Sheridan had been ashore for most of the afternoon. Just walking, getting the air into his lungs and enjoying the sunshine. Orders would soon arrive, a plan, probably conceived in a dusty Admiralty bunker, would be produced to be put into effect without delay. They always said that. Sheridan thought it was because someone high-up feared that flaws in his plan might be laid bare if too much time was allowed.
And yet, like most young men in war, Sheridan was able to put it off, knowing that when the time came he would somehow manage to cope. Or, if his number carne up, that was it anyway.
The sight of Wingate lounging in the chair, grinning at him, obviously fully informed of the orders’ content, was like a petty disappointment. Like a child hearing a teacher speaking disparagingly of him behind his back, when until that time he has worshipped that same teacher.
His glance passed quickly over Wingate’s sleeve. Perhaps that was it after all. The regulars against the amateurs.
Drummond was saying, “We will be sailing at midnight. Make sure that all libertymen are accounted for by 2100. We’re going out in a group of four. Warlock, Whirlpool, Waxwing and wentnor.” He smiled gravely. “That makes us the senior ship.”
Wingate groaned. “It also means that Captain (D) will be coming aboard for the trip.”
Sheridan asked quietly, “May I enquire where we are going?”
Drummond eyed him curiously. “Pilot and I have just been going over the charts. Officially we are sailing as additional covering escort for a convoy to Gilbraltar. Officially. This is all very top-secret stuff, Number One.”
I was beginning to wonder. He controlled himself and asked, “And the rest of the flotilla?”
“Oh, they’re pushing off under the half-leader to do some exercises with the Army in the Bristol Channel. We, on the other hand, are going after live game.” Drummond paused to put a match to his pipe. “The Germans are showing great interest in all convoys making for the Med. With a possible invasion in the wind, they are trying to get every piece of information about ships and equipment, vehicles and troop movements. In fact, anything. Convoy stragglers, damaged ships, any vessel which gets separated on the last run south, is in real danger. The intelligence people are getting worried. Over the last few weeks several ships have been sunk fairly close to neutral waters.” He spread out a chart of the Bay of Biscay. “Here, near the north-west corner of Spain. And sometimes further south, closer to Gib itself.”
Sheridan said, “And the ships in question are always alone?” Despite his resentment he could not fail to see the point of Drummond’s remarks.
“More or less. One or two had got left behind by fast convoys and were keeping inshore for safety’s sake. One was having engine trouble and ran for shelter when a storm got up.”
Wingate said, “Well, there’s no mystery then. A U-boat bagged them. Or maybe a drifting mine or two.”
Sheridan answered, “I can’t agree. Once perhaps, but so close to neutral waters it’s too much of a coincidence. We’d have heard something.”
Wingate laughed. “You call Spain neutral?”
“Officially.” Drummond interrupted quickly as if he had sensed something between them. “But there is one bit of news, two if you like, which cannot be coincidence. On several of these instances a Spanish freighter has been in the vicinity. Our agents have checked her out, and know her as the Aragon. She trades the coastal routes, and has turned up as far north as jreland. She’s Spanish all right, but her present ownership is a bit vague, and nobody’s talking very much about her.”
Sheridan said, “You suggested there were two bits of news, sir.”
“Yes.” His pipe smoke floated to the deckhead and was immediately plucked into a fan. “On every known occasion these attacks have been in perfect weather. Other ships in similar circumstances have got to Gib safely whenever it has been blowing up, or there has been a stiff sea running.”
Wingate nodded gloomily. “That does seem to rule out U-boats. These days they don’t give a damn about the weather once they’ve got a ship in their sights. And mines are out, too. Even the Spanish government would object to Jerry dropping them near their coast. ” He winked at Sheridan. “You were right again, Number One. No wonder I had such a sweat to pass my exams!”
Sheridan returned the smile. Wingate’s cheerful acceptance made him ashamed. “Guessing.”
“Guessing or not, we’re going to try and cut out that Spaniard if he shows any sign at all of interfering with our ships.”
Sheridan stared at him. “Isn’t that asking for trouble?”
“We are already at war, Number One. ” Drummond watched him calmly. “That’s trouble enough for me. But seriously, we must find out what is happening. Captain (D) informs me that a suitable ‘bait’ has been prepared. The rest is up to the weather, luck and”-he shrugged- “us.”
Wingate smiled. “I said you’d need a drink, Number One!”
“Do you want me to tell the wardroom about it, sir?”
“Tell them nothing. Not until we’re committed. If things go wrong, or intelligence have made a mistake,” he smiled briefly, “I almost said again, our people might as well still believe we are merely engaged as additional escort support. But the signs are good, for apart from a large forty-ship convoy from Halifax to Liverpool, and another big one from U.K. down to Freetown, there’ll be plenty to keep the U-boat packs busy and interested. Our particular ‘bait’ will be detached from a fast convoy of Liberty ships. That’s all I can tell you at present.” He nodded “So let’s get cracking, shall we?”
Wingate stood up and carefully folded his charts. “I’m going to lock myself in and do some work on these.”
Sheridan asked, “Will Captain Beaumont be aboard soon?”
“After sunset. And as soon as it’s dark I want you to have our pendant numbers painted out. The other three destroyers will do likewise. There are enough busybodies about without adding to the risk of recognition at a later date.”
Sheridan started. “You mean this sort of operation may become our permanent role, sir?”
Drummond faced him and replied evenly, “I said nothing of the sort.”
Sheridan picked up his cap and followed Wingate from the cabin.
Wingate said casually, “Hell of a responsibility, isn’t it?” Sheridan looked at him, realising what he meant for the first time. He had not thought of Drummond as a young man of twenty-eight, but as the captain.
Wingate added, “I think this has got him rattled.” He grinned. “Poor bastard. I’m glad it’s his decision and not mine!” He strode towards his cabin whistling softly.
In his cabin Drummond had moved to an open scuttle. He stared fixedly at the sloping hill nearest to the anchorage, the tiny sheep dotted about, pale against the lush green. People, too, made aimless by distance, like ants. But if you watched carefully enough, each took on direction. And purpose. He found he was clenching his fists until it was almost painful. He had a sudden yearning, a craving to tramp through grass like that on the hillside. To rest his hands on bricks and stone walls, warm in the sunlight. To. know that somebody would be glad to see him.
The door opened behind him and Owles said, “Gib then, sir.”
Drummond did not turn. “It’s supposed to be secret. How did you know?”