Andrew Wareham - End to Illusion

“With respect, sir, we can say that trawlers are not the answer.”

Hamworthy went through the arithmetic relating to the launching of depth bombs.

“We need a ship capable of high speed, sir, and with very rapid acceleration. The ideal would be a destroyer, able to stand off and then make a run at high speed, dropping where the listening ship ordered. I am of the opinion that any trawler that dropped a depth bomb would certainly blow her own stern off.”

The Admiral swore and worked at the sums, coming eventually to the same conclusion.

“Not less than twelve knots… Twenty would be safer… A half-section in line abreast to allow for inaccuracy. The listening ship can only give an approximate location, after all. What does that fellow Adams say?”

“Airships, sir. A blimp would be the answer. Two would be better, of course.”

“Impractical. I have none in the Med. Otherwise, I suppose this is all his work anyway.”

“Mostly, sir.”

“Damned nuisance! Young fool should have kept his parts in his trousers – waste of talent! Has he any other suggestions?”

“Fast motor launch, sir. Petrol engined. Carrying a single bomb and capable of a good speed, a mid in command. Small enough to swing from the davits on Fanny Brown. Drop her on first hearing a noise. Crew of three, most likely, so no great loss if it all goes wrong. Carry four of them and add four mids to the crew and all done, sir.”

It was a sensible suggestion. Midshipmen were two a penny, swarms of them to be found on any battleship and of remarkably little use to their running.

“First time I have ever heard of something useful to do with the brats.” The Admiral turned to his flag captain. “Beamish, have we fast motorboats to hand, do you know?”

“Probably, sir. Valetta is the sort of place to have some. If not here, we could likely find some in Italian ports. Always big in sporting boats, racing and that sort of thing, the Italians. Take a couple of weeks to locate launches, sir.”

“Do so, Beamish. Hamworthy, take Fanny Brown out again, with the two undamaged trawlers. Show willing, sort of thing. Make a patrol to Gib and back. See if anything turns up. With luck, we can have the boats ready for you when you come in. Put up extra davits on the forward well deck and off you go. You will need, what four mids, four engine mechanics and four ratings additional… Easily done. Advantage of a merchant cruiser – plenty of accommodation. Give them to Adams to command – keep him busy. Let him take a boat out while he works out how to do the job, if it’s practical. He’s clever enough to have a chance of making a go of it and if he cocks up, well, no loss to the service.”

“Good young officer, sir. Could do well, sir.”

“I know, Hamworthy. He has put up a black and that’s all there is to it. He might be a second Nelson – he still ain’t going anywhere, except out at the first opportunity.”

“It’s a waste, sir.”

“I bloody know, man! He should have thought about that before he went about dipping his wick in some Mayfair knocking shop. He took a chance and it failed and now he’s buggered! Hard luck! Saw a bit in the papers that came out from London last week, by the way. Looks as if the place he went to has been shut down – big trial at the Old Bailey. The madam went down for twelve years for running a brothel and another five years for corrupting a minor, one of her girls being underage. Consecutive sentences, she’ll do seventeen years all told, poor old cow! Someone really had it in for her!”

“I’ll tell him, sir. Might be some compensation, he’s not as badly off as she is. I wonder…”

“Whether the family pulled strings, Hamworthy? Seems not unlikely. None of our business, however.”

Christopher had little doubt that his father had played a role in the background.

“Don’t matter to me, sir. Probably makes the Old Chap feel better – all of his plans upset and a lot of money wasted and his third son lost to the family. He would have wanted revenge. Bad man to cross, my father. Wouldn’t want to be in my eldest brother’s shoes just now.”

Fanny Brown sailed and made a leisurely passage to Gibraltar and then an idle return to Malta, seeing and hearing nothing en route, much to the pleasure of all aboard.

“People used to pay good money for Mediterranean cruises, Adams! And we are taking in the sun for free, courtesy of the Grey Funnel Line.”

Ephraim was happy to lay out in the sun, gaining a tan and sipping at a bottle of beer while off watch. Christopher could not entirely shake off the years of training and hard work but did manage to undo two buttons on his shirt. He admitted that it was pleasant to lie out in idleness.

“Bought a couple of books when we were in Gib, Ephraim. Nothing too highbrow – Conan Doyle, you know, Sherlock Holmes. Never had time to read before. Makes a change.”

“What will you do when the war’s over, Adams? A life of leisure?”

“I think so, Ephraim. I really don’t think I will be working for a living.”

There were no motorboats waiting in Valetta. The Admiral had informed Their Lordships of his scheme and it had been taken out of his hands and would be trialled at Portsmouth. Fanny Brown was to act as an escort to Mediterranean convoys. The trawlers were to go to minesweeping duty, Lieutenant Adams to be navigator to their flotilla, bearing in mind his recent success in a similar function.

The Admiral called Christopher to him, informed him that there would be two more trawlers making the flotilla up to five.

“Yourself as sole regular officer, Adams. Up to you to maintain standards, you know!”

“Sir.”

“Your flotilla is to be based out of Alexandria, Adams. Vital harbour and must be kept clear at all costs. A highly responsible position. Make a success of it – no ships lost – and it might be possible to send you back to England one day.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Christopher did not believe a word of it and did not care in any case. He knew what he was going to do, the hour that he heard the war was over. For the while, he would do his duty and enjoy the little life he had left. He took his dunnage across to Hans Heine and found that she had a cabin available and a tiny messroom for skipper and first mate, all of the officers normally to be found on a trawler.

“The Germans believe in keeping the officers separate even on a fishing boat, Mr Adams. We have a steward as well although we share the one galley.”

“Sounds more comfortable than the Scottish boats, sir. Is the flotilla made up, sir?”

“Ready to go, Adams. The other two are newish boats as well. Both Norwegian owned originally, bought in at the beginning of the war from the yards where they were being built, Sunderland way. Bergen and Tromso, they have been named. Steel hull and coal fired, like our three. Don’t know why most fishing boats still use coal. Cheaper than oil, maybe, and no need for speed. Six knots to Alex, best economical speed. Do you know anything about minesweeping?”

“Tried it once, sir, at the Dardanelles. Have we got rifles aboard?”

“Kept our half a dozen and rounds for them.”

“Then we have all we need. Sweep en echelon and watch the man ahead. Always the chance that the leader will bring a mine to the surface, right in front of the boat behind him. Be better if we had wireless aboard so we could talk to each other. As it is, can’t even use flags for most skippers not knowing how to read them.”

“Shout loudly, Adams. There won’t be any mines off Alexandria. Nothing to lay them there. Just so much bullshit, mines being laid by submarine. They won’t fit aboard! No way of doing it. The Turks haven’t got any minelayers to work that coast and it’s too far for the Austrians. Might get a commerce raider, I suppose, but not much chance of that in the Med.”