He shook himself angrily. He had known most of them since the beginning of the war. Had fought side by side with some of them, used his own ship to defend others damaged in battle while they all prayed for the enemy to fall back, or for a sign of air-cover, or a miracle. Now there was a distinct coolness which seemed to leave him isolated. Maybe they believed he should have tried to suppori Duvall’s lone attack on the U-boat? Or they resented the fact he had assumed Duvall’s role as half-leader as a direct result of Warden’s sinking?
Most likely it was the war, just the bloody war, he told himself for the tenth time. Once they were working together again, training in the fjord on the east coast as Beaumont had described, things would all sort themselves out again.
The voices died as Beaumont tapped briskly on the table.
He looked at the captain and said, “Captain Kimber has something to tell you, gentlemen.”
Drummond found himself sitting rigidly against the chair. The raid was off after all. He did not know if he felt glad or let down.
Captain Kimber stood up slowly and tapped his pipe against one palm.
“I am sorry to bring you here from your ships at so little notice. Most of you will be pretty tired after your run from England. Some,” his eyes moved to Drummond, “will be needing time to recover from a totally unexpected diversion. However … ” He looked at Beaumont. “‘Time is short.”
Drummond saw Beaumont’s expression. Grim but excited.
Kimber continued calmly, “This morning, the British and American forces in the Mediterranean performed the first part of Operation Husky. The invasion of Sicily.”
Drummond waited, seeing it in his mind. The drifting smoke from the bombarding squadrons, an anonymous flow of khaki as the soldiers swarmed up the beaches and into the tracer.
“You will all be pleased to know that the invasion is being carried out with complete success.”
Kimber smiled warmly. It lit up his face from side to side, as if like everyone else in the room, in every part of the unconquered world, he had been waiting, afraid even to dream, of this very moment.
But nobody spoke, and when Drummond looked at the others he saw their expressions, each man thinking of the cost, of the waiting, of the hopes which had been pinned on this vital part of the road back from all those retreats and setbacks.
Kimber said, “You do not have to be a master strategist to guess that an invasion of Italy will follow very shortly. After that,” he shrugged, “it will be up to the Combined Staffs to prepare the real thrust into Europe from the north.”
He had everyone’s full attention now.
“You already know that the presence of German heavy naval units in their Norwegian bases is a real menace to our convoys to Russia. The fact they exist at all means that many dearly needed ships and men are being tied down in case they should venture out to follow Bismarck’s example. We will need every ship if our future plans are to have a chance of success. I am entrusted to tell you that an attack by our midget submarines is being planned for the autumn. It is a top secret, that goes without saying, of course. The Tirpitz in particular is being held in her northern fjord to conserve fuel. Fuel needed by their army to fight against the Russian advances on the Eastern Front. But when winter closes in that battlefront will become a frozen stalemate once more. Tirpitz will be free to move out. To put pressure on our supply routes when our forces are required elsewhere.” He gave what might have been a sigh. “She will not move out. Our midget submarines must damage her to such an extent that she can be finished off at leisure at some later date.”
Beaumont cleared his throat and said, “You know of our mission. At the same time we will attack, and if possible cripple the fuel dump which is situated in the same fjord.” His eyes flashed in the dull light. “These things we will do.”
Drummond realised that Miles Salter was on the other side of the room, speaking softly to one of his assistants. A large camera stood on the ground at his feet. A record for all times.
Kimber nodded. “However. ” He looked at each face in turn. “Intelligence have informed me that the enemy is preparing to move the midget sub school south, to Holland, in the near future. A surface attack on the fjord after that would show the Germans we are more concerned with the fuel dump. Any attempt to put midget submarines through the minefields, nets and God knows what else, would be met with instant disaster!” He looked hard at Beaumont.
The latter breathed out slowly. “This is a slight setback for us. But it will mean that our attack must be mounted within the next week or so.”
The commanding officers stared at him as if they had all misunderstood what he was saying.
Then one, Cromwell of the Whiplash, exclaimed incredulously, “But, sir, the weather is too perfect for the enemy! Calm seas, good visibility, they’d kill every man-jack before he got within miles of the Norwegian coast!”
There were several murmurs of agreement, and Drummond saw the brief gleam of anxiety in Beaumont’s bland expression before he said curtly, “I am aware of the meteorological disadvantages, thank you, Cromwell.”
Kimber said hurriedly, “We will give you every available support. The Norwegian underground have been working closely for months with our agents. It is well known that the enemy has removed part of his northern minefield to facilitate the training of the midget submarine crews.”
He was tapping his pipe stem against the chart table as if to emphasise each point.
“A carrier will be laid on to provide air-cover as you withdraw from the combat area. Everything possible will be done to assist you. It is a very dangerous mission, some would say foolhardy. Because of this, however, it will carry the necessary element of surprise, enough to take the enemy aback just long enough for you to hit him where it really counts.”
Beaumont looked round the room challengingly. “Questions?”
Selkirk of the Ventnor said gruffly, “There are only seven ships in the flotilla. ” The merest pause. “Now. ” He gestured to the chart. “Why not send some more destroyers to support us?”
Beaumont watched him narrowly. “The enemy intelligence is not without skill.” He could barely hide his dislike for Selkirk. “Any sudden, additional movement of shipping would give the game away before it had begun. As it is, I am quite certain that the Germans have plenty of agents right here in Iceland. No, we will continue as a flotilla.”
Selkirk remained standing. ” Warlock’s the half-leader, sir. Is that to be permanent?” He did not look at Drummond.
Beaumont smiled gently. “A matter of seniority is always a problem. Perhaps I should have mentioned it earlier. Lieutenant-Commander Drummond has been promoted to acting commander.” The smile faded. “Are you satisfied?”
Selkirk turned to Drummond, his face confused. “Congratulations, Keith.” But his eyes were angry. Hurt.
Drummond said quietly, “It is the first I’d heard of it.”
“Ah well.” Beaumont was watching him cheerfully. “You know the Admiralty.” He wagged one finger. “Just pray the war doesn’t end too quickly, eh? Or you’ll drop your new stripe before you’ve got used to it!”
Drummond saw the others looking at him. It was all there. Pleasure, envy, even disapproval. Promoted over a dead man’s head. It was rarely popular.
Kimber said, “The flotilla will be moving to the east coast in two sections as before. Beginning in three days’ time. The base staff will be inspecting each vessel, so have your spares and replacement lists ready. Once the show begins to move there’ll be no time for second thoughts.”
Drummond asked, “Is there any chance of the attack being cancelled, sir?” They had to know. To clear the air.