Andrew Wareham - End to Illusion

“Beg pardon, sir, but there are a pair on a high-angle mounting at the SNO’s office, for air raids. I learned their basics there. Loading, firing, stripping down and cleaning, sir.”

“Good. As soon as we have an opportunity, you can demonstrate to my satisfaction. Were there any raids?”

“One last week, sir. Two small aircraft, though they seemed only to be observing, sir. They had no bombs. We shot at them. I do not know we scored any hits.”

“This war is changing, Waller. I wonder if we should have lookouts for aircraft.”

“I am told that the RNAS is to operate blimps along the coast, sir. Submarine chasing. I do not know if the Germans have any in addition to their Zeppelins.”

“Neither do I. Are you interested in the RNAS?”

“Too young, sir. They will not take volunteers below age eighteen.”

“Two years for you?”

“Twenty months, sir.”

“Good. You will be a sub, at least, by then. Promotion comes fast in the boats. Can you handle a rifle?”

“Haven’t had the chance to, sir.”

“I shall speak to Mr Rees. Useful for all of us to know. He can teach you sufficient to be safe in a boarding party. We are encouraged to attempt to board the enemy, though we have not yet done so.”

Polly was listening, intervened in the conversation.

“Latest orders, sir, from the Admiralty. Officers in small ships of the Harwich and Dover Patrol will carry sidearms, sir. Came through with today’s bumf.”

“What next? Mr Rees!”

The gunner came up from the waist where he was giving the torpedo crew practice on turning the tubes quickly to a precise bearing.

“Sir?”

“Admiralty order. All officers to carry sidearms. Issue revolvers and ammunition and ensure that all officers can carry the things safely and know which end the bullet comes out.”

Rees kept an admirably straight face.

“I am sure that can be done, sir. Mr Higgins first, I do not doubt.”

“I wonder why that might be, Mr Rees? This is Mr Waller, replacing the late and unlamented Manvers-Porteous. He will wish to discover much about the guns, I do not doubt.”

“Certainly, sir. I can teach him all he wants to know, and more perhaps.”

“Excellent! Mr Waller, take yourself to the cell we laughingly call your cabin – Mr Higgins will assist in the process of fitting you in, probably with a shoehorn. It’s not a punishment for being a mid, it’s literally the only space available. Destroyers are not designed to carry crews; the people have to be slotted in wherever they can find a few inches.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Waller had learned the first, most important lesson – smile at the captain’s little jokes and say ‘aye aye’.

Simon watched the boy grab his bags and disappear at the double.

“We might have gained on today’s changes, Polly.”

“Got rid of the village idiot and replaced him with a thinking human being, sir. All to the good! What are the orders, sir?”

As First Lieutenant, Polly had the right to know what was happening at any given time – if the captain caught a bullet then he would have to complete the tasks given to the ship.

“All we have is to patrol the coast looking out for activity, the four of us together. The possibility of submarines or minelayers is high, it seems. Almost a certainty of destroyers somewhere, though not necessarily where we are. Keep an eye out for Harwich ships who are going to be active out towards the Broad Fourteens and might stray onto our patch in a running fight. In other words – everything as normal, nothing specific. We are free to return to harbour if we take damage. Have you heard how Eldridge is getting on in Starling?”

“No moans from his Number One, sir. His officers seemed happy on the depot ship.”

“That’s good enough – if he was doing badly they would say so after a couple of drinks.”

Polly nodded.

“Staff car pulling away from SNO’s offices, sir. One moment.” He picked up his telescope. “Carrying a disgruntled sublieutenant, sir, off to make acquaintance with the Naval Brigade, I should imagine, sir.”

“He’ll suffer more than congealed fried eggs there, Polly!”

Simon told the tale, the reason why he had had to wait ten minutes at Manvers-Porteous’ convenience.

“He should have known better than that, sir. Perhaps that was why Fearless found him supernumerary, sir, were able to pass him across to us with no complaint. He’ll learn in the Brigade, sir, from all I hear – provided he lives. I am told their casualty rate is high, sir.”

“So I hear. A high price to pay for idleness, perhaps… Not my concern. I need an effective ship and cannot carry the lazy. Still…”

Polly could not see why he was concerned.

“It’s the Navy, sir, and we are at war. You know what they say, sir – ‘if you can’t take a joke, you should not have joined’.”

“He won’t be laughing after a day or two up in the trenches, Polly! Not to worry – make ready for sailing. I do not have a time yet.”

The half-section patrolled along the coast and then circled outside Dutch waters, peering about hopefully before returning with the dawn in case minelayers were coming home from their dirty business.

“Nothing, Polly. A blank day. How do we stand for oil?”

“Two thirds, sir. Another patrol before we take on fuel.”

“Good. All the new work still good after a first time out?”

If anything was at all loose, likely to rattle and bang, it should have showed up within the first few days.

“All good, sir. Including your cabin door?”

“Fixed on massive great bronze hinges. Not steel, why I know not.”

“Steel needs to be painted to prevent rust, sir. Can’t paint hinges without jamming them.”

“Well thought, Polly. Is that an aeroplane I see?”

They agreed it was and carrying black Maltese crosses. It passed by, an observer peering over the side, and pottered off, no doubt eventually to report seeing them.

“Pointless sort of thing, Polly. By the time they get home and make their report, we shall be twenty miles distant and either on course for Harwich or off to Dunkerque. No chance of making an interception even if they have ships ready and waiting.”

“If we had had a Vickers gun, on a high angle mounting, sir, we might have been able to shoot at it.”

“True. Where would we fit it?”

“Between the tubes, in the waist, on a sort of bandstand, sir?”

“Need two men for a crew and a storage space for ammunition… A lot of fuss on the offchance of seeing another one close to us.”

They moored up in the inner harbour, which gave opportunities to visit the market without having to bother with a boat. Simon took a short sleep and wandered off to see if there was anything worth purchasing, met Packer on his way back, well laden.

“Managed to get hold of a ham, sir. Smoked and looks good. Bit of Frog bread as well and some rolls of butter and a load of that manky cheese, sir. Got some of they Belgian sugar tarts what you like as well.”

“Well done! I’ll poke my nose about, see if there’s anything else interesting.”

“The chocolate seller ain’t there no more, sir.”

“Probably been shot by now, Packer. She was spying.”

“Pity. Made good chocolate. She should have stuck to that.”

There was apricot jam in earthenware jars, very tempting. Simon came away with two of them, a good four kilograms, having been assured that it would keep for months. He noticed that more of the sellers spoke some English now and that prices no longer seemed to leap at the sight of a British uniform. Perhaps they were finally more accepting of the foreign presence.

A week of dead patrols and early in the morning they came upon minelayers escorted by what seemed to be a full flotilla of destroyers. They fought under the flickering light of star shells, at low speed, circling the minelayers like a war party of raiding Red Indians, and shooting at anything that showed up, black on black in the night.