“Remaining as a sub, sir.”
The Navigating Officer was vaguely sympathetic but had himself been a sublieutenant for three years and lieutenant for twelve – he had experienced a mediocre career and could not see why any officer might wish for more.
“Reporting as your junior, sir.”
The Gunnery Officer was forty and had had every expectation of retiring as a commander and soon. He possessed a small income – owned a farm in the West Country, in fact – and had been looking forward to the quiet life. An old and tired cruiser had suited him exactly. The war was a damned nuisance, interfering with all his plans, and now he had to put up with a sublieutenant who would expect training. It was all too much bother.
“Oh! Right! Best you should take over the after gun. All you have to do is follow the orders that come from me in gunnery control above the bridge. I determine the target and give you range and bearing which you set at the gun and then fire when she comes on, allowing for the roll. Your layer knows the drill and can take you through it. No sense attempting to do anything in winter – can’t see or take a range when she’s rolling and pitching like she does. We’ll fire a few rounds, as soon as the weather permits. Nothing to worry about – no chance of seeing action down here.”
The gunlayer agreed. He was also in his forties and had been a sailor for thirty years, starting in sail with black powder muzzle loaders, far better guns than these modern things.
“None of this buggering about trying to shoot at ten miles, and that sort of nonsense, sir. Can’t do it with these guns, anyway. Good guns, but not really up to long range stuff. Best to wait till they’re a cable off the beam and give ‘em a broadside, sir. Not that we’re ever going to see any action. Keep the brasswork well polished and touch up the paint regular – that’s about all we do on Good Hope, sir.”
Word came that the Tsingtao Squadron had sailed and disappeared. They had been expected at Rabaul and the Australian Navy had gone there and taken the colony and found no ships - but had lost a submarine. The battlecruiser Australia had been sent off to subjugate all of the other little German colonies in the Pacific and had found no trace of the Tsingtao Squadron other than rumours that they had been present when she was elsewhere. It was assumed that the Germans were heading off to make mischief on the trade routes, presumably around India and possibly towards South Africa. Some more old ships were to be sent to the South Atlantic, on the offchance that the Germans would get that far before being brought to battle.
“Canopus – an ancient predreadnought with four twelve inch and capable of making eight knots with a following wind, these days. Best thing to do with her is moor her up in Port Stanley as guard ship – no more than a floating battery. Big guns and they might be accurate, with a bit of luck.”
There was no sign of Canopus when the squadron sailed next and rumour insisted that she was stuck somewhere on the South American coast, waiting for parts for her engines.
Good Hope returned to the tedium of Cape Horn, occasionally passing through the Magellan Strait to make a change. All they had to look forward to was a slow improvement in the weather as the seasons changed.
There was a single newspaper in the wardroom, a June issue saying that there were fears of war. The officers read it until it disintegrated, but it told them nothing of what was happening far away in the outside world.
Lieutenant Christopher Adams stepped out in all his glory, newly made and first of the subs on Iron Duke to have achieved his promotion. He sent a letter to his tailors in London, instructing them to send the correct rank markings to Scapa Flow – he would not be in Town to have his measurements taken for new uniforms for some months.
He stood his watches and tried his best to alleviate the tedium of staring out at the same stretch of harbour for weeks at a time. The Flow was bleak, barren, a set of far northern islands with a tiny population and nothing to recommend them; even the fishing was not especially good. The battleships stirred out of Scapa Flow every once in a while for gunnery practice, achieving a good rate of fire if somewhat less than perfection in terms of accuracy.
They were good enough, they assured each other – the battle when it came would take place between two fleets anxious to close each other and create a hammering match at three or four thousand yards, at most.
“When that day comes, British spirit will supply all we need, Adams, old chap!”
The Gunnery Commander was perfectly content with his ship and his guns – when ‘broadsides’ was called, he would smash the Germans.
“The sooner the better, old boy!”
“I heard we were short of shells for the guns, sir.”
“Not at all, my boy. Eighty per gun in the magazines, all right and tight!”
“But, nothing to replenish if we fire them off, sir?”
“Not for a month or two, it would seem – but we won’t need more. One battle will do the trick!”
It was not important to a navigation specialist – his job was to bring the ship to the battleground – the gunners would take over then.
The sole difficulty seemed to lie in the reluctance of the German fleet to sail, matched by their own need to keep the Grand Fleet together in Scapa and at Queensferry to be ready when they did venture forth.
“Not to put too fine an edge on it, Adams – nothing seems likely to happen unless they can be enticed to sea. The word is that Their Lordships are considering some sort of action by light forces that will cause the Germans to send out some battlecruisers to protect their own ships. We will respond with a flotilla of our own, or a pair of battleships, perhaps, and they in turn will send out a squadron and so the action will build piecemeal. Untidy, but it might be the only way of getting them out.”
“So… we attack a coastal patrol to start the ball rolling?”
“Basically, yes, but it may not be that simple, there being a shortage of such within reach.”
Simon listened to the briefing given by Captain Smallwood, ever so slightly puzzled.
“There is a German patrol covering Heligoland – destroyers backed by light cruisers with battlecruisers on call as needed but four or five hours distant in the nature of things. There are minefields, naturally enough, and some problems with shoal waters. The aim is that our two flotillas, led by the light cruisers, Arethusa and Fearless, will attack the destroyers, which are generally more exposed than their light cruisers. This will bring their cruisers out, crossing our submarines which will be waiting for them. Provided that works, then the German battlecruisers will be called for and will discover that Rear Admiral Moore’s Invincible and New Zealand are waiting for them just north of the island, accompanied by smaller cruisers. This should bring about a general scream for help, stirring the High Seas Fleet out of the Kiel Canal and into the action, where they in turn will bring out the Grand Fleet.”
Lieutenant Dacres performed his function of asking the detailed questions.
“So, we attack the destroyers, sir, to open the ball?”
“Immediately after dawn on the 28th, coming out of the night, two lines astern, changing to line abreast as soon as we see targets that may be attacked with torpedoes. Arethusa will lead us.”
“Very good, sir. This will be immediately west of Heligoland?”
“That is the plan.”
“We then try to draw the cruisers west, sir?”
“Not necessarily – it is possible that the German cruisers will be in harbour. They may be delayed raising steam and then reaching the scene of action, in which case, we steam inshore, towards them.”
“That will take us farther from Invincible and New Zealand, will it not, sir?”
“They will be steaming hard towards the guns.”