Read Online Battlecruiser (1997) by Douglas Reeman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Douglas Reeman
Tags: WWII/Naval/Fiction
Ads: Link
on the port side of the bridge, close to the captain’s empty chair so that he could have seen it without moving.
He could feel the huge hull lifting almost contemptuously to thrust through the fog-shrouded water, and imagined the attendant destroyers spread out on either beam, Asdic machines sweeping in slow, cautious arcs. There were no U-Boats reported in this area, but you could never be sure.
Evershed unfolded his arms and moved them briskly in the still, damp air. He always tried to keep fit, something he considered essential for any officer who intended to set an example to others. He saw the bright blink of light from the screen and wondered if the chance would come, not one day, but soon, for a command of his own. All thosedestroyers were commanded by officers of his own rank, except for the leader,
Mulgrave
, which carried a full captain.
He heard somebody whispering, and saw his watch-keeping assistant, Lieutenant Gerald Drake, pausing to speak with one of the signalmen. Evershed contained the spark of irritation with an effort. He was tired, feeling the strain of working watch-and-watch, even though he would never admit it to anyone.
He knew there was nothing really to dislike in Drake, or for that matter even bother to consider. Drake was an R.N.V.R. lieutenant, a temporary wartime officer, something so rare as to be almost unknown in
Reliant
and in other big ships at the outbreak of war. Now they were everywhere; many of them even held commands of their own, the ones that made headlines, the destroyers and battered corvettes of the Atlantic, the Glory Boys of Light Coastal Forces, M.T.B.s and motor gunboats. Even Rear-Admiral Stagg, who had at first been quick to criticize the Wavy Navy, had changed his tune.
It was deeper than a mere dislike of amateurs. Drake was young, in his twenties, but he radiated a confidence and calm assurance totally at odds with his rank and inexperience. He was a barrister in civilian life, and there had been several judges in his family, according to Commander Frazier.
Evershed could almost hear his own father’s voice.
Privileged.
Like that time at Scapa, where there had been a reception for the press and some war correspondents, held in
Reliant
’s wardroom. He had seen Drake being greeted by one of the correspondents, a man well known on newsreel and wireless alike, the pair of them behaving like old friends. They had, apparently, been at school together.And he had not been the only one: the rear-admiral had noticed it, too. Evershed strode to the chart room. It was all so bloody unfair.
Privileged
. . .
He heard Drake chuckle; he would have to have a word with him about gossiping with the ratings. Perhaps he wanted to be popular. He would soon learn the truth about that. They would laugh at him behind his back.
Evershed caught sight of his own reflection in the door of a first-aid locker: a narrow, alert face, hair cut short, brushed straight back. The gunnery officer of a famous ship; a legend, he told himself.
He frowned and stared at the chart. Three days since they had weighed and had quit Seydisfjord. Southeast and then further south, the blustery weather making station-keeping a nightmare, even for the crack destroyers. The Admiralty would not stand for much more of it, he thought. His eyes moved to the jagged coastline of Norway, only one hundred and fifty miles to port, with the carefully defined
Declared Mined Area
as a warning to any captain, friend or enemy, who might lose his way. And there was Stavanger, a known German air base. Surely Stagg must be aware of the additional hazard?
He listened to the ship around and below him, the beat of fans, the steady vibration of her engines and her four great screws, considering the new captain, Sherbrooke, and wondering what he was really like. He always seemed so calm, and yet so aware, as if he were part of the ship. What must it have been like when his ship had been blown from under him?
It had been
He could feel the huge hull lifting almost contemptuously to thrust through the fog-shrouded water, and imagined the attendant destroyers spread out on either beam, Asdic machines sweeping in slow, cautious arcs. There were no U-Boats reported in this area, but you could never be sure.
Evershed unfolded his arms and moved them briskly in the still, damp air. He always tried to keep fit, something he considered essential for any officer who intended to set an example to others. He saw the bright blink of light from the screen and wondered if the chance would come, not one day, but soon, for a command of his own. All thosedestroyers were commanded by officers of his own rank, except for the leader,
Mulgrave
, which carried a full captain.
He heard somebody whispering, and saw his watch-keeping assistant, Lieutenant Gerald Drake, pausing to speak with one of the signalmen. Evershed contained the spark of irritation with an effort. He was tired, feeling the strain of working watch-and-watch, even though he would never admit it to anyone.
He knew there was nothing really to dislike in Drake, or for that matter even bother to consider. Drake was an R.N.V.R. lieutenant, a temporary wartime officer, something so rare as to be almost unknown in
Reliant
and in other big ships at the outbreak of war. Now they were everywhere; many of them even held commands of their own, the ones that made headlines, the destroyers and battered corvettes of the Atlantic, the Glory Boys of Light Coastal Forces, M.T.B.s and motor gunboats. Even Rear-Admiral Stagg, who had at first been quick to criticize the Wavy Navy, had changed his tune.
It was deeper than a mere dislike of amateurs. Drake was young, in his twenties, but he radiated a confidence and calm assurance totally at odds with his rank and inexperience. He was a barrister in civilian life, and there had been several judges in his family, according to Commander Frazier.
Evershed could almost hear his own father’s voice.
Privileged.
Like that time at Scapa, where there had been a reception for the press and some war correspondents, held in
Reliant
’s wardroom. He had seen Drake being greeted by one of the correspondents, a man well known on newsreel and wireless alike, the pair of them behaving like old friends. They had, apparently, been at school together.And he had not been the only one: the rear-admiral had noticed it, too. Evershed strode to the chart room. It was all so bloody unfair.
Privileged
. . .
He heard Drake chuckle; he would have to have a word with him about gossiping with the ratings. Perhaps he wanted to be popular. He would soon learn the truth about that. They would laugh at him behind his back.
Evershed caught sight of his own reflection in the door of a first-aid locker: a narrow, alert face, hair cut short, brushed straight back. The gunnery officer of a famous ship; a legend, he told himself.
He frowned and stared at the chart. Three days since they had weighed and had quit Seydisfjord. Southeast and then further south, the blustery weather making station-keeping a nightmare, even for the crack destroyers. The Admiralty would not stand for much more of it, he thought. His eyes moved to the jagged coastline of Norway, only one hundred and fifty miles to port, with the carefully defined
Declared Mined Area
as a warning to any captain, friend or enemy, who might lose his way. And there was Stavanger, a known German air base. Surely Stagg must be aware of the additional hazard?
He listened to the ship around and below him, the beat of fans, the steady vibration of her engines and her four great screws, considering the new captain, Sherbrooke, and wondering what he was really like. He always seemed so calm, and yet so aware, as if he were part of the ship. What must it have been like when his ship had been blown from under him?
It had been
Similar Books
