The Horizon (1993) (6 page)

And so it would, no matter what happened to Soutter. The Fleet in the Eastern Mediterranean was going to attack the Narrows and so destroy the Turkish batteries and forts which were said to dominate the straits. With a fleet like that, backed up by the French for once, nothing would stop them. There were some great names already at Mudros: the new battleship
Queen Elizabeth
with her fifteen-inch guns like
Reliant
’s, the crack battle-cruiser
Inflexible
, which had proved herself already in her victory over von Spee off the Falklands. There was also a mixed collection of older battleships drawn from the Channel Fleet with destroyers converted to sweep for mines, plus all the necessary supporting vessels required for such a daring operation.

Purves stopped dead, so that Galpin almost bumped into him. ‘Well,
I’m
not taking the blame!’

Galpin started. ‘Quite right too, sir!’

A lieutenant came towards them and smiled. ‘Rear-Admiral Purves, sir?’

Purves glared. ‘I am, and I wish to see—’

The lieutenant glanced at a clock. ‘Oh, yes, sir, but you have been so quick – not even a guard mounted for you—’

Purves waited, sifting through his words in search of sarcasm or as close to it as a mere lieutenant would dare, then he said, ‘I came ashore to see the Flag Officer in charge. I do not have an appointment.’

The man looked baffled. ‘Then you didn’t know, sir? An invitation was just sent out to
Reliant
when she anchored.’

Purves took a grip on his thoughts. ‘I left in something of a hurry.’

‘Well, come along, sir, he’s waiting to see you. If you will follow me?’

Purves whispered, ‘What is the fool talking about, Galpin?’

‘Apparently they were expecting you, sir.’

Purves glanced at himself in an ornate mirror. Perfectly fitting uniform, the gold lace, one thick stripe and one thin, the oak leaves around the peak of his cap. An imposing figure, tall, broad-shouldered, with a face once handsome; a man’s man with an eye for the ladies. In this war there was no saying what he might achieve. He recalled Soutter’s quiet defiance. What kind of idiot at the Admiralty had caused their paths to cross again?
Like old times, sir
. We’ll see about that, he thought.

The Flag Officer Gibraltar was a full rank higher than Purves, a man who could be hard or easy-going as the situation demanded, who dealt impartially with everyone from dockyard workers to impatient captains whose needs were always a priority at this strategic fortress. Whoever held the Rock controlled the Mediterranean.

The vice-admiral got up from his desk and shook Purves’s hand. ‘By Jove, it’s good to see you!’ He took Purves’s arm and guided him out into feeble sunshine where, beneath a broad veranda, the bay and dockyard were spread out like a giant model. ‘I see you have the water-lighter on your port quarter. Good thinking. Any enemy agent curious about
Reliant
’s reason for being here might otherwise get too close. The sea is clear enough hereabouts . . . that damaged screw would soon attract attention.’

There was a huge telescope mounted on a tripod at the end of the veranda.
Reliant
’s entrance had been watched all the way.

The vice-admiral smiled. ‘Cunning idea of yours to dismiss the tugs I had in readiness. One would never believe anything untoward had happened!’

Purves met his gaze. Was this a softening-up process before the hammer fell? The water-lighter and the refusal to use tugs had both been Soutter’s ideas. He said flatly, ‘Would you mind telling me what this is about, sir?’

‘Call me John – or Sir John if it makes you easier. Of course, you’ll know nothing about it – I had forgotten. Here they’ve been talking of little else!’ As the story unrolled Purves’s mind reeled from the incredible to the
impossible. The old
Ciudad de Palma
had gone to the assistance of a capsized coastal vessel, and herself had been smashed by the biggest waves her master had ever experienced. He had apparently given up all hope until
Reliant
had found them.

The vice-admiral dabbed his eyes with his handkerchief and chuckled. ‘What we have since discovered was that one of the King of Spain’s favourite nephews – a young rascal if you ask me – was on board, an unofficial passenger who makes a habit of this sort of escapade.’ A white-jacketed steward entered silently and began to lay out some glasses. But the vice-admiral was still enjoying it, reliving it, and would tell all his friends later about Purves’s utter consternation.

‘Yes, my dear chap, a message from His Most Catholic Majesty Alphonso XIII no less, thanking the Royal Navy in general and you in particular! Whitehall will be extremely pleased. Things have not been too cordial in their dealings with Spain. Our ambassador was summoned by the King in person . . . So what do you think about that? Can’t do your future any harm at all, I’d have thought.’

Purves swallowed the cool wine but barely noticed it.

‘And now, old chap, this other thing you were coming to see me about.’ He rocked with silent laughter. ‘No wonder you had my staff on the jump!’

Purves put his glass down very carefully and watched the steward refill it. He was not certain whether to laugh and share his relief, or to tell the vice-admiral about his clash with Soutter.

His voice was quite calm again as he said, ‘I thought
it might save time, sir, if I discussed the docking arrangements at Malta?’

Then he sat back, relaxed again, in control. After all, if you shared the blame, you might as well share the reward.

At dusk on the same day as her arrival,
Reliant
weighed anchor and moved into the calm waters of the Mediterranean. She had three destroyers as escorts, and even at her much reduced speed she made a splendid spectacle as she turned and headed due east for the nine hundred and ninety mile passage to Malta.

Once the hands had been dismissed from their stations for leaving harbour, and the Royal Marine Band had gone through its entire repertoire of jaunty marches and old sea songs, most of them were unwilling to go below and miss the last sight of the Rock with its scattered lights glittering like fireflies in the sunset.

Jonathan stood by the davits of one of the whalers. He had been to Gibraltar several times, so that it gave him a strange feeling to hear the young marines of B Company calling excitedly to one another while they pointed at the fading shadow of the land. Pride at what they had helped to do, and above all the exhilaration of youth which even Waring’s drills could not bridle for long. Very few of these marines had ever been out of England before; many had never left home until they had enlisted with the Corps. But the rough seas of Biscay, the danger of collision, even the damage to their own ship was in the past now, something they had shared, and which in turn had drawn them closer together.

It was a fitting moment, he thought. Like the walls of Hawks Hill and the vivid painting of battles fought and lost, the Royals had been in so many campaigns, and yet the honour they displayed on their helmet plates and badges was
Gibraltar
, which they had taken from the enemy.

The street vendors and beggars would soon discover the youth and innocence of these marines when they reached Malta. Then what? On to Port Said as planned? Most of the officers seemed to think they would be too late for any action there. Some were genuinely anxious that they might miss it altogether, at least the bombardment.

He wondered what had really happened between Soutter and the rear-admiral. Was everything as normal as it now appeared? Or were there still true differences?

He had seen the rear-admiral walking along this same deck just minutes before weighing anchor. Amiable, speaking to seamen and marines alike, his fine cap tilted at the now-familiar angle, asking names, where they came from. It seemed to make quite an impression, but when he had passed Jonathan the smiles and the easy chatter had gone, as if it had all dropped off like a carnival mask.

A bugle blared from the bridge.
Men under punishment to muster
. Soon it would be calling the cooks to the galley, then supper throughout
Reliant
’s crowded messdecks. The sea routine of a capital ship. He tried to think of Port Said and what might be waiting there, but around him this great ship, now in total darkness, refused to release him. A lot of men scoffed at the idea that ships
lived and had character. Jonathan was not certain what he believed.

He thought too of young Roger Tarrier, the colonel’s youngest son.
As I once was
. He moved to the guardrail and stared at the gleaming water, moving so slowly, for this ship anyway.

But why? Because it was expected, because of duty or family pride; was that why he and others like Tarrier had followed the tradition?

‘All on your own, Jono?’ It was Coleridge. The Bloke. ‘Come down and have a gin. I can tell you about the King of Spain!’

Jonathan turned from the side, mystified by the remark.

But behind his back, the ship was still there. Waiting.

The damage sustained by
Reliant
’s port outer shaft was less than had been feared, but while the ship waited for the new propeller which was being sent with all haste from England, an almost holiday atmosphere prevailed. With the ship in dock, and the limited facilities the yard had to offer, local leave was the order of the day. There was not a street on the island where you would not run into men with H.M.S.
Reliant
on their cap tallies, or marines who saluted their officers with a kind of knowing smirk.

The weather improved, the sun shone, and but for the ranks of anchored troopships in Grand Harbour, their rigging adorned by endless khaki washing hung out to dry, the war seemed like part of another world. In the Eastern Mediterranean the assembled fleet had
bombarded many of the Turkish defences, with some success according to the reports. But the channel was known to be sown with lines of anchored mines, of a German pattern which could be relied on to explode even if brushed by a passing vessel.

Despite the massive bombardment by the heavy ships, whenever minesweepers had attempted to enter the channel they had been deluged with heavy gunfire of every calibre, so that they suffered casualties and serious damage and achieved very little.

And all the while, the enemy were flooding the peninsula with reinforcements, guns, men and engineers who were said to be under the instruction of German field officers.

On March 18th the battle-cruiser, re-stored and with all repairs completed, moved out into the crowded anchorage with the aid of tugs, and was, as Commander Coleridge had said, ‘Ready for anything!’

Rear-Admiral Purves left his hotel and rejoined his flagship. The band played, his flag broke at the masthead, and the soldiers who lined the rails of the troopers watched the ritual with wonder and frustration at their own enforced idleness.

The next day found
Reliant
steaming at half-speed with her escorts ahead and abeam, heading south-east by south, Malta and its cheerful markets and other temptations already far astern.

Jonathan was on the upper bridge with the watchkeepers, the nerve-centre of any warship, looking down at the squads of marines who were lying prone on the forecastle, their rifles protruding a few inches over the
side, waiting for the order to open fire as soon as the nearest destroyer released some of her makeshift targets. It was unlikely they would hit anything, but it made a welcome change from inspections, drills, and more inspections.

‘Morning, gentlemen.’ Captain Soutter walked into the bridge and returned the commander’s salute.

Lieutenant Rice, the navigator, carefully rolled away the cover from the chart-table and a boatswain’s mate waited to repeat the captain’s first order of the day, should he choose to give one.

They all waited for the captain to follow his usual routine but he stood quite still, one brown hand resting on the back of his tall chair, his eyes in deep shadow beneath the peak of his cap.

More feet on the bridge ladders, and then Lieutenant-Colonel Waring with the two other senior marine officers climbed into view, their faces as surprised as those of the watchkeepers.

Jonathan glanced round as Quitman the gunnery officer arrived; then lastly the engineer-commander, almost unrecognisable in his proper uniform with clean white cap cover, entered the crowded bridge and gave Soutter a casual salute.

He felt a sudden chill in his spine. Except for the paymasters, and the many junior and warrant officers, these men were
Reliant
’s heads of department. What had happened? He could tell by the commander’s expression that he was as much in the dark as the others.

Soutter turned to the yeoman of signals. ‘Pass the word, yeoman. I want all the bridge staff to pay strict
attention to their duties. I will personally see anyone who fails, be it as lookout or as tea-maker, at the defaulters’ table.’

Nobody smiled. In fact, when the first shots echoed up from the deck there was not even a blink. Jonathan thought how far away the rifles sounded.

Captain Soutter glanced around their tense faces and then said, ‘I thought you had all better know without delay. You can sift the information through your departments and parts of ship as you will, but better truth than rumour.’ He looked briefly at the rear-admiral’s white flag, crossed in red with its two bright balls as it strained out in the steady breeze, its cleanness made more obvious by the funnel smoke.

‘I have just seen Rear-Admiral Purves.’ There was no emotion in his tone. ‘I have to tell you that the attack on the Dardanelles, the minefields and Turkish forts, which was carried out yesterday, failed to crush the enemy’s defences. Despite the gallant behaviour of our people and the combined efforts to force home the attack, the fleet was forced to withdraw.’ He looked up suddenly as two flags, an acknowledgement to one of the destroyers’ signals, darted up the yard and then dipped again. Afterwards Jonathan recalled that glance. It was clear on his face like a shaft of real pain.

He continued. ‘The operation was costly. The battleships
Ocean
and
Irresistible
were both damaged by mines and shellfire, and were subsequently lost. The French battleship
Bouvet
suffered the same fate, and their two battleships
Suffren
and
Gaulois
received very severe damage and were put out of action. Our own fine
ship
Inflexible
also struck a mine, but is thought to have been still afloat when this news was released.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘There will be other losses, gentlemen, and the minefields and the forts will still be there.’