A little plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. So there you go.
Chapter 300B
12th August 1957
Harland and Wolff Dockyards
The old girl was in a bad way. As the old Admiral watched he saw the workers stripping her down to the bare metal. The electronics were mostly gone already and tomorrow the superstructure would be dismantled.
It was why the old Admiral was here now. During her heyday he had been a plankowner aboard the old Carrier and he had taken her through the gates of hell against any of the King's enemies and later too for his daughter. He had fought to have her preserved as a museum like Hood or Warspite but the Government had decided against it. He hated using his clout as a War hero but even that had not save his beloved ship.
So here he was, going aboard her bridge one last time even though he was unsure what that would accomplish.
As he walked up the plank the civillian workers stopped and looked up.
A great many of them were ex-Navy and some even had served aboard the old carrier when she had faced the combined Kriegsmarine and Red Navy, when she had covered convoys and operations in the Mediterranean Sea and when later she had fought against the fearsome Japanese Navy in the Pacific.
So it didn't surprise the Admiral that more than one of the workers stood to attention and saluted when the man in the uniform of an Admiral of the Empire came onboard this old warhorse.
He returned each and every salute and looked around the flight deck. He had inspected No.901 NAS at the base outside of Belfast earlier this morning and he could remember the time when that very same unit had flown cloth-covered bi-planes off this very deck to attack an enemy that would have torn the old Stringbag to pieces with a look alone given half a chance.
He had looked at all the young faces standing in front of their sparkling brand new aircraft and wondered if these men could do what their fathers had done during the dark years of the war. They and their aircraft certainly looked the part.
Shaking his head he stepped over to where the forward elevator was being dismantled and kneeled down to the deck in spite of his advanced years. He couldn't help but smile when he saw that the scar on the inside of the shaft was still there and he remembered the horror he had had on his mind when that Okkha had hit there. The planes had all been in the air and the warhead of the Japanese suicide rocket plane had failed to explode but the elevator had still been wrecked. Somehow no one had ever bothered to repair that scar when the rest of the ship had been fixed. The fire had still been murderous and the ship had been near death for hours.
He rose and walked towards the Island, remembering so many times during the final campaign against Japan when the RDF on top of it had detected the waves upon waves of Kamikaze coming in. He glanced up and saw that the antennae was already gone.
At this time he had been a distant observer but when victory had been declared he had insisted on riding this very ship into Tokyo Bay where he had signed the Instrument of Surrender on behalf of the British Empire. During the voyage he had studied her log and the command of 'all hands to the brooms' had been given more often than he'd liked.
Reching the hatch inside he let his hands wander across the writing over the door and across the battlescars. Now these he could remember how they had happened and he still admired the gutsy German pilots that had attacked in spite of the murderous anti-aircraft fire.
One inside he ignored all the surprised looks as he slowly climbed up the steep stairs through deck by deck until he reached the bridge deck. He paused near his old ready room and stepped inside on a whim. When he saw that his old desk was still there for some reason he had to fight to hold back the tears.
“Sir?” came a voice from behind him. The Admiral turned and when the dockmaster, himself an old hand from the Belfast saw who the Officer was he snapped a salute that would have been fitting for passing out day at Dartmouth.
“We kept it because the Island was the last place we stripped, beginning from the wireless room upwards.” was the answer to the unspoken question.
The Admiral smiled as he remembered all the days he had spent behind this desk and suddenly he knew that he couldn't leave it where it was.
“Mr....”
“Miller, Sir.”
“Mr. Miller, would it be possible for me to...”
“Of course. I'll have it dismantled and taken down with care.”
As a former Navy man Miller understood the Admiral. He himself was a plankowner on HMS Belfast and he could at least rest safe in the knowledge that the people at Singapore would be taking good care of her. Watching the old man struggle with his tears as he watched part of his soul being turned into razor blades tugged at his own strings too. Technically the desk was headed for the skip, but if the Admiral wanted it then so be it.
“Thank you.” the Admiral said with sincerity.
“No problem, Sir.”
Miller followed him out and with a flash suddenly knew what he had to do.
“Would you excuse me please, Sir?”
“Of course.” the Admiral said.
He walked onto the bridge and a lone tear escaped when he saw the gutted innards of the space from where he had seen so much. The raids on Truk and the Mandates. The raids along the occupied coast of Europe. The Retribution raid after the destruction of the Home Fleets line of Battle by the Graf Zeppelin.
There was enough history in this ship to fill scores of books and she would be sent to the breakers.
He stepped out on the Bridge Wing to where he had stood observing the Allied and the American Battlegroups that had been sent to Tokyo bay, the last time he had been aboard her. He could see the Carriers and Dreadnoughts before his inner eye as if it had been yesterday. He mourned for many of the men he had served with during that time and they only ever got fewer with the passing of time.
He turned on his heels and walked back onto the bridge and into the superstructure. He knew where he was going, but the item he had been searching for was already gone. It would probably end up in some Admiralty Office or museum.
With slight disappointment he turned, only to see Miller standing behind him.
“We removed it this morning, Sir.” he said apologetically. “Is there anything else you would like to see, Admiral?”
The Admiral shook his head.
“If you could leave me alone for a second, please?”
“Of course, Sir.”
With that the Admiral walked down the stairs and out onto the flight deck.
He walked to the forward edge of the flight deck. Unlike her more modern and less worn out descendants she had never been fitted with an angled flight deck and had spent most of the time since the war as a training ship and in reserve, but as the Admiral stepped to the forward edge of the flight deck he was faced with yet another memory.
“You are hereby requested and required to repair aboard His Majesty's ship..”
It had been a very long time since then and as he reached the forward edge of the deck, careful to avoid the holes where the catapults had already been removed and in his mind's eye he could see it as clearly as it had been yesterday as the scores of Seafires and Barracudas soared into the air, it had been times when one could really be proud to be one of Her Majesty's sailors.
That this still was true was confirmed by the sight in the next dock over where workers were striving to build the hull of another ship that would bear this name.
“Admiral Cunningham, Sir?” came Miller's voice from behind again.
Cunningham turned on his heels and saw that Miller was there with most of his men.
“Sir, we were going to send a deputation to you tomorrow with this, but since you came here we decided to present it to you right away.”
Without further ado he stepped to a small table where a cloth covered object was waiting to be revealed. He pulled back the cloth and the Admiral could see that it was a ship's bell. Inscribed on it he could read:
H.M.S. Illustrious
1939
