“Take her in, Mr Ephraim.”

Captain Hamworthy changed into his reporting uniform and was rowed away as the first coal rattled down the chutes from the loading hoppers, Alexandria having modern coal-handling facilities. He returned three hours later, called Ephraim and Christopher to his cabin.

“C-in-C wanted to know why I had not wirelessed a sighting report. Was most put out to discover we had no set aboard. He kicked his staff and they have dug out a new wireless being held as a spare here, against a breakdown. It will be installed tomorrow. We are in the yard for the week. There will be a pair of high-angle Vickers installed as well. Becoming standard for all ships to have anti-aircraft guns, he told me. They are going to put one aboard each of the trawlers as well in place of the three pounders.”

“Useless weapons, the three pounders, sir. Don’t know why they persevere with them.”

“They’ve got them, Adams. Having spent money on them, they have to be used, even if they are useless these days.”

It made a peculiar logic, Christopher realised.

“We enter the yard in the morning. Leave roster takes effect as soon as we are tied up. One watch-keeping officer to remain aboard at all times. Put up a roster, Ephraim. Do you know Alex, Adams?”

“Never been here, sir.”

“Haven’t been here since ’98 myself. Come ashore with me and we shall see what’s changed!”

It was a good week.

Christopher returned aboard rubber-legged, hardly able to stand. He had spent none of his allowance for three months, had blown more than a hundred pounds in the week and had exhaustively enjoyed himself. Now that he had no career to worry about, he had felt able to indulge in all of the pastimes the shore had to offer – it had not mattered if he had been known to frequent the houses of pleasure, he had no reputation to lose, no promotion to jeopardise.

Captain Hamworthy had felt the same.

“You could knock me down with a feather, Adams! Never been so thoroughly entertained in me life! You’re a good man to go ashore with, Adams! You know how to enjoy yourself! Buying up that whole chorus line from the nightclub was a hell of a stroke!”

“Fifty quid well spent, sir! Not quite what my father gave me the money for, sir, but it bought a memory or two!”

“Another week and I would have needed to buy a walking stick, man! Ah, well, back to business! Mr Ephraim, what has happened in our unavoidable absence?”

The First Lieutenant had also enjoyed his days of leave, if not so thoroughly. He yawned and stretched.

“We have a wireless transmitter and receiver, sir, and a telegraphist to operate it. Range, he tells me, of some six hundred miles, so we will be able to contact one of Alex or Malta or Gib wherever we are in the Med, sir. The Vickers have been installed on the bridge wings, sir, outboard of the Maxims. Two gunlayers as well. Coal is at full, sir, and we have taken aboard full provisions. Water is at full, sir. The wardroom has purchased its needs as well. Crew have returned from their leave, sir, no deserters and only three men on the sick list – one stabbed; one severely beaten in a fight with two soldiers; one exhibiting symptoms of an undesirable illness, sir. All three have been sent to the shore hospital, sir, and have been replaced from the flagship. The word is, sir, that we are performing a vital function as a submarine chaser and must be at full to maintain high efficiency. Sailing at dawn, sir. Trawlers report all ready to sail, sir.”

“How pleasing. Course for Malta, Mr Adams.”

The First Lieutenant offered an envelope.

“From the Admiral, sir. Orders.”

Hamworthy opened the sealed message and swore.

“Belay that order, Mr Adams. Course for the Adriatic. We are to place ourselves on the routes that submarines must use to and from their bases.”

“Not much chance of hearing submarines before they hear us, sir.”

“None, Adams… What and why?”

“Beg pardon, sir?”

“You would not have made that obvious comment unless you had something in mind, Adams. So what do you propose and how will you justify it?”

“We can assume that the subs will use the deepest-water channel, sir. The Adriatic has shallows that they will definitely avoid. I would suggest that we place ourselves in the middle of the area and shut down the engine. Heave-to, maintaining silent order, ourselves and the trawlers in line abreast. If we hear anything, we guide the nearest trawler onto it and drop a couple of depth bombs and see what happens.”

“And if we hear nothing?”

“Go somewhere else and try again. If that don’t work, hide inshore and listen – we might pick up some noise.”

Hamworthy shrugged.

“We know that patrolling up and down don’t work, Adams. So, we might as well try something else, to see if that fails too.”

“If we try, sir, we can report our best endeavours. As well, sir, would it make sense to set the trawlers in echelon rather than line astern as a general rule? That way they could drop left, right and centre of anything we picked up. Say they were always to drop three bombs at a speed of what, eight knots? They could spread nine bombs over a patch about two cables square. Might have a better chance of getting close with one at least.”

“Why not? If nothing else, it will show willing. The Admiral can’t say we did not do our best. You never know, we might hit something as well.”

“How do the trawlers actually drop their bombs, sir?”

Hamworthy did not know. They had too few to throw away on exercises.

“Go across and see, Adams. Make an effort to be seen to train up the flotilla. It will look good in my report.”

Christopher took a boat across to Hans Heine, requested permission to come aboard and introduced himself to Skipper Murchison, a fisherman of many years experience.

“Adams? Are you the bloke who was with the Star boats when they stuffed that Turk?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good! Old Jack Biggar said you knew your arse from your elbow. Saw him in Valetta on his way home. What have you got for us?”

Christopher explained that he did not know how the depth bombs were dropped and thought he should.

“Nothing much to see, Adams. We stick the fuse in when we are told we might use them – should be easy enough, never tried it yet. Then we hook the bomb up to the derrick and hang it over the side and let go when we are told.”