At the Admiralty
The news came as a mild surprise to the average British citizen
when, on opening his morning paper, he found that there was actually
another war on--no rumour of impending hostilities, no preliminary
exchange of "Notes", nor even a declaration of war. Hostilities had
taken place between Great Britain and the Republic of Rioguay.
Very few people had as much as heard of that South American state.
Those who did were almost without exception quite in ignorance of
its resources. Even the Cabinet Ministers had to admit that their
information concerning the supposedly obscure republic was vague.
The Foreign Office could supply but little information.
It was War. The Admiralty communiqués reported an engagement off the
north-east coast of South America, but without any details. Already
part of the Atlantic Fleet was on its way to the West Indies to
reinforce the three light cruisers and half a dozen destroyers in
those waters.
Undoubtedly, the Rioguayan Republic had chosen a favourable
opportunity to challenge the British Empire. The Near Eastern
question had cropped up again when the optimists had come to the
conclusion that at last the Balkans were no longer a firebrand.
Consequently, two-thirds of the British navy's capital ships were
tied down to the Mediterranean.
Internal troubles in India and external troubles on her North-West
Frontier were brewing, while both Egypt and the Sudan were in a
state of grave unrest.
Señor Jaime Samuda, President of the Republic of Rioguay, had laid
his plans well. He knew that he had little to fear from United
States intervention. Uncle Sam was at present kept on tenterhooks by
a revival of the Japanese peril, and practically every available
warship flying the Stars and Stripes had concentrated on the Pacific
coast.
He counted on French neutrality, gauging the Gallic attitude by the
events of 1922. Italy did not come into his calculations; but he
reckoned upon German support as far as the curtailed resources of
Germany's armaments permitted.
Altogether the Rioguayan Government had at its disposal nine capital
ships--all of recent construction and heavily armed.
Against these the British Government could show but four or five. Of
the numbers allowed by the Washington Conference, the bulk were "up
the Straits". Of the remainder, two had recently received serious
damage through mutual collision. Their repairs would take at least
six months, provided the workmen employed in the private yards to
which the damaged vessels had been sent would refrain from striking
during that period.
In light cruisers the rival countries were about equal, but as
regards the numbers of destroyers available, Great Britain had a
decided superiority apart from the numerous vessels of that type
required elsewhere. On the other hand, Rioguay was a long distance
from England. The West India station had been neglected and its
resources cut down. The nearest base of any importance was Bermuda,
and even then the dockyard at Somers Island was incapable of dealing
with repairs of much magnitude. For oil fuel, on which the
destroyers depended, there were no British ports in the West Indies
where any large quantities were stored. It meant that the fleet had
to be "fueled" either at neutral ports or by oil-tankers. The latter
required escort as a protection from commerce-destroyers, which
entailed a heavy drain upon the numbers of light cruisers available.
But it was on aircraft that President Jaime Samuda pinned his faith.
He hoped that by means of the efficient machines in the possession
of the Rioguayan Government, the task of extending the scene of
hostilities far beyond the frontiers of Rioguay would be
successfully carried out.
The ultimate hope of Rioguay was the consolidation of several
republics into a United States of South America with resources
rivalling those of the hitherto greatest Powers in the world. For
some undefined reason, Samuda had become obsessed with the idea that
a decisive blow at the British Empire would be an important
preliminary stroke.
Originally, his scheme was to start a campaign against British
mercantile ships, destroying them without leaving a trace. By so
doing he hoped to deal a paralysing blow at a section of seaborne
resources of the British Empire, which the interruption of the
Argentine and Brazilian trade would embrace. There was also a large
proportion of British shipping still making the Horn passage, and
already a number of vessels bound to and from the Pacific had been
sunk.
In following the policy of secret destructive action Samuda also
hoped that suspicion would fall upon certain South American
republics other than Rioguay. His hopes might have been realized but
for the series of engagements following the attack upon the
decoy-ship _Complex_.
The few survivors from the _Cerro Algarrobo_ had "given the show
away". Separately cross-examined, they had admitted their
nationality readily enough. The mere hint that if they could claim
no governmental covering authority for their acts they would be
classed as pirates and treated accordingly, was sufficient to compel
them to hasten to give a full account of the cruise of the ill-fated
_Cerro Algarrobo_.
These facts were communicated by wireless to Bermuda and thence
cabled to the Admiralty.
A Declaration of War--declaring a war that was already in
progress--followed.
That same day, Brian Strong and Peter Corbold landed at Southampton.
Seven weeks had elapsed from the time they crossed the Rioguayan
frontier. The Indians, with whom they had fallen in, had proved very
hospitable and had nursed them both through a bout of fever. On
their recovery, Brian Strong and his nephew were conveyed down the
river in canoes of their Indian benefactors, and eventually reached
La Guayra, the port of Caracas, the Venezuelan capital.
From La Guayra they took steamer to Barbadoes, thence to
Southampton.
The news of the outbreak of war with Rioguay did not surprise either
uncle or nephew, but what did was the bald information that two
British seaplanes had routed six hostile flying-boats. They rejoiced
after the manner of their kind--without demonstrations.
Nevertheless, Brian Strong was puzzled. Although as a patriot he was
elated at the news of the aerial combat, it puzzled him to think
that the Rioguayans had failed to take advantage of the wonderful
machines that owed their existence to his brains.
"It's the human element that counts, all the time, Peter," he
remarked. "If the Rioguayan air fleet doesn't put up a better show
in the future, I needn't have gone to the trouble of bringing this
gadget home."
He tapped his breast coat pocket, wherein lay one of the essentials
of his invention. The others he had also succeeded in bringing to
England in spite of difficulties--the latest being a wordy encounter
with a self-important Customs official at Southampton Docks.
Had the Admiralty permitted a full, uncensored account of the
engagement to become public, Brian Strong would not have been quite
so cheerful. No mention had been made of the disconcerting fact that
the British seaplanes were unaccountably unable to attack the
fugitive _Cerro Algarrobo_. Perhaps the circumstances were deemed
too insignificant to merit notice at Whitehall, but that was not the
view taken by the flying-officers of the seaplanes in question.
Hurrying by taxi to Southampton West Station, Brian and Peter were
just in time to catch a Waterloo express. They dined on board the
train, took another taxi at Waterloo, and gave the driver
instructions to drive to the Admiralty.
They found the buildings besieged by a crowd of applicants of all
sorts and conditions. There were young ex-Royal Naval and R.N.R.
officers offering themselves for active service afloat. Retired
officers, who had been on the Pension List for years were clamouring
for jobs afloat, a few "after soft billets ashore". There were
highly patriotic individuals of the profiteer type ready to prove
their indispensability and secretly hoping that the petty little war
would develop into something big and last for years and years.
Inventors with ideas that were good, and inventors whose suggestions
were of not the slightest use, were in evidence to leaven the lump
that threatened to clog the Admiralty machine.
At length, after an hour and a half of tedious waiting, Brian and
Peter found themselves within the vestibule of the Admiralty.
Without a word, a harassed petty-officer attendant handed Brian
Strong a slip of paper to be filled in.
"Name?"--that was easy enough. "Address?" Brian hadn't one. He was a
wanderer on the face of the earth. He wrote the name of an hotel in
the Strand where he hoped to put up, but up to the present he had
made no attempt to book a room. "Officer required to be seen?" Here
was another poser. At Peter's suggestion, he wrote, "Deputy Chief of
Naval Staff". The last question, "Nature of Business?" was the
pitfall. If he stated too much and claimed too great an importance
of his errand, he would more than likely be "turned down" as an
importunate time-waster. If he merely requested a private interview
without credentials to support his application, he would not stand
the ghost of a chance of stating his case.
He turned appealingly to his nephew. The petty-officer sighed
impatiently. He was not a man to "suffer fools gladly". That sort of
thing becomes boring after years in the Admiralty inquiry bureau.
"Put down 'Applicant late Consulting Engineer to the Rioguayan Air
Board '," suggested Peter. "That will do the trick."
Uncle Brian thought not; it looked too audacious on paper. But it
suggested a line of action.
In a firm, scholarly hand, he wrote:
"Confidential. Applicant for interview landed at Southampton this
morning from Rioguay."
A messenger took the paper slip and departed. Uncle Brian resigned
himself to another spell of tedious waiting. He had vivid
recollections of Government offices in the days of the Great War,
when a caller, no matter how important his business, was handed over
to the tender mercies of a flapper in brown holland, and might, with
luck, arrive at his destination with the last ounce of strength left
in his tottering legs, only to find that after tramping through
hundreds of yards of corridors the person he sought had gone to
lunch.
It came as an agreeable surprise when, in about five minutes, Brian
Strong and his nephew were told that the Deputy Chief would see
them.
Their passes stamped, the two men were escorted by a messenger to a
room overlooking the Mall. Here the naval officer was waiting to
receive them.
Sir John Pilrig was by no means the Sherlock Holmes sleuth-hound
type of man that the nature of his office seemed to warrant. He was
burly, full-faced, with a fresh complexion. His mild blue eyes and
smooth white hair gave him a benevolent aspect, He reminded Peter
more of a Harley Street specialist than a naval officer upon whose
shoulders rested the weight of a responsibility hardly less than
that of the First Sea Lord.
There was no brusqueness in his demeanour. His manner seemed almost
apologetic, but it was evident that he had the art of being able to
obtain information from a person without "rubbing him up the wrong
way".
Sir John showed no surprise at the appearance of his callers,
although their clothes, suitable to the climate of the West Indies,
were hardly _comme il faut_ in Whitehall.
"So you have just arrived from Rioguay, Mr. Strong?" he began. "I am
pleased to meet you. I must confess that my knowledge of the
internal conditions of Rioguay is elementary--I might say vague--and
no doubt you may be able to give me valuable information on several
points. And your friend--was he with you out there?"
"My nephew--yes," replied Brian. "We left Rioguay in somewhat
unusual circumstances by air."
The Deputy Chief did not conceal his surprise; but he merely nodded
an encouragement for Brian Strong to "carry on".
Uncle Brian maintained a full head of steam for quite fifteen
minutes, describing the details of the flying-boat with technical
and convincing accuracy.
"You know a lot of very important information about the Rioguayan
air fleet," observed Sir John.
"Because I designed them," was the astonishing rejoinder.
"H'm," commented the Deputy Chief, without attempting to charge his
visitor with unpatriotic motives. "Then with your technical
knowledge, perhaps you could enlighten me on one point. Apart from
the armour protection of the Rioguayan flying-boats, do they possess
any special means of defence against opposing aircraft?"
"Speed and manoeuvring powers," replied Brian.
"Anything else?"
Brian shook his head.
"Why I ask," continued Sir John Pilrig, "is this: here is a portion
of the report of the officer commanding H.M.S. _Basilikon_. He lays
particular stress upon the fact that when two of our seaplanes were
about to attack one of the Rioguayan cruisers, they were unable to
approach within two miles of her. They simply had to descend through
ignition troubles, but on the hostile vessel increasing her distance
the defect--if defect it could be termed--was no longer in evidence.
That phenomenon occurred on three occasions during that operation."
Peter threw a sidelong glance at his uncle. Brian's face was pale
beneath its tan.
"By Jove, Peter!" he exclaimed. "Ramon Diaz has got to wind'ard of
us. He's stolen the plans of the rays."
"Explain, please," said the Deputy Chief of Staff. In answer, Brian
Strong stopped and undid the fastenings of a leather portmanteau
which, like the haversack, he had so carefully guarded in his flight
from El Toro. From it he drew a complicated "valve set" and placed
it upon the table.
"This, sir," he replied, "is the secret. I had hoped that it was a
secret still, but your information unfortunately leads me to think
otherwise. With an apparatus embodying this invention, I can
truthfully claim to bring down any aircraft in existence. It was my
intention to give my secret to the British Government, and it is for
that purpose that I am here. Unfortunately, it is a secret no
longer. By some means, the Rioguayan Government has acquired the
knowledge and has already put it to practical use."
Briefly, Brian Strong explained the device, giving particulars of
the experimental flight in which Peter had taken a practical part.
"It is, of course, unfortunate," admitted Sir John. "But tell me, in
the event of two opposing forces using a similar device, would the
rays of one affect the other?"
"Undoubtedly," affirmed Brian decidedly.
"Well, then," continued the Deputy Chief of Staff, "the position, I
take it, would be this: the aircraft of both opponents would be
rendered ineffectual. That's something. It leaves the conduct of
operations in the hands of other branches of warfare. In the present
instance--warships."
"Precisely," agreed Brian.
Sir John went to the window and gazed across the Mall, apparently
deep in thought. Suddenly he turned to his visitor.
"If you had an up-to-date workshop and a staff of highly-trained
mechanics at your disposal, Mr. Strong, how long would it take you
to produce a complete apparatus for testing purposes?"
"Two days," replied Brian, without hesitation.
"Excellent," exclaimed Sir John, touching an electric bell. "I will
make arrangements for you to proceed to the naval gunnery
establishment at Whale Island, where all facilities will be
provided. There is one other matter. I trust you will not mind my
mentioning it--the question of funds."
"That's all right, Sir John," said Brian. "I can carry on
without--er--financial assistance for a bit. When the gadget's
proved----"
Sir John let it go at that. He realized that Brian Strong was a man
with high motives, and that discussing money matters was
distasteful.
"I don't care what I get out of the business," declared Brian when
uncle and nephew found themselves crossing Trafalgar Square. "They
can give me what they like, as long as it's not the Order of the Bad
Egg."