In a dream like state
Aug 3 Esquimalt Naval Dockyard. 1800 hours
GERMAN CRUISER LEIPZIG REPORTED OFF MAZATLAN MEXICO STOP
GERMAN CRUISER NURNBERG REPORTED OFF VLADIVOSTOK STOP
Lieutenant Pilcher was trying to make order out of the muddle that was the mobilization for the defense of the West Coast of Canada. He had been taught at Dartmouth that information helped one make sense of a situation. But the more information Pilcher received, the less he felt he had any control. Reported sightings of the German cruisers Leipzig and Nürnberg were presented to him frequently, sometimes hourly. Their reported positions were contradictory and in the whole impossible. What was true? Who knew?
The state of the civil population in Victoria was also reported to him. These forty thousand souls were ultimately in his charge as well, although he had not seen the city, left the dockyard, or even slept since this crisis began. Some said the civilians were in a dream like state, oblivious to the war because Europe was so very far away. He did receive police reports that certain gangs of Victoria’s men considered it their patriotic duty to rough up their German neighbors and threaten German-Canadian owned businesses. Windows had already been broken.
His cables to Ottawa seeking direction and authority regarding the submarine purchase went unanswered.
Pilcher has started drafting a document on Navy involvement in the potential enactment of martial law, when a man entered into his office. He recognized the man as Ryan, one of Premier McBride’s staff. Ryan handed Pilcher a cheque for $1,150,000. Pilcher stared at the line of zeros. Ryan informed him that Logan was taking a ferry to Seattle first thing in the morning to arrange the purchase of the submarines, and that arrangements needed to be made to receive the boats at the maritime boundary. Then he left.
Pilcher felt the weight of the world pressing him into his chair. After a moment he recalled something, leapt up, rifled the papers on his desk until he found what he was looking for, and bounded out the door. The key to proper command is to delegate!
He trotted across the cobbled square, weaving around a line of marching men in civilian clothes with military hats and sam-brown belts. Pilcher found the man he was looking for, whose letter of introduction he clasped in his hand, across the brick quadrangle in the officer’s mess. Inside, a gaggle of men in assorted uniforms were finishing their evening meal.
“Lieutenant Bertram Jones?” called out Pilcher over the hubub. “Here!,” replied a proper, older mustached man. Jones put aside his finished plate, rose to his feet and saluted. Here the impromptu command structure of the situation again made things awkward. Jones was of equal rank to Pilchard, and older, yet somehow Pilcher was in command.
“Let’s step outside shall we?” said Pilcher. The two men strolled down beside the harbor, where across the water, rocky bluffs supported a forest of those odd gnarled Gary Oaks, some local cousin of the English variety more familiar to Pilchard. Now that the August sun was down the air was beginning to cool.
“So Royal Navy?” Jones observed of Pilcher’s uniform.
“Yes,” replied Pilcher. “I understand you were as well, not so long ago.”
“True,” confessed Jones. “I retired and moved here to Victoria 2 years ago. Thought I had put it behind me. But what with this war business I thought it my duty to volunteer and see where I could make myself useful. Showed up here two days ago and they accepted me right away. I haven’t had time to be issued a proper summer uniform yet.” Jones gestured to his dark blue Canadian Navy jacket.
“Yes, much is in short supply,” answered Pilcher, his body tensing and perhaps showing more emotion than he intended. Then he startled and snapped back to the moment. “So I understand you know something about submarines? I read your letter of introduction.”
“Indeed!” said Jones. “ I commanded a C-Class submarine when I retired.
“Funny that. We are looking at getting a brace of something like C-Class submarines of our own. Tomorrow.” Pilchard startled again. “ I was wondering if you could help us with that.”
Jones was attentive. “Do tell…”
Pilcher described the scheme.
“Extraordinary!” exclaimed Jones. “ Yes, I could have give the boats a good looking over. Ideally I would have a proper naval engineer along.”
Ten minutes later the two men were in the dockyard machine shop, standing in front of Chief Engineering Artificer WH Wood. Together they told him the tale.
“Aye, I could help you give those boats a right inspection.” said Wood, clearly intrigued with the novelty of it all. “Can’t say as I’ve been on a submarine before, but I’m sure they are like any other ship, mostly. All valves and gauges and suchlike.”
Wood thought for a moment. “ We will need a vessel to take us to the rendezvous. We could requisition the Salvor. She is a civilian tug, just about right for the job. I know her master.”
Pilchard hurriedly drafted orders for them, and to the captain of the Salvor. He had them typed up and handed the orders and envelope containing the cheque to Jones.
“Be careful with that,” he said.
Now, just one more thing, Pilcher thought.
On the way back to his office, he stopped a little ways back from the line of recruits drilling in the yard going about their paces. He needed a man. A resourceful man. A discreet man. A loyal man. How does one find this sort of person? Pilcher looked at the faces in the line. He stopped at a young face, a face not unlike his own, except that the man did not look at his wit’s end.
“You,” he pointed “Come forward.” The petty officer presiding looked surprised at the interruption, but did not protest.
“Name?” asked Pilcher.
“Able Seaman Thomas Brown!” said the recruit, standing at attention. The petty officer watched from a distance and nodded approvingly. Only a couple of hours of training, but the lad seemed to have picked up snapping to attention.
“PO!” Pilcher addressed the petty officer. “I am requisitioning this man.”
“He’s all yours, sir.”
“Well Brown, at ease. Come with me.” The petty officer waved them along. Pilcher walked Brown out of the square and into the alleys of the base. “You see, I need an agent.” As they strolled he described the submarine scheme in a rambling yarn, including small details, and forgetting large ones, then going back to the beginning. “Anyway, what I need you for is to watch over all this cloak and dagger and make sure that the navy’s interests are taken care of. These main actors on our side are politicians and business men, but I want someone who reports to me. And then, I expect, the Seattle shipyards are alive with German spies, and Communists, and there is the Chilean navy to worry about, and I suppose the American naval intelligence and police. There are so many ways this could go wrong. What if the transfer crews are talking about sabotaging the boats?” Pilcher came to a sudden halt. “So you will be a counter intelligence agent. Reporting to me. My eyes on the scene. Do you think you are up for it?”
“I’ll give it my best sir.”
“ Very good. Very good. I will have some orders written up just now. You will be meeting Mr. Logan at the Black Ball Ferry first thing in the morning. And wear civilian dress.”
“That part should be easy sir. They haven’t issued me a uniform yet.”
GERMAN CRUISER LEIPZIG REPORTED OFF MAZATLAN MEXICO STOP
GERMAN CRUISER NURNBERG REPORTED OFF VLADIVOSTOK STOP
Lieutenant Pilcher was trying to make order out of the muddle that was the mobilization for the defense of the West Coast of Canada. He had been taught at Dartmouth that information helped one make sense of a situation. But the more information Pilcher received, the less he felt he had any control. Reported sightings of the German cruisers Leipzig and Nürnberg were presented to him frequently, sometimes hourly. Their reported positions were contradictory and in the whole impossible. What was true? Who knew?
The state of the civil population in Victoria was also reported to him. These forty thousand souls were ultimately in his charge as well, although he had not seen the city, left the dockyard, or even slept since this crisis began. Some said the civilians were in a dream like state, oblivious to the war because Europe was so very far away. He did receive police reports that certain gangs of Victoria’s men considered it their patriotic duty to rough up their German neighbors and threaten German-Canadian owned businesses. Windows had already been broken.
His cables to Ottawa seeking direction and authority regarding the submarine purchase went unanswered.
Pilcher has started drafting a document on Navy involvement in the potential enactment of martial law, when a man entered into his office. He recognized the man as Ryan, one of Premier McBride’s staff. Ryan handed Pilcher a cheque for $1,150,000. Pilcher stared at the line of zeros. Ryan informed him that Logan was taking a ferry to Seattle first thing in the morning to arrange the purchase of the submarines, and that arrangements needed to be made to receive the boats at the maritime boundary. Then he left.
Pilcher felt the weight of the world pressing him into his chair. After a moment he recalled something, leapt up, rifled the papers on his desk until he found what he was looking for, and bounded out the door. The key to proper command is to delegate!
He trotted across the cobbled square, weaving around a line of marching men in civilian clothes with military hats and sam-brown belts. Pilcher found the man he was looking for, whose letter of introduction he clasped in his hand, across the brick quadrangle in the officer’s mess. Inside, a gaggle of men in assorted uniforms were finishing their evening meal.
“Lieutenant Bertram Jones?” called out Pilcher over the hubub. “Here!,” replied a proper, older mustached man. Jones put aside his finished plate, rose to his feet and saluted. Here the impromptu command structure of the situation again made things awkward. Jones was of equal rank to Pilchard, and older, yet somehow Pilcher was in command.
“Let’s step outside shall we?” said Pilcher. The two men strolled down beside the harbor, where across the water, rocky bluffs supported a forest of those odd gnarled Gary Oaks, some local cousin of the English variety more familiar to Pilchard. Now that the August sun was down the air was beginning to cool.
“So Royal Navy?” Jones observed of Pilcher’s uniform.
“Yes,” replied Pilcher. “I understand you were as well, not so long ago.”
“True,” confessed Jones. “I retired and moved here to Victoria 2 years ago. Thought I had put it behind me. But what with this war business I thought it my duty to volunteer and see where I could make myself useful. Showed up here two days ago and they accepted me right away. I haven’t had time to be issued a proper summer uniform yet.” Jones gestured to his dark blue Canadian Navy jacket.
“Yes, much is in short supply,” answered Pilcher, his body tensing and perhaps showing more emotion than he intended. Then he startled and snapped back to the moment. “So I understand you know something about submarines? I read your letter of introduction.”
“Indeed!” said Jones. “ I commanded a C-Class submarine when I retired.
“Funny that. We are looking at getting a brace of something like C-Class submarines of our own. Tomorrow.” Pilchard startled again. “ I was wondering if you could help us with that.”
Jones was attentive. “Do tell…”
Pilcher described the scheme.
“Extraordinary!” exclaimed Jones. “ Yes, I could have give the boats a good looking over. Ideally I would have a proper naval engineer along.”
Ten minutes later the two men were in the dockyard machine shop, standing in front of Chief Engineering Artificer WH Wood. Together they told him the tale.
“Aye, I could help you give those boats a right inspection.” said Wood, clearly intrigued with the novelty of it all. “Can’t say as I’ve been on a submarine before, but I’m sure they are like any other ship, mostly. All valves and gauges and suchlike.”
Wood thought for a moment. “ We will need a vessel to take us to the rendezvous. We could requisition the Salvor. She is a civilian tug, just about right for the job. I know her master.”
Pilchard hurriedly drafted orders for them, and to the captain of the Salvor. He had them typed up and handed the orders and envelope containing the cheque to Jones.
“Be careful with that,” he said.
Now, just one more thing, Pilcher thought.
On the way back to his office, he stopped a little ways back from the line of recruits drilling in the yard going about their paces. He needed a man. A resourceful man. A discreet man. A loyal man. How does one find this sort of person? Pilcher looked at the faces in the line. He stopped at a young face, a face not unlike his own, except that the man did not look at his wit’s end.
“You,” he pointed “Come forward.” The petty officer presiding looked surprised at the interruption, but did not protest.
“Name?” asked Pilcher.
“Able Seaman Thomas Brown!” said the recruit, standing at attention. The petty officer watched from a distance and nodded approvingly. Only a couple of hours of training, but the lad seemed to have picked up snapping to attention.
“PO!” Pilcher addressed the petty officer. “I am requisitioning this man.”
“He’s all yours, sir.”
“Well Brown, at ease. Come with me.” The petty officer waved them along. Pilcher walked Brown out of the square and into the alleys of the base. “You see, I need an agent.” As they strolled he described the submarine scheme in a rambling yarn, including small details, and forgetting large ones, then going back to the beginning. “Anyway, what I need you for is to watch over all this cloak and dagger and make sure that the navy’s interests are taken care of. These main actors on our side are politicians and business men, but I want someone who reports to me. And then, I expect, the Seattle shipyards are alive with German spies, and Communists, and there is the Chilean navy to worry about, and I suppose the American naval intelligence and police. There are so many ways this could go wrong. What if the transfer crews are talking about sabotaging the boats?” Pilcher came to a sudden halt. “So you will be a counter intelligence agent. Reporting to me. My eyes on the scene. Do you think you are up for it?”
“I’ll give it my best sir.”
“ Very good. Very good. I will have some orders written up just now. You will be meeting Mr. Logan at the Black Ball Ferry first thing in the morning. And wear civilian dress.”
“That part should be easy sir. They haven’t issued me a uniform yet.”
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