“Aye aye, sir. Thank you for your confidence in me.”
Obviously the flotilla had been ordered to provide a body and Smallwood had chosen Dacres as the best for the demanding job. It was a compliment and the temporary promotion would show well on his record. He could reasonably hope to become lieutenant-in-command of an old destroyer rather than return to Sheldrake when his purgatory on Aboukir came to an end.
“No more than two months, according to the buzz, Dacres. The Live Bait Squadron is to be returned to reserve. The word is that they may be sent out to the colonies to act as guardships in undefended harbours, anchored up as floating batteries with small crews and a commander at most as captain. The Admiralty has noticed that they are useless at sea, thanks to loud protests from the brass at base.”
Dacres nodded thoughtfully.
“I worried for a moment that they might be left on station all winter, sir. They are good sea boats, if nothing else, and could remain at sea when the destroyers and light cruisers had to come in.”
“Hopefully not, Dacres. Good luck – not that you should need it – and I hope to see you next driving your own command.”
Two months in a massive and ancient and utterly valueless relic of Victorian thinking was not too high a price for accelerated promotion, Simon mused.
“Mr Sturton – smile, for your lucky day has come!”
“It has, sir?”
Simon knew he should be far too green in the rank to step up to premier even of the smallest destroyer – such things did not happen in a properly-regulated Navy. On the other hand, it was wartime and peculiar things seemed to be occurring rather frequently just of late.
“You are to be first lieutenant, vice Mr Dacres. Mr Parrett is to become sublieutenant. Mr Harker will take over direct control of all guns, Mr Parrett to understudy. We shall not be taking a new mid aboard because we haven’t got one spare at Harwich; one may turn up eventually. This is an early step for you, Mr Sturton, but Sheldrake is a small ship and you know her well and you have shown more than ordinary competence in the better part of a year you have been aboard. I have messaged the Commodore and he has agreed that you are one of the bright up-and-coming young men in destroyers and must be given your chance. A year and you may look to have your own boat – less than that if the new very small coastal craft actually appear.”
There had been discussion of small torpedo launches and gunboats – very fast, shallow and capable of entering harbours to attack moored warships and freighters. Opinion was that these would be young men’s commands, the foundations of sparkling careers or early graves.
“Thank you, sir. Mr Dacres has shown me the first lieutenant’s job, sir. I can do it in Sheldrake, I am sure, sir. I must say that I would not be too happy to take on anything larger just yet.”
“You will not, Mr Sturton. It’s the boats for you until you are promoted out of them. No place for a commander in destroyers – but that won’t be for a few years yet.”
In peacetime, a lieutenant had to have seven years in the rank before even being considered for lieutenant-commander and generally three at least before the next step. Ten years to commander said a man was one of the bright stars, a comet indeed.
War accelerated matters, to what extent was unknown as it was only six weeks old and there was time for change.
“Very good, sir.”
“We are to return to Harwich overnight and leave Mr Dacres shoreside there. A nice simple first task. Ready ship to leave harbour, Number One.”
Simon ran, took charge of the ordinary, everyday tasks for the first time, knowing exactly what to do, but never having had to give the orders and take the responsibility before. Sheldrake had been working out of Dunkirk for two weeks and he knew the harbour adequately.
Captain Smallwood remained in his cabin and merely told Simon to take her out when he reported ready to sail.
The coxswain was at the wheel, as was not abnormal when the ship was entering or leaving harbour - but was not entirely to be expected on a bright, calm late summer’s day of perfect visibility and no prospect of action. Simon grinned, conscious that the word had spread and that the crew was watching him, not expecting a cock-up, perhaps, but hopeful for a bit of fun. He resolved to disappoint them, gave the familiar sequence of commands and conned Sheldrake out, neither faster nor slower than was normal and with no fuss at all.
“Course for Harwich, coxswain.”
That order had been given several times over the past weeks and the coxswain knew what to set for the first leg avoiding the coastal minefields.
“Sir. Two hundred and ninety degrees, sir.”
Simon bent to the engineroom voicepipe.
“Revolutions for fifteen knots, Chief.”
He had calculated that fifteen knots would bring them into Harwich with the dawn, a convenient time to set Mr Dacres ashore and aboard his new ship. He would not be popular if he turned up in the middle of the night under orders to join immediately, waking up the captain and commander to greet him.
It was Parrett’s watch and he handed over to him.
“Course two ninety; fifteen knots. Next leg is due in seventeen minutes. Fishing boats visible northwest. No other traffic, Sub.”
“Aye aye, sir. I have the watch.”
Simon reported all to be well to the captain and then sat back in the wardroom, pleased with himself.
“All nice and tidy, Sturton.”
The absence of title made it clear that Dacres was a passenger.
“Nothing to do for five minutes – time for a mug of tea. Then it’s check the blackout and inspect the forecastle, just to ensure it’s clear for sea. Not necessary, but expected of the First, it seems.”
“Very much so, Sturton. The senior petty officer, the Buffer, will have everything in hand but wants his officers to show their faces and notice his efforts.”
Tea arrived by hand of the wardroom steward.
“Thank’ee, Griggs.”
They were silent for a while, Simon engaged in running through all he must do in the next few hours before he took his watch.
“Never done, Sturton – from now on, you will always have in the back of your mind the worry that you might have forgotten something. The pleasures of the job!”
“True. I don’t envy you on Aboukir, Dacres. First Lieutenant but with a Commander senior to you and acting as Premier. Sounds like all of the work and none of the glory.”
“Depends on the Commander. If he is hard-working and willing, he will take all of the disciplinary responsibility for the hands and leave the senior lieutenant with the seamanship. That’s how it should be. If – as it sounds like – the Commander is old and past it and wants a soft berth until he draws his half-pay, then the job is impossible. Seven hundred crew are too much for one man with keeping the ship ready for sea as well. Only for two months, though and anyone can survive eight weeks. At least, I won’t have responsibility for the guns.”
“Nine point twos, are they not?”
“A pair, singly mounted, fore and aft. Six inch on the broadside in sponsons, in pairs, upper and main deck – a dozen of them and the same of twelve pounders and a pair of three pounders and two eighteen inch torpedo tubes. A real dog’s breakfast! Never fire the main deck six inch guns with a sea running. Not that there will be any need to – she’s slow, so no chance of an action against other cruisers and the battleships are all staying at home. She’s so damned big that anything smaller will see her first and be gone. No – not a chance of business aboard Aboukir. Unlike you! Could be a bit of fun on the coast if the Hun is still advancing and there’s a need to pull troops out of Ostend and the other little harbours. Aboukir is big, ideal as a troop carrier, take a full battalion easily.”