He stared at the man standing over him. It was not the duty P.O. but Evans, the leading telegraphist.
‘Sorry, sir. It’s immediate, from Admiralty.’
Calvert’s mind cleared. ‘German raider? Not round here, I’ll bet.’ He took the signal and did not see the young sailor’s bewildered expression.
His eyes skimmed over the neat pencilled printing and came to rest at the bottom. The words seemed to leap up at him. H.M.S. HOOD SUNK BY GERMAN BATTLESHIP BISMARCK IN NORTH ATLANTIC. THREE SURVIVORS.
There was more, but the words seemed to mingle and fade without meaning. When he looked up he saw the young leading signalman wiping his eyes roughly with the back of his hand.
‘I saw her once, sir. At the Spithead Review. Knew then I wanted to join the Andrew.’ He looked away. ‘Sorry, sir.’
Calvert shook his head. ‘Don’t be. I think every man and woman in Britain has lost something in that ship.’
Three survivors? It did not seem possible. Hood had a ship’s company of some fourteen hundred officers and men. All gone, just like that? He thought of the girl on the train with her naval brooch and new wedding ring. Three survivors . . .
Calvert pressed the bell and Petty Officer Kingsmill appeared as if by magic. He glanced with disdain at the leading signalman as if he had blundered by mistake into some exclusive club.
‘Sir?’
‘Give Evans a drink. Have one yourself.’
Kingsmill stared at him as if he could not believe it, but he did what he was told. Calvert saw that the young telegraphist took a glass of port.
Kingsmill watched with interest as Calvert poured himself a large gin. Then he faced them and said quietly, ‘Hood’s gone, P.O. Just heard.’
Kingsmill fiddled with some coasters on the bar as if he did not know what to do.
Then he said, ‘God bless the old girl.’
Calvert said, ‘I’ll call the Captain. He left a number. He’ll want to know.’ But the wardroom was empty. It might have been part of a nightmare but for the empty glasses.
He poured himself another drink and swallowed it, feeling the fire of the gin but tasting nothing.
It took a long time to get through to the number Brooke had left: the home of a wealthy merchant who wanted to give Serpent’s officers a night to remember.
On the telephone Brooke sounded very near, and in his mind Calvert could see the tawny eyes as he said quite gently, ‘I know, Pilot. It just came through. Three survivors confirmed, two ratings and a midshipman . . . Are you still there?’
Calvert answered, ‘Yes, sir.’ So the girl was without hope. ‘I was – I was thinking of how it must have been.’
Brooke glanced at his officers and the other guests. Even two of the black servants seemed stunned by the news.
Calvert had been drinking; perhaps he had pictured his own ship blowing up and capsizing in those bitter waters. The Chief-of-Staff’s worst fears had been proved right. But at what cost? The world’s two greatest warships had met and the mighty Bismarck had broken the line. She was probably heading out into the Atlantic convoy lanes right now. There was not a ship to stand against her. A fleet, yes, but nothing less could do it.
He heard Calvert say, ‘It’s all right, sir. I’ve got the weight. No need for you to come off shore, sir. Not yet.’
Brooke replied, ‘I never doubted it, Pilot. I’ll leave when I can.’ He put down the telephone. It was like losing an emblem and a dear friend all in one.
I hope they catch the bastards!
It was surprising, he thought, that after seeing so much killing and destruction he could still harbour so much hatred.
Islip’s captain greeted him with a full glass. ‘The whole world will know tomorrow. God, what a mess.’
Brooke heard Kerr’s voice, terse and angry. ‘Watch it, Sub!’
He turned and saw Sub-Lieutenant Kipling, his feet apart as if the floor was moving, his dark hair falling over his forehead while he waved an empty glass.
‘What – do the right, decent thing, Number One? Behave as if it doesn’t matter? ’Cause it damn well does!’
Barrington-Purvis snapped, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, man!’
Kipling tried to focus his eyes. ‘Why must you always be such honourable chaps? Play by the rules, chant They shall grow not old once a year on Armistice Day, and everything will be just OK, is that it?’
He saw Brooke and lowered his head. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’m not often like this.’ He looked up again and Brooke was shocked to see the despair on his face. ‘But unless we learn to fight like them, we’ll never win this war in ten thousand bloody years!’
Podger Barlow took his arm and said gruffly, ‘Come outside with me. Bit of fresh air, eh?’
Conversation was slowly returning, and their host was urging his servants to replenish all the glasses.
Commander Tufnell said quietly, ‘Trouble is, old chap, your strange subbie is bloody well right.’
Afterwards Brooke thought it had sounded like an epitaph.
The next day the destroyers took station on the two big troopships, the decks of which were crammed with cheering, waving khaki figures.
As Serpent’s company fell out from harbour stations and glanced astern at the magnificent bulk of Table Mountain, the mood was very different. Many had their hearts and minds in another ocean, where a great ship and a legend had died.
6
Another World
Lieutenant-Commander Esmond leaned back from his cabin and finished a second cup of coffee, which Kingsmill had brought to him. It was strange to be sitting here while the sea’s bright horizon showed itself as it climbed up one glass scuttle before dipping down again to Serpent’s steady roll, and he blamed his uncertainty on the fact that it was the first time he had left the bridge at sea since they had sailed from Scapa Flow.
Now that the long journey was almost over he knew he should feel a sense of achievement. Since leaving the Flow this little ship had steamed almost ten thousand miles, and as the distance had mounted astern he had often thought of Sub-Lieutenant Kipling’s unanswered question. What would happen if Britain surrendered while the ship was on the other side of the world?
He looked around the cabin and thought of his hutch, where he had spent most of his time when not actually on the upper bridge, and could not shake off a feeling of unreality which was almost guilt. The knowledge that they were in safe waters could not cure him of the habits and the wariness of one who had lived on the edge of danger for too many months.
Here there were no long-range bombers to seek them out, no U-boats to strike without warning. Even the alleged commerce raiders had come to nothing. It would be an unforgettable experience for his ship’s company, especially the younger hands. After leaving Cape Town they had headed away across the great shimmering desert of the Indian Ocean, north-west to Trincomalee. More strange sights, souvenirs and some tattoos which a few of them would soon regret.
Three days after the terrible news of Hood’s total destruction came another signal about her mighty enemy Bismarck. She, too, had been sunk after a fierce battle with heavy units of the Home Fleet. It had been a near thing all the same. Bismarck had been sighted and attacked by a Swordfish torpedo bomber which had somehow managed to weave through the formidable flak and achieve one hit. It had damaged the battleship’s steering and slowed her down. Not much, but enough. It should have pleased Calvert, he thought.
There had been few cheers from the messdecks. Hood’s loss seemed to outweigh what was seen by many as a one-sided victory. And while Serpent steamed her way into warmer climates, the far-off war thundered on. Crete, which had no hope of holding out against massive airborne and parachute attacks, had surrendered. More ships were lost, many troops were taken prisoner. It became harder to put aside, let alone forget, as the sailors wandered ashore to stare at the sights. In the Atlantic and in Western Approaches at least there had always been mail, letters from home to draw families and lovers together. It woul
d be a long time now before any mail caught up with Serpent, an unfamiliar experience except to the old sweats.
Penang, and into the Strait of Malacca, which separated Malaya from Sumatra; and then into Singapore. Operation Boomerang, as some genius at the Admiralty had christened it, was almost over, for Serpent in any case. There the newly trained troops would be landed and the more experienced men taken off and transported to theatres of war where they were desperately needed. The smaller of the two troopships, a cargo-liner named Orinoco, would continue to Hong Kong with only Islip and Serpent in company.
Into the South China Sea, a place of fantasy and willow-pattern enchantment. Islands that rose straight out of the sea like sharply-pointed mountains, others that lay wreathed in seemingly permanent low cloud. The flotilla-leader Islip stayed in the lead. She was lucky enough to be fitted with the new secret all-seeing eye, radar; it would be no picnic to get lost or fogged in amongst the endless scattered islands. The constant movement of local shipping, which ranged from bat-like junks under sail to old tramp-steamers straight out of Boys’ Own Paper, was another hazard.
Piracy, smuggling, opium dens; it was easy to imagine all of it.
Kerr tapped at the door and stepped over the coaming.
‘You wanted me, sir?’
He had performed well and had kept everybody from wardroom to stokers’ mess busy with an equal serving of drills and competitive games so that there was little time to brood over what was happening at home. If he resented being passed over for advanced promotion he had not shown it.
‘Orinoco will be met by tugs and a pilot, Number One. She will berth at the docks on the Kowloon side. They’ve had a good passage this time.’
Kerr crossed to a scuttle and watched yet another spiky island passing abeam, its summit thinly covered by little trees like wispy hair.
‘Then what, sir?’
Brooke pushed his hands up behind his head. ‘We shall be under the direct command of S.N.O. Patrols. According to my lists, none too up-to-date I’m afraid, the F.O.I.C. has plenty of ships and submarines at his disposal. He probably won’t know what to do with us and will send us back with the “boomerang”!’
‘What about the Japanese, sir?’
‘We are not to become involved – that’s what it says in my orders. They are fighting the Chinese Nationalists. It has nothing to do with us.’
Kerr gave a wry smile. ‘Officially, anyway.’
Brooke thought of the Spanish Civil War. They had not become involved in that either, officially. If they had, Hitler might have had second thoughts about invading Czechoslovakia and Poland. An ineffectual government, complacency and weakness had given Hitler all the encouragement he had needed.
Kerr said, ‘I think our lads did very well, sir. Even the Chief was pleased.’
Brooke reached for his pipe. ‘So did you, Number One. I’ll see what I can do about getting you on the road to promotion.’
Kerr said, to his surprise, ‘I’m all right, sir. But thanks.’
‘By the way, my brother’s out here somewhere. He might know what’s going on.’
But Kerr was looking at the ship’s picture in the silver frame, and his eyes were lost in thought.
‘I’d be sorry to leave her,’ he said.
The telephone buzzed noisily and Brooke picked it up. ‘Captain.’
It was Calvert. ‘Bridge, sir. Signal from Islip, increase speed to twenty knots.’ Then, almost as an afterthought, ‘Lamma Island abeam to port, five cables, sir.’
‘I’ll come up.’ He turned to Kerr. ‘Commander Tufnell wants to enter harbour well before dusk. I don’t blame him.’ He picked up his cap, somehow alien with its white cover. ‘Time to alter course in an hour.’ He smiled but Kerr sensed that his heart was not in it. ‘We’ll be alongside for tea, or is it tiffin out here?’
He thought suddenly of England. Mid-summer now, but the beaches would be thick with barbed wire and concrete pillboxes instead of families and their kids. A nation under siege, holding its breath. Grim reminders posted everywhere as if people needed any. If the invader comes! Take one with you!
Kerr said suddenly, ‘When this lot’s over, will you stay in?’
Brooke felt his face relax into a smile. He clapped Kerr on the arm and answered, ‘Ask me again, Number One, when we’ve won the bloody thing!’
Brooke lowered his eyes to the gyro-compass repeater and felt them sting in the strong reflected glare.
‘Starboard ten. Midships. Steady.’ He waited for the ticking compass to settle. ‘Steer zero-five-zero.’ He straightened his back and watched the narrow channel opening up on either bow to display the great span of Hong Kong harbour. It was both breathtaking and awesome: Brooke had never seen so much or so varied a mass of shipping in his life. Islip, which had reduced speed and was leading by about a cable, appeared to be completely hemmed in by every kind of vessel, some thrusting from side to side between Hong Kong Island and Kowloon on the mainland, others moored and surrounded by lighters loading and unloading cargoes without pause. How Islip was managing to avoid a collision was amazing. It looked bad enough from here on the upper bridge; how much worse it would appear to Pike and his men in the wheelhouse.
Brooke raised his glasses for what felt like the thousandth time and studied the island as it loomed over the starboard bow: Victoria Peak, which like Gibraltar appeared to swamp the huddled houses and streets along the waterfront. There were some big houses on the Peak, rich Chinese and senior officers. What a view they must have.
Calvert said quietly, ‘Now, sir.’
Brooke called, ‘Starboard ten.’
Pike’s response was instant. ‘Ten of starboard wheel on, sir.’
‘Midships. Steady.’ Brooke dashed the sweat from his eyes. He could not recall such a lapse of attention ever happening before, no matter what hell had been breaking out around him. But for Calvert’s eagle eye they might have carved through a wallowing cluster of sampans.
‘Steady on zero-nine-three, sir.’
‘Steer zero-nine-zero!’
He said to Calvert, ‘What a marvellous place!’
Calvert smiled. ‘Only wish I could paint.’
It was late afternoon and everything seemed to glow like gold. The churned and busy waters showed no foam or white spray as the traffic surged, intertwining their wakes. The harbour, like the sky, was pure gold.
‘Hands fall in for entering harbour! Stand by wires an’ fenders!’
Brooke said, ‘We’re going alongside Islip, starboard side-to, so we don’t want to scratch the paint, eh?’
The bustling ferries were the worst. If they had some right-of-way procedure they did not openly show it. Crammed with people who barely glanced at the two warships, the little boats seemed to miss each other only by luck and inches.
They were coming up to the narrows where the distance between Hong Kong Island and Kowloon was about eight hundred yards. The naval base lay just beyond the criss-crossing ferries.
‘Dead slow both engines.’ Brooke watched Islip’s masts angling round as she altered course towards the base. Her forecastle and quarterdeck parties looked very smart in their white tops and shorts, but then Islip had been long enough on the South Africa run to be properly kitted out for the occasion. Serpent’s men might look all right from a distance, but they were still wearing their working bell-bottom trousers and dark blue caps, and their white tops already showed the marks of the greasy mooring wires that lay by the guard-rails in big shining coils.
‘Cruiser on port bow, sir!’
Brooke studied the other ship thoughtfully. Immaculately painted, with awnings so tightly spread that they looked as if they could stand the weight of a loaded whaler. She was the light cruiser Dumbarton, built for the same war as Serpent but left so much further behind by her newer and more powerful consorts.
‘There goes the Orinoco, sir!’
Brooke watched the troopship standing away, already in the hands of two capable-looking tugs and w
atched over by one of the pilot boats with its red and white flag. There were nurses on board, and they had exchanged waves many times with the sailors during the passage here.
Brooke said, ‘Dumbarton is our new boss, Pilot.’ He shifted his glasses to the light cruiser’s deck where a Royal Marine bugler was raising his instrument in readiness.
‘Attention on the upper deck! Face to port and salute!’
Brooke stood beside Calvert and saluted while his ship sounded the still with boatswains’ calls, and the flagship responded with a lordly acknowledgement.
‘Carry on!’
Brooke returned his attention to the small naval base, but not before he had seen the listless broad pennant of a Commodore Second Class. He knew nothing of the senior officer, except that, like his flagship, he had been on the China Station for six years.
Calvert whispered, ‘What’s that, for heaven’s sake?’
Brooke grinned. ‘H.M.S. Tamar, Pilot, known locally, I am given to understand, as “The Ark”.’
It was certainly what she looked like. She had come originally to Hong Kong as a troopship for the Cape and China. With a wooden hull and square-rigged sails she must have resembled one of Nelson’s ships, but now, mastless, with extra structures on deck and covered by awnings, she did indeed deserve her nickname.
‘Islip’s alongside, sir!’
Onslow missed nothing; he had seen the Jack break out on the big destroyer’s stem.
‘Starboard fifteen – midships – steady as you go.’ Brooke peered at the other ship’s bridge while Serpent moved slowly towards her. ‘Port ten – slow astern port!’
He felt the gentle vibration and could picture the surge of foam from the screw even though his eyes were fixed on the narrowing gap, and the men hurrying along Islip’s iron-deck with big rope fenders.
Wires scraped over the forecastle deck and he saw the sack-like shape of Leading Seaman Doggett already poised with a heaving-line. Aft it would be the same, waiting for the first contact, the execution of which was the tell-tale mark of a good destroyer captain. Or otherwise.
Sunset Page 9