I thought again about the climbing spray against the hull of the stricken Frenchman a few hours before, and the pathetic little matchstick man on her funnel, and suddenly the importance of taking every possible precaution seemed very necessary, and to hell with the inconvenience. So, why were we being different?
The Old Man saw the query in my face before I had time to frame the question. He wiped his red face slowly with a large blue hankie and eased the sweat-soaked shirt around his armpits. ‘We’re in a hurry, John. One hell of a hurry. Two days extra steaming just can’t be allowed on this voyage. You drew up the stowage plans — you know what we’re carrying in the forward strongroom?’
I nodded. We had two very hot consignments forward, both brought aboard less than an hour before we sailed from Gladstone Dock. The first shipment had arrived in the traditional plain van, the secrecy having been somewhat dissipated, however, by the three Liverpool Constabulary patrol cars that had accompanied it. Treasury notes. Printed by the Royal Mint and shipped out to the Bank of Australia. I didn’t know how much there was but, judging by the number of steel-bound cases, there was more than enough to pay for Cyclops and a few more freighters if anyone wanted to start up a shipping company in style. I couldn’t see that there needed to be any rush to deliver them, though. Not if it meant risking valuable ships and men in a headlong dash on a straight, easily anticipated course through U-boat water.
The other strong-room cargo was veiled in considerably greater mystery. Referred to on the manifest simply as ‘Confidential Bags. Safe Hand. By British Master Only’, the three locked and lead-sealed bags had been brought aboard just as the gangway was being shipped and hustled up forward to be placed in the steel chamber under the foc’sle. The two Naval officers delivering them had seemed extremely relieved at the handing-over proceedings under the wet glare of our shaded cargo lamps, but I hadn’t thought much about it at the time. I was more interested in the excessive number of dockside longshoremen hanging about with apparently only casual glances at the ship but, at the same time, possessing an undefinable military bearing out of keeping with what they appeared to be.
Were these weighted bags the reason for our odd convoy set-up? For our having at least a token escort all to ourselves while many forty- and fifty-ship convoys had to make do with one warship per every eight or ten vessels?
‘Those confidential bags?’ I queried, looking suspiciously at the Old Man.
He nodded. ‘I don’t know what the security position is, John, but as you’re my senior officer I feel I’m justified in explaining just what we have up forr’ad.’
Stepping with rather dramatic secrecy to the chartroom door he checked to make sure we were out of earshot. Over his shoulder I could see the flutter of a White Ensign as Mallard made another of her periodic, death-defying dashes under our looming, predatory bows, the ping of her Asdic audible even at this distance across the silent sea. ‘She’s going to do that once too bloody often,’ I muttered to myself as Evans came back in and, removing his cap with the trimming of gold brain round the peak, used the hankie to wipe the leather sweat band inside.
He looked at me with a funny, sad expression in his eyes that I couldn’t explain. ‘You know that Hesperia passed us a few weeks ago, off Cape Finisterre, when we were homeward bound from our last trip?’
I remembered all right. It had been during my early morning watch when we’d seen her heading towards us out of the grey spindrift of the Bay. Biscay had been at her bloodiest that time, with great green and white-flecked waves rearing high over the foc’sle-head like greedily clutching fingers. Hesperia was another of the Company’s fast cargo liners built, like us, just before this war had started. She’d scudded past us, going like a bat out of hell, outward bound to somewhere unknown, with the Red storm Ensign streaming out from her stern in tattered pennants and the long, flared bows crushing tons of water into flying gouts of spray which curled viciously aft over the plunging bridge and superstructure. Her Aldis had flickered through the ochre morning light. CAN OFFER YOU A TOW OR WOULD YOU PREFER US TO HEAVE TO AND WIND UP YOUR ELASTIC BANDS AGAIN SIGNED CLINT CHIEF OFFICER END.
I had grinned despite the rain which had found its way under my oilskins and the towel round my neck. Eric Clint, Bill Henderson and I had been cadets together in twenty-eight, on the China run, and no three human beings could have loved each other more than we did. I signalled back,
SORRY BUT WE THOUGHT YOU WERE ALREADY HOVE TO SIGNED KENT CHIEF OFFICER END.
The last I’d seen of Hesperia was her high rounded stern being swallowed by the low overcast, and the signal lamp still flickering forlornly from her bridge. JUST PLAYING IT SAFE JOHN KNOWING YOU WERE DRIVING SIGNED ERIC A PROPER CHIEF OFFICER END.
Two minutes later she was out of sight and the tumbling seas had erased all traces of her passing. He’d always been one for having the last word, had Eric.
‘I remember. She was outward bound and going like the clappers,’ I said.
Evans bit his lip nervously. ‘She was reported lost with all hands three days later, John. I’m sorry. You were a friend of her Mate’s, weren’t you?’
I stared at him dazedly, feeling a sick knot compacting in my stomach. Eric gone? I couldn’t accept it. Not Eric Clint? Oh, Jesus, the bloody, bloody War. The Old Man frowned in embarrassment at the chart and fiddled awkwardly with the parallel rules. ‘I knew Tom Everett, her master,’ he murmured quietly. ‘He is… was… little Julie’s Godfather.’
Julie was the Old Man’s nine-year-old daughter and the apple of his rather fierce eye. I knew how he felt, too. We were all of one family in the Company, most of us had sailed with each other at some time in the past. We hadn’t been at war long enough to harden ourselves to the realisation that we were going to lose a lot of friends before it was over. But big Eric Clint? I wondered whether Bill Henderson knew yet, over on Athenian.
‘What… what had Hesperia got to do with us, Captain? Why should her being sunk affect our voyage?’
‘Because we’re carrying the replacement information that she should already have arrived with in Adelaide, John.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Those bags in the strong-room contain all the current Notices to Mariners, giving the very latest information on minefields and swept areas, the new Naval code conversion tables for masters, full details of convoy routes and procedures. Without them every ship leaving Aussie and what we have left of the Far East will have to play it strictly by ear, and you know that can be bloody dangerous. Until we get through there could be perhaps fifty, even a hundred ships a day leaving port without proper information.’ He looked at me very hard and I shifted uncomfortably. ‘Some of them will be sunk through the lack of it! Hesperia would have been there in plenty of time, but she’s gone. Now it all depends on us. I’m not a religious man, John, but this is one time I’d even pray if I thought it would help any.’
Well, if he wanted to pray, it was all right by me — I was quite happy to accept any help I could get. There were a few things still bothering me, though. I lit another Players and nervously sucked the smoke down into the back of my lungs. ‘What about Athenian, Sir? And the Commandant Joffre? Did they have the same cargo? And, if the Navy’s in such a goddamned hurry, why don’t they fly it out?’
He shook his head. ‘The Admiralty can’t afford to take any chances. Aircraft can be shot down, their contents are more liable to capture. I understand there are duplicate copies being shipped independently of us, just in case, but the other ships in this particular group aren’t of vital importance.’ He dropped his eyes, ‘Athenian and the Frenchman are — were — well, they’re here to spread the selection slightly. To give us at least a one-in-four chance of not being picked as the primary target. Any U-boat sighting us would at least be stuck for choice.’