Kemp let his hands move up and outwards to the arms of his chair. `I think I am a tolerant man, Lindsay. Do not overtax me. There is vital work to be done and without wasting any more time.' He stood up and walked to a scuttle. `The situation in Malaya is grave, more so than I would have thought possible. Of course I realise the Japanese have only been facing our native troops for much of the campaign, but I still feel that in my early days we would have given any attacker out there very short shrift indeed.'
Lindsay watched his profile. Native troops. Why not just let him talk. Get it over with and send him away happy.
Instead he said abruptly, `The troops are from many parts of the Commonwealth. Indians and Australians, as well as our people. I understand the Indian infantry have not been trained in tank warfare. Have never even seen one. They were told no attacker could use them in the ungle. I suppose the Japs didn't know that though.' Kemp swung round. `That's probably a damned rumour!' He calmed himself with a quick effort. `One thing is certain, however.'Singapore will be held. It is a sad business to lose so much of Malaya, but with Singapore made even stronger than before we can soon retake the initiative on the mainland.'
Lindsay massaged his eyes. What was Kemp saying? That Benbecula was to go to the Far East? If so he was deluding himself more than ever.
Kemp became very grave, so that his eyes seemed to sink into the wrinkles like bright buttons.
`Reinforcements will be sent forthwith. A fast convoy is being mustered and will sail in four days. It is a vital, convoy. Armoured vehicles and anti-aircraft weapons.
Troops and supplies, and everything else they'll need for a siege.'
Lindsay tensed. `Around the Cape, sir?'
`Of course. Did you imagine, I would direct it through the Med. to Suez? We'd have evry bomber and submarine 4 attacking it all the way.'
Lindsay replied, `I know, sir.'
`Non-stop to Ceylon.' Kemp seemed satisfied Lindsay was now in full agreement. `From there the troops and supplies will go on in smaller ships with fresh escorts. The FOIC in Ceylon is ready to act and will get them moving within two days of our arrival.' He rubbed his hands. `That will keep the moaning minnies quiet when they see what can be done with a bit of initiative and drive.'
Lindsay said, `It's thirteen thousand miles to Ceylon, sir. Even allowing for minimum changes of course to avoid U-boat attacks, breakdowns and delays it will take nearly seven weeks to get there.'
`Really? Kemp's eyebrows seemed to rise a full inch. `I' am glad you have such a quick grasp of routes and distances. But I hope you are not suggesting that Singapore will have sunk without trace before that time?' He laughed quietly. `And there will be no delays. This is an important job. We will have a heavy escort, and will go through regardless of what the Hun can throw our way.'
Lindsay stood up. `Look, sir, my idea about this German raider was not just born on the spur of a moment. I believe it is the start of something fresh. Something which could put our convoys into" real danger. We're fighting on two oceans now. Even the Americans can't be expected to help us until they've replaced some of their losses at Pearl Harbour.'
Kemp picked up his cap and eyed it critically. `I am not concerned with the American Navy, Lindsay. How they fight their war ,is their affair. Personally I have greater respect for the Japanese. I worked with them in the last war. Courageous, plucky little chaps. Plenty of guts.' He sighed. `But fate can be unkind,as we have seen.'
Lindsay could feel his mind reeling. It was like part of a badly acted play. Dinner jackets in the jungle. The captain on his bridge saluting as the ship went down.
He said, `I'm afraid I can't agree, sir.'
`That is hardly my worry, Lindsay.' He smiled grimly. `I know 'you're fretting about having this old ship to command. With any sort of luck I may be able to help towards something better.' His smile vanished. `But I intend to see that my arrangements work. I do not expect to hear any more of this defeatist talk from you or anyone else.'
Lindsay followed him from the cabin. `Would you like to see your son, sir?'
Kemp did not turn. `When he has achieved something worthwhile, yes. Then I'll see him with pleasure.'
Lindsay saluted as Kemp hurried down the gangway and then turned abruptly towards the bridge. The commodore had a new appointment and expected everyone to. work, or die if necessary to make it a success.
He stopped and looked up suddenly at the masthead pennant flicking out to the wind. He had just remembered Goss's words. I don't think we'll ever get back.
Then he thought of the commodore and quickened his pace again. I'll get them all back, if it's only to, spite that pompous fool, he thought.
And if Commodore Martin Kemp was coming along for the ride he might at last realise what he was up against. Or kill all of us.
Jupp was waiting for him and said, `South Atlantic then, sir?'
Lindsay sat down wearily. `Who says?'
Jupp showed his teeth. `Some fur-lined watchcoats'ave just arrived, sir. The pusser 'as 'ad 'em on order for weeks.' He spread his hands. `If they sends us that, then we just lave to be goin' to the sunshine, it stands to reason.'
Lindsay nodded. `Except for the word reason, Jupp, I'm inclined to agree.'
12
Convoy
Forenoon watch closed up at defence stations, sir.' Stannard saluted formally and waited for Lindsay to comment.
Lindsay glanced at the gyro repeater and then climbed on to his chair and stared at the grey horizon for several seconds.
`Very good, Pilot.'
He waited for Stannard to move away again and then lifted his glasses to study' the regularly spaced lines of ships. The convoy had been at sea for four whole days and as yet without a sign of trouble. The first two days had been very rough with gale force winds and visibility down to four miles. Maybe the U-boats had run deep to stay out of the savage buffeting which such seas could give their slender hulls, or perhaps they had just been lucky. The convoy was small but weighty nonetheless. The ships were. steaming in three columns, the centre one being led by a modern heavy cruiser mounting twelve six-inch guns, a formidable looking vessel which represented the main escort. She was followed by two oil tankers and then the most hated member in the group, a large ammunition ship which steamed directly ahead of the Benbecula. The two outer columns were led by troopships, followed at prescribed intervals by freighters, the decks of which were covered by crated aircraft and armoured vehicles of every kind. They were well down in the water, and Lindsay guessed their holds were also crammed to capacity.
The destroyer escort was impressive. Six of them, none more than a year old, an unusual state of affairs with so many shortages elsewhere, and evidence of the importance placed in the convoy's safety and protection.
It was strange how the weather had eased. That too was rare for January. The horizon was sharply defined and very dark, and as Lindsay steadied himself in his chair he thought it made Benbecula's list all the more obvious. The horizon line appeared to be on the tilt with the ships balanced on it and in danger of sliding uncontrollably abeam.
He readjusted the glasses to watch one of the escorts zig-zagging some five miles ahead of the convoy. He could see the great white surge of her bow-wave creaming away from her raked stem, the lithe hull almost hidden as she sped protectively across the convoy's ponderous line of advance. Just the sight of her plucked at his mind and made him remember his own destroyer and the others which he had served before her. Fast, aggressive and graceful. They' above all had managed to retain the dying art of ship design. The cruiser on the other hand was like some grey floating fortress. Bridge upon bridge, her triple gun mountings and secondary armament giving her an air of massive indestructibility.
Some signal flags broke from the yard of the troopship leading the starboard column. The commodore was urging some unfortunate captain to keep station or make better speed. He could picture Kemp up there, revelling in his new power. It was to be hoped he was equally aware of his great
responsibility.
All around them the horizon was bare, with the enemyoccupied coastline of France some thousand miles away on the port beam. Apart from the distant shapes of the prowling destroyers the sea was theirs alone. Not even a gull, let alone a spotting aircraft to break the dull overcast sky as a warning of impending danger.
Seventeen ships in all. He saw some anti-aircraft guns aboard the cruiser swivel skyward, their crews going through the daily drills. Unconsciously he touched the gold lace on his sleeve. She was the Madagascar, nine thousand tons, and capable of tackling almost anything but a battleship. Had things been different he might have been on her bridge right now, or one like it. Doing what he had been trained for. What he had lived for.
He looked round the bridge, seeing the worn panelling, the usual scene of watchkeeping monotony. Quartermaster on the wheel, telegraphsmen swaying with the easy roll, their eyes lost in inner thought. A signalman was sitting on a locker splicing a worn halyard, and Ritchie was leafing through the morning watch reports with little on his face to show what he was thinking. A bosun's mate, a messenger gathering up the chipped enamel mugs, everything as usual.
Dancy was out on the open wing, his glasses trained on one of the ships. Stannard leaned against the screen, his face set in a tight frown.
Lindsay eased forward to watch some seamen who were working on the well deck, taking the rare opportunity to dab on some fresh paint under C.P.O. Archer's baleful eye. It was very cold, but after the ice and the constant hazards of working on a slippery deck with seas breaking over their numbed bodies they would find it almost normal.
He lifted his glasses and trained them on the commodore's ship. She was the Cambrian, a handsome twinfunnelled liner which had once plied between England and South America. Commanding the Benbecula had made a marked difference where merchant ships were concerned. Before, Lindsay had seen them as charges to be protected. Names on a convoy list to be chased or reprimanded as the occasion demanded. The slow ones, and those which made too much smoke. The ones who strayed out of their column or crept too close on the next ahead. With so many ex-merchant service people around him every day and night he was seeing them differently. They spoke of their past records, their cargoes and passengers. The carefree cruises or months in harbour without charter, and the dockside thronged with unemployed, hungry seamen. Rogue ships and bad skippers. Fast passages or valuable time and freight lost while searching for some other ship in distress. Shifting cargo in a Force Nine gale, miserly captains who kept their crews almost on starvation diet for their own ends. It was so remote from the regulated world of the Royal Navy. It was like re-learning everything just by listening to others.
Stannard had worked in a whaling fleet and on the frozen meat trade before joining the company. The second engineer, Lieutenant Dyke, had originally gone to sea in a Greek ship running guns to the Republicans in the Spanish Civil War. To them the ships they met in convoy were like old faces, old friends, with characters to match.
Stannard was studying the next ship ahead. `Down two turns.' He looked at Lindsay and gave a wry smile. `Don't want to be too near that joker if she gets clobbered.'
Lindsay nodded. He had seen an ammunition ship go up. She had been two miles away, yet the noise, the savage pressure on his ears had been almost unbearable. One great ball of fire, rising and expanding like another sun. When the smoke and steam had faded there had not even been a stick or spar to mark where the ship had been. What sort of men were they, he wondered, who would go to sea again and again knowing they were the targets?
He saw a small hatch open on the forward hold and Lieutenant Barker clambering on deck to stand shivering in the wind. He had been checking his stores again, no doubt. He did not seem to trust anybody where they were concerned. Barker had returned from leave in a very shaken state of mind. Lindsay had heard that he had some private property in England. Boarding houses or something of the sort. But when he had gone to make his usual inspection of his other source of income he had been horrified to find them commandeered by the military. Every room filled with soldiers. Paint scratched, floorboards used for firewood. The havoc had been endless. Jupp had casually mentioned it to Lindsay. It seemed to amuse him.
A destroyer on wing escort turned in a wide arc to begin another zig-zag and he watched her with silent fascination. Then he remembered that she was the Merlin and recalled her young commander waiting in the office at Scapa. That day when he had seen Lovelace. When he had met the girl in the passageway. He thrust his hands into his pockets and stared fixedly at the sloping horizon. It seemed so long ago. And it felt like yesterday.
`Signal from commodore, sir.' Ritchie was wide awake. `Alter course in succession to two-two-zero.'
`Acknowledge.' He heard Stannard moving swiftly to the gyro.
Ritchie steadied his telescope. `Execute.'
Like ponderous beasts the ships moved slowly on to their new course. A destroyer swept down between the lines, a signal lamp flashing angrily at a rust-streaked freighter which had edged badly out of station. As she dashed abeam of Benbecula her loud-hailer echoed across the churned water, `You have a bad list, old chap!'
Stannard snatched a megaphone and' ran to the open wing. `You have a loud voice, old chap!' He sounded angry.
Lindsay watched him thoughtfully. Like Fraser, Stannard was often quick to malign the Benbecula. But if anyone else tried it he became protective, even belligerent.
He came back breathing hard. `Stupid sod!'
Lindsay asked, `Have you heard how your brother is getting on?'
`Not much.' Stannard stared gloomily towards the nearest ship. `He is always a cheerful cuss. I think he enjoysbeing in the army.'
Lindsay could tell Stannard wanted to talk. Heseemed -on edge, different from before his leave.
`Your people are in Perth, I believe?'
'Yeh. My dad runs a sale and repair business of agricultural gear. He'll be missing young Jason, I guess. He's twenty-five almost. It was bad enough for my folks when I scarpered off to sea.' He turned his head sharply. `Watch your helm, quartermaster! You're snaking about like a whore at a christening!'
`Aye, aye, sir.' The man sounded unmoved. Nobody seemed to mind Stannard's occasional bursts of colourful language.
He continued, `Most of Jason's mob come from Perth or nearby.' He gave a brief smile. `Nearby means a coupla hundred miles either way in Aussie.'
Lindsay thought of the news reports, the confused despatches he had read in the London papers. It sounded as if the Japs were right across the Malay Peninsula, cutting it into halves with a line of steel.
Ritchie called, `Signal from Merlin, sir! Aircraft bearing zero-eight-zero!'
Before anyone could move the control tannoy reported, `Aircraft at Red one-four-oh. Angle of sight one-oh.'.
Stannard said harshly, `That Merlin must have good RDF. She's two miles on our starboard quarter.' He shook his fist at the deekhead. `Why the hell don't they give, us something better? We might just as well have a pair of bloody opera glasses!'
Lindsay strode to the port wing and levelled his glasses over the screen. It was not hard to see it now. A black splinter etched against the sky, seeming to skim just clear of the horizon line itself.
He hard Dancy at his side fumbling with his glasses.
'Door t bother, Sub. It'll be a Focke Wulf reconnaissance plane. Long-range job. It'll not come within gunshot unless by accident.'
Very faint above the sea noises and muffled engines Lindsay heard the far off notes of a bugle. The cruiser was doing things in style. Within seconds the A.A. guns would be cleared away and tracking the distant aircraft. It was always good experience for the crews. He rubbed his eyes and lifted the glasses once more to watch the enemy aircraft. How small it looked and near to the sea. Both were illusions, as he knew from bitter experience. The Focke Wulfs were like great eagles, huge whenever they came near enough to be seen properly. They could cover many hundreds of miles of ocean, where there were no fighter pla
nes to pluck them down and no guns to reach them as they circled so lazily around a convoy, their radio operators sending back the vital information. Position, course and speed. It never varied. Even now, somewhere out there in the grey Atlantic a U-boat commander would be awakening from a quick nap by one of his officers shaking his shoulder. Convoy, Kapitan. And the signals from his H.Q. would waste no time either. Attack, attack, attack.
`Signal from commodore, sir.' Ritchie stood in the doorway. `Maintain course and speed. Do not engage.' Do not engage. Lindsay felt despair like pain. What did the bloody fool imagine they could do? Dancy said, `Is it bad, sir?'
`Bad but not critical, Sub.' He looked at him calmly. `We will be altering course at dusk. That may throw them off the scent. If we can keep up this speed we should soon be out of range even of that high-flying bastard!' He had spoken with unconscious venom and realised Dancy was watching him with obvious surprise. Surprise that the cool-headed commander should possess any feelings. That he could hate. He added slowly, `He'll keep up there as long as he can. Flying round and round and watching us. He may be relieved by one of his chums. It happens.'
Dancy turned towards the distant cruiser. `She's got an aircraft, sir. I saw it on the catapult.'
Lindsay laughed. `A poor old Walrus. Better than nothing, but that bastard would have it down in flames before you could blink.'
`Makes you, feel a bit naked, sir.'
Lindsay walked towards the wheelhouse. `Keep an eye, on him, Sub. I'm going to check the chart.'
Dancy stood at the end of the wing watching the aircraft. How slow it seemed. But it was very real. The r enemy. Something you could see. Not like the haphazard flash of guns in the night. The terrible leaping reflections on the ice as a ship had burned and died before his eyes. There were real Germans over there. Sitting on little stools. Drinking coffee perhaps as they peered towards the convoy. How would the ships look, he wondered? Little dark shapes, betrayed by their long white wakes and a haze of funnel smoke.. Impersonal. Remote. Dial they hate the men in the convoy? Did they feel anything at all as they listened to the plane's operator hammering away at his morse key?
Rendezvous-South Atlantic Page 21