Battlecruiser (1997) (34 page)

‘Sir?’ Price sounded wary.

Stagg said, ‘More coffee. I’d have something stronger, but the sun’s hardly over the yardarm yet!’ He laughed shortly. ‘Not even for me!’ He glanced down at some papers. ‘I hear the party went off all right. For that Canadian chap, what’s-his-name?’

‘Rayner, sir.’

Sherbrooke watched him: he was on edge about something. The rest was bluff.

‘I’m told the admiral was pleased. Good show. And what about replacements for the men killed in the Med? Your job, I know all about that, but I’d like to
know.
’

‘Still two to come, sir.’ He waited while Stagg searched for his cigar case. ‘Did you find another flag lieutenant when you were in London?’

Stagg shrugged. ‘More or less. He’ll be joining us later. Good record, and the right background. We’ll have to see.’

Price came and went; the coffee remained untouched.

‘You’ll hear soon enough, Guy, but it’s right at the top of the secret list. It’s to be Sicily, no surprise to us, of course, but the brains of Whitehall intend to provide a few diversions to keep the enemy guessing. It will be hard, no matter how it goes. But
it must work.
Everything will depend on this first step and the navy’s role will be paramount. Nothing new in that, but I want every man jack to know it!’

‘We will begin to reammunition tomorrow, sir.’

Stagg was not listening. ‘I was reading the dockyard report.’ He gave him a searching glance. ‘And your comments about it. I must be frank, I thought they were well out of line. Not what I would have expected, from you, anyway.’

So that was it. Sherbrooke said, ‘I thought . . . I still believe that the refit and repairs were skimped. Our last engagement showed what kind of damage we might expect. Frankly, sir, I think it puts the ship at risk.’

‘Do you?’ He smiled. ‘This from the man who goes hell-for-leather against a German cruiser, and then practically stops the ship to pick up three men. Now that I
would
call a risk!’

‘Justified, sir.’

Stagg stood up, and ignored the papers which fell from his lap.

‘
Reliant
is a good appointment for you, Guy. What you needed, maybe more than you realized. I’ve seen what the other business did to you. I understood, but you know as well as I do that where I am concerned, the rap stops here. You command my flagship, and I know I’m not all that easy to serve under. That can’t concern us. The next months, weeks even, are vital, and I don’t just mean to the progress of the war. Later on, perhaps,
Reliant
can go into dock for a proper overhaul,
but not now!
’

‘Is there something else, sir?’

Stagg sat down and stared at the papers around his feet.

‘Between us, Guy, I’m not even sure myself!’ He grinned suddenly, as he did when he was speaking with some dumbfounded sailor on his unofficial rounds. ‘I may not be staying in
Reliant
for much longer. It depends . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Well, it
depends
– let’s leave it at that.’

Sherbrooke said, ‘Another flag officer is taking over?’

Stagg looked away. ‘I doubt it.
Reliant
will probably get her well-deserved refit, and the extra armour plate we’re always being promised. After that, who can say?’

Sherbrooke waited, surprised that he could remain so calm. The big push, and then
Reliant
was to be written off, left to perform less important duties.

Stagg continued, ‘There will be a post in Washington, an important one, in view of the situation with the Americans in the Far East. I was astonished, of course, when I was suggested for it. Proud too, I must say.’

Sherbrooke thought of all the faces at Rayner’s party: the Chief, not only the oldest member of
Reliant
’s company, but one who probably knew her better than anyone. Frazier, who had turned down a command of his own, perhaps out
of the same loyalty, and Evershed, the gunnery officer, who had not rested or taken a day’s leave while the ship had been here at Rosyth until B Turret was fully operational again, and every circuit had been double-checked. Rhodes, the navigating officer, like a rock, and highly skilled; one who could handle this great ship like a schooner. So many faces he had come to know: men who all had one thing in common. The ship.

And what of dead men’s shoes? Cavendish, who had killed himself, no matter what the recorded verdict claimed. He had given so much to
Reliant
in the most dangerous days of the war, and had been betrayed by the woman he had loved.

Stagg said, ‘You have your own future to think about, Guy. You can’t keep running only to stay in the same place, eh?’

‘Then there will be no change in sailing orders, sir?’

‘None. This is our big chance. I’ll not see it screwed up.’ He gave his famous grin. ‘By anybody!’

Sherbrooke picked up his cap. When he looked at Stagg again, there was no trace of uneasiness.
The fighting admiral.

Stagg said, ‘We are going to Scapa, where we shall join
Seeker
and our destroyers.’ He frowned. ‘I’ve been promised a replacement for
Montagu.
It all takes too long!’ And then, dismissing it, as if he had just thought of something more pressing, ‘The cruiser
Assurance
is to be part of the group. Her skipper, Jock Pirie, is an old chum of mine. Things are looking up.’

As he left the cabin, Villar passed him with barely a glance.

Stagg said to him, ‘Did you arrange that shore telephone for me? Good show!’

Sherbrooke closed the door. A call to whom, he
wondered. Stagg’s watchful wife or the elegant Jane, or someone else entirely?

It did not matter. It must not. There was too much at stake.

He turned away from his own quarters and went out on deck, where the afternoon sunshine was very bright, but without warmth.

The beardless Lieutenant Frost, who was the O.O.D., straightened up as he saw the captain walking across the quarterdeck below the guns of Y Turret. For a moment he thought he had missed something, that the captain had spoken to him.

Overhead, the tannoy speaker reminded him of his duties.

‘Out pipes! Hands carry on with your work!’

Sherbrooke grasped the guardrail and looked down at the oily, littered water between the ship’s side and the pier.

In fact, he had spoken aloud, although he had not realized it.

‘I’ll not leave you, my lady. Depend on it.’

The thick wire back-spring tightened suddenly and grated around the quarterdeck bollards.

Sherbrooke looked toward the White Ensign, hanging limp and still from its staff. Stagg’s flag, too, was motionless. There was not a breath of wind, and yet
Reliant
had moved.

The bond was here. As strong as ever.

Despite the number of officers present,
Reliant
’s wardroom seemed unnaturally quiet. There were no stewards in attendance, and the pantry hatch and all doors were closed, with a Royal Marine guard in the outer lobby to ensure that this gathering remained undisturbed.

Frazier said, ‘All present, sir.’ He sounded clipped, formal. By ‘all’, he meant the battlecruiser’s senior officers and heads of departments, those who fed, armed and drove this great ship, or cared for the injuries of her company if the worst should happen.

Sherbrooke remained standing by a small table and looked at them, waiting for them to settle down. Even the ship seemed quiet, only the fans purring softly to give any sense of her movement.

The action with the German cruiser
Minden
, the near-miss with the disguised minelayer, and even the nerve-jarring bombardment of the old French naval dockyard at Ferryville outside Bizerte, the culmination of Operation
Sackcloth
, had been mentally shelved, if not forgotten. After a too-brief work-up with the rest of the group, they had headed south once more, and but for the curtains drawn across the polished scuttles to hold back the glaring sunlight, the impressive natural fortress of Gibraltar would be the backdrop, the setting for the next stage of naval operations.

Sherbrooke had never seen such an armada of ships, nor so many types and classes: escorts and storeships, tank landing craft, and the larger vessels which carried their own flotillas of box-like boats for ferrying infantry to beaches held by the enemy. In the Eastern Mediterranean the deployment would be the same, from Alexandria to Malta and the captured bases along the North African coastline, the forces of invasion were poised to attack, and as ready as they could ever hope to be.

Secrecy was a matter of conjecture; success was the only goal. There was no alternative.

And in every ship at this moment, the other commanding officers would be doing the same, telling their people what was required of them.

Stagg was ashore with the admiral, and Sherbrooke was surprised that he should feel so relieved at his absence. Stagg, after all, was a past master at this kind of thing, and would have added the right flavour, in a style which they had all come to know.

He said, ‘Gentlemen, knowing the navy, I feel quite certain that you are all aware of my reason for calling you together. In fact, you probably knew before I did myself.’

He gazed at them, the men who ran and controlled the affairs of his ship. Onslow, the Chief, massive in his chair, Farleigh, the tight-lipped surgeon commander, and Rhodes. Evershed, gunnery officer, Palliser, the major of marines, looking more like a soldier than ever in his lightweight khaki uniform. Bearcroft, the supply officer, who would know to the ounce how much corned beef would be needed to supply every gun position with sandwiches; and of course, the Bloke, John Frazier. All of them wore white drill, and looked like strangers after the scuffed sea boots and duffle coats of the North Atlantic.

‘I have a signal here from Admiral Cunningham, the Commander-in-Chief, which he has made to all ships and naval units taking part in this great operation.’ He saw Rhodes lean forward slightly, his strong fingers interlaced, intent on his words, no doubt remembering Cunningham’s signal of congratulations, not to any name or single person, but to the ship. ‘We are to embark on the most momentous enterprise of the war – striking for the first time at the enemy on his own territory.’ He smiled, and felt the tightness in his jaw. ‘For us, gentlemen, this will be Operation
Husky.
The invasion of Sicily.’

Perhaps when Nelson’s ships had paused here before the savage battle of the Nile, there had been cheering, or some other outward demonstration of loyalty and trust. Today, there were only a few quick glances, and the Chief uttered a heavy sigh, either of relief or because of the demands
Reliant
’s participation would make on his departments in boiler and engine rooms.

‘You will be fully briefed when the operational signal is received. Our main task will be to support the landings of troops on the south and south-east beaches, the Eighth Army, with our Canadian friends on their left flank. The U.S. Seventh Army will attack and land further to the west. There will be full airborne and glider support, and as much fighter cover as is required. Tell your subordinates as much as you think fit, no more. There will be a lot of men out there. Let us try not to lose them for the want of a little care.’ He paused. ‘Any questions?’

It was the Chief, as he had known it would be.

‘About how long, sir?’

He replied without hesitation, ‘Three weeks at the very most. I think it will be less.’

There was a gasp or two this time. It was not a rumour, or something vaguely planned for next year or in a few
months’ time. As far as this ship and her consorts were concerned, it was now.

There were no more questions. Sherbrooke said quietly, ‘I would like to add that if
Reliant
is called to action again, there is no better company I would choose.’

Rhodes was on his feet. ‘That goes for us too, sir!’

They were all standing, and Evershed looked as if he was about to applaud in support.

Sherbrooke walked to the door. ‘Thanks, John. It’s never easy to ask people to die for you. It never was.’

He gave a quick smile.
Perhaps not even for Nelson.

The Royal Marine sentry’s eyes followed him beneath the peak of his cap.

I was there when the Old Man came out. Looks me straight in the eye and says, Sicily
–
tell the lads. We’ll murder the bastards!

On the catapult deck, Rayner watched the mechanics checking over the two Walrus amphibians. Stripped to the waist and wearing shorts, they looked quite at home in the sun.

Eddy Buck wiped his hands with a rag and said, ‘Over there across the Bay – d’you reckon the Spaniards are making a note of all this? Calling up their pals in jackboots? God, what a killing they could make amongst this lot!’

Rayner saw his new Telegraphist Air Gunner clambering out of the aircraft. He was a regular, a leading hand, very stiff and unused to the informality of their small crew. His name was Percy Moon, and like his predecessor Jim Hardie, he was a Londoner. When he had first heard him speak, Rayner had almost expected to see the dead gunner back again.

They both looked over at one of the destroyers as a burst of cheering broke out across the crowded anchorage.

Rayner said quietly, ‘It’s on, then. I wondered what our
skipper mustered the senior officers for.’

Buck looked at him, unusually grim-faced for one who was rarely without some witty rejoinder.

‘Won’t end it, though, will it?’

Rayner grinned and slapped his bare shoulder. ‘Hardly! It’ll go on for years and years. You and I will be too old to climb into a bloody Shagbat by then!’

Buck’s mood did not lighten.

‘If anything goes wrong . . . I mean, if I got the chop . . .’

Rayner looked at him. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know. I can have your egg for breakfast.’

Then he gripped his shoulder. ‘Listen, Eddy. We’ll be together. No matter what.’

They both looked up at the Rock, the peak of which was drifting in a freak heat haze.

Rayner said, ‘Remember. I’m banking on you to be best man.’