Andrew Wareham - The Balloonatics - A Tale of the Great War

The wind was still blustery next morning and he grounded the five balloons and sent their crews off to Brighton for the day, to relax and enjoy the town and get out of the way rather than hang about the wardroom drinking too much.

Troughton telephoned.

“Free for the day, I presume, Naseby? Come across to Dover, to the Castle. Meet you there for twelve, outside. I will escort you into HQ – you won’t get in without me to vouch for you. Tell you what it’s all about when we get to see the Admiral.”

There was a massive headquarters in Dover, much of it underground, in basements beneath the old castle. It was not impossible that there might be a bombardment from the sea, Peter supposed. The underground bunkers would be proof against anything that could be thrown at them from a battleship. He had heard, vaguely, of enormous German mortars and howitzers, greater than battleship guns; he did not see how they could be brought into play.

Captain Troughton was waiting for him when he arrived, carefully two minutes before the hour, neither early nor late, as was laid down in the rules for meetings.

“Take a bite to eat as we talk, Naseby. The Admiral is a busy man – the Dover Patrol is demanding of any commanding officer. Hundreds of small craft and a few of larger, all of which have to be kept up to scratch.”

Peter could see it to be a demanding task. The troopships and ammunition and ration carriers to the BEF all crossed the Narrow Seas under the direct protection of the Dover Patrol. A failure that allowed the submarines or destroyers even an hour free to attack could spell the end of the war.

“Admiral Bacon has recently taken over the Dover Patrol, as you will know. He has a number of ideas which he wants to put into effect. He is an incredibly clever man, a fact he is aware of, and expects assistance in implementing his schemes – not in improving them.”

“Mouth shut, in fact, sir.”

“Effectively, yes, Naseby. He will want technical advice, that is why you are here. That and the fact that you will be directly involved in carrying out whatever his scheme might be. I as yet know nothing, by the way – he would not wish to waste time repeating himself.”

They were passed through checkpoints manned by very large Marines carrying rifles with bayonets fixed.

“He doesn’t insist on the cutlass, I see, sir.”

“Hush! There has been a deal of argument in the Admiralty relating to the issue of cutlasses. I am informed that an order for all battleships to nominate a boarding party armed with cutlasses and revolvers was almost made earlier this year. It is believed by a significant faction in the Admiralty that our ships should look to exchange broadsides at no more than one mile prior to breaking the enemy line and taking them by boarding.”

“Ah! If it worked for Nelson…”

“Exactly. Fortunately, Bacon is not one of that sort.”

A final passage and set of doors and they were ushered into the presence. A tallish, spare man of about sixty glanced at his watch before nodding to Troughton.

“Ten past the hour. Precise to time, Troughton! Naseby, I presume?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You did well with your submarine young man. Now, I have another task for one of your blimps, I presume with you in command.”

“Certainly for the first time, sir. I have four young pilots under my command, all of whom are capable officers. They are young, however. I will wish to break new ground and brief them as necessary, sir.”

“So you should. What I have in mind is a raid on Zeebrugge, on the harbour. A flotilla of six predreadnoughts, either with new twelve inch with the longer range or using their secondary batteries of nine point twos. They are to stand ten miles offshore for thirty minutes at dawn. Lead ship to be gunnery commander and give range and elevation figures to the others. A spotter to be in wireless contact to give the aim.”

Bacon turned to a chart of the harbour, pointing out the targets, most especially the lock gates to the ship canal leading inland to the submarine bases.

“Can’t reach the submarines themselves, Naseby. If we can destroy the lock gates, we can prevent them getting to sea for weeks, maybe months.”

“My blimp to be the spotter, sir? Offline of the shellfire at about three, maybe four thousand feet. Can be done, sir. Where is the nearest field with aeroplanes, sir? I have a Lewis for defence and seventy thousand cubic feet of hydrogen gas above my head. A single tracer round into the envelope might be sufficient, sir. Are there high-angle guns at the port, do you know, sir?”

“You think one of these Fokker things could set you afire, Naseby?”

“From all we hear from France, sir, it seems likely.”

The new Fokker with its forward-firing gun was said to be butchering the observer planes of the RFC.

“I have heard of so-called ‘anti-aircraft guns’, Naseby, able to knock down our aircraft.”

“We are much bigger than a plane, sir.”

“Humph! It won’t work without a spotter. Can’t get closer than ten miles offshore because of the batteries they are emplacing, and the destroyers they have on that coast. What about at night?”

“Possible, sir. We could take off in the last of the daylight and delay return until dawn – we have the endurance to do so. What are the techniques of spotting at night, sir?”

“Not easy. You have to use the flashes of the shells to see where they land. Bright moonlight might make it practical.”

“I would prefer to take a dummy run first, sir. Could we use the ranges off Shoeburyness for practice on a clear night?”

“Could you see destroyers leaving harbour to make a torpedo attack on the bombarding squadron?”

“Probably not, sir. Small ships and all oil-powered, not coal. Far less by way of funnel flame.”

“Can’t afford to lose a battleship. That would be a disaster…”

Peter could not see why. The predreadnoughts were of little value in the current war. He said nothing.

“Too big a risk, I fear. Brings me to a second possibility.”

Peter tried to look intelligent, head cocked, waiting for the Admiral to share his brilliance.

“Putting a man down with a wireless set to act as the spotter. Drop him one night, pick him up the next.”

“Batteries, sir.”

“What of them, Naseby?”

“Heavy, sir. Your man would have to carry them and his set into the town, or to the point chosen for him. Then he would have to set himself up, and erect an aerial, all unseen. Have to take everything down for daylight and hide up and then march himself back to the landing place. Carrying no bomb or Lewis and we could just make the weight to carry him and the set and the batteries. Have to land without a ground party and that would be demanding a lot. Two acres of flat grassland, say, without trees and no houses with hearing or view – the gasbag is big, sir.”

“How heavy are the batteries?”

They sent a flag lieutenant next door to the communications room. Ten minutes and he came back with a range of answers.

“If you want to be heard over twenty miles and for an hour of transmissions, sir, then the batteries would weigh at least forty pounds. The big ones you see on large cars, sir. The set itself will weigh eight or nine pounds and the aerial wire will add some more, sir. The petty officer said a total of half a hundredweight at the least. Bulky, as well, sir. Lead acid batteries which have to be carried carefully.”

Bacon showed his intelligence by accepting that his own plan would not work.

“Nice thought, bad idea! Can’t be done. What’s the chance of your five blimps dropping your bombs on the locks, Naseby?”

Peter took another look at the chart of Zeebrugge harbour.