Moryak

Chapter 6-1

6Royal Naval Dockyard

Portsmouth, England

September 1905

Shortly after the Oceanic docked, Stephen Morrison disembarked the ship. Waiting for him at the pier stood an earnest-appearing ensign who worked directly for Captain Reginald Bacon, naval assistant to the First Sea Lord. “Welcome to England, Mr. Morrison!” beamed the youthful ensign as he saluted. “I’m here to take you to Captain Bacon’s office. He’s expecting you for lunch, sir.”

Morrison returned the salute and offered, “That’s very kind of him.”

Both men got into the car and sped away to the Royal Naval Dockyard. As they drove, the young ensign proved to be a chatty host. “Will you be working with us on the Dreadnought, sir?”

“I’ll be with you for a week. I’m scheduled to shove off after the keel-laying ceremony.”

“That will be quite the celebration. You know, that’s the official start of the Battle of Trafalgar celebrations. The month of October is the one-hundredth anniversary of Lord Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar. His Majesty King Edward will be here for that celebration. You know, he and Admiral Fisher are good friends.”

“So I’ve heard,” replied Morrison as the car pulled up to a two-story, red brick building at the head of a drydock. As he got out of the car, the ensign pointed to the large piles of metal plates and other materials stacked on either side of the drydock. Hundreds of shipyard workers scurried busily all over the drydock area. The whole area seemed to be alive with energy and purpose. “As you can see, sir, we’re ready to go.” He led Morrison through the front door where a young yeoman issued him a special identification badge and stamped his orders. He followed the energetic ensign up a flight of stairs to a door that had “Captain Bacon” neatly painted on the frosted glass pane. “I’ll leave you here, sir,” the ensign said as he opened the door for Morrison. To the young lady at the desk, he barked, “Let Captain Bacon know that Lieutenant Morrison of the United States Navy is here.” The young lady jumped to her feet and disappeared behind a door in the rear of the small office.

Several minutes later, a tall, distinguished-looking officer emerged from the back room. “You must be Lieutenant Morrison,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Captain Bacon. Welcome to Portsmouth.”

As they firmly shook hands, Morrison replied, “I’m delighted and honored to be here, sir.”

“Excellent! I hope you’re hungry. We’re headed for the officers’ club for lunch. Captain Scott will be joining us. He knows you by reputation and is looking forward to meeting you.”

The lunch at the officers’ club evolved into an excellent social engagement for Morrison. He found Captain Percy Scott to be a very interesting individual. Acknowledged as the Royal Navy’s foremost expert on gunnery, Scott had revolutionized naval gunnery into a true science. These techniques had been brought to the American navy by one of Scott’s protégés, then-Lieutenant William Sims, who had become one of Stephen Morrison’s most influential mentors. Scott was a short, hyperactive individual, the type of man who dominated every conversation. Most people found it hard to get a word in when conversing with him. Scott seemed excited to meet Morrison, considering him another one of his gunnery disciples. “I’ve heard about the exploits of you and Commander Sims aboard the Indiana. Well done indeed! I also read the after-action report once it was forwarded to the Royal Navy. You two have changed gunnery techniques forever back in the states. God, it wasn’t very long ago in the British navy that if a projectile fired by a naval vessel actually hit a target, it was a cause for celebration. Now, you Americans have learned the art and the science. Again, well done, Mr. Morrison!”

“Well, sir, we had a pretty good teacher, if I must say so.”

“Oh, you must!” blurted out Scott. “You certainly must!” Both Bacon and Morrison erupted into laughter. Morrison could sense he would enjoy his week with the British.

After lunch, they returned to Bacon’s office for a briefing. Bacon had prepared a briefing folder for him, and they sat down in the conference room next to his office. “Lieutenant, I’m going to give you an overview now on Dreadnought; how it was conceived, what exactly is going into the design, and what the timeline is for the project. Are you familiar at all with Dreadnought?”

“I know that it’s going to be an all-big-gun ship, only twelve-inchers. In addition, I know it will be fast. It appears to be based on that concept presented by the Italian naval architect, Cuniberti, a couple of years ago in an issue of Jane’s Fighting Ships, correct?”

“No doubt that concept helped influence Lord Fisher’s thinking, but the ideas are all from his brain. He has been envisioning this type of ship for years. Now that he has attained the position of First Sea Lord, his intention is to make his vision a reality. We’re totally committed to it. We’ll begin with a little background. Admiral Fisher assumed office in October of last year. One of the five main reforms he proposed for the naval service was to design and build a new class of battleship equipped only with twelve-inch guns and capable of twenty-one-knot speeds, two unheard of concepts up to this time.

“Beginning the end of last December, Admiral Fisher formed the Committee on Design to conceptualize the project. I was a member of the committee, along with six other naval officers and nine civilians. Admiral Fisher was not actually a member of the group, although his heart and soul were present in the room at all times. In fact, he oversaw the entire process. The committee met for seven weeks and based our work around the two governing principles as elucidated by Admiral Fisher, guns and speed. We decided on ten twelve-inch guns mounted in five turrets: one turret forward, one wing turret on either side of the superstructure, and two aft turrets.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, sir, but why didn’t you superimpose two turrets forward, with the upper one higher and slightly behind the lower turret? We’re putting that type of arrangement in the new battleships we’re designing, and we feel it will be more effective.”

“We actually considered that arrangement, but the committee was split on this issue. Some felt strongly that in this arrangement, the firing of the upper turret would cause too much of a blast effect and render the lower turret unusable. I have mixed feelings myself. In the end, Admiral Fisher decided on the chosen arrangement of the turrets.”

“What about the propulsion plant? I read that you are going to change from reciprocating piston steam engines to turbine engines. I’m not familiar with this concept. Can it work on a battleship?”

Bacon smiled before continuing. “It can, and it will! You’ve been in the engine rooms on modern ships, Lieutenant. Can you carry on a conversation or use the phone? In fact, can you even hear yourself think?” Seeing the smile develop on Morrison’s face, Bacon continued. “I thought not. Our engineers have devised a steam turbine technology they guarantee us will be much quieter and much more durable than piston engines. Instead of pistons slamming up and down in cylinders, causing metal fatigue and ultimately cracked metal, we’ll have rotating metal discs mounted on the shaft that will spin continuously. We’ll reduce metal fatigue and run a hell of a lot cleaner, too. Can you ever remember going down into the engine room and not sliding all over the place because of all the fuel oil over the deck? This new technology will be much cleaner, and engine room duty will be much more palatable. Our engineers have a design that will generate twenty-three thousand horsepower from this turbine engine.”

“What is the anticipated weight of Dreadnought? That’s a lot of horsepower,” Morrison commented.

“The weight will be seventeen thousand tons.” When Bacon finished the sentence, Morrison whistled when he heard the number. “Those are quite impressive numbers! Almost a little mind-boggling, if you don’t mind my saying so, Captain.” He ran some figures in his head for a few seconds. While deep in thought, Morrison said, almost as if talking to himself, “You know, given the horsepower generated, twenty-one knots would be feasible for a seventeen -thousand ton ship. Yes, yes it would!” exclaimed Morrison, feeling intellectually stimulated by the thought of this new ship design.

Bacon smiled at the young American. “I see the lights going on in your head, Lieutenant. It is intriguing, isn’t it? I can see your enthusiasm growing as we talk. Actually, one has only to spend ten minutes hearing Admiral Fisher wax eloquently about Dreadnought to become a true, devoted believer.” Pouring a glass of water for himself and Morrison, Bacon instructed, “Turn to page ten of the briefing book. You’re in for a surprise.”

Morrison did as instructed and gasped. After reading the proposed timeline for the ship’s construction, he blurted out “Sir, you can’t be serious. From keel laying to completion in twelve months? That’s impossible!”

“It would seem that way, if one were wed to tradition. You know, the keel laying is next week. Did you see what was going on in this yard when you approached the drydock? All of the materials are stacked and ready. All of the metal plates for the hull and armor belt are pre-cut and positioned for installation. The work force is motivated and committed to the project. They have been literally counting the days until the work begins. Lastly, don’t forget the driving influence of the First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir John Fisher himself. Never underestimate that last factor, ever.”

“May I ask a question, sir, and I mean no disrespect?”

“Fire away.”

“What is the quickest time that a battleship has ever been constructed in your drydock?”

Bacon paused and reflected. Finally, he replied, “About two-and-a-half years. Yes, that’s about right.”

Morrison just sat there with a skeptical look on his face. Bacon smiled at him and said, “Just remember all of the facts that I have just outlined for you concerning the construction of Dreadnought. All of them will guarantee the success of the venture. Most of all, Lieutenant — and this is important — never, I repeat never, underestimate the power of the last factor I described to you. The influence of Admiral Fisher is what will ensure that we complete the construction exactly on time.”

* * *

Over the next several days, Stephen Morrison met with many of the individual project managers who would be overseeing the various aspects of Dreadnought’s construction. He had been allowed to sit in on all aspects of the pre-construction phase that had been concluded by the week’s end. Back in his room at the bachelor officers’ quarters each night, he transcribed copious notes into a log that he would use to assemble his final report to Secretary Bonaparte. He planned to have at least a rough draft ready to submit before he left for Russia.

The thought of Russia continually weighed on his nerves. He had no idea how he would be contacted by the British agent with whom he would be working. He had been told by the president that the agent would contact him upon arrival in London, but other than that, he had nothing. No name, no address, nothing. He had been informed that the project was to be run by the head of British Intelligence, but nothing else had been revealed. Roosevelt had told him that in England, only the king, the prime minister, and this intelligence director knew of the mission. They would be given the name of an American, Lieutenant Stephen Morrison. With so many unknowns, Morrison even began to wonder if the mission had been aborted.

That morning, he had been awakened by a nightmare. It was an odd premonition. He had had varying versions of the same nightmare since he was a teenager, but he hadn’t had any episodes in over a year. As he lay in his bed, drenched in sweat, he realized that the uncertainty was starting to get to him. Why else would the nightmare have returned at this particular time? The keel laying would be in two days and still no contact or instructions from the British. He got out of his bed and walked over to the mirror hanging over his chest of drawers. Staring deeply into the face looking back at him, he began thinking. What was he trying to prove to himself by volunteering for this mission, returning to Russia after all these years? How long had it been, he wondered? Sixteen years? How many different lives had he led that brought him to this point? He was an American in England, awaiting orders to go into Russia and take part in a kidnapping and possible assassination of a foreign monarch. He smiled and thought, No wonder the damn nightmare returned! Splashing water on his face, he forced his thoughts back to his work and his wife. He would get through this challenge. Once the mission began, he would be all right. Focus on the mission, he thought. That's the key.