Howard looked at him, suddenly drained when before he had felt nothing but the driving urge to find and kill the enemy.
“It was too far away. So it had to be an acoustic torpedo. I stopped our engines so it had nothing to home on to. Schneider’s boat was the nearest thing.” He shrugged and even that made his shoulders ache. “Someone up there likes us quite a lot, Number One.” He turned as the Blackwall split the morning apart with her shrill whistle. “Slow ahead together. Signal the others to take station as before.”
Treherne gripped his hand. “I’d never have believed it if anyone had told me!”
Howard watched Rooke laying off a new course, his fingers deftly working with ruler and pencil, but his mind still ringing to that last moment of triumph. He had probably not even thought of how near they had all been to joining Schneider’s coffin on the bottom.
Schneider had been one of a few U-Boat commanders who had risen above their secret, faceless existence. Theirs was a dangerous war, and many more would pay with their lives for trying to reach just one target too many. But Schneider’s reputation had been more than that of courage and success. It had created fear. He had even put down neutral ships, when there had been any neutrals left in this war, and was said to be dedicated, as if it was some private mission.
Howard walked to the rear of the bridge and stared down at the narrow shining deck, where Ayres and his men were all laughing and slapping each other on the back while they reloaded their racks. As well they might, he thought with sudden pride. Schoolboys and tradesmen against one of Hitler’s crack commanders.
Treherne watched him light his pipe, saw the way his fingers were quite firm as he tamped down the tobacco and watched the smoke streaming over the bridge ladder.
“Fall out action stations, Number One. Our old Hudson will be sniffing around until it’s relieved … I don’t think even that bloody kraut will risk another attack.”
“You think it was the same one that almost got us before, don’t you, sir?”
“Maybe.” He rubbed his eyes. “See if you can rustle up some sandwiches, will you?”
He thought of Treherne’s question and knew he had deliberately avoided it. Such things did not happen in wartime. He thought suddenly of Marrack and his little ship.
He said quietly, “It was just for you, Number One.”
In spite of all the buzzes and informed sources, HM Destroyer Gladiator did not return to Liverpool in time for Christmas; nor did she remain in Gladstone Dock long enough to welcome the New Year. But not to celebrate their brief return and all they had achieved was out of the question, so a wardroom party was hastily arranged to fall somewhere in between.
Howard had no idea just how many people had been invited, nor did he expect Gladiator’s wardroom to be able to cope. A mass of figures, some from the other ships in the group, friends from Western Approaches HQ, and many more who had worked on their behalf in the bitter months and years of the same endless battle.
The boss did not come himself although he had sent for Howard personally to congratulate him on his success as Vickers’s second-in-command, and particularly his attack on Schneider’s U-Boat and its destruction. Max Horton made no secret of the fact that it was a perfect example of his own strategy, the true cooperation between air and sea forces, something which had once been virtually unknown. Howard had learned that the salvage tug had finally reached her objective and, with air cover from the carrier Seeker, had got the big oil tanker safely into harbour.
Howard pushed his way through the throng, shaking hands, seeing faces he knew well, others he knew not at all. Captain Vickers towered above everybody, and was seen to place each empty glass on the overhead vent trunking. It was to be hoped that Vallance took them down before the ship left harbour again.
Then at long last he saw Celia by the door, Ayres pointing towards him to show her the way.
She gasped, “Sorry I’m late. Last minute flap.” She removed her hat and shook out her curls. “What a scrum! ‘Auntie’ will be along later!” She took a glass from a messman’s tray and looked at him, her eyes very green. For a few seconds the place was empty but for them, the din around the wardroom no more of an intrusion than the normal sounds of the sea.
She said, “You look wonderful. I’m selfish—I want you to myself.” She glanced at the nearest guests. “They like you a lot, David. Auntie’s chaps think you’re the greatest!” She laughed and held his arm. “When your signal arrived I just sat there and prayed. I’m so proud of you. Of everything about you.” She touched the two ribbons on his jacket. “I love you so much it hurts!”
She saw Treherne pushing through the crowd with a pretty-looking girl in a brightly coloured dress.
Howard waved to them. “That’s Joyce. They’re getting spliced quite soon.”
“Oh, David.” She dropped her eyes. “I went down to Hampshire while you were away—it was official but I made a detour to see your—” She hesitated, then faced him again. “Our house. Your friend Mister Mills is doing a fine job with the builders.” He felt her grip tighten on his arm as she whispered against his ear, “We shall make love there!”
He led her across the wardroom until they had reached Vickers.
“Here she is, sir.”
Vickers swooped down and kissed her cheek. “Lucky devil, David!”
He glanced at Howard’s DSO ribbon and said, “I gather that the official presentation is to be made in the New Year, by HM the K no less.”
The girl said, “Will you take me, David?”
“Of course he will!” Vickers signalled to Vallance with a glass, mostly to avoid coming eye-to-eye with Lieutenant Bizley. What a bloody difference, he thought. He had been discussing Bizley earlier with his friend, the assistant to the chief of staff. It would be interesting to hear his views when he arrived for the party and saw the lieutenant for himself. Bizley was looking a bit the worse for wear, he thought. His face was red and shining, and Vickers guessed he had been drinking more than he should.
Captain Naish had told him the bones of the Special Branch report on the matter. They had run the other survivor from Bizley’s motor gunboat to earth; he had been given a Mention-in-Despatches for his part in the affair. Just as Vickers had suggested when it had first been raised, the man had stuck to his guns, and had backed up Bizley’s own account of the sinking, and the deaths of her small company. But he had made one thing very clear. He had been obeying Bizley’s orders, and had been too busy lowering the float to see what had happened on the bridge. “So there’s an end to the bloody matter, Ernle. I’m only sorry it took so long!”
Naish had stared at him with amazement when he had retorted, “Why not ask Bizley himself? I really don’t see why we have to build a battleship to sink a ruddy dinghy!”
Vickers said abruptly, “Maybe Captain Naish can’t come, David. Would you like to say your piece before all your guests are awash? A bit of grub might do wonders then!”
Howard looked at the girl beside him. “Ready, Celia? Can you stand it?”
She smiled and replied nervously, “I am my father’s daughter. We’ve shared everything since we came together.”
Howard caught Treherne’s eye and the bearded lieutenant banged loudly on the pantry counter with a pewter tankard.
Eventually there was silence and Treherne said, “I’m not one for speeches.” He looked across at them. “But as Number One of this ship …”
Someone called, “Couldn’t they do any better, Gordon?”
Treherne ignored him. “In a day or so we shall be at sea again, so in a fashion this is our way of welcoming 1944 and the hopes which will come with it. In the last twelve months we’ve lost a lot of good friends, and seen many a fine ship torn to ribbons out there on the Western Ocean.” He had their full attention now, and Howard saw a young Wren wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. Part of the team.
“I’ve been at sea all my life, and I’m a hell of a lot older than most of you here. I’ve seen a lot o
f places, done a lot of things, some of which I’m not too proud of now.” He reached behind his back and took Joyce’s hand in his. “But I’d never been afraid, you see, not really afraid until I came to the Atlantic. With respect to senior officers present, never mind what they tell us, I think we’ve turned the corner, and next year the enemy will be on the run!”
He waited for some cheering to die down and added soberly, “For my part, I owe my sanity and survival to one man, and he’s right here with us now.” He raised a big hand. “I think our captain wishes to say something, for he’s the one I referred to. Escort duty is the worst there is, and the Atlantic is a sewer where war is stealth, survival and murder.” He raised a glass steadily and stared at Howard across the others. “You happen to be the bravest, most decent man I have ever met.” He turned away, unable to continue.
Celia gripped Howard’s arm. “Oh, David, I’m so glad to be here.”
There were claps and cheers as Howard stepped up on to the fireplace.
“Thank you, Number One. I could have made almost the same speech about you.” They raised their glasses to one another and he continued, “We all know what we have done, what we might be required to do in 1944. Having a command is often, necessarily, a lonely job, so you learn to share your emotions when the pressure is temporarily removed.” He took her hand and helped her up beside him. “So please share this particular miracle with us. What better place to announce our engagement, what better company too …” The rest was drowned by a wave of cheering and stamping feet. It was so loud, in fact, that not even Vallance saw Rooke, who was OOD, signalling frantically from the doorway.
Captain Vickers turned as the din of cheering faded away and saw his friend Captain Naish looking at him with quiet satisfaction.
He was ushered to the fireplace and after shaking hands with Howard and his girl he turned and faced the others; rather like a judge about to make a summing-up, Howard thought.
Naish said, “Needless to say I add my congratulations to our young captain and his lovely Wren. I’m a bit late, but I didn’t want to interrupt what I heard from the passageway.” His eyes settled on Treherne. “I think you expressed it better than any politician,” he gave a dry cough, “or senior officer for that matter!”
He looked around at their faces, young but old, tired but somehow elated by what they had seen and shared.
“I have to tell you, gentlemen, we have received a signal from Admiral Eraser’s flagship Duke of York, which reports that yesterday he met with, and after a fierce engagement, destroyed the German battle-cruiser Scharnhorst off North Cape.” In the stunned silence he sought out Treherne again and said, “We have indeed ‘turned the corner’!”
Vickers remarked, “North Cape, in winter. The poor devils.”
Naish said coldly, “Only three were picked up from the Hood, remember?”
Howard heard the exchange and wondered. Vickers, the fighting destroyer captain who had been in the thick of it for four years and yet could still find compassion for a brave and determined enemy. Naish, on the other hand, saw nothing but the impossible prize which this victory at sea might offer. Was it because it was harder to send others to fight than to face the immediate brutality of war? He knew he might never understand, and for a moment longer, would not care too much.
There was so much noise now as the stewards and messmen were struggling to lay out great trays of sausage rolls, sandwiches and other goodies. Howard doubted if anyone saw them leave; and together they walked along the deserted iron deck, with the noise of the wardroom party still ringing in their ears.
There was a moon of sorts, playing a will-o’-the-wisp game as it floated from one fast cloud to another. The ship’s fittings stood out stark and black against the sky; the whaler’s davits, and the rolled scrambling nets where men had clung to be rescued or had drowned within seconds of safety. The guns, covered to hide their smoke-stained muzzles, still reminders of Finlay’s action against the last U-Boat.
There was more noise coming aft from the forecastle where they were trying to celebrate Christmas and the New Year all at once.
A gangway sentry straightened his back as he saw them.
Howard paused. “They looking after you all right, Glossop?” He need not have asked; he could smell the rum at four paces.
The sentry bobbed his head. “Er, congratulations, sir, an’ miss. Just ’eard!”
She touched his arm. “Thank you.”
They moved on and knew the sentry was staring after them.
They paused again by the guardrails, at the place where Treherne had suggested the midshipman had thrown himself over. Even that no longer seemed real, or relevant. That was his other world.
She was staring at him, her face very pale in the eerie light.
“It’s hard to imagine what it’s like when …” She looked at the motionless guns, the empty mountings. “So still. At peace.” She faced him again and he could imagine her expression even though the moonlight had gone again.
“Up there.” She looked towards the square, uncompromising shape of the bridge. “Where you are at sea.” Her voice faltered just once. “Next time, I’d like to know. So that I can be there with you when you reach out for me.”
Together they climbed the icy rungs to the bridge, pausing to look into the gleaming, empty wheelhouse, where men had fought, hated and known fear. The only sound came from the W/T office where a solitary telegraphist was reading a magazine and eating a bun. He did not even see them.
She gripped his shoulders and said, “All the way. Please?”
It was bitterly cold on the upper bridge, everything damp to the touch. They were lying outboard of two other destroyers, but they could have been deserted as they lay in the silent shadows.
He guided her to the high bridge chair and wiped it with a cloth before lifting her on to it.
She kissed him then, and they clung together for a long time.
Then she allowed him to help her down again and stood for a few more moments looking around at the distorted shapes and reflections, so that she would remember.
She said quietly, “I shall be here. When you need me. Now that I know.”
They made their way down to the main deck again and she said, “You’ll never be alone again.”
A blacked-out tug surged past and Gladiator swayed very slightly against the other vessels.
She put her hand on the guardrail. It was as if the ship was stirring herself. Eager to leave and get back to the only life she knew.
Not yet. Not yet. I’ve only just found him.
Another year was just over the horizon; nobody could foretell what it might bring, what pain it could offer.
But for the two figures merged together by the guardrail, this was reward enough.
Epilogue | 1944
HOWARD lay quite stiff and unmoving on the top of his small bunk as the telephone shattered his dream like an explosion.
It was Finlay, who was OOW. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but Captain Vickers would like to talk on the intercom.”
“I’ll come up.” How many hundreds of times had he said that? He swung his legs from the bunk and stared for a few seconds at the new cap with its bright oak leaves around the peak, which waited to remind him of what had happened. When he caught sight of himself in reflection or a mirror he barely recognised himself. A young face, with a commander’s cap. Although he wore his old sea-going jacket the bright new stripes on that, too, seemed to accentuate a complete change. He stared around the tiny sea cabin. Even that thrust at his heart like a knife.
Vickers had been firm about it. “Things have changed, David. New ships, fresh equipment and still not enough experienced officers to take command. The Navy’s your career, and this accelerated promotion can do you nothing but good. You’ll be an asset to your next assignment.”
He could still hear his own voice, protesting. “What about Gladiator, sir?”
Just for a moment Vickers’s tone had softened. “With Gar
net, she’s to be cut down to a long-range escort. You know the idea; it’s been very useful with some of the older destroyers, the V and Ws for instance. Gladiator has a lot of good service to offer, but as a destroyer, with a commander on the bridge—well, I’m afraid that’s over, or will be after the next convoy.”
Howard made his way to the upper bridge and looked across at Kinsale’s hazy outline. It was strange weather, cold up here, but the air was almost humid when you stood out of the Atlantic wind. It was nearly August, but the ocean was as grey as ever, the great unbroken troughs stretching away into the late afternoon sunlight like moving glass. Where had the last months gone? He thought of the wardroom party; Celia, with his ring on her hand; the moments of peace and happiness.
Then on to more troop convoys, from Canada and the United States, the final build-up which had exploded across the world’s headlines on a bitter cold day in June, when the Allied armies had landed in Normandy, the shores of Hitler’s West Wall, and were even now fanning across France towards the Low Countries, and south towards the Cherbourg Peninsula. The German High Command would have no choice but to evacuate their Biscay submarine bases, and return once more to their homeland. Otherwise the bases and pens would be cut off by the advancing armies and overwhelmed.
It would be a bitter pill for the U-Boat men to swallow. After all their successes, their near-victory in the Atlantic, they would have to withdraw to the old bases in Germany, with the dreaded Rosegarden to face once again.
Howard picked up the handset and heard Vickers say, “Did I get you out of bed, David?”
Howard smiled. It was not Vickers’s fault. It was nobody’s. He glanced around the familiar bridge. So many hours; filthy nights, burning ships, dying sailors.
“What can I do, sir?”
“I’ve had a top-secret signal from the Admiralty. Two convoys are passing one another tonight, as you know; we shall be standing by to offer extra support. The fortieth escort group and a carrier are doing the same to the north.”
Howard waited. He knew all this. After tomorrow they would be heading back for Liverpool. He felt the catch in his throat. Gladiator’s final passage as a true destroyer, and his own last days in command.
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