The days which followed Beaumont’s unexpected visit to the ship were surprisingly empty of incident. Drummond expected a summons to naval H.Q. at Rosyth, even to the Admiralty. To be told he was being transferred to other duties. To be reprimanded by Brooks. Almost anything. But nothing of the kind happened.
The worst part had been parting with Sarah at the railway station. Drummond had seen so many like it in the past. Two faces separated by a few inches. One on the platform, one in the train window. So many words which never came until it was too late and the contact broken. The station had been packed with uniformed figures. Some saying goodbye, like himself, others being joyfully welcomed home on leave.
She had been ordered to report back to the ministry in London, and the thought of her enduring the nightly raids worried him more than his own immediate future.
He had watched her waving until the train had pulled around a curve, and had returned to the affairs of his ship. With Beaumont back in London, he was in control of the flotilla’s remaining ships.
Captain Kimber, the admiral’s right-hand man, was a regular visitor to the dockyard. He was usually accompanied by several staff officers and base engineers, and he rarely discussed the operation which Brooks had hinted at in London.
In fact, a complete security screen seemed to hang over the four survivors of the Scrapyard Flotilla. Lomond, the leader, was an outstanding example. She had remained in her basin, heavily guarded, and with only dockyard personnel allowed on board.
Lieutenant-Commander Dorian de Pass had exclaimed more than once, “Damned cheek, I say. Don’t they trust me or something?”
And then one day, while Drummond was writing a letter to Sarah in his cabin, Selkirk of the Ventnor came aboard to see him. He came straight to the point.
“Look, sir, I know you’re only temporarily in charge of us while Captain (D)‘s away, but I’m worried. I’d like to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
Like the rest of them, Selkirk had been more withdrawn since the raid. At the best of times he was a difficult man to know. Selkirk said, “Captain Kimber’s experts have been aboard my ship again. She had a real battering from those Jerry guns, but I thought the repair work was finished. It looks very sound to me.”
“Well then?”
Selkirk shifted in his chair. “I got hold of a chap I know in the yard. Ordnance artificer. Been a friend for years.” He shrugged. “I know all about security. That I’m not supposed to speak with anyone.” He looked hard at Drummond. “How would you feel, if it was your ship?”
Drummond asked quietly, “What did your friend tell you?”
“That they’re putting my Ventnor back in dock. Like the Lomond, she’s got to have something else done to her. When I touched on the matter with one of Kimber’s staff he told me, politely, to mind my own business!”
Drummond lowered his eyes, seeing the top line of a letter she had sent him yesterday. I have written to ask him for a divorce. It was like a dream coming true.
He shook himself and said, “I’ll see what I can find out. Probably some new weapons being fitted.”
Selkirk shook his head. “No. They’d put us down the other end of the yard. ” He stood up. “You will try and find out, won’t you?” He was pleading. It could not be easy for him. “I want to finish this bloody war in Ventnor. She can be a bitch, but I’ve got to know her. It’s different for you. You’re a career officer. But me, well, it’s one war and one ship. Then I go back to freighters and clapped-out old tramp steamers. ” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll make master of one of them! ” He went out without waiting for Drummond to reply.
Drummond picked up a telephone. A voice answered, “Officer of the day, sir?” It was Hillier.
“I’m going ashore to H. Q. in a while, Sub. Send the doctor down here.”
Vaughan arrived as he was running a comb through his unruly hair.
“Sir?” The pale eyes watched him emptily. “I’m afraid I can add nothing to what you heard about Jevers. He seems to be telling the truth.”
“It’s not about Jevers.” Drummond turned to face him. “I believe you’re fairly friendly with a Wren officer?” He held up one hand. “No, I’m not nosing into your private affairs, Doc.”
Vaughan smiled gently. “It’s perfectly all right, sir. I am quite proud of the affair actually.”
Drummond grinned. “I’m glad to hear it. But I want you to go and see her right away. She’s a signals officer, right? So you will have to go up the ramp between two basins. I need to know something about Lomond. You will have to pass some guards, but if you’re going to the signal tower by that route they’ll have to let you through.”
Vaughan was interested. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”
“Anything. Everything. I’m not certain.”
He scribbled some notes on a pad. “Here, take this. Tell Signals I want that pamphlet.”
Vaughan beamed. “My cover, sir. I feel like a spy!”
It seemed to take an age before the doctor returned.
He said, “They didn’t even stop me, sir. Saw my scarlet stripe, I expect. Doctors are not supposed to know anything about ships.” He became serious. “Lomond’s forecastle is completely open to the sky. Welders and all kinds of people swarming about like flies. Seems to be some sort of steel framework being put into the front of the hull.”
“Strengthening it, do you think?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Exactly.”
“Thank you. Get Owles to fix you a drink. I’m off to H.Q.”
He walked out and up to the iron deck. It was very cold, with a stiff wind ripping at the overnight rain puddles and making the ships’ flags stand out like. painted metal.
After the usual delays, showing passes, waiting for messengers to return from delivering trays of tea to all the various offices, Drummond was eventually escorted to a small office below the operations room. It was steamy with heat from a radiator, but the walls were running with condensation. As if the room were submerged.
Captain Kimber greeted him cheerfully. “God, you must be a damned mind-reader. Was just going to pop over and see you.”
Drummond said, “About our orders, sir?”
“Yes. Up to a point.” Kimber lit his pipe methodically. “Vice-Admiral Brooks was here this morning. Flew up.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Not surprised. He moves very quietly.” It seemed to amuse him. “He put me in the picture about the latest events. By the way, what did you want to see me about?
“Lomond, sir. And I’ve heard a rumour about Selkirk’s ship, too.”
Kimber frowned. “Can’t keep anything secret up here. Well, I can tell you part of it. We need two destroyers. Lomond’s keel was damaged by that last bombing. Had several near-misses, as you know better than I. She’s had a long life.” His eyes were distant as he continued, “Served in her myself as a young subbie.” He became businesslike again. “Ventnor was knocked about, too. She is the next obvious choice.”
“For what, sir?”
He could feel his muscles tightening. He had imagined that it would be different the next time. It never was.
“Sit down, Keith.” Kimber perched on the edge of a desk and studied him thoughtfully. “I know you can keep a secret. I know, too, that you’ve already agreed to go on this next operation. The admiral wanted you from the start. I don’t know if that makes it better or worse!” He added, “We’re planning a raid into occupied France. We’ve got full, backing from the P.M. downwards. It’s important. It could also be damned dicey for those who are taking part. Lomond and Ventnorwill be manned by volunteers only. For them it will be a one-way trip.”