CHAPTER 2 Part 4 England Expects that Every Man....
FOUR
Moore was in his chart room reviewing the chart of the day's action with all the movements and timings added and corrected. Thinking again, but with some satisfaction for once. He did his duty as he saw it, and that would have to be enough.
His Staff Commander came from touring the ship, tallying the damage received by New Zealand, and was reviewing some notes on what he had found. “Damage in each case is about what you would expect sir, a few surprises about what turns out to be connected to what else, but that's to be expected when great bloody lumps of steel come bashing their way through. Water seems to be as clever as it ever was in finding ways to get in and move to places you wouldn't think. I'll flesh out my notes and give you the list, the ship's own report will have the details. I can tell you there is something odd about the hits around 'Q'. Yes, hits. Two hits there. The first is the one that raised the fireball and another came later, after the magazine was flooded. The Gunnery Officer and the Gunner are crawling in and around that mess with great...fervour. Wouldn't tell me what they are finding, but I know they were coming up to see the Captain soon. They called the Assistant Gunnery Officer and the Turret Officers as I was leaving, and went into a serious conference in the burnt-out lobby of 'Q'.”
“Well done. Thank you. I'll give it a moment and then see what Captain Halsey can tell me about that.” He finished a few notes on a slip of paper which he put in his pocket before he went out to the bridge.
Commander Tomkins had been prophetic. The Gunnery Officer and the Gunner were huddled with Captain Halsey, and the Gunnery Officer was talking excitedly. The striking thing was the Gunner, Mr. MacDougall. The oldest man in the ship, Lauchlin MacDougall* was normally a prototype for the dour Highlander, never seen to smile and always the most serious and punctilious of men. Even the other senior Warrant Officers, the closest he had to friends on board, would scarce have believed that his family called him Lauchie. But right now Mr. MacDougall was beaming with satisfaction. He was not smiling, not quite, but he was looking like a particularly wise and well-fed owl. Moore's curiousity and his gold braid propelled him to the huddle.
“Sir!” exclaimed the Gunnery Officer when he saw Moore come close.
“Admiral – you should hear this.” said Captain Halsey. “Continue.”
“Aye, sir. We were just getting to the point of everything we found. We need to do some calculations to be sure, as far as HMS Excellent and the Constructors Department are concerned, but the end story is that if 'Q' had not been partially secured because it was wooded at those angles, then we would most likely have blown up. The whole magazine could easily have gone up in that fireball. Pieces might still be falling out of the heavens.”
“Gunner?”
“Aye, sirr. I have been a bit auld school in treating this cordite like it was black powderr. It might not be set off so easily, but it is powerful and w' ha'e many tons of it. I am indeed grateful that the Gunnery Officer has supported me in this, sirr. He saved us all.”
“Sirs, the credit is due entirely to Mr. MacDougall and his insistence upon proper handling. Now, I have the junior officers doing some calculations on the amounts of powder on hand, and some additional measurements on how and where the fire flashed through the barbette. We can go take a look if you wish, and Mr. MacDougall can show you the details of what happened.”
Mr. MacDougall led the way, and spent the next 15 minutes showing them the effect of the first hit. He proved to be a good instructor as he ran through the damage and its effects.
While at action stations the protocols were for an unengaged turret to be partially secured, that is crewed and ready to go into action, but with barbette and magazine hatches and doors all secured and no ammunition in the supply chain except the minimum that would be there to open fire and start more up the chain. This amounted to one round per gun loaded, one per gun at the top of the hoists and about to enter the loading mechanism, and one in the hoists. Even this amount had flared up into the fireball many had seen. Mr. MacDougall showed where the burn marks were, and where the fireball had pushed along passages and into unexpected places. This included a look at where it was going, and would have gone had it been any larger...in other words where it would have gone into the magazine had there been a stack of propellant charges in the barbette, as was customary across the BCF in the pursuit of a high rate of fire.
“The calculations for that many charges, sirrs, tell us that the firrreball would have been fourr to five times largerr, and mostly in one continuous blast instead of in two stages as here. And so here we see where the fireball was held back by the closed doors – it would have gone through here and here, and caught the charges that would normally be stacked there. We try to keep that to a minimum, like some of them in the Grand Fleet, but we sometimes do have a few,” his eyes barely twitched sideways toward one of the young turret officers – who hung his head and pulled the peak of his hat down and forward as his cheeks burned. “Even a few would have been serious. And in addition, you can see along here that if the flash reached more than two yards further it would have entered the supply chain for the secondary armament. And that would not be something we could ever tell our grandchildren.” No one aboard had ever heard him make a joke, ever.
“One last thing, sirrs. We'll go back into the magazine and if we look to port – which was toward the enemy, we can see this wreckage overhead and continuing downward. Sirrs, this second shell came in along the path of the damage there, from port, the engaged side. But it penetrated through the ship to this, the starboard barbette. So it hit the in-board side of the barbette, not the out-board side as you might generally expect. It went along to the flooded magazine and it detonated there."
There was no more to be said on that point. Halsey and Moore were seeing this for the first time, and felt the cold chill run down their bodies and the cold sweat forming between their shoulder blades. That was a one-shot kill if they had not had the first hit which led to the magazine being flooded. Reading their faces, Mr. MacDougall spoke again: “Yes, the first is a bit of a story to get our attention, but 'tis a mortal chill we are all feeling when we see the second. ... Sirrs.”
The gunnery officer summed it up yet again: “Heart of the matter is that if we had had more propellant and open doors then the first hit would have blown us up. If we had not flooded the magazine from the first hit, the second would have blown us up. Mr. MacDougall has informed me that no other ship in the BCF secures an unengaged turret the way we do.” The wise old owl stood by, now not looking smug so much as deep in thought.
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*Mr. MacDougall has been invented for this story, but there must have been a Warrant Gunner who was very much like this man – at least he was if he was much like the MacDougalls I have known, who were stalwart and upstanding, and as stubborn as necessary when they knew they were right.