Andrew Wareham - End to Illusion

Higgins pondered for a few seconds and then smiled.

“Not a thing, sir!”

“Well done! There may be hope for you yet. Get below and see to your cabin space. I shall hold the bridge for the while.”

“Aye aye, Horatius!”

With that daring sally, Higgins disappeared below.

“Horatius?”

“He held the bridge, sir. Some sort of Classical thing.”

“Witty! Speak to him quietly and tell him it was funny but not to be repeated – captains are allowed to be humourists, subs ain’t.”

Lieutenant Canning arrived in mid-afternoon, irritated by a tedious journey.

“Dover to London to Harwich, sir – hardly a circumnavigation! Seven hours!”

Simon winced in sympathy.

“Excessive! I presume you are the new First.”

“Sorry, sir. Canning, sir, reporting to join, hours later than I should have been!”

“Welcome aboard, Mr Canning. What do you know about this posting?”

“Nothing, sir. I was woken at seven o’clock in the depot ship and given a travel warrant and told to be on my way. I did not even know I was to be First until you said so.”

“Well, you are, and you have a job on your plate! Sublieutenant McCracken is the sole officer remaining from last night. The coxswain has been replaced as well. Lancelot is in a mess and we have a very few days to fix her. We have the half-section, so a band painted on the forrard funnel as soon as possible. After that, a watch rota. First, a meeting in my cabin with the Coxswain and the Commissioned Gunner. I shall explain all out of sight and hearing. Do you have destroyer experience, by the way?”

“No, sir. First time I have ever stepped aboard one of the breed. Light cruiser last, and armoured cruisers before that. Left Birmingham under a cloud, sir, as no doubt you know.”

“Vaguely. The court found for you and that is all I wish to know – unless you show useless and then I shall ask when I have you dismissed.”

Canning laughed.

“Short and sweet, sir. I shall work my hardest, sir – I need to expunge the stain on my record.”

“Difficult in this Navy, Canning. Worth trying. Things are a bit different in destroyers. My last premier was given Sheldrake when I left her yesterday – barely six months in as a sub, let alone a full lieutenant! He is to take her to the Med, if he can find his way.”

“Sheldrake… Have you seen the newspapers, sir?”

“Full of it, are they?”

“I gather you single-handedly sank a destroyer and two minelayers, sir. A good trick, that!”

“Hooray for the jolly jack tar!”

“Just that, sir.”

The four sat in the working cabin, barely big enough to hold them. Packer provided tea and shut the door firmly behind him.

“Welcome to Lancelot, gentlemen. She is the Jonah of Harwich, I am told. Men lost overboard and others with their legs or necks broken falling down hatches. Inefficient and her last captain a drunk. It stinks!”

“Beg pardon, sir, but that ain’t the sort of thing destroyer men do, not unless they are green hands who did not ought to be let out on their own at night.”

“I agree, wholly, Mr Westerman. Who and why? Have we a random murderer amusing himself? Or is there some sort of other criminality? I think we can discount spies and saboteurs – they would have better things to do than target a single destroyer.”

Canning and Rees agreed.

“Tobacco, most likely, sir,” Westerman suggested. “Running across to Belgium and picking up cheap shag there and bringing it back by the ton. Needs cooperation to store it aboard – destroyers being small, everybody will see it.”

“A good possibility, Coxswain. If not tobacco, what?”

“Opium, sir? Cocaine is used much in Mayfair as well. Good money there and easier to pick up in France, I am told. I believe all supplies in England are going for medical usage these days, can’t be much diverted onto the civilian market.”

“Didn’t know that, Mr Canning. Less bulky than tobacco, is it not?”

“Far less, sir. Worth more for the ounce when it is made up into morphine or heroin or the powder form for cocaine, which don’t come from opium, I think.”

“It’s not actually illegal, is it, sir?”

“Not to my knowledge, Mr Canning. Can’t be too happy about Lancelot setting up shop selling the stuff, however. Still, drop heroin and cocaine from the possibilities – must be ten thousand use tobacco for every man who would buy the drugs. Any other reason for criminal behaviour?”

“Buggery can be a problem, but not normally on a destroyer – no privacy at all on a boat.”

Westerman agreed.

“Only out for a few days at a time as well. Not like a battleship. Rule that out, sir, generally speaking.”

It was all speculation, they agreed. They would keep their eyes open and talk with the petty officers as they grew to know them. It might take some weeks but in the end an investigation must be successful on a ship with only seventy-three in the crew. They turned to the watches and consideration of training.

“Lewis Guns, Mr Rees. Mounts on the bridge but no guns to be discovered.”

“Packed away in the stores, sir. Nicely greased up and boxed. Previous gunner didn’t like them; new and they looked untidy. I hope to replace them with twins, sir, so I shall leave them in their cases for now. There will be something fitted up by the time we sail, sir. Might be possible to pick up something a little heavier, sir. Never know what may be possible.”

“Such as what, Mr Rees?”

“American, mostly, sir. The Browning company makes automatic weapons in forty-five and fifty calibre, sir and the Navy bought some for evaluation. Might be hanging about in odd places, sir, and I know one or two people…”

Destroyers were to a great extent a law to themselves. Senior authority would normally not intervene while they were successful. Failure of any of their unorthodox equipment resulted in court martial.

“Do what you can, Mr Rees. Have you heard word of aeroplane guns? We have seen the damned things flying near us. Ought to be able to shoot at them on general principles.”

“So we should, sir. I will ask about. Might be able to replace the Maxim with a high-angle gun of some sort.”

“Good. Mr Canning, it’s too soon for you to know what is needed on Lancelot. Do not hesitate to tell me of any changes that you wish to make. Same applies to you, Coxswain.”

Westerman suggested that there were too many green hands aboard.

“Could do with a leading hand seaman, sir, or an older AB. Short of knowhow on deck, sir.”

“How does that come about, do you know?”

“Three good hands worked their passage, sir, over the last two months. Managed to get postings or go off on courses, out of Lancelot. Didn’t like the way the ship was going.”

“Sensible men – we must prove them wrong. I shall speak to the Commodore as soon as I know what’s going on.”

The three left and Simon settled down to paperwork, finding the in-tray almost empty. Inspection of the files and folders showed a rigorous attention to detail – on paper. The previous captain had been meticulous in his routines, possibly preferring the desk to the bridge. The indents for stores and ammunition were all carefully made out – and had been filed away rather than sent. Going back through the records, it seemed that all such requests were always sent out on the last Friday of the month, routine winning out over operational needs. Out of interest, he glanced at the oiling records and found that Lancelot had very frequently taken fuel on a Wednesday, presumably the day appointed by the captain as best.

The man had retreated into a world of rigorous repetition; perhaps it had protected him in some way, saved him from the need to make decisions day-to-day.