HMS Benbow, 0835 June 6, 1915, Cromarty Firth

Captain Lord Robert Herrick chafed with impatience. He sat at his desk in his sea cabin, just a few quick steps from the bridge. Not that he would be needed there in the foreseeable future. Far from it. Benbow lay in the drydock at Cromarty Firth with the rest of the Grand Fleet's harbor queens.

Instead of chasing after the Germans, he fought a losing battle with reams of paperwork. Reports from Campbell and his junior engineers detailed Benbow's battle damage and necessary repairs. Piled on top of these were After Action reports. Next to that was a stack of individual reports from Sub-Lieutenant Connor, the Acting Purser, detailing main gun ammunition, secondary ammunition, coal bags and oil levels, and food supplies. Below those were the lists Herrick wanted to see the least. The casualty lists.

As he worked his way through Connor's listing of main gun rounds, there was a knock on the hatch. "Yes?"

"Commander Callaghan, sir. I have the new personnel recommendations."

Wonderful. More bloody paperwork. "Very well, George."

A dapper commander in his late twenties came through the hatch and dropped a folder on the desk. "As you know, we have several positions to fill. Lt. Commander Spaulding and his junior gunnery officer are dead: Lieutenant Garland in the starboard 6" casemates and Commander Spaulding this morning in hospital. Paymaster Lieutenant Dawson is also dead."

"I know. I just put Spaulding up for the VC." Posthumously. Like so many others. How many others would stay at their post, keep the guns firing and on target, knowing they were going to die? How many would have kept going with half their leg just gone? Why must we always lose such good men? The VC is too little for him.

"Good, sir. Paymaster Lieutenant-Commander Dalrymple and Sub-Lieutenant Dobson are also still in hospital. Dobson will be back on Thursday, but Dalrymple will have to be invalidated out. Surgeon Commander Browne tells me he is lucky to be alive. He will be in hospital for months, and then spend another few months learning to walk again." And he's the lucky one, Callaghan thought.That was the hit that took out the starboard 6" casemates, along with fully half their crews. Including Lieutenant Garland and most of Dalrymple's damage control party. If he hadn't thrown Dan down that hatch . . . .

"Damn!. He was a very good officer. A bit unorthodox, and willing to do a lot more than any other purser I knew. He was a lot more competent too." That, if anything, was an understatement. Dalrymple took over Damage Control from Engineering, freeing up one more badly needed engineer for Commander Campbell. He also ran Medical's stretcher-bearer teams, freeing up that many more doctors to save more lives. "I also put him up for the VC for his sacrifice." I usually didn't think much of Supply. They were a bunch of scheming incompetents. Dalrymple changed that. His junior officers followed his example too. And now, he too is gone. Thank God, he is alive. Thank God he got Dan out.

Callaghan's continued report brought Herrick back from his musings. "Sir, Commander Campbell's deputy has been promoted out and transferred to Erin. He will be hard to replace, but she needs him more than we do."

"What about the enlisted men?"

"We have fifty discharged dead and another hundred still in hospital. Doc Browne expects that thirty or so should be back by the time we are fully repaired. The port gunnery watch took the greatest number of casualties. We are getting a draft of personnel from Erin tomorrow, but we will still need another seventy or so. The port admiral will have a draft of New Zealanders tomorrow or the next day. That should get us back to full complement.

"I suggest that we keep Thompson as Acting Gunnery Officer. He managed to handle the guns very well during that scrap with the Germans after Spaulding collapsed. I suggest we keep Dobson in the port casemate. He was carrying Garland anyway."

"Who will replace Dalrymple?"

"Sir, Dan is doing a fine job in his place. He's a good lad." And I owe Dalrymple more than I can ever replay for throwing him down that hatch.

"How much is that Commander Callaghan talking, and how much is Dan's Uncle George?" It was no secret to the captain that Callaghan's nephew was their acting supply officer. They had been friends for far too long. Herrick knew that George Callaghan and his wife had no children of their own yet. He knew that George regarded Dan Connor as his son. Herrick had watched Dan Connor grow up too. His own sons had played with him. Commander Callaghan's sister, Charlotte, had personally asked him to keep Dan Connor safe. He too had family at war. His eldest son Davin was a Sub-Lieutenant in Queen Elizabeth, and his brother Andrew was a Major in the Essex Regiment. Like Charlotte Connor, Herrick and his wife Kate had asked Captain Dave to keep their son safe. Yet, despite their friendship and his own pride in the boy, Herrick had a duty to make sure that there was no favoritism in Callaghan's judgments.

"Sir, Uncle George wants him off the ship and out of the Navy." And out of the whole damned war. "Barring that, I would want him in a branch where he could get his own flag one day. Commander Callaghan recognizes that he is a good lad and the best one for the job."

"Very good George. Anything else?"

"Yes sir. Mr. Campbell's repair crews have managed to patch up the hole amidships. He stopped the flooding, and his men have been working round the clock to repair the penetration in the belt armor. We should be able to leave the drydock on the ninth. Unfortunately, all of the bulkheads inside the starboard casemate are badly damaged. All of the starboard six inch guns are also inoperative and need to be replaced.Thompson also reports that the main gun director was damaged by the hit we took at 1912. He says we need to recalibrate it for the main guns and then fire several rounds to check it. He wants at least a week on the Gunnery range. Finally, Cromarty reports serious shortages of steel and six inch guns, sir. Mr Campbell managed to steal enough from Erin for the repairs to the hull, but he doesn't have enough for all of the bulkhead work he needs to do. While officially, we are on the 1-month+ list for repairs, Commander Campbell says he could get it done in 2 to 3 weeks if he can get the necessary steel."

"Does Mr. Campbell always multiply his repair estimates by a factor of two, George?" For the first time in a long time, the characteristic Herrick grin.

"Usually three sir. He's being circumspect today." A matching wide grin covered his face.

"Very well, Mr. Callaghan." Captain Herrick fought a battle against his laughter. He failed. A few laughs and a guffaw slipped out of his captain's face. "Thompson and Connor have the positions. Go give Dan his new cuff ring."

"With pride, sir. Also, the Admiralty courier brought these." Callaghan laid the papers on the captain's desk.

"That will be all, George. Dismissed."

Captain Herrick flipped them over. The back still bore the seal of the First Sea Lord. He shivered with dread. He expected a massive shake-up in the Grand Fleet's command structure. He did not expect to be one of the victims. Things must be really bad for the sackings to reach his level. Filled with trepidation, he carefully removed the seal and opened his orders.

To Captain Lord Sir Robert Herrick, Commanding His Majesty's Ship Benbow:

Their lordships request and require you to proceed to Scapa Flow as soon as practicable. Upon your arrival, you will take on board Acting Admiral John De Robeck, commanding officer of the Grand Fleet, and assume the duties of Flag Captain. Fail not in this charge at your peril.

For His Majesty, the King
Admiral of the Fleet Sir George Callaghan,
First Sea Lord of the Admiralty

The first thing that crossed Herrick's mind was surprise. He did not expect to see either of those names. He knew that Jellicoe would go. Yet he expected Fisher to survive. The man had the skills of an alley cat, and knew every newspaperman by name. Fisher had survived the worst his enemies could throw at him, attained a peerage, and came back to confound them again. Apparently, the old man's enemies had used this last round with the Germans to drag him down again.

De Roebuck was unexpected. While what he had heard about De Roebuck's abilities was good, the words from his father the Earl about the Dardanelles had been far from complementary. The reports of pre-dreadnoughts lost on the mines and damaged by the shore batteries were unsettling. The loss of HMS Irresistible was a downright shock. While he had been her captain for only a few months at the beginning of the war, Captain Herrick had loved every inch of the old girl. Now she too was among the lost, sailing forever with Captain Vanderdecken's squadron, escorting the Flying Dutchman for all eternity.

Still, this is two back-to-back stints as a Flag Captain, for two very different admirals. And, out of all the captains in the fleet, they chose me. Somebody down at the Admiralty must like me. Good things tend to happen to Flag Captains.

He grabbed the phone on the bulkhead. "Mr. Callaghan, please report to the Captain's Cabin."

2203, Purser's Cabin, HMS Benbow

A Sub-Lieutenant's berth is rarely comfortable. Paymaster Sub-Lieutenant Dan Connor's was less so. Like so many recently graduated officers, he still slept on top of the sheets: an uncomfortable night was well worth the time saved. Midshipmen did not have the time to spend every morning remaking their beds, crafting hospital corners and measuring the fold with a one-pound note. Fewer still had the one pound note to measure with.

Connor desperately wanted to be a good Sub-Lieutenant. That Uncle George was Benbow's Executive Officer made this more important. That his best friend Davin's father was the Captain made it even more imperative that he do well. He was so new that his petty officers privately joked about the need to oil him.

He tossed and turned on his bunk. The only reason that he had any room at all is that Paymaster Lieutenant-Commander Dalrymple's berth had been turned over to him as the acting purser. The fact that a German 12"/50 shell had decided to commandeer his former quarters made the adjustment easier. On his desk lay all the paperwork of his position and a framed picture of his family. The glass was cracked and the frame scotched. Miraculously, the picture was intact. His mother and father held hands in the middle. Connor and his sister sat in front of them. Uncle George and Aunt Caroline stood to the right. It was an old picture, from happier days. In the right corner of the frame, Connor had tucked another small picture. This one was of a pretty redhead, Laura.

Yet Connor's tossing and turning had nothing to do with his nervousness and desire to do well. It had everything to do with the German shell that occupied his former quarters.

Connor stood at his battle station down in Main One. On Benbow, Main One had been tied together with Damage Control Central. His Boss, Paymaster Lieutenant-Commander Dalrymple was an ambitious man. Somehow, he had talked Commander Campbell into placing him in charge of Damage Control. Now, Connor stood with one other officer and one hundred enlisted men in Main One. Down lines similar to the one Connor stood watch over would come damage reports, casualty reports, and requests for spare parts. Up Connor's line would go damage reports to the bridge.

Benbow shook with the first hit.

A wash of terror floated over him. Benbow was one of the biggest, newest and most powerful ships in the fleet. Her captain was one of the best. How could she be hurt by the Germans?

A ring interrupted his ruminations. "Sir, a hit forward and to starboard. Lieutenant Garland reports problems with the ammunition flow to his guns" Paymaster Lieutenant Charles Dawson's reported.

"Very well. Mr. Dawson, go to the port casemates and take charge of the ammunition passers. Get that ammo to the guns." Dalrymple was in his element. He coolly dispatched orders. "Mr. Connor, inform the bridge of the hit, minimal damage. Then take Dawson's station."

Connor dutifully picked up his phone and reported to the bridge. He then moved to Dawson's station to take damage reports as a petty officer took his station. To him, it seemed like reports were flooding in. In reality, Benbow had taken no further hits. Finally, a report came down his line.

"Sir, a hit forward in the superstructure. Lieutenant Dawson is down sir, along with half the forward DC party. Lieutenant Garland reports damage to the secondaries, but all guns are still working."

"Mr. Connor, go forward and take ten men to handle the casualties. I will be forward to handle Damage Control as soon as I inform Commander Campbell." Like so many officers, Dalrymple would rather be anywhere than behind a desk.

Connor raced out the watertight hatch and down the passageway, a stretcher party hard on his heels. As he passed the sick bay, they grabbed five stretchers and a first aid kit. He climbed up a few decks, and through another armored hatch. He soon emerged in the starboard casemate. Forward, he could see the sea and fire through a gaping hole in Benbow's port side. He ran further forward and saw Dawson lying on the deck. Death at sea has always been prettied up. Here it stared at Connor in all it's hideous splendor.

Dawson lay on his back. Below his neck he looked fine. Above it, he was a bloody mess. Half his face had been ripped off by the blast. A piece of armor that had spalled off was lodged in his other eye. His brains mixed with his blood and ran down the deck. Around him were the bodies of part of the ammunition passers. Connor 's stomach rebelled at the sight and smells in the casemate. He tried to control his nausea. The nausea won, and Connor vomited on the deck.

Sub Lieutenant Dobson came up to him. "Belay that, Dan. Get control of yourself and your men. We have work to do." That tone from Dobson was surprising. As a midshipman, Dobson was quiet and a bit of a loner. Like Dalrymple, he blossomed under fire.

"Aye Bob." Connor weakly croaked.

"Better." A grin washed Dobson's face. "We have several wounded forward. You can't help these men."

"Stretcher party!Come forward with me." The men from Main One followed Connor deeper into the forward casemates. Some wounded men cried and screamed, others were deathly silent. Connor ran from man to man, checking their injuries. Some were too far gone to save. Others could be if he acted fast. Connor gave one man who had lost an arm a quick shot of morphine before the stretcher bearers carried him off.

Finally, they carried the last man from the compartment. Connor followed the stretcher barer toward the hatch. Through the hatch came Lieutenant Commander Dalrymple. "Report, Connor."

"Sir there were four dead and ten wounded. I regret to report that Lieutenant Dawson is dead."

"Very well. Return to Main One."

As Dalrymple spoke, Benbow bucked as another German shell found her. Again, it penetrated the armor like it was tissue paper and detonated inside. The blast wave sucked all the air of the compartment and blew it back in a massive fireball. Forward, the deck bent, buckled and broke in nanoseconds. The fireball rolled up from below and spilled into the forwardmost compartment of the casemate.

Mercifully, the men manning the forward most 6" gun died instantly as they were immolated. Those further aft were not so lucky. They had a few seconds to scream in agony as their subdermal fat boiled and they burst into flames.

The armored doors that connected the casemates were open to allow the stretcher bearers to pass through. Only the furthest forward one had been dogged shut. That bulkhead bulged at the force of the explosion, aided by the cooking off of 6" high explosive shells. After a second or two of torture, the bulkhead failed.

Splinters from the failed bulkhead flew through the air as the fireball rolled aft. Lieutenant Garland was caught by several splinters as he was ordering the evacuation of the casemate. One splinter burrowed through his back and emerged from his chest. Another one cut off his right arm, and a third vented it's fury against his head. Other splinters ripped through the crews serving the six inch guns. Some managed to live because they were shielded by the mountings. Others were not so lucky.

As the storm of metal blew through the casemate mountings, Dobson threw himself to the deck and ordered the rest of the men to do the same. Those who obeyed lived with a few minor shrapnel injuries. Those who didn't obey their superior dropped to the deck with serious and fatal injuries.

As soon as the shell went off, Paymaster Lieutenant-Commander Dalrymple knew exactly what would happen. He too was a friend of both the Captain and the XO. He too had sons who regarded Dan Connor as a beloved older brother. He too knew if anything happened to him, both the XO and the Captain would be unable to deal with it. In the split second he had, Dalrymple made his decision.

He was standing between Connor and the hatch belowdecks. Dalrymple quickly turned. He kicked Connor's legs out from under him and threw him down the hatch. Connor landed sprawled on the deck below as the splinters and flash finally claimed Lieutenant-Commander Dalrymple.

Connor woke up as soon as he hit the deck. He was in his bunk, wet with sweat and fear. The covers were tousled and he was shaking. It was just a dream. Just a dream. It was a nightmare that would plague thousands of men in iron ships of many nations for days to come.

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by Rob Herrick

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