Read Online Battlecruiser (1997) by Douglas Reeman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Douglas Reeman
Tags: WWII/Naval/Fiction
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our ships get scattered up to Jan Mayen or Bear Island.’ The hazel eyes lifted from the papers. ‘You’ve made up your mind, I take it.’
‘I think the cruiser intended to join
Minden
, sir, maybe with others, for all we know. Air reconnaissance is never reliable at this time of year.’ He saw the lingering doubt, resentment even. ‘I think they’re coming this way, sir. After the big convoy, the one nobody talks about.’
Stagg lurched to his feet. ‘They wouldn’t dare! With us here, and a cruiser squadron under Admiral Simms? Never.’
Sherbrooke waited. Seeing it. Wondering why Frazier had not thought it important enough to make immediate contact.
‘The cruisers are probably five or six hundred miles to the northeast of here. As for us . . .’ He almost shrugged. ‘We wouldn’t have been here if
Seeker
had kept out of trouble.’
Stagg nodded slowly. ‘You’re bloody right, you know. They’d not hesitate to throw a couple of cruisers to the wolves if they could get amongst that convoy.’ He stared at him, his eyes hard. ‘How many troops will it be carrying?’
‘An army, sir.’
Stagg put his hand to his mouth. It was still bleeding from his display of wire-splicing.
‘Do you think we could do it?’
‘If we weigh anchor this afternoon – yes, I do. If you ask the Admiralty to send heavy units from Scapa, it could be too late.’
Stagg said coolly, ‘You never forget your old tricks, do you?’
Sherbrooke stared at the icy slab of land visible through the nearest scuttle. He was surprised that he sounded so calm. So confident.
‘Like riding a bicycle,’ he said.
4
Lifeline
The middle watch, from midnight to four a.m., was hated more than any other. It began too early for watchkeepers to snatch more than an hour’s sleep before going to their stations throughout the ship, and came to an end at a time when another dawn was already on the horizon. It was a demanding four hours, when men had to concentrate even on the most routine and boring duties and remain alert, when sleep was a constant threat.
On
Reliant
’s broad bridge, protected as it was from the spray and wind, the problem was the same. Lieutenant-Commander Christopher Evershed stood with arms folded in the centre position, his ears and eyes reaching out to the muffled figures around him, to the occasional sounds from voicepipe or telephone, and the blurred panorama of the sea beyond the bows. By rocking forward slightly on his toes, he could expect to see the overlapping muzzles of the twin fifteen-inch guns in A and B turrets, a sight which had once afforded him pride and satisfaction.
Evershed was
Reliant
’s gunnery officer, and as such was a key member of the ship’s ‘team’, as Rear-Admiral Stagg liked to describe them. He had been in the battlecruiser almost since she had commissioned at the outbreak of war, three years, broken only when he had left her to attend advanced courses, which had eventually made himthe senior gunnery officer. He thought the others in his department probably envied him, as he had once envied his superior.
He turned his head sharply and saw a seaman in a duffle coat straightening up, away from the voicepipes, very aware of his scrutiny.
Evershed tried to find comfort in the fact that, during those watches when he was the O.O.W., there was neither slackness nor any irresponsibility for which he might later be blamed. His guns and the training and efficiency of their crews were his reason for being, and the ship’s own strength and purpose. It was a demanding duty at any time, even in a private ship, but with a flag officer aboard, he could never afford to relax.
He watched the clearview screens being wiped again, but not of spray or ice this time. It was fog, an element which, in those early days, would have caused something like panic as this great ship and her six invisible escorts pounded along blindly with no slackening of speed. His eyes moved to the small radar repeater
‘I think the cruiser intended to join
Minden
, sir, maybe with others, for all we know. Air reconnaissance is never reliable at this time of year.’ He saw the lingering doubt, resentment even. ‘I think they’re coming this way, sir. After the big convoy, the one nobody talks about.’
Stagg lurched to his feet. ‘They wouldn’t dare! With us here, and a cruiser squadron under Admiral Simms? Never.’
Sherbrooke waited. Seeing it. Wondering why Frazier had not thought it important enough to make immediate contact.
‘The cruisers are probably five or six hundred miles to the northeast of here. As for us . . .’ He almost shrugged. ‘We wouldn’t have been here if
Seeker
had kept out of trouble.’
Stagg nodded slowly. ‘You’re bloody right, you know. They’d not hesitate to throw a couple of cruisers to the wolves if they could get amongst that convoy.’ He stared at him, his eyes hard. ‘How many troops will it be carrying?’
‘An army, sir.’
Stagg put his hand to his mouth. It was still bleeding from his display of wire-splicing.
‘Do you think we could do it?’
‘If we weigh anchor this afternoon – yes, I do. If you ask the Admiralty to send heavy units from Scapa, it could be too late.’
Stagg said coolly, ‘You never forget your old tricks, do you?’
Sherbrooke stared at the icy slab of land visible through the nearest scuttle. He was surprised that he sounded so calm. So confident.
‘Like riding a bicycle,’ he said.
4
Lifeline
The middle watch, from midnight to four a.m., was hated more than any other. It began too early for watchkeepers to snatch more than an hour’s sleep before going to their stations throughout the ship, and came to an end at a time when another dawn was already on the horizon. It was a demanding four hours, when men had to concentrate even on the most routine and boring duties and remain alert, when sleep was a constant threat.
On
Reliant
’s broad bridge, protected as it was from the spray and wind, the problem was the same. Lieutenant-Commander Christopher Evershed stood with arms folded in the centre position, his ears and eyes reaching out to the muffled figures around him, to the occasional sounds from voicepipe or telephone, and the blurred panorama of the sea beyond the bows. By rocking forward slightly on his toes, he could expect to see the overlapping muzzles of the twin fifteen-inch guns in A and B turrets, a sight which had once afforded him pride and satisfaction.
Evershed was
Reliant
’s gunnery officer, and as such was a key member of the ship’s ‘team’, as Rear-Admiral Stagg liked to describe them. He had been in the battlecruiser almost since she had commissioned at the outbreak of war, three years, broken only when he had left her to attend advanced courses, which had eventually made himthe senior gunnery officer. He thought the others in his department probably envied him, as he had once envied his superior.
He turned his head sharply and saw a seaman in a duffle coat straightening up, away from the voicepipes, very aware of his scrutiny.
Evershed tried to find comfort in the fact that, during those watches when he was the O.O.W., there was neither slackness nor any irresponsibility for which he might later be blamed. His guns and the training and efficiency of their crews were his reason for being, and the ship’s own strength and purpose. It was a demanding duty at any time, even in a private ship, but with a flag officer aboard, he could never afford to relax.
He watched the clearview screens being wiped again, but not of spray or ice this time. It was fog, an element which, in those early days, would have caused something like panic as this great ship and her six invisible escorts pounded along blindly with no slackening of speed. His eyes moved to the small radar repeater
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