Andrew Wareham - End to Illusion

‘Bloody slack!’

Packer poked his head in the door from his little pantry.

“Did you call, sir?”

“No, I didn’t, but I’ll take a mug of tea, please. What’s the buzz?”

“Haven’t heard it all yet, sir. Captain’s steward was filling a trunk with a load of bottles when I got here, sir. Cheap whisky, not a good single malt for entertaining. From what he said, the captain slept heavy most nights.”

“Drunken bastard!”

“It happens, sir. Not often.”

“Fortunately, Packer. I’m going up to the bridge – bring my tea up there, please.”

The bridge was as it should be – open, a fraction greater than Sheldrake’s and higher, due to the raised forecastle. She looked a more modern ship, faster and tidier, an obvious development on the older destroyer.

Three funnels lower and broader, that difference very clear to the eye. Three guns, all four inch on the centreline, fore, midships and aft. The Maxim up on a little bandstand, two twin torpedo tubes, well aft. Mountings on the bridge wings which suggested single Lewises, stored below decks for some reason. There was a rack with six cutlasses on display, bright and shiny with elaborate plaited cords to the hilts, presumably for the bridge party in case of need; they would go!

The Yeoman of the Signals was quietly working over his locker, scrubbing and folding his flags, a single rating at his side.

“Yeoman!”

“Hardy, sir.”

“Have we a wireless installation?”

“In its own little cabin below the bridge, sir. Captain wouldn’t use it and set the operator to work with me, sir. Pascoe, sir.”

The rating stiffened to attention.

“Keep watch in the wireless cabin, Pascoe. Have you a relief?”

“No, sir. Expected to train up a bright young bloke meself, sir. He won’t need to do repairs, just to man the key and shout for me if anything comes through. Haven’t had much chance to work on the set, sir.”

“Do so with immediate effect, Pascoe. Condition report for the First Lieutenant. Indent for any spares needed. Get the set in top order within the week.”

“Aye aye, sir. I shall have to replace the aerial, sir. Captain said it disfigured the mast and had it taken down, sir.”

“Can you do it or is it a yard job?”

“Do it meself, sir.”

“Well done! Carry on. Yeoman, do you need another hand now?”

“Could use one, sir. I’ll speak to the Coxswain and the First, sir.”

“Good. Arrange it as you wish.”

The paintwork was fresh, well maintained to peacetime standards. Simon had a suspicion that the previous owner had been a peacetime sailor, had not been at home sailing out to war.

His tea arrived, belatedly.

“No kettle in the pantry, sir. Had to borrow from the wardroom.”

“Go ashore and pick up all you need, Packer. Take money from my desk. We have the half-section so there must be mugs for three other captains as well.”

Mid afternoon brought the Coxswain, travelling light with a large duffle bag and small suitcase, used to destroyers.

“Westerman, sir, reporting.”

A South Country accent, Portsmouth probably, from a short, busy little man, dark and muscular and never still.

“Good to see you, Coxswain. One or two little problems aboard, or so I suspect. Keep an eye out for what’s going on. We will be a week or so in Harwich before a first patrol out to the Broad Fourteens for a couple of days. Expect to be in business off the Belgian coast after the fortnight. When the First arrives, you will go over the watch lists together, tidy everything up. Taut but not harsh, if you please.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

The Coxswain trotted below, reappeared ten minutes later at the side of a petty officer who was showing him something at the stern.

“No problems there, Mr Higgins.”

“No, sir. Looks like another boat for us, sir.”

“Officer?”

“No, sir. Chief ERA by the looks of it, sir. Some wooden boxes in the bottom of the boat.”

“Don’t see those, Mr Higgins. All unofficial!”

“How do I not see something, sir?”

“You see those seagulls following the fishing boats over there, Mr Higgins?”

A deeply suspicious voice agreed that he did.

“Well, watch the bloody shitehawks and you won’t see the Chief ERA, Mr Higgins!”

Higgins thought the captain was possibly being unkind to him. He obeyed orders, knowing that was always a safe thing to do.

Mr Rees came up to the bridge, a list in hand.

“Beg pardon, sir, but there is a need to indent for four inch shell and three-o-three rounds, in some quantity, sir. The leading hand and gun captain to the stern four inch is the senior gunnery hand aboard and tells me the Gunner made his indent two weeks back…”

“And nothing happened – talking of which, Mr Rees, have you heard of brain cells?”

Mystified, Rees agreed he had – there were millions of them, apparently, in some way working together to produce human intelligence.

“Or not working, as the case may be, Mr Rees.”

Simon glanced across at Higgins, still busily watching the birds.

They shook their heads in unison and turned to watch the Chief ERA come aboard and trot up to the bridge, all in a hurry, calling instructions over his shoulder to the boat’s crew who were bringing the boxes aboard.

“Beg pardon, sir, I had to go across to the yard early, assumed your permission… Sorry, sir, you are not Captain Hayes.”

“I certainly was not last time I looked in a mirror, Chief. I am Captain Sturton, leader of the half-section.”

“Ah, I see, sir. Captain Hayes hit one mudbank too many, sir?”

“He did indeed, Chief.”

“Right, sir. Beg pardon, sir, Chief ERA Malcolm reporting, sir. Delayed by the need to beg spares from the yard, sir, the steering engine having taken slight damage last night and preferring to replace rather than repair, sir.”

“Very good, Mr Malcolm. The First Lieutenant and Coxswain have gone as well, the new premier to arrive later today. For the immediate term, do you need anything in the engineroom?”

“No, sir, not immediately. Boiler clean next month, or the one after. Condensers later in the year, no doubt, but nothing for the while, sir, due to the yard foreman having married my sister last year, she being a widow, which did us no end of good, you might say.”

“Nothing like keeping it in the family, Chief. Have you taken all of your courses?”

“Every last one, sir. Up to date as of July ’14. Passed them all, sir.”

“Very good! We might wish to discuss that, Chief.”

“I put in my application to be considered for commissioned status when I passed my last course, sir. Heard nothing.”

“No promises – I am too junior to be able to make them.”

“Thank you, sir. Have you spoken to the new Coxswain about the accidents over the last few months, sir? Might be he could do a bit of digging. Unusual for destroyer hands to fall over the railings, even in the blackest nights, sir.”

The Chief saluted and left the bridge.

“What does that sound like to you, Mr Rees?”

“The same as it sounded to you, sir. Do we speak to Westerman now or wait until the First arrives?”

Simon thought a few seconds.

“Pull them both, and you, into my cabin as soon as the new man gets here.”

“There were some who fell down open hatches, as well, sir. All hatches should always be battened down.”

“Ears open and mouth shut for the while, Mr Rees.”

“Nothing to the subs or young Waller, sir?”

“Not yet. Wait a moment.” Simon turned to Higgins, still considering the seagulls. “Enough now, Sub! He’s gone. Did you hear anything these last few minutes?”