“Safer than the RFC, sir. In terms of losing men in the air, that is. Must say, however, that flying along in close proximity to seventy thousand cubic feet of hydrogen is not without its risks. A high wind can take control of the gasbag – we only have a small and not especially powerful engine. It is a risky business, in its way. Useful, however. If we can kill submarines, then we will do a lot of good. The Channel crossing must be kept safe – there’s probably ten thousand men going across every day, there and back. We cannot lose them.”
“Could submarines close the Channel to us, Peter?”
“Too easily, sir. We have no way of catching a submarine under water, you see. On the other hand, while a sub is submerged, it is slow and unhandy. They must travel quickly to the scene of action on the surface and then go under to make their final attack. If we can keep them down outside the immediate area of the convoy, they cannot do anything. They can only stay under for a few hours – not even a whole day and night I am told. One submarine sank the three Bacchante cruisers in the Broad Fourteens last year. Had there been an airship, the sub could never have got close enough. They are incredibly dangerous, if they can get in close.”
“I see. If we have eyes and bombs in the air, the submarine can be controlled.”
“In the daytime, that is so, Father. At night? They are building some sort of barrage across the Channel – I do not know the details. It seems likely to work. The best idea will be to close the Belgian ports to submarines and force them to travel greater distances on the surface where we can catch them. It can be done.”
“It must be, Peter. You go back to Shoreham tomorrow, do you not?”
“In the afternoon, Father.”
“Good… I shall see what can be done for you and your people, Peter. Always possible to speak to the right chap and suggest that a few more pounds be spent on the RNAS. Warmer uniforms. Permanent barracks. That sort of thing. The money will be spent somewhere – just a question of changing where it must go.”
Familiar enough to Peter – that was the way the world worked.
“The air is cold when you climb, sir. Travelling at fifty at two thousand feet it’s freezing out in the open cockpit. Arctic uniform issues, perhaps? I know that Captain Fitzjames has put in for submarine sweaters for us. All of the crews could do with them, and gloves and thick stockings and underwear. Coats with hoods, perhaps? Better it should be uniform issue than the better-off among us going to Harrods just for ourselves.”
That was certainly true, his father agreed.
“Issue thermos flasks as well – though that may be somewhat daring for the old men in the Admiralty to envisage!”
They laughed, Geoffrey somewhat uncomfortably; he could not like mockery of the great men who guided the war so well.
“It is not going at all well, brother of mine! We are close to defeat on the Western Front, you know!”
“Impossible!”
“Not at all, Geoffrey. A single successful attack could open up the road to Paris and that would drive the French out of the war. I am told the soldiers do not have the barbed wire, the machine guns, the artillery that is needed to guarantee the security of our line. We do have too much in the way of cavalry, sitting about in idleness and contributing nothing. Another fifty thousand men in the trenches would be useful – but the cavalry do nothing.”
That was impossible for either to comprehend. Horse soldiers won wars – that was known, it was a fact. The cavalry were vital.
It was not worth arguing. As soon suggest that the Grand Fleet should be set to work rather than left rotting away in Scapa Flow. They had cost too much to risk them being sunk in action – they must be protected.
Chapter Four
“Horrocks, you are going to be busy today, I gather.”
Horrocks showed blank.
“Commander Finlay wishes to speak with you, in any case. No flying today. Just delay a few minutes to show the three new subs the layout of the cockpit and tell them what to do. They have all been trained in Morse and know how to operate a wireless. They will have handled a Lewis as well. For the rest – well, they can pick that up as they go.”
Horrocks nodded – it was all of the introduction he had had when first starting out. Besides that, they were officers and must expect to accept responsibility and learn quickly.
“Which one will take my seat today, sir?”
“Oh… Harker, do you think?”
“Just the man, sir! A piece of cake, I expect!”
They shared a grin. It was a small station and everybody on it had seen Mr Harker and formed an opinion of him.
Peter called Harker across. The three new subs had been standing outside the wardroom, observing the preparations as five SS blimps made ready to go out in succession.
“You have the front seat today, Harker. Get your flying coat and gloves and a warm sweater of some sort. Run man!”
Harker seemed dazed – overcome with joy, no doubt. He doubled off to his room, came back bundled up and much bulkier.
“That’s the ticket! Just right, old chap. You are familiar with Lewis and Lee-Enfield, I don’t doubt.”
“I should say so, sir. Good shot too, though I say it myself!”
“Excellent. You have four pans for the Lewis and half a dozen clips made up for the rifle. Carrying your officer’s sidearm, I trust?”
Peter thrust his hip forward to show the heavy Webley he had been issued.
“Oh! No, sir. Thought that was for dress, sir.”
“No. Standing Orders are that it must be worn always when in flight. You should have read SOs by now, Harker.”
Peter turned to a rating, ordered him to collect sidearm and holster from Harker’s room.
“Right. You know your Morse?”
Harker seemed uneasy, responded slowly.
“Covered it in training, sir.”
“Good. You will be sat at the wireless. You will make contact with base when we reach five hundred feet and at hourly intervals and then when we are fifteen minutes out. Horrocks will show you how to wind the aerial in and out. Other than that, just keep a good lookout, Harker.”
Horrocks took Harker to the front and Peter sought out Captain Fitzjames, always present when Scouts flew out.
“I have one of the new subs with me today, sir. Harker. The noisy one.”
“Noticed him, Naseby. Might be no more than an ebullient sort…”
“Could be, sir. I hope so. A word to the wireless operator that he might not fully recall all he was taught as a mid, sir?”
“Will do, Naseby. Excuse me!”
Fitzjames fell into a violent coughing fit, was nearly two minutes before he could stand upright.
“Damned if I know what that was, Naseby! Felt a tickle in me throat all morning.”
“Probably just a cough and a cold, sir. There’s one going the rounds.”
“I expect you’re right, Naseby. Think I’ll go in out of the wind. Bit parky this morning.”
Peter thought it was a fine spring morning. He looked about, saw Finlay just outside the wardroom, trotted across to him.
“Captain’s not too spry just at the moment, sir. Keep an eye to him, perhaps?”
“Where is he?”
“Gone indoors, sir.”
“What, before the blimps have taken off? I will go after him, Naseby!”
Peter returned to his airship, Number Nine, the same as he had taken out on Friday. He glanced at the petty officer mechanic stood by the propellor.
“Are you my regular ground crew, PO?”
“Yes, sir. I go with old Nine, sir. Be going to Polegate with you tomorrow, sir. Baxter, sir.”
“Good. Always makes sense to keep a crew together.”
“So it does, sir. Is the Sublieutenant to be permanent, sir?”