Page 8 of Midnight on the Scottish Shore

8

HMS Hood , Scapa Flow Wednesday, May 21, 1941

Lachlan stroked one of the aft turrets housing twin 15-inch guns aboard HMS Hood as the battlecruiser passed through Hoxa Sound back into Scapa Flow. “Imagine what we could have accomplished if the Antelope had guns like this for horns.”

Lt. Edmund Fitzsimmons laughed. “These guns would sink the Antelope .”

“Aye, mate.” Lachlan grinned at his former shipmate and at the image of the nimble wee ship bogged down by massive gun turrets.

Under a cloudy sky illuminated by the early-evening sun, the Antelope trailed in “The Mighty Hood ’s” wake, along with fellow destroyers Electra and Echo . Accompanying the ships on exercises in Pentland Firth had been Lachlan’s first assignment of any account at Scapa Flow.

Fitz waved his patrician hand upward to the array of Type 279M radio direction finding antennae gracing the Hood . “I’m looking forward to seeing what we can accomplish with our new RDF equipment. If only we’d had more time for exercises before sailing.”

“Aye. Are your lads ready?”

“They must be.” Fitz paused whilst a pair of ratings exited the turret and sauntered forward up the deck, then he leaned close to Lachlan with his green eyes serious. “This morning, the Admiralty received word that the Bismarck has sailed from Germany.”

“Aye,” Lachlan said in a low voice. For months, the Home Fleet had dreaded the day the new German battleship would break out into the Atlantic to attack British shipping. “Yesterday she was sighted in the Baltic Sea.”

German U-boats wreaked enough havoc on the convoys bound for England. But over the last few months, German battleships and heavy cruisers had created additional carnage. Without the food, fuel, and supplies carried by those convoys, the British people would starve and industry would sputter to a halt.

British submarines and the RAF kept watch on the warships at Kiel in Germany and in Brest in France. Bottling them up in port was best, but now the Bismarck and the heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen had sailed.

“This could be our chance to sink her, sink them both.” Fitz set a cigarette between his thin lips, flipped on his lighter, and shielded the flame.

Adm. John Tovey, Commander-in-Chief of the Home Fleet, would order the warships to sail as soon as reconnaissance confirmed the Germans had broken into the North Sea. Lachlan’s chin firmed. “We must sink them.”

Fitz led Lachlan forward past the two aft turrets. “Has being at sea today led you to regret your new assignment?”

“No. Our work is important, and it suits me.” The Luftwaffe had sent reconnaissance flights over Scapa Flow every day in the past week—more proof that a breakout was in order. Lachlan’s command was preparing dummy ships to fool those aircraft after the Home Fleet departed, to lull the Germans into complacency.

A low rumble issued from Fitz’s throat, and he climbed the ladder to the shelter deck. “You should request a transfer. Your skills are wasted here. You’ve a level head in combat, a quick mind. We could use you on board.”

“Wheesht.” Lachlan’s cheeks warmed.

At the top of the ladder, Fitz tapped the wavy lines of gold lace on his own sleeve. “You and I are in the RNVR. The only path to promotion, the only path to a naval career, is at sea, in combat.”

“Aye.” Lachlan joined Fitz on the shelter deck. Fitz didn’t know that no amount of combat experience, no string of decorations on Lachlan’s chest would grant him a naval career.

But two of the three men chatting by the twin 4-inch dual purpose guns knew, and Lachlan’s stomach caved in.

Fitz strode up to the trio. “Johnny, look who’s here.”

“Mackenzie!” Johnny Johnson bounded over, a grin crossing his freckled face. “Fitz told me you were on board. Good to see you, old chap.”

Lachlan tried to muster a smile for his fellow officer from the Antelope , but how could he with his past blowing hot air down his neck?

“Lachlan Mackenzie?” Disgust shriveled Neville Forth’s voice. “What is he doing here?”

Clive Stanley harrumphed. “Wartime emergency or not, such men don’t belong in uniform.”

The warmth in Lachlan’s cheeks blazed, but he refused to cut his gaze away.

“Pardon?” Johnny curled his upper lip at Neville and Clive. “Mackenzie served with distinction on the Antelope .”

Neville and Clive had been Lachlan’s best friends at the naval college, but now Neville lifted his broad nose. “He was expelled from Dartmouth for plagiarism. Come, Johnson. An officer should associate only with men of honor.”

Lachlan forced his hands not to coil into fists. Honor—and honor alone—had led him to silently take the punishment for an infraction he hadn’t committed.

“I always associate with men of honor.” Johnny whirled his grin back to Lachlan. “Have you decided what we shall do this evening? The night is still young.”

“Indeed.” Fitz stepped in front of Lachlan, turning his back to Neville. “I’m desperate to go to shore. Company on board this ship is rather dull.”

Neville and Clive marched away.

“Don’t mind them.” Johnny frowned at their backs. “Insufferable snobs.”

Fitz sniffed. “I believe in judging a man on his present, not his past.”

“Thank you.” Lachlan shoved the words over his stiff lips. Not wishing to dwell on that past himself, he forced his thoughts to the present. “This evening, aye? After we anchor, we can spend a few hours in town before curfew.”

Johnny cast a skeptical gaze across the waters to Kirkwall. “Can you call it a town? The cinema is playing a year-old comedy called Spy for a Day .”

Twitches raced through Lachlan’s cheeks as the ship slowed to settle in at the anchorage and men bustled about to lower the anchor.

He’d been ordered not to say a single word about capturing Cilla van der Zee. Not to his family, not to his friends. No one. “I fail to find anything humorous about spies.”

“Dear old chap. We do need to make you laugh.” Fitz burst into a broad grin. “What could be more humorous than the bumbling fools the Germans have been sending to spy on us? Didn’t you hear about the man they captured in Hertfordshire last week? Or the two men arrested in Edinburgh last autumn? They’ll hang.”

What about Cilla van der Zee? Lachlan could still see her luminous eyes pleading up at him in the police station. The brightest green blue he’d ever seen. He hated to think of the light extinguishing from those eyes.

His stomach churned. But Miss van der Zee was a Nazi spy, and arresting her was Lachlan’s duty. He couldn’t allow her to send British secrets to Germany.

So why did guilt and dread insist on threading through his gut the past six weeks since her capture?

His frown deepened. The papers had trumpeted the arrests of the men in Hertfordshire and Edinburgh. But not one word had been printed about the lass he’d turned in.

“Lachlan?”

“Hmm?” He blinked at Fitz.

His friend gave him a disbelieving smile and nudged Johnny with an elbow. “He does need a laugh. Or a pint. Or both.”

Lachlan shrugged. Laughs had been scarce recently.

“I thought being stationed close to home would cheer you up.”

Lachlan had thought so too. Father divided his time between Inverness, where Mackenzie Salvage had its headquarters, and the branch office in Thurso. Neil remained in Inverness and had come home only once. How could the man prefer the pubs of Inverness to the sweet comforts of Creag na Mara?

The churning in his stomach smoothed into a slow burn.

He shook his head. “Fitz, you promised to show me the Type 279.” He pointed to the antenna that could detect aircraft and surface vessels from afar.

“At your service.” Fitz led the way down the Hood ’s armor-clad deck. “See you this evening, Johnny.”

Lachlan tipped Johnny a salute and followed Fitz.

Whilst Lachlan and Fitz and Johnny and millions more served their country, Neil refused to. For that, he was rewarded with a position at Mackenzie Salvage.

The unfairness of it all rankled, but what did Lachlan really have to worry about? Neil wouldn’t keep the position for long. He was lazy and never failed to sabotage himself.

He also never failed to drag others down alongside him.

“Do you hear there? Do you hear there?” blared from the broadcast system overhead, followed by the trills of the boatswain’s pipe. “Prepare for sea.”

Fitz spun to Lachlan, his face alight. “This is it!”

“Aye.” The Bismarck and the Prinz Eugen must have been spotted, and Tovey must have sent orders to sail. “You’ll have the Germans outnumbered, but they have powerful armament.”

“If we can sink the Bismarck on her maiden voyage ...” Fitz’s smile hardened.

“Aye.” Had Lachlan done enough to protect the fleet as they sailed?

So much in this war depended on military intelligence and reconnaissance, the silent battle between two sides trying to gain the advantage in information.

Which was why spies and fifth columnists belonged behind bars.

Lachlan clasped his friend’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “Happy hunting, Fitz.”