Andrew Wareham - Falling into Battle

The signal was sent and read by every ship in port as well as the shore base.

“Moor alongside, Captain report, sir.”

“Acknowledge, Yeoman. Take over, Mr Dacres. Secure from sea. Requisition for expended rounds. Report oil remaining. Statement of condition – all as normal.”

“Aye aye, sir. Shore base is lowering ensign to half mast, sir.”

“Pricks! The Navy does not mourn its losses, Mr Dacres. We are proud of them! Some shore-bound idiot will be getting a bollocking for that, I much trust.”

“Captain D is signalling them, sir. I can see a petty officer running from the submarine base, sir.”

“No doubt carrying a message from Admiral Keyes, Dacres. Bloody disgraceful thing to do!”

Sheldrake came alongside and tied up and Captain Smallwood trotted ashore and made fast walking pace across to Captain D in Robin – it would have been incorrect to run except under immediate bombardment by the German High Seas Fleet.

The ensign over the main building rose to full mast, the messages having reached their destination.

Dacres turned to Simon with half a smile.

“Some foolish chair-borne warrior has just picked up a royal rocket, Sub. He can expect to be posted to Scapa Flow by tomorrow, if he’s lucky. If he’s unlucky, he’ll be sent on a slow boat to Aden to stew in a hundred degrees with too little water ration. Very foolish thing to have done! Half bloody mast indeed! They didn’t do that for the Titanic! How much less for a boat lost in action!”

“First loss of the war, sir. I doubt whoever it was expected the Navy to take losses – not if it’s all to be over by Christmas.”

“Well said, Sub! The Boer War was to be over in a hundred days - nothing to it. This one is fighting more than a bunch of bloody farmers. Can’t say it out loud, Sub, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it lasted for a year! Might be as big as the Crimea!”

Simon nodded gloomily, as was appropriate, mind racing. If it was that long, there was the certainty of making lieutenant, with a chance of becoming First on a boat at the end of the twelvemonth. That would do his career a deal of good. All he had to do was survive – which meant keeping an eye out for mines, he supposed.

Captain Smallwood returned smelling of gin.

“ Sheldrake is section leader, Mr Dacres. Put the stripe round the funnel.”

The section leaders identified themselves by a white stripe around the forward smokestack, more easily spotted than a flag at night and in the gloom of battle.

“Aye aye, sir.”

“I’ve got my half-stripe with immediate effect.”

A lieutenant commander carried two and a half stripes on his sleeve.

“Congratulations, sir.”

“Thank you. Dead man’s shoes, literally! Sub, you have your second stripe. Put it up now! There will be a midshipman joining us at soonest. Get a cupboard cleared out for him to sleep in.”

There was no spare cabin and they would have to shift stores around to make a hutch for the unfortunate youth to get his head down.

“We shall want to train the boy as a watchkeeper at soonest, Mr Sturton. Bring him along on the forward four inch and you to take the three aft guns. Mr Harker will have the torpedo tubes under his direct control – they are our main battery.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Captain D was impressed by your performance, Mr Sturton. Two hits recorded from four rounds at speed is good shooting. Try to bring the twelve pounders up to the same standard. No point to getting a lot of rounds off if they don’t hit anything! Train up a spare second gun captain.”

There was a single full crew to the two twelve pounders. Being on the broadside, it was not expected that both would ever be in action at the same time. A spare gun captain could ensure that the unused gun was loaded and ready in case of any sudden change of course bringing it to bear.

“Captain D expects to be transferred to a light cruiser within days. She will make the flotilla up to eight again. Stores and oiling berth today. We will take our half-section out tomorrow, three strong, to the Belgian coast and patrol as far as the Dutch border inshore. The old cruisers of the Second Fleet will have the deeper offshore waters – in expectation of raids by German cruisers. There is a chance of gunboats creeping down the coast, it seems, and we must keep them out of the Channel.”

“Submarines, sir?”

Captain Smallwood shook his head.

“The Admiralty believes that there is nothing to fear from the submarine. They will work with the High Seas Fleet, they believe, hoping to lay in ambush for our battleships. The expectation is that squadrons of the High Seas Fleet will raid into the North Sea and be chased back by the Grand Fleet, leading us over a line of waiting submarines and freshly laid minefields. Submarines will not be sent out singly on raids.”

Lieutenant Dacres hoped the Admiralty was right.

“There’s nothing we can do about them in any case, sir. We cannot detect them underwater or attack them under the sea if we should spot a periscope and chase it down.”

“I understand that there is more work being done on depth bombs, Mr Dacres. They will be issued to destroyers and fast small craft, together with the means of discharging them over the side or stern. We may have hydrophones fitted as well, to listen underwater.”

“Where will we fit all of this in such small ships, sir? Or accommodate the hands they will require?”

“I must imagine that the first lieutenant will be required to display some ingenuity, Mr Dacres. Not, as one might say, my problem!”

Simon did not smile – wise new lieutenants did not offend their immediate masters.

“Lewis Guns, Mr Dacres!”

“Yes, sir? There was mention that they might be issued, sir.”

“There was indeed and a party will come aboard this very day to fit their mountings on the bridge wings. All hands on the bridge to learn their use, Mr Dacres, so that the nearest body may fire them as the need arises. Not impossible that they might be valuable in action with small craft at night. They are light weapons and can be shoulder fired at need. It should be possible to fit them to a boat for inshore work.”

“I shall speak to the ERA, sir. He is a man of some ingenuity.”

“He is also an Engineer Lieutenant as of this day, Mr Dacres. Commissioned with immediate effect. He is senior of the engineroom officers in the half section and may be needed to offer his expertise to our flotilla mates at sea. Best he should have the rank. He will retain his existing cabin space but will – obviously – mess in the wardroom.”

“He will be welcome, sir. Mr Mason will at least give someone else to talk to off duty. Conversation can be limited with but the three of us.”

“Excellent, Mr Dacres. Sailing with the morning’s tide.”

“Yes, sir. I trust the corpses from Woodpecker will be removed by then, sir?”

“What? Has nothing been done for them yet?”

“I doubt we were expected to take losses, sir. The port captain may not have made provision for casualties.”

“Bloody Hell! Wait till Captain D hears of this!”

There was a scurrying on the bridge and the most athletic of the signallers was sent at the run to Captain D with a written message. Five minutes and Robin sprouted flags, signals being sent to the shore authorities. Twenty minutes saw Captain D marching ashore, followed by the single lieutenant who comprised his staff.

A delay of two hours and civilian undertakers arrived at the dock with four hearses and seven coffins. The crew manned the deck and saluted as they left a few minutes later, the horses kept to strict funeral pace.

“Disorganised bloody shambles, Mr Dacres! They will need do better than that next time. Cause some upset in the town as well, conveying the bodies from the base to funeral parlours in the town. Not the way the Navy should do things! Heads will roll for that cock-up!”