“That is being arranged as of now. One of our submarines has been patrolling the edge of the enemy minefield for well over a week. You will make contact with her as laid down in your written orders. Up to that moment, and until you receive the final go-ahead from the submarine, you must be prepared to delay the attack.” He turned and sought out LieutenantCommander Kydd. “Your ship is fitted with rails for dropping mines?” It sounded like a statement.
Kydd nodded. “Yes, sir, Whirlpool did a bit of mine-laying last year.”
“Yes, quite so.” Kimber was speaking faster. “I have arranged for mines to be taken aboard your ship immediately. A tender should be on way to her now. ” He studied Kydd’s face grimly. “A precaution. Nothing more.”
Drummond glanced at Kydd and gave a quick grimace. It was bad enough as it was, without carrying a lethal cargo on your quarterdeck.
Kimber looked at Beaumont. “That’s it then.”
Beaumont cleared his throat. “Return to your ships, gentlemen. You can brief your officers right away. Tell them that this is a raid of maximum importance. Cool heads, steady hands.” He seemed to falter. “Well, you know the sort of thing.”
They all stood up, wanting to leave, to discuss it and find strength with their officers and men. It was always like this before something big, Drummond thought. Few smiles, not even a handshake. That only happened in films.
Afterwards it would be different.
Beaumont said, “Just a second, Keith.” He waited until the other captains had trooped out. “I merely wanted to know how you feel about it. ” He studied him meaningly. “I mean, really feel.”
Drummond followed him into his big day cabin. There were charts and folios on every piece of furniture, or so it appeared. He caught sight of himself in the-bulkhead mirror, remembering his first meeting with Beaumont as Captain (D). In his hurriedly delivered uniform, with its three bright stripes, he looked younger than ever, he thought.
He said, “It could work smoothly.”
“Could?” Beaumont’s forehead was damp with sweat. “That’s not damn well good enough, Keith.”
Drummond looked at him gravely. He had imagined Beaumont was testing him in his new role as second in command of the Scrapyard Flotilla. Measuring him, gauging where the gaps might need to be filled when they were committed to action. But it was riot like that at all, and the realisation was unnerving.
“I think that there are too many links, sir. The submarine, the oilers, this gap in the Jerry minefield, the Norwegian underground, the targets, and, of course, us at the tag-end of it. ” He smiled slightly. “Quite a few things could go adrift.”
Beaumont nodded, his eyes distant. “Yes. I see. I see that. But it was your part which interested me. In yourself.” His eyes were intense. “You feel we can make a go of it?”
“Yes.” How easy it came. “I do.”
Beaumont rubbed his palms together. The sound was like paper. “I’d ask you to have a glass with me. But I’ve things to do. Aubrey Kimber. ” He shrugged vaguely. “You know the drill.”
Drummond was relieved. He wanted to go. Needed to be on his own and think out the flaws, the faults in the pattern.
Beaumont smiled. “Good luck then, Keith. Rather have you with me than anyone right at this moment.”
De Pass peered round the door. “I was wondering, sir-” He got no further.
“What the bloody helld’you mean by interrupting!” His face was almost crimson. “Can’t I do anything without some idiot eavesdropping?”
De Pass seemed to shrink. “I–I’m sorry, sir.” He fled.
Beaumont prodded Drummond’s arm. “Damn fool. That’ll teach him, eh?”
“I think it will.”
Drummond picked up his brand new cap with the gold oak leaves around its peak. Once, promotion had been a dream. Now the reality seemed without any substance at-all.
Another glimpse of the hero. Beaumont had really lost control for a few seconds.
They walked from the cabin.
But then, in battle, it only took seconds to wreck everything.
Beaumont said, “I won’t come up, if you don’t mind.” He turned and strode back to the chaos of charts.
On deck the air was crisper, but every gun and fitting retained its damp sheen. No wonder Icelanders were said to be chronic T.B. sufferers, he thought vaguely. He glanced at the motor boat which was waiting to collect him. And what a party it’s going to be, right down the line, as Beaumont had once promised.
The O.O.D. said, “Your boat’s alongside, sir.”
Drummond raised his hand in salute and ran quickly down the short accommodation ladder.
As the motor boat pounded past the Whirlpool he saw that the job of swaying the big, ugly mines aboard had already begun. A precaution. Nothing more.
Kydd was on deck speaking with his first lieutenant. He had known Kydd longer than anyone. They had been in the same division at Dartmouth. Just boys in uniform. And now? He waved as the boat surged abeam.
Kydd was one of the few who knew how he had felt about Helen before she had married Frank Cowley. She had never even guessed. It all seemed so long ago. An eternity.
They passed under Whirlpool’s dented stem and he saw his own ship lying directly ahead. Despite her new paint, she looked tired, he thought. Like the rest of us.
The bowman raised his boathook and the boat sighed against the rope fender below the ladder. He adjusted his face to meet the side party and stepped from the boat. It had started.
Drummond settled himself more comfortably in his tall chair and waited while Sheridan completed his conversation on a telephone.
Sheridan said at length, “Exercise completed, sir.” “Thanks.”
It was pitch dark, and above the bridge the stars looked tiny and feeble. The flotilla was steaming a steady twelve knots in two parallel lines, with Lomond leading the shorter column to starboard. They had been under way for three hours, testing guns, checking everything and then checking it again.
He slid from the chair and waited for the deck to steady in the deep swell which was coming almost abeam.
“Give me the mike.”
He saw Hillier and Wingate by the compass platform, could tell from the stiff shoulders of the bridge lookouts that like everyone else aboard they were waiting for his voice. He snapped down the button.
“This is the captain speaking. Most of you know something of what is expected from us in the next few days. It is quite a lot, but no more than we can manage. In the past we have often been alone, or too late to help our friends and messmates. This time it’s different.”
He pictured the other captains preparing the ground in their own way. Beaumont would no doubt make a fine speech. Something memorable. He had an insane thought that Miles’s cameraman would be recording every action, even Beaumont having a last meal before battle.
He continued, “We’ll all be together. The old crowd. Whatever we meet with;when we reach our objective, I am certain you will do your best for each other, and for the ship. That is all.”
Faintly above the whirr of fans and the sluice of water along the hull he heard someone give a solitary cheer, like the sole supporter of an unpopular team.
Wingate grinned, his teeth very white in the gloom. “That sounded fine, sir. Just enough.”
Drummond returned to his chair. “One chap seemed to u.pprove.”
He looked for Sheridan. “You can fall out action stations. Port watch to defence stations, if you please.”
The pipe trilled over the tannoy, and he heard feet and bodies thudding down ladders and through screen doors as the offwatch men scurried to the warmth of the messdecks.
Not that it was too cold. He looked up at the masthead. It even felt like rain although there was no cloud in sight. They just wanted to get below. To shut out the sea for a bit. Put up their individual barriers as best they could.