Read Online The Horizon (1993) by Douglas Reeman - Free Book Online
Authors: Douglas Reeman
Tags: Navel/Fiction
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‘Shall I inform the admiral, sir?’
‘Not yet. Have your assistant bring it to me first.’ He put down the handset and thought about Quitman, the words
Top secret and Immediate
standing out in his mind in huge red letters.
He glanced at her face and then thrust the picture into the drawer again.
The assistant O.O.W., Sub-Lieutenant Whittaker, entered the small cabin and stared owlishly at his captain. Soutter took the sealed folder and opened it with a silver paper-knife, his grey-blue eyes moving along the signal flimsy printed in their chief operator’s heavy hand.
Then he looked up and saw the young officer try to extinguish all curiosity. ‘My compliments to the commander, Mr Whittaker. Ask him to take over the bridge. I have to go aft to see the admiral.’
Outside in the bright sunshine again Captain Auriol George Soutter, who hated his first name, paused to stare aft along his ship, past the four-inch guns and the long barrels of Y turret to
Reliant
’s unending white wake in a flat calm sea.
There was to be no visit to Port Said after all.
Reliant
was to alter course and head direct for the small island of Mudros where she would join the other ships of the bombarding squadron which had been repulsed so bloodily; and that was only yesterday.
His jaw tightened and he made his way down a steep ladder to the deck below.
He hoped Rear-Admiral Purves would be satisfied. Hewas not going to be too late after all. Instead he, the ship and all her company were to be thrown right into the middle of it.
He saw some of the new marines drilling under a reedy-looking subaltern and remembered what Blackwood had written in his report.
But by the time he had reached the admiral’s quarters right aft beneath the quarterdeck, his mind was clear of everything save what he must do. He was the captain, and nothing else could matter.
Four
‘All present, sir.’ Captain Soutter glanced around the expectant faces,
Reliant
’s heads of department gathered here as they had that day at sea when he had told them of the losses in the Turkish minefields.
The main chartroom, large though it was, felt like an oven, and with the battle-cruiser lying at anchor even the modern fans and air ducts could do little to ease their discomfort.
Through the open scuttles Soutter could see the rocky outthrust of Mudros Bay. What a God-forsaken place, he thought. Now, crammed with troopships, large men-of-war and supply vessels, it looked more like a refuge than the launching point for an invasion. Ashore it was no better. Tents in neat lines covered every available piece of ground along with hastily-rigged field hospitals, red crosses on their sloping canvas roofs, machine-shops and cook-houses: an army preparing itself.
If only they could get back to sea, Soutter thoughtwearily. But week had followed week in this dreadful place, with only rumour to feed their hungry minds.
Now at least that was over. He watched the papers in the rear-admiral’s strong hands and saw Galpin, his flag-lieutenant, also staring at them as if to seek out his own fate.
Rear-Admiral Purves stood quite still, his fingertips resting lightly on his papers, which he had now laid on the chart-table.
‘Gentlemen, the day we have all been waiting for is almost upon us.’ His resonant voice carried easily above the sounds of fans and other ship noises. ‘At dawn in a week’s time, on the twenty-fifth of April, the attack on the Gallipoli Peninsula will begin. The British Army will land at these points – V, W, X and Y beaches,’ he tapped the chart with a ruler, ‘at Cape Helles, led by the King’s Own Scottish Borderers. Halfway along the peninsula the Australians will land at Gaba Tepe. That’s where we come in.’ The ruler moved back again. ‘On the British right flank, the French division will be put ashore at S beach, Morto Bay.’
Purves pulled out another sheet of paper. ‘The Royal Marines will of course be in full support.’ He waited as the
‘Not yet. Have your assistant bring it to me first.’ He put down the handset and thought about Quitman, the words
Top secret and Immediate
standing out in his mind in huge red letters.
He glanced at her face and then thrust the picture into the drawer again.
The assistant O.O.W., Sub-Lieutenant Whittaker, entered the small cabin and stared owlishly at his captain. Soutter took the sealed folder and opened it with a silver paper-knife, his grey-blue eyes moving along the signal flimsy printed in their chief operator’s heavy hand.
Then he looked up and saw the young officer try to extinguish all curiosity. ‘My compliments to the commander, Mr Whittaker. Ask him to take over the bridge. I have to go aft to see the admiral.’
Outside in the bright sunshine again Captain Auriol George Soutter, who hated his first name, paused to stare aft along his ship, past the four-inch guns and the long barrels of Y turret to
Reliant
’s unending white wake in a flat calm sea.
There was to be no visit to Port Said after all.
Reliant
was to alter course and head direct for the small island of Mudros where she would join the other ships of the bombarding squadron which had been repulsed so bloodily; and that was only yesterday.
His jaw tightened and he made his way down a steep ladder to the deck below.
He hoped Rear-Admiral Purves would be satisfied. Hewas not going to be too late after all. Instead he, the ship and all her company were to be thrown right into the middle of it.
He saw some of the new marines drilling under a reedy-looking subaltern and remembered what Blackwood had written in his report.
But by the time he had reached the admiral’s quarters right aft beneath the quarterdeck, his mind was clear of everything save what he must do. He was the captain, and nothing else could matter.
Four
‘All present, sir.’ Captain Soutter glanced around the expectant faces,
Reliant
’s heads of department gathered here as they had that day at sea when he had told them of the losses in the Turkish minefields.
The main chartroom, large though it was, felt like an oven, and with the battle-cruiser lying at anchor even the modern fans and air ducts could do little to ease their discomfort.
Through the open scuttles Soutter could see the rocky outthrust of Mudros Bay. What a God-forsaken place, he thought. Now, crammed with troopships, large men-of-war and supply vessels, it looked more like a refuge than the launching point for an invasion. Ashore it was no better. Tents in neat lines covered every available piece of ground along with hastily-rigged field hospitals, red crosses on their sloping canvas roofs, machine-shops and cook-houses: an army preparing itself.
If only they could get back to sea, Soutter thoughtwearily. But week had followed week in this dreadful place, with only rumour to feed their hungry minds.
Now at least that was over. He watched the papers in the rear-admiral’s strong hands and saw Galpin, his flag-lieutenant, also staring at them as if to seek out his own fate.
Rear-Admiral Purves stood quite still, his fingertips resting lightly on his papers, which he had now laid on the chart-table.
‘Gentlemen, the day we have all been waiting for is almost upon us.’ His resonant voice carried easily above the sounds of fans and other ship noises. ‘At dawn in a week’s time, on the twenty-fifth of April, the attack on the Gallipoli Peninsula will begin. The British Army will land at these points – V, W, X and Y beaches,’ he tapped the chart with a ruler, ‘at Cape Helles, led by the King’s Own Scottish Borderers. Halfway along the peninsula the Australians will land at Gaba Tepe. That’s where we come in.’ The ruler moved back again. ‘On the British right flank, the French division will be put ashore at S beach, Morto Bay.’
Purves pulled out another sheet of paper. ‘The Royal Marines will of course be in full support.’ He waited as the
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