Josephine admired the young lady’s bravery, did not really think it was the way forward for her.
“I have wondered if I should not go as an assistant at one of the hospitals. There is one here in Shoreham now, on the outskirts of town, and needing girls to work all the time.”
“As a skivvy in the kitchens or mopping the floors, Josephine?”
She had not realised that was what they meant by ‘work’, did not think it was quite the thing for her.
Peter agreed – she was not the bold, outgoing sort like Minnie, or Charlie for that matter. None the worse for it. That was how she was, how she had been brought up. It was not as if she was some shy, retreating flower to be protected from life – she was simply not the go-ahead sort. As a wife, she would always be there, committed to her husband’s interests and doing all she could to further them – and she was an intelligent, able girl, as well as most attractive…
He shied away from the word ‘love’ – it had too many implications. For the while, she was far more the sort he wanted at his side. He might, he suspected, occasionally in the future wish that he had Charlie in his bed; that might be up to him – the so-called ‘knowledgeable’ officers had always trumpeted that they could turn any girl into an enthusiast between the sheets. He had never listened to their boasts with anything other than a slightly disbelieving contempt. Perhaps they had a point to make. He was within reason experienced – though he had never found it necessary to inform a wardroom of his prowess – and believed he had generally played his part with competence as well as self-gratification. He suspected that as a husband he could do at least as well, the more for having a substantial degree of affection for the lady in question.
“Penny for your thoughts, Peter?”
He realised he had been silent some minutes, chose not to inform Josephine of all he had been thinking.
“Sorry! Miles away. Thinking about my sister and her life in France. Brave girl – I admire her.”
“And me. That is not to say that I might wish to do the same, Peter.”
“It is not for everybody, not by a long way. Horses for courses, they say, don’t they.”
He returned to Polegate satisfied in his own mind that he would propose to Josephine on her birthday. He thought she would accept him, was sure her grandparents would have no objections. His father had made it clear that he would support his choice, whoever it might be. He started to laugh, imagining the Old Man’s face if he turned up with Charlie on his arm. Brother Geoffrey would have a heart attack, for sure.
The wind was still blustery next morning and he grounded the five balloons and sent their crews off to Brighton for the day, to relax and enjoy the town and get out of the way rather than hang about the wardroom drinking too much.
Troughton telephoned.
“Free for the day, I presume, Naseby? Come across to Dover, to the Castle. Meet you there for twelve, outside. I will escort you into HQ – you won’t get in without me to vouch for you. Tell you what it’s all about when we get to see the Admiral.”
There was a massive headquarters in Dover, much of it underground, in basements beneath the old castle. It was not impossible that there might be a bombardment from the sea, Peter supposed. The underground bunkers would be proof against anything that could be thrown at them from a battleship. He had heard, vaguely, of enormous German mortars and howitzers, greater than battleship guns; he did not see how they could be brought into play.
Captain Troughton was waiting for him when he arrived, carefully two minutes before the hour, neither early nor late, as was laid down in the rules for meetings.
“Take a bite to eat as we talk, Naseby. The Admiral is a busy man – the Dover Patrol is demanding of any commanding officer. Hundreds of small craft and a few of larger, all of which have to be kept up to scratch.”
Peter could see it to be a demanding task. The troopships and ammunition and ration carriers to the BEF all crossed the Narrow Seas under the direct protection of the Dover Patrol. A failure that allowed the submarines or destroyers even an hour free to attack could spell the end of the war.
“Admiral Bacon has recently taken over the Dover Patrol, as you will know. He has a number of ideas which he wants to put into effect. He is an incredibly clever man, a fact he is aware of, and expects assistance in implementing his schemes – not in improving them.”
“Mouth shut, in fact, sir.”
“Effectively, yes, Naseby. He will want technical advice, that is why you are here. That and the fact that you will be directly involved in carrying out whatever his scheme might be. I as yet know nothing, by the way – he would not wish to waste time repeating himself.”
They were passed through checkpoints manned by very large Marines carrying rifles with bayonets fixed.
“He doesn’t insist on the cutlass, I see, sir.”
“Hush! There has been a deal of argument in the Admiralty relating to the issue of cutlasses. I am informed that an order for all battleships to nominate a boarding party armed with cutlasses and revolvers was almost made earlier this year. It is believed by a significant faction in the Admiralty that our ships should look to exchange broadsides at no more than one mile prior to breaking the enemy line and taking them by boarding.”
“Ah! If it worked for Nelson…”
“Exactly. Fortunately, Bacon is not one of that sort.”
A final passage and set of doors and they were ushered into the presence. A tallish, spare man of about sixty glanced at his watch before nodding to Troughton.
“Ten past the hour. Precise to time, Troughton! Naseby, I presume?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You did well with your submarine young man. Now, I have another task for one of your blimps, I presume with you in command.”
“Certainly for the first time, sir. I have four young pilots under my command, all of whom are capable officers. They are young, however. I will wish to break new ground and brief them as necessary, sir.”
“So you should. What I have in mind is a raid on Zeebrugge, on the harbour. A flotilla of six predreadnoughts, either with new twelve inch with the longer range or using their secondary batteries of nine point twos. They are to stand ten miles offshore for thirty minutes at dawn. Lead ship to be gunnery commander and give range and elevation figures to the others. A spotter to be in wireless contact to give the aim.”
Bacon turned to a chart of the harbour, pointing out the targets, most especially the lock gates to the ship canal leading inland to the submarine bases.
“Can’t reach the submarines themselves, Naseby. If we can destroy the lock gates, we can prevent them getting to sea for weeks, maybe months.”
“My blimp to be the spotter, sir? Offline of the shellfire at about three, maybe four thousand feet. Can be done, sir. Where is the nearest field with aeroplanes, sir? I have a Lewis for defence and seventy thousand cubic feet of hydrogen gas above my head. A single tracer round into the envelope might be sufficient, sir. Are there high-angle guns at the port, do you know, sir?”
“You think one of these Fokker things could set you afire, Naseby?”
“From all we hear from France, sir, it seems likely.”
The new Fokker with its forward-firing gun was said to be butchering the observer planes of the RFC.
“I have heard of so-called ‘anti-aircraft guns’, Naseby, able to knock down our aircraft.”
“We are much bigger than a plane, sir.”
“Humph! It won’t work without a spotter. Can’t get closer than ten miles offshore because of the batteries they are emplacing, and the destroyers they have on that coast. What about at night?”