The Dardanelles Conspiracy by Alan Bardos (you can read anyone txt) 📕

stands, but I would like to scout things in case we need to force a landing.'

‘May I suggest you consider landing in the South of the peninsula, at Cape Helles. The beaches in the North are more heavily defended. The Phaeton is of course at your disposal should you wish to reconnoitre the area.’ De Robeck said.

‘That is most generous of you,’ Hamilton said.

De Robeck addressed himself to the room. ‘It is my intention to force the Straits tomorrow. Our plan is to suppress the shore defensives, in daylight, which should give us a better chance of hitting them. Minesweeping operations of the Straits can then continue unhindered. The operation will be carried out by three lines of battleships. The first, Line A will be led by the Queen Elizabeth and made up of our best ships. It will engage the forts protecting the Straits at its narrowest point, bombarding the enemy while out of range of their guns and neutralise the forts on both sides of the narrows. Line B, made up of French ships, will go through line A…’

‘Leap Frog,’ a voice from the back called, followed by nervous laughter.

‘Yes, very droll,’ de Robeck said humourlessly. ‘Line B will thrust forward, closing to eight thousand yards. That is the limit of the area within the Straits already swept for mines and will bring them into range of the enemy shore batteries. Admiral Guépratte has volunteered to take on this risky task.’ De Robeck indicated an elegant French officer. 'Line B will commence a secondary bombardment of the shore defences, finishing them off at close range. Line C, made up of the pre-dreadnoughts, will act as a reserve, replacing damaged ships and keeping up the intensity of our attack. Approximately two hours after the start of the attack our poor, wretched, minesweepers will go in and clear the rest of the mines.’

'Then onto Constantinople.' Hamilton applauded. 'The enemy will capitulate within hours of your breakthrough. The whole corrupt edifice will come crashing down like Sodom and Gomorrah.'

‘Yes, quite,’ Admiral de Robeck said.

Hamilton turned around, looking at the officers standing behind him. ‘Smyth, stop lolloping around at the back of the shop like a housemaid looking for a new handbag.'

Sir George felt his face colour, incensed to have been addressed in such a manner. ‘Come here, man, why are you dawdling?’

Sir George controlled his temper and made his way towards Hamilton. He was nothing if not professional.

Hamilton frowned. ‘How many times must one tell you? You’re my naval liaison, so kindly liaise.’

‘Of course, I’ll arrange drinks with the senior staff.'

‘Damned if you will,’ Hamilton squawked. ‘I need someone to act as an observer for the naval assault on the morrow.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Sir George said, embarrassed. Everyone was looking at him, impatient for the meeting to end.

‘I want you to report on the assault and gauge the strength of the enemy defences in the Straits. The position of their batteries and so forth, should we be called upon to mop up enemy strong points.'

‘But I’m a diplomat, I know nothing of such things.’ Sir George heard amused laughter from the officers around him.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll be safe and sound in this great sea monster. What say you, de Robeck?’

Admiral de Robeck sighed. The last thing he’d want was to play wet nurse to an observer. ‘He’ll be perfectly safe with myself in the ship’s conning tower.’

Especially if the enemy have no shells to fire back, Sir George mused. As the meeting finished, Sir George saw his chance and approached Keyes. ‘Excuse me, sir, are the minesweeping operations really as dangerous as you describe?’

‘Oh, God yes, the poor trawler men have a hell of a time. We lost two boats the other night and haven’t got many left that come close to being able to cope with conditions in the Straits. It doesn’t help that the Admiralty in its infinite wisdom has chosen to send one of our best trawlers off to ferry some clot about on a half-baked diplomatic mission.’ Keyes glared at Sir George. ‘Did you say you were a diplomat? You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?’

Sir George smiled acidly. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I would. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I believe at the time a trawler was all that could be spared.’

Chapter 33

Thick slabs of bully beef made Johnny feel at home for a couple of mouthfuls and then the salty mash brought back the misery and repetition of the front.

‘Look at the state of that, you never been in a trawler before?’ Petty Officer Borden asked, a red-faced man, who looked like he’d been at sea since he could crawl.

‘No, I can’t say that I have, thankfully,’ Johnny replied, trying to decide if it was the smell of mildew and fish, or the constant rocking of the boat that was making him feel sick.

‘This ought to set you right.’ Borden handed him an enamel mug and grinned at Dud, a gaunt sailor sitting across the table from them in the mess.

Johnny took it and gagged as sweet alcoholic fumes hit the back of his throat. He’d assumed that it was a nice cup of tea, but that didn’t mean anything to laughing sailors.

‘Don’t you like it gunpowder proof?’ Borden asked. ‘We usually water it down, but since you're a special guest, who dragged us across the Aegean and Adriatic, I thought I’d give you a special treat.’

Johnny didn’t think it wise to tell Borden that he wasn’t important and that the indignity of a North Sea fishing trawler collecting him would most likely be part of Sir George’s plan to continue his humiliation and suffering.

‘You best drink that, you can’t be wasting rum,’ Dud said.

The sailors began to thump the table and cheer encouragement. Johnny tried not to