Page 2 of Midnight on the Scottish Shore

2

Pentland Firth, Scotland Friday, February 28, 1941

Nothing made Lt. Lachlan Mackenzie’s heart beat stronger than the sea air of Pentland Firth and the green moors and rugged cliffs of Caithness. The sight of home.

Beside him at the rails of the ferry St. Ninian , Lt. Arthur Goodwin held tight to his naval officer’s cap and pointed to the Scottish shore receding behind them. “Is that your family home?”

“Aye, by that wee cove.” Some of Lachlan’s friends in the Royal Navy considered his new position at Scapa Flow a demotion, removing him from the war at sea, but working with defenses at the base for the Home Fleet suited his experience and temperament. Best of all, he’d be near to his parents.

“I shall have to thank them again for their abundant hospitality.” Arthur’s crooked smile revealed his slightly crooked goal—another invitation to Creag na Mara.

An invitation Lachlan would gladly extend. He’d met Arthur yesterday on the long train ride from London to Thurso, and his parents had welcomed him to the country home.

Lachlan gestured toward the bow of the ferry. “Come meet Scapa Flow.”

He led Arthur over the rolling deck past green-faced greenhorn sailors to an open spot at the railing. North of the Scottish mainland, the harbor of Scapa Flow lay sheltered by a ring of islands in the Orkneys.

A harbor familiar to Lachlan from when he worked at Scapa with the family company after university and again when he served on the destroyer HMS Antelope covering operations off Norway in 1940.

As the St. Ninian passed under the massive coastal guns in Switha Sound, trawlers opened breaks in the boom and the anti-submarine nets to allow the ferry to pass.

Once again, Scapa Flow served as a major wartime naval base.

But once again, Scapa Flow served as the site of a disaster for the Royal Navy. Lachlan’s job would be to prevent further disasters.

“Where did the U-boat enter?” Arthur asked in a low voice.

Lachlan fought back a shudder at the thought of the tragedy. “Through the eastern channels.” Before war broke out, blockships had been sunk in the channels, but not enough of them. One night in October 1939, a German captain had weaved his submarine between the hulks and sunk the Royal Oak , killing over eight hundred men on the battleship.

The ferry chugged into the still waters of Scapa Flow. Those waters had hosted the German warships interned by Britain at the end of the First World War—then those waters had closed over fifty-two of those ships when the skeleton German crews on board scuttled them in 1919. The Royal Navy had failed to prevent it.

Lachlan’s grandfather and father had made the family fortune salvaging some of those ships. Although he hated to profit from disaster, at least that steel now went to good purpose.

Arthur’s dark-eyed gaze swept the islands and the dozens of warships in the harbor. “Is Scapa as bleak as they say?”

“For you Londoners wanting the shows and shops and fancy meals, aye.” Lachlan’s smile unfurled at the pearly gray sky. “But for all who open their eyes, you’ll be seeing great beauty.”

“Women?” Arthur said.

Lachlan chuckled. “There are hundreds of sailors to every Orcadian lass.”

Despite his wee stature and wiry build, Arthur raised a smile. “I’ll make do. As for you, old chap—”

“Wheesht.” Lachlan swatted away his words.

“Nonsense. For all that red hair, you aren’t a bad-looking chap.”

“Aye?” Lachlan cocked one eyebrow. “And you dinnae seem a bad chap for all your irksome ways.”

“Ah, I see we shall be fine friends.”

Too early to say, but Lachlan hoped so, and he returned the man’s smile.

In a few minutes, the ferry pulled alongside the Dunluce Castle , a transport from the previous war, now a depot ship. A gangway slanted down the starboard side of the gray hull, and officers and men climbed aboard with their kit.

At the top of the gangway, Lachlan stepped onto the quarterdeck, doffed his cap, and saluted the fluttering white ensign. Then he donned his cap and saluted the Officer of the Watch, who carried the traditional telescope under his arm.

The Officer of the Watch inspected the orders Lachlan handed him. “Ah yes, Lieutenant Mackenzie. Your command is at Lyness Naval Base on the island of Hoy and you’ll be billeted nearby at Rysa Lodge, but your commander is currently on board. Report to him here. After that, take a drifter to Lyness.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” After Lachlan saluted, he gave Arthur a goodbye nod.

The Officer of the Watch beckoned a messenger, who led Lachlan to an office on the main deck. Lachlan thanked the lad and knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

Lachlan did so and stood to attention. “Lt. Lachlan Mackenzie, sir.”

Lieutenant Commander Bennett Blake of the Orkneys and Shetlands Command rose and assessed Lachlan with cool eyes. A tall and slender man in his forties, Commander Blake gestured to the chair across from the desk. “Good day, Mackenzie. Set down your kit and have a seat.”

“Thank you, sir.” Lachlan placed his kit bag in the corner, hung up his greatcoat, and took his seat.

Blake rested one hand on top of the other on the desk, revealing the gold cuff lace on his sleeves indicating his rank as an Active Service officer. “Let me acquaint you with this command.”

No friendly inquiries into Lachlan’s journey or health, and he made note not to waste time on pleasantries with his commander.

“Here at Scapa Flow, the Orkneys and Shetlands Command oversees the security of the harbor and its installations. We must determine any weaknesses in our defenses before the Germans do and ensure our defenses are impenetrable.”

“Aye, sir.” They needed to defend against attacks from surface ships, submarines, and aircraft—and from spies and saboteurs.

Blake inclined his head toward the porthole beside him. “Scapa Flow not only serves as the base for the Home Fleet but offers respite for crews after long voyages escorting convoys. It’s vital that our men feel safe.”

“I understand, sir. I served on the Antelope . We escorted many convoys.”

“Yes.” Blake shifted his gaze to a folder on the desk. “That’s one of the reasons you were recommended for this position. That and your familiarity with these waters.” A note of reluctance lengthened his words.

A note Lachlan had heard too often, and he tensed.

The commander sniffed and lifted his chin. “Your record at sea is exemplary. I see you received the Distinguished Service Cross when your destroyer sank a U-boat in November.” Then he frowned. “You aren’t wearing it.”

“No, sir. Last month we lost seven ships in a convoy we escorted. Dozens of men in our merchant navy died. We couldnae save them.”

Blake leaned back in his seat, his hands slipped into his lap, and his cool gaze stiffened. “I’ll be honest, Mackenzie. You weren’t my first choice. I have concerns.”

Lachlan’s fingers dug into his thighs. At the heart of his reservations lay Lachlan’s younger brother, Neil. “May I address those concerns, sir?”

Blake’s thin nostrils flared. Surely he expected Lachlan to produce a tirade of defensiveness.

Long ago, Lachlan had decided the honorable course was to accept responsibility for the charges, no matter how false. “At the age of seventeen, I was expelled from the Royal Naval College for plagiarism.” Mere months before he was due to graduate.

Pale eyebrows rose. “You don’t deny it?”

Denial wouldn’t illuminate the truth any more now than it would have twelve years ago. “I accepted the punishment and forfeited a career in the Royal Navy. I only have the honor of wearing this uniform because of the war, an honor lasting only for the duration of hostilities.”

Blake’s gaze lowered to Lachlan’s cuffs, adorned with the wavy lines of gold lace of the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve rather than the smooth circles of the Active Service.

Then Blake sniffed again. “I would be willing to overlook that as a youthful indiscretion—given your record this past year—however—”

“However, my brother is in prison.”

The commander’s lips drew taut. “Yes.”

A too-familiar heat built in Lachlan’s chest. “He belongs to Free Caledonia, a radical group of Scottish separatists that opposes the war effort. My brother publicly stated Scotland would fare better if the Germans invaded. He went to prison for refusing to register for conscription.”

Blake drummed his fingers on the desktop. “Separatist groups are fertile ground for a fifth column.”

“Aye, sir.” Fifth columnists were as dangerous as spies. Both worked to destroy a nation from within and open it to invasion. “I do not hold to my brother’s views.”

“Is that so?” The drumming hadn’t ceased.

“My brother is wrong. Foolishly wrong.” The heat expanded Lachlan’s chest and rose up his neck. “This is the United Kingdom. Our strength is in our unity. The Germans want to divide us so they can destroy us. I’m having no part in that. I joined the Royal Navy to defend this land and her people—all of them.”

Blake studied him, long and probing.

The heat filled Lachlan’s cheeks. If only Blake would interpret the redness as passionate determination instead of embarrassment.

“Very good, Mackenzie.” Blake stood to dismiss Lachlan. “Settle in at your billet and report here at 0800 hours tomorrow.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” As always, Lachlan would have to work twice as hard and be twice as good as the next man.

Thanks to Neil.