“Good! I shall pass him the word. He will celebrate, I do not doubt. He is enjoying his service here, for the first time since he entered Dartmouth. He is one of the most useful officers and is often asked for his opinion and advice. Add to that, he has seen a submarine three times and has dropped his bomb twice, the second time leaving a moving oil slick on the surface which confirmed he had done some damage. I put him up for a Mention for that, by the way, a fortnight ago.”
“Gone through. He will receive official notification soon.”
That was pleasing – the boy deserved something. No doubt they could throw a party of some sort when the confirmation arrived. If they had a wet day, perhaps a meal in a big hotel in Brighton. He doubted whether the boy had been drunk in his life, and he had certainly never patronised a lady of the night. Brighton was a place where he could do both, and in safety, the tarts being of the better sort.
“Right, Naseby. Be so good as to inform Bracegirdle that he is your Number One and that he must get some idea of the administration of the flotilla. His promotion, substantive, will be notified tomorrow. At some time in the next fortnight, you will be requested and required to fly SS9 across to Flanders – you will be given a precise location, obviously. When there, you will be given a mission to cross the lines and drop off a large sum of money in Occupation notes and a pair of wireless sets. No batteries – they can supply the power themselves. Can’t be thrown over the side of an aeroplane on a parachute, the sets don’t bounce well. You will probably be given written reports in exchange. Details of finding the landing place will be given last minute. How is your boy Griffiths as a navigator?”
Peter shrugged.
“He can find his way, generally, sir.”
“I could replace him with a specialist.”
“No. Rather have Griffiths. He knows his way around the engine as well as being competent with a chart. Where have they got hold of the Occupation notes, sir?”
“Bank of England, Naseby. Printed them off ourselves.”
That seemed almost criminal. It was certainly not gentlemanly.
“Forgeries, sir?”
“Not in time of war, Naseby. The government has given itself almost unlimited powers under the Defence of the Realm Act and that includes the capacity to make war on land, sea and air in any way necessary.”
“Pretty much meaningless, that last, sir?”
“No. It allows for the use of poison gas, otherwise forbidden under the Hague Convention, which is part of British law, except where the government chooses it should not be. The same for the bombardment of undefended towns, which is forbidden but is now made lawful. A response to the German High Seas Fleet bombarding east coast ports, of course.”
“Yes… What was the point of those bombardments, by the way, sir?”
“Morale. They showed that the Navy could not guard British shores. Perfectly true, of course. If we are to hide our ships away at Scapa Flow then they cannot act to protect the country. Not that they could do very much about that sort of hit and run raid even if they were still stationed at Chatham and Portsmouth. Their Lordships think there might have been a line of submarines stationed out to sea, that the retreating battlecruisers were to have drawn any pursuit across them. Minefields as well. They might be right for once.”
It was not a gentleman’s war, it seemed.
“Is the Army proposing to station a flotilla of blimps of its own in Flanders, sir?”
“Doubt it. French does not approve of them. He says that reconnaissance should be done by cavalry. If it can’t be, then the aeroplanes have done very well so far. Haig, who is busy stabbing French in the back and will replace him soon, understands that the blimps are being used by Intelligence, which he disapproves of. Therefore, he will not countenance an Army Corps of Balloons, other than for static artillery observation purposes.”
“Why does he disapprove of Intelligence?”
“He’s a cavalryman. The very word is anathema to them.”
“I see.”
Peter did not understand at all. His service had not brought him into contact with the cavalry and he was unaware of their little foibles.
“This business with the money is being run by Intelligence, is it, sir?”
“Of course. They are looking at the possibility of using couriers to send hundreds of millions of marks into Germany, they told me. If they print vast sums of money, it will become valueless and destroy the German economy. If all of the factories are forced to close, the war will soon end.”
“Sounds good to me, sir.”
“And to me. I gather that Asquith is dead against it – says that devaluing money hits at the foundations of civilisation.”
“But poison gas don’t?”
“Hush, Naseby! You are almost guilty of maliciously thinking for yourself, a heinous crime for any naval officer. To be serious, word will come through within seven days and you will fly out immediately on receipt of the location of the base.”
“Not in a gale, I trust, sir.”
“They know that we cannot tolerate high winds. I have told them so. With luck, they will have listened to me.”
Peter farewelled Troughton and wandered unenthusiastically in search of his dinner. It was fish, hot and fresh, that day’s catch and cooked for him rather than waiting on a hot plate all evening. He sent a message of thanks to the wardroom steward, who had had nothing to do with the meal, the initiative having come wholly from the cooks.
“Griffiths! Pack a small bag, enough for three days away. We will be flying across to France somewhen in the next few days. I’ll give you the exact place when I know it. Bring your rifle with you. Where’s Bracegirdle?”
The sub was in the bar area, a pint by his side, came across instantly.
“You are lieutenant, substantive in the rank, from tomorrow morning, Bracegirdle. I shall be away on a special flight next week and possibly on occasions thereafter. You will be OIC Flying in my absence. Pickles!”
A copy of the Times was folded away and Pickles walked across.
“I shall be absent from the field on some sort of funny business next week, and after, perhaps. Bracegirdle here is promoted and will take over Flying. You are senior on the field otherwise, are you not?”
“Yes, Commander. I am to hold the fort, I presume?”
“Yes. Should only be for a few days at a time. Captain Troughton has told me almost nothing, naturally. Run the place by guess and by God – everything as normal.”
They laughed and had a second beer, the wardroom being a sober place when they were to start work at five in the morning, virtually with the sun.
Tubbs’ Mention in Despatches coincided with a spring storm, to the pleasure of all. Peter made the announcement before dinner, the wind beating at the windows of the Cottage and forcing him to raise his voice.
“Plymouth says the weather is getting worse down there.”
They cheered.
“No flying tomorrow. I have spoken to the Regency Hotel in Brighton and they will be putting on a dinner for us, six thirty for seven o’clock tomorrow. Best bib and tucker. Transport is arranged and there will be rooms for us all at the hotel.”
He passed the word quietly as they ate that all costs were to be covered by the wardroom fund – no need to worry about empty wallets.
“Does it include me, Commander?”
Farnsworth was not sure how he fitted into the wardroom, feeling that he was an outsider among the sailors and fliers.
“All officers, Mr Farnsworth. Bring along a thirst – nothing else required!”
Peter had arranged the celebration from his own funds, had sent a cheque across to the hotel that morning. There would be no mention of the source of that payment. A few of the more thoughtful might wonder just how the wardroom could afford such a beano; most would not argue.