Moryak

Chapter 6-2

Later that day, Captain Bacon’s secretary stopped Morrison as he entered the main office and said, “Oh, Lieutenant, these are for you.” She handed him two envelopes. He thanked her as he tore open the first envelope. Continuing down the corridor, he began to read its contents. The memo from Captain Bacon contained a general reminder to all hands that everyone must be seated by 0945 on Monday, October 2, for the arrival of the official party, which would include Admiral Fisher and King Edward. On the bottom of the note, Bacon had scrawled, “Good news, Lieutenant. You’ll be riding back to London on the afternoon train with Admiral Fisher. The First Sea Lord wants to meet you.” The prospect of meeting this naval legend both surprised and delighted Morrison. He knew that an official function, a ball to commemorate the Battle of Trafalgar, had been scheduled for that night at Buckingham Palace and that Fisher would be returning to London to attend it. The train ride back to London would take about an hour-and-a-half. He would have plenty of time to have a great conversation with the head of the Royal Navy.

As he started to toss the message into a wastebasket, he remembered that he had a second larger envelope. Opening it, he pulled out an official invitation that featured the crest of His Highness King Edward VII. It was an invitation to the reception at Buckingham Palace the night of the keel laying. This unexpected honor brought a big grin to his face. Meeting “Jacky” Fisher and going to a reception at Buckingham Palace, all in the same day! His day had certainly improved since he had awakened drenched in sweat from his haunting nightmare. It was turning into a fine day, in fact. As he started to put the invitation back in the envelope, he saw that the word “over” was handwritten in blue ink in the bottom corner.

He turned the invitation over and saw, written on the back: “The Music Room 9:30 P.M.”

It was signed with the initials HRH.

* * *

Monday, October 2, turned out to be a clear, cold day. Amidst strict security, the entire dockyard workforce had assembled in place by 9:30 that morning. Like clockwork, the king’s train arrived at Portsmouth exactly on time. As the crowd watched, the official party led by His Majesty King Edward VII took its place on the podium. The First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir John Fisher, sat next to the king.

The entire ceremony lasted less than half an hour. When the master of ceremonies introduced Admiral Fisher, the crowd erupted into wild applause. Waving like a celebrity, Fisher then began his speech, which lasted about fifteen minutes. He is quite an energizing and charismatic speaker, thought Morrison. Extremely buoyant and frequently gesturing with his arms, he seemed almost like an actor on a stage.

When Fisher finished, he introduced King Edward. Immediately, the crowd was on its feet, applauding wildly, and then it burst into a chorus of “God Save the King.” When the tumult finally died down, the king spoke to the crowd. He delivered a short, inspiring pep talk stressing the importance of the work about to commence. The motivated work force loved it, and when the king had finished, they broke into another standing ovation.

After the king returned to his seat, the workman brought out the precut metal plates of the keel of the battleship and positioned them while other workers stood by, ready to begin welding. They had rehearsed this moment for over a week, and with the teamwork of a choreographed ballet, the job was completed in minutes. Fisher returned to the lectern and announced, “Gentlemen, you may commence construction of the HMS Dreadnought upon the departure of the official party!” The crowd stood at attention as the official party departed. The king would be leaving for London immediately. Fisher would be staying until mid-afternoon, when he would be departing on the king’s train, which was being sent back to Portsmouth to transport him and his staff to London.

As soon as the official party departed the dockyard perimeter, a shrill whistle blasted from the top of the nearby water tower, a signal to commence the construction of the new battleship. Morrison watched with amazement and admiration as the hundreds of workers actually began running to their workstations. Cranes started to move, welding torches were lit, trucks hauling parts began moving and the dockyard came alive in a continuous buzz of perpetual activity. Admiral Fisher had decreed that Dreadnought would be constructed in one year. They had their marching orders. “Watch us now, Lieutenant!” shouted one of the young British officers with whom he had been working that week. “Tell Mr. Roosevelt that you saw history being made this month!”

“I certainly intend to,” shot back Morrison to the young ensign. With a smile, he waved and headed back to his quarters to pack his bags. He had just enough time to finish the first draft of his report and then make the train headed for London.

* * *

As Morrison read the draft of his report, the rhythmic slight swaying of the train’s motion nearly rocked him to sleep. A hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him, suddenly startled him. “Excuse me. You’re Lieutenant Morrison, correct?” asked a young British yeoman.

Sitting upright, he replied, “Yes, that’s me.”

“Sir, Admiral Fisher will see you now. Please follow me.” Morrison stood and followed the young man as they headed for the rear of the train. Fisher was in the last car. As Morrison approached, he stood and extended his hand, bellowing out, “Hello, Lieutenant! I’m sorry we haven’t been able to meet before now.” Fisher was a stocky man with short gray hair and a twinkle in his distinctive green, almost oriental eyes. He had a crushingly strong handshake, which Morrison reciprocated, saying, “Admiral, I can’t tell you what an honor it is for me to meet you.”

“Please, Lieutenant, sit down, and we’ll talk. Would you like a drink?”

“Water would be fine, sir.” Fisher nodded at the enlisted man who stood nearby. “Please make that two waters, young man.” Morrison noted that the admiral had a sallow, almost yellow, complexion. He had heard the rumors that his coloring was the result of several previous bouts of malaria. It became apparent immediately that Fisher loved to talk, and he seemed especially pleased that the United States has sent a representative to study the Dreadnought. “Tell me,” he began, “what do you think of our project?”

“Very impressive, sir. It is a fantastic concept. You have quite a team putting it all into place. Captain Bacon is a most capable man. He and his staff have been quite kind to me this week, and I truly appreciate their efforts.”

“Captain Bacon is impressive, isn’t he? To be candid, no one could work as my naval aide and not be impressive, not the way I drive them! I’ll let you in on a little secret, one that is probably the worst-kept secret in the Royal Navy,” he said as he winked at Morrison. “Captain Reginald Bacon will be the first commanding officer of HMS Dreadnought when she is commissioned next year.”

“I can’t say that I’m surprised, sir. I’d love to serve under such a capable CO as him.”

“Well said, Mr. Morrison! Reviewing your record, it looks as if you’ve had a few impressive commanding officers in your career thus far. Tell me, what do you think of the timeline that we’ve laid out for the ship’s construction? Do you believe we can do it?”

“Well, sir, if you say it can be done, I wouldn’t doubt you.”

“I can tell you’re stationed in Washington and have been around diplomats with that answer. Obviously, you really don’t think it can be done. But make no mistake, the Dreadnought will be commissioned and ready for sea trials in one year. To show you how confident I am of this goal, I’m extending you an invitation to return next year for the commissioning. If you like, we’ll arrange for Captain Bacon to take you out to sea!”

Morrison tried his best not to appear startled and thanked the admiral profusely. “I can think of nothing I’d like better. Thank you so much, Admiral.”

“Tell me, Mr. Morrison, I hear you disagree with the placement of our forward turret and instead would have recommended two forward turrets, one on top of the other. Do you realize that I personally overruled that idea? Why would you have recommended otherwise? You must realize that careers are ruined by such disagreements with superior officers.”

Morrison suddenly felt as if he was being set up for a fall. Why else would Fisher have brought up the whole matter? He decided to answer candidly. “With no disrespect meant, sir, our engineering studies show that the superimposed turrets, when placed correctly, pose no difficulty either with the firepower of the lower turret when the upper one fires, or with the habitability of the lower turret under those circumstances. With correct venting of the spaces, as well as required hearing protection, this is a better arrangement. It also puts more of our firepower directly forward as we pursue and attack the enemy.

“Pursuit and attack. This is where the placement of the forward turrets really comes into play in our overall strategy and battle doctrine. You see, Admiral, we have been heavily influenced by a brilliant naval strategist who once said something to the effect that, ‘I am an apostle of End-on Fire, for to my mind, broadside fire is peculiarly stupid.’ I believe I’m capturing the essence of his words correctly.”

Fisher stared directly into Morrison’s eyes upon hearing his own words being recited back to him. Morrison feared he had crossed the line; Fisher appeared about to explode with anger. For about fifteen seconds, that impassive look of welling anger continued to be written all over the admiral’s face. Then, suddenly, he threw his head back and began roaring with laughter. “Oh, my God, Mr. Morrison! Well done! Well done!” He continued to shake with laughter, finding it hard to speak at first. “You have knowledge and audacity — a very valuable combination in this day and age. A combination that, unfortunately, I see very rarely in the Royal Navy.” He continued laughing and finally settled down to say, “The look on your face was priceless! You looked like a sailor from the age of sail who was about to be keel-hauled.”

“To be perfectly honest, sir, you looked like a captain from the age of sail who was about to order me to be keel-hauled!” Smiling as he spoke, Morrison was glad to see the admiral again burst into laughter with his response. Their meeting seemed to be going well.

The admiral meandered on about his youth and how he had entered the Royal Navy as a penniless thirteen-year-old. He seemed especially proud as he recalled his accomplishments as he struggled to claw his way to the top of the British Navy. “You see, Mr. Morrison, I’m not sure you can relate to these types of struggles. You are a graduate of the United States Naval Academy and the son of a United States congressman. Don’t look surprised. I had my staff do some homework on your background.”

Morrison cleared his throat and replied, “Actually, Admiral, I can relate to these types of struggles. Congressman Morrison was my stepfather. I was born in Russia, the son of a rabbi who immigrated to the United States when I was eleven years old. I know exactly what you mean about starting out in life with absolutely nothing.”

Fisher’s jaw dropped as he said, “What? You mean you’re a Jew? But you don’t look … I mean how …?” He seemed unable to express the questions that shot through his mind.

“I know. I don’t look like a Jew, whatever exactly that means. I’ve heard that all my life. It’s a long story how I ended up as a naval officer and currently aide to the secretary of the navy, and it's probably a story for another time, sir.”

“Hmmm,” mused Fisher, as he looked at the young American and smiled. “Another Disraeli!” he said, referring to England’s Jewish prime minister of the late nineteenth-century. He stood up, and Morrison immediately followed suit. Fisher extended his hand and said, “Shake hands, Lieutenant Stephen Morrison.” As they pumped each other’s hands with firm, powerful grips, Fisher smiled and continued, “From one penniless wretch who made it into the service of his country’s navy to another.”

Morrison smiled broadly and replied, “Amen to that, Admiral.”