A Ship Must Die (1981) (3 page)

Blake wondered if he was thinking of another Australian cruiser, the famous
Sydney
. She had fought with a German raider in these very waters just over two years back and had sunk her. But
Sydney
had paid bitterly for her victory. The last that anybody had ever seen of her, including the many German survivors from the battle, she had been steaming away under a pall of smoke. Then she had vanished. Just a battered life-raft. It was as if she had never been. Oblivion.

She had been a modified version of the
Leander
class, like
Ajax
and
Achilles
which had won their fame against the
Graf Spee
at the River Plate. Blake felt the uneasiness stir his insides.
The same as Andromeda
.

‘With the Americans building up pressure in the Pacific, and the war in your part of the world taking a turn for the better, we’ve been left very much alone. Bigger events elsewhere have tended to make us too smug maybe.’ Quintin offered Blake a cigarette but then said, ‘Of course, you’re a pipe man.’

He became serious again. ‘Fact is, we’ve lost trace of several ships in the past few months. Merchantmen sailing independently for the most part. You know the sort of thing.’

‘You think the enemy’s got another raider in these waters, is that it?’

‘Could be.’ Quintin looked at a large wall chart of the Pacific and Indian Oceans. ‘The last operational raider which had any success out here was the
Michel
. She was sunk by a US sub about three months ago. But that was way up in Japanese waters.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘We’ve been in regular contact with the Admiralty in London and someone
very high up
made a signal to us just a few days after you berthed at Williamstown.’

Blake considered it. Even with her experienced and seasoned hands to back up a new company,
Andromeda
was unfit for immediate service. But against that he could appreciate Quintin’s and the Australian Navy’s point of view.

The next few months were very important for the Allies, even crucial. It was obvious an invasion would be launched against Occupied France while the armies continued to push up through Italy from the south.

Every man, ship, tank and gun would be vital. There would be no second chance. It had to come off. If they missed it when the European weather improved they would have to wait another year. In Russia the German armies now on the defensive might regroup and push through yet again. In the snow and misery of the Russian front, despite the horrifying casualty lists, they had already achieved a brutal but significant record.

And in two world wars the Germans had learned to make good use of commerce raiders. There was no better way of disrupting the supply routes and making convoys take longer diversions to avoid attack. Equally important, the fact that a raider was known to be at large necessitated the deployment of large numbers of warships to seek out and destroy her.

If there was such a ship in these vast sea areas, the German command could not have picked a finer moment. Convoys round the Cape with men for the Pacific. Convoys from New Zealand and Australia with supplies for Britain. Hundreds of valuable ships, any one of which might be vital to some part of the war machine.

Quintin was saying, ‘Anyway, the First Naval Member will
put you in the picture. I thought you’d want me to soften the blow.’ He smiled sadly. ‘I knew your father. Liked him a lot. A fine seaman.’

The door opened and the Wren officer said calmly, ‘Flags is here, sir. The admiral’s ready for Captain Blake.’

Blake looked at her. ‘Thanks.’ To Quintin he said, ‘I imagine it’s going to be quite a day, one way or the other.’ He thought of
Andromeda
’s motto.
Help from on High.
They were all going to need it.

As the door closed behind him the captain said, ‘Well, Claire, what did you make of him?’

She brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. ‘I think they expect too much. He looks like a man who has been through hell and back.’ She grimaced. ‘He’s going to
love
our Commodore Stagg, I don’t think!’

As she left him alone again, Captain Quintin gathered up his papers then let them fall on the desk unheeded.

He had been serving in a British light cruiser in that other, almost forgotten war. That was where he had met Blake’s father. Christ, he thought, were we ever as young as that?

As soon as he returned on board, Blake went to his day cabin and opened his new orders.

Moon appeared and said, ‘Commander Fairfax ’as arrived, sir. ’E was down in the forrard magazine when you came off shore. Didn’t get a chance to greet you, so to speak.’

Blake sat back in his chair, his mind still buzzing from his interview with the admiral in Melbourne.

Two cruisers were to be used to track down the raider if there was one reported, and be at first-degree readiness to carry out a search in whatever area it was known to be. Simple. A needle in a haystack would be gigantic by comparison.

To Moon he said, ‘Ask him to come aft, then send for Number One.’

Lieutenant-Commander Francis Scovell was
Andromeda
’s first lieutenant. A tall, thin officer with a disdainful manner. Of all the cruiser’s wardroom, he had been the one to miss the
last savage battle. His reasons for being away at the time were not of his making, as he had been sent to North Africa in command of a small blockade-runner which
Andromeda
had caught close inshore during the night.

It just proved you could never be certain of anything. After she had convoyed the landing craft to Italy,
Andromeda
should have gone home for a refit anyway. Scovell was due a command, though God help anybody unfortunate enough to serve under him, Blake thought.

The three cruisers had changed everything. Now the ship was in Australia. The lieutenant who had temporarily taken over Scovell’s duties had been killed, and the first lieutenant moved about the decks like a man with some unspeakable disease.

The door opened a few inches. It was Stock, the chief writer.

‘Commander Fairfax is here, sir.’

Blake liked what he saw. A neat, athletic man with dark hair and a pleasant smile. Crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes as evidence of prolonged sea-duty and bright sunlight.

They shook hands and Fairfax sat down in the proffered chair.

Blake eyed him gravely.
In at the deep end
.

‘
Andromeda
will remain in commission.’ He saw the man’s astonishment and added, ‘What’s your first name, by the way?’

‘Victor, sir.’

‘Well, Victor, in about two weeks we will proceed to sea to join company with one other cruiser. In that time we will take on the necessary complement of replacements, although thank God I still have most of the key ratings and the marines who man X and Y turrets in this ship. But the rest will have to be led, trained, driven, thumped if necessary into shape, all right?’ He smiled at Fairfax’s expression.

Fairfax nodded. ‘If you say so, sir.’

Blake said, ‘There will be a wardroom conference of course. Later, before dinner.’ He cocked his head to listen to the drumming sound of rivet guns and drills. ‘When this bloody row has piped down for another day!’

‘A question, sir. Will you speak with the officers, or shall I?’

Blake smiled. ‘You will. You’re the commander. I’ve sent for Number One to put you in the general picture, although I gather you’ve been prowling round the ship already on your own. I like that.’

Fairfax stood up, trying to conceal his mixed emotions.

‘I’ll get on it right away.’

‘Join me for a glass later, Victor. I’ve a ton of paper to go through. You’ve not asked me
why
there’s such a flap on?’

‘I can wait, sir.’

‘Well,
they
think there’s a raider hunting in this territory. We are going to find her. At least, that is the general idea.’ As Fairfax turned towards the door Blake asked, ‘What do you know of a commodore named Stagg?’

Fairfax swallowed. ‘Very thorough, I believe, sir.’

‘You don’t like him?’

‘I didn’t say that, sir.’ Fairfax was caught off guard by Blake’s direct manner.

‘It doesn’t matter. We will be under his command.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Carry on, Commander. There’s a lot to do.’

Outside the door Fairfax felt as if he was walking on thin ice. Blake was no fool, nor would he tolerate one.

He saw a thin lieutenant-commander hurrying to meet him. ‘Number One?’

Scovell eyed him haughtily. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, I want you to go over the watch and quarter bills with me, then we’ll do a complete tour of all departments, right?’

Scovell drew himself up another inch. ‘This is a pretty-well organized ship, sir.’ When Fairfax remained silent he continued, ‘We’ve seen a lot of action.’

Fairfax eyed him wryly, knowing they would not get along.

‘Sure. But I understood that you missed the really big one, is that right?’

Moon, who was passing at the time, hid a grin. Poor old Jimmy the One had put his foot right in it. Serves the snotty bugger right, he thought.

Blake heard Moon whistling as he bustled about in his little pantry.

‘It’s only a reprieve, Moon. Don’t get too excited.’

Moon peered through the hatch at him. ‘We’ll just ’ave to see about that, won’t we, sir?’

ALTHOUGH
ANDROMEDA
’S OPERATIONAL
role remained a well-kept secret, the speed of her refit became something of a joke around the Williamstown dockyard.

Dockyard workers, ordnance artificers, engineers and mechanics swarmed over and through her hull like beavers, and Blake could imagine what it was costing in overtime. Other captains complained to the dockyard manager and his staff on the basis of
we were here first
, but without avail.

Ten days after Captain Quintin’s bombshell, Blake took a breather to consider the ship’s state. They had done well, and Fairfax’s part had been invaluable. A second-in-command wore two hats. He had to take charge of routine affairs, from manning to discipline, and at the same time had to present the ship to her captain as a going concern, a team, a weapon which Blake could use with confidence under any given condition.

The new hands arrived and were soon sorted out, notwithstanding a few harsh words from the coxswain, Chief Petty Officer Couzins, to say nothing of Macallan, the dour master-at-arms, who referred to the Australian invasion as being like ‘a home match at Glasgow’.

But the ship’s company of some five hundred and fifty officers and men were already a mixture long before
Andromeda
had made her Australian landfall. There was the usual backbone of regulars in both wardroom and messdeck, but the rest were as varied as you might expect in any ship after four years of conflict.

The pilot and observer of the little seaplane were both temporary RNVR, while the taciturn navigating officer, Lieutenant Max Villar, was a South African who had served his time with the Union Castle Line before the war. Likewise,
the paymaster commander, Nigel Cross, had been a chief purser with the old P & O, and Walker, the sub-lieutenant who ruled over the ship’s motley collection of midshipmen, was a New Zealander.

Blake had a few who had been with
Andromeda
from the beginning of those two harsh years in the Med. Bob Weir, the commander (E), who had managed to keep the shafts turning no matter what had been happening on the decks above his roaring world of machinery and noise. Lieutenant Gregory Palliser, the gunnery officer, had begun in charge of B turret and had been about the only man left in one piece after the last fight.

By and large they were a good company, and what Blake had seen of the newcomers he had also liked. There had been the usual banter between the Aussies and the Poms, but that would pass. It would have to if they wanted to stay afloat. Apart from Fairfax, there were a couple of Australian lieutenants, some petty officers and over two hundred and fifty ratings.

Quintin had left the ship and her frantic prepartions well alone, and the admiral had contented himself with a mere handful of signals, when even his curiosity over their progress must have been at bursting point.

During the forenoon of the tenth day Blake was standing on the upper bridge with Fairfax and the engineer commander. It was like being on a sun-scorched steel island, beneath and around which half-naked figures bustled about with mysterious crates and sacks which were being checked aboard at each brow by the supply assistants like wary customs men. Above the cruiser the tall gantrys swung and plunged with their own offerings, while hourly the piles of equipment and stores on the berth alongside grew less and less.

Fairfax removed his cap and wiped his forehead.

‘Pity if it’s all a rumour, eh, sir? All this will have been an exercise of sweat and tears!’

Blake smiled. He had been thinking much the same. No news of the missing
Devonport
, but none of other losses either.

Weir said shortly, ‘I’d best get below, sir. My second’s a
bright lad, but he’s not the experience at handling dockyard mateys like meself!’

Weir was a remote man who strayed very little from his engines and boilers. He looked far older than his forty years and had the pallid features of a man just out of prison. Blake respected him greatly and trusted him absolutely. Equally, he understood his withdrawn manner, his inability to join the wardroom’s occasional parties and sometimes juvenile celebrations.

Weir’s whole family had been wiped out in the first big air raid on Liverpool. His wife, elderly mother and two children. Perhaps, most of all, Weir’s need of
Andromeda
was the greatest.

Blake watched him, knowing he should have had leave, even if he had nowhere to go. He had been at it too long, sparing himself nothing. The fact that the ship was still around them was a living proof.

‘All right, Chief? Satisfied with her yet?’

Weir looked at him, his deepset eyes shadowed beneath the greasy oak leaves of his cap.