Following the conference on board the Queen Elizabeth, our bases worked full blast on the mines for the first operation. One group assembled and tested the anchors, another the mines, a third the plummet, a fourth the plummet and anchor together, and a fifth, the final assembly, of mine and anchor complete—called a unit. A section of mine track of standard gauge sufficed to test the anchor wheels and thus obviate trouble on board from their binding or dropping between the ship’s tracks during minelaying, possibly causing an interrupted string. It speaks well for the manufacture, for the testing at the bases, and for the ship’s mine track installations, that no such interruption ever occurred in the whole series of operations.
Mines and Mine Anchors Awaiting Assembly.
The Anchors were Shipped in Pairs, for Convenience in Handling.
The adjustment of firing mechanism was done in a locked room, the secret entrusted only to a few. It was delicate work, to be done patiently and methodically, for its accuracy determined whether the mine would be alive—or a dud. Fidelity in such adjustments is hard enough to maintain when the repetitions are numbered only by tens. Where hundreds and thousands are involved the tax on attention becomes severe.
Before loading the mines into the cars, for transfer to the lighters, each mine was primed with a mealed TNT “booster” charge and the firing detonator was put in place—all ready for the laying—and five safety devices were seen in place and in order. These devices would prevent the firing mechanism working until the mine had reached a certain minimum depth under water and had been in the water about 20 minutes, and would also prevent exploding in case of loss overboard during embarking. Such devices usually function properly, and dependence is not placed on one alone but on several together, any one of which will make the mine safe to handle—by experienced men. At an early stage in the training in mines, one learns to treat them with respect always—no liberties. Even the safest explosives, the surest mechanism, have an occasional, inexplicable aberration.
Loading Mines into Lighters.
At Base 18, on the Caledonian Canal, at Inverness.
The ready mines are swung up into open freight cars, for hauling to the water side, whence they go, 40 to 80 together, in lighters out to the ships. After being landed on the tracks of the minelayer, one safety pin is removed—leaving four—and the mine is then examined for any derangement during the three handlings in transit from the store shed.
The north of Scotland was a barred area, yet it was reported possible for information to get through to the enemy in 18 to 20 hours—time enough for interference to hatch out. With so much activity at the bases, lighters going to the ships loaded and returning empty, and a large destroyer escort coming in on 5 June, the fact that an operation was in early prospect was obvious. The hour of departure at least could be kept secret, and the start was fixed for midnight. The two detachments of the mine squadron and the destroyer escort would assemble at 1 o’clock a.m., 7 June, just outside the Sutors, the high rocky headlands at the mouth of Cromarty Firth. On this first occasion the preparations continued until one hour before the ships weighed anchor.
Squadron Flagship “San Francisco.”
Receiving Mine Lighters Alongside in Inverness Firth.
Rehearsal of this operation had been impossible except on paper, but careful study of it had produced instructions that were comprehensive, yet elastic enough for emergency. The order for the operation gave a complete program, including a mining schedule showing the time when each ship was to begin laying and how many mines to plant. This was gone over with the captains, and then Captain H. R. Godfrey, R.N., and I had a conference with Rear Admiral Strauss, on the general features of the excursion. Captain Godfrey, commanding H.M.S. Vampire and the 14th Destroyer Flotilla, was our first escort leader.
Our operation was to be no “captains’ fight.” Teamwork was indispensable. Every ship must keep in her station throughout and do her allotted stint exactly on time. The instructions said, “Once begun, keep strictly to schedule times, regardless of the omission of signals or delay in them.” Otherwise there would be gaps in the barrier, impossible to fill without waste of time and space, and mines would be brought back that should have been planted. Teamwork in the high degree wanted meant every man alive to his interest in the general result and sensible to his responsibility for his part in it. All would learn this in time, but it must be driven home beforehand. It was of utmost importance that the first operation should be an unquestionable success.
Accordingly, after making the preliminary inspection of each new ship, I spoke to each ship’s company, partly to comment on their work so far, but chiefly to enlist the best efforts of each individual. Rumor and conjecture were the sources of all they had learned hitherto of the work ahead of them. Now they were told something of its magnitude and importance—that it had been regarded as doubtful of accomplishment, but their squadron commander had promised success in their name, promised the kind of success that comes only with the best teamwork throughout the ship and by all ships in the squadron. Every man should realize that now, in war, his utmost was called for, as never before in his life; that however simple and unimportant his duty might seem, it was his to do, and he was counted on not to be content that any other man’s work should be better done, and that, in our work, prolonged through hours, the attention must never slacken—the 600th mine must be as carefully tended as the first. The men gave the closest attention—not an eye wavered, hardly a muscle moved—giving back such confidence that, on board the Canonicus, which I had found in fine condition, I could wind up with, “And when the last mine is out, the only signal I expect to send to you is ‘Canonicus well done’!”