English fiction -- 20th century; Sea stories, English; War stories, English; World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
From where I was standing I could see it was a big scale chart of the
German coast. I crossed the cabin, and the Admiral, who was standing
by the table, bent and placed his forefinger on a spot half way up
the coast. "See that place, Hornby?"
"Yes," I said, "Angerbad. The new German destroyer and submarine
base."
"That's it," said the man who spent his life watching it as a cat
watches a mouse-hole. "We want you to block it...."
I confess that caught me in the wind a bit.
The Director of Offensives chuckled and blew a cloud of smoke.
"We'll help you, Hornby," he said. I think I flushed a bit. It was
the cold insolence, the calculated madness of the thing that took
away my breath.
"Aye, aye, sir," I said, and as I spoke I noted the red markings
scattered about that section of the coast and clustering thick round
the port of Angerbad till there was not an inch thus unadorned.
Every mark was a German battery, and the guns ranged from 15 in. to
3-pounders or thereabouts.
"Just give him the outline of the thing," said the Admiral, and the
Director of Offensives got down from his perch and joined us at the
table. With the mouthpiece of his cigarette holder he traced the
course of the canal to where it debouches into the harbour.
Our conversation for the ensuing half-hour need not be recorded here.
It was concerned with ways and means and a good deal of detail that
was subsequently found impracticable or to require modification. But
it wasn't very long before I realised the magnitude of the task ahead
of us, and while he talked the Director of Offensives sat twisted on
the side of the table, enveloped in cigarette smoke, talking in curt
sentences that gave one insight enough into the icy, almost terrible,
intelligence that lay behind his smooth forehead. The other occupant
of the cabin spoke but little, pacing slowly to and fro with bent
head, pausing every now and again to caress the great wolfhound that
lay sprawled across the hearth and never took his eyes off his master.
At length, however, when the broad outlines of the plan had been
unfolded, the Admiral halted in his walk.
"We'll give you an obsolete Cruiser to fit out for the job, and
you'll run her alongside, disembark the assaulting parties, and bring
them off again when the work's finished. It's a seaman's job, and
we've picked you to do it."
"Thank you, sir," I said, and meant it.
"What about the officers and men?" he said. "My pack want blooding
again. Got any suggestions?"
"Yes, sir," I said. "I know of two I'd like to see there, and I'd
like to take a Lieutenant called Thorogood as my First Lieutenant; I
think I can answer for his willingness to come."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account