Goliath’s End

Evan Canberra pulls his cap down, staring at the black sky ahead.

“I thought this was supposed to be a squall.”

Connor Lynn wipes the rain off his face. “So, the weather report was wrong. What a surprise.”

Evan watches the two tugboats pulling the battleship Goliath bob in the water like kids’ toys in a tub. The forty-four-year-old ex-merchant seaman rubs his beard, worried the ancient ship will sink and his commission will disappear.

Connor leaves the bridge wing, and Evan follows, shaking the rain from his slicker as they enter the bridge. At thirty-six, fair-haired Connor may be younger and isn’t as tough-looking as Evan, but he’s known for his ability to bring a ship to its final resting place.

“We’re headin’ right into the teeth of the storm.”

“Today’s rain is tomorrow’s whiskey, Evan,” Connor replies.

“I wouldn’t be concerned if this ship had its usual crew of twelve hundred men. But it’s blowin’ a hoolie out there, and seven men facin’ thirty-foot waves tryin’ to keep a 40,000-ton battleship afloat is a challenge even when it’s good weather.”

Connor wipes the rain from his face. “Relax. We’ve got the best mariner in the Queen’s navy at the wheel.”

Once the pride of the Royal Navy, the H.M.S. Goliath was stricken from the Navy’s active list in November 1947, the same month its navigator, Vernon Vickers, retired. Trojan Scrap Incorporated bought the ship, coercing Vernon out of retirement for one last mission – bringing the Goliath to the scrapyard.

Christened in 1915, the Goliath was Britain’s most decorated ship. It fought at the Battle of Jutland in World War I and at Narvik, Malta, Crete, and the Normandy invasion during World War II. Goliath had been bombed, blasted, strafed, and torpedoed but always returned to battle. But now, its engines are cold, leaks have sprouted throughout its hull, and its smart grey paint job has begun to crack.

“So, you tried to raise enough money to preserve Goliath as a museum,” Evan says. “It didn’t pan out, or we wouldn’t be here.” 

“I managed to raise five hundred thousand. Not nearly enough,” Connor replies. “I figure If we can’t save the ship, we can build a Goliath museum. The ship’s bell, one of its anti-aircraft guns, and a seaplane are stored in a barn I rented.”

Vernon turns the wheel. Blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth with his corncob pipe, he says with a rasp, “She still handles like a greyhound.”

“More like a rabid pup with a limp,” Evan whispers to Connor. “And do we have to follow tradition and call Goliath she? It’s an it.”

“Let’s humor Vernon, okay? It’s his last mission.”

Sinewy, with a salt and pepper beard and keen blue eyes, fifty-one-year-old Vernon Vickers still proudly wears his navy peacoat and navigator’s hat.

“You know I went through three marriages during the thirty years I served on Goliath. I had a better relationship with this ship than I did with my three wives.”

The ship’s radio crackles with static. Connor swiftly moves to answer it.

“It’s one of the tugs. Please repeat your message, Hercules...”

“…Tow lines… Strained… May break… Rocks ahead… Reduce speed to seven knots…”

“You hear that, Vernon?” Evan asks nervously.

“Keep your britches on. I know these waters better than I know me-self.”

Connor makes it to the bridge wing in time to see the two tug’s tow lines snap like overstretched rubber bands.

“We’re adrift!” Connor shouts above the howling wind.

Vernon struggles to steady the ship’s wheel.

“She wants to go to starboard,” he says.

“Well, don’t let her!” Evan shouts. “We hit the rocks, and we’re done for!”

A loud, scraping sound mixes with the howling wind. Goliath leans to starboard.

Benson and Hedges, the two youngest salvage crew members, rush into the bridge.

“We’ve run aground!” the blonde-haired Benson screeches.

Evan glances at Connor, who is biting his lip.

“…I know these waters better than I know me-self,” Evan mocks.

“More bad news,” Benson says. “Rhodes and Pinder tried to throw a line to one of the tugs. They couldn’t reach it, and now the tide’s gone out. We’re stranded on the rocks.”

The radio crackles. “Hercules to Goliath… This is Captain Horace Laday... Will attempt rescue in the morning… Low visibility… The sea is too rough… Sleep tight…”

The four salvagers wear the same dumbfounded expression.

“They’re just gonna leave us here?” Evan moans.

“Don’t worry, mate. You heard Laday. The tugs’ll free us tomorrow,” Vernon says.

Connor snaps into action. “Right. We need to know if crashing onto these rocks has damaged the ship. Benson, Hedges. You check the integrity of the hull forward. Tell Rhodes and Pinder to check aft.”

Connor watches Vernon casually light his corncob pipe.

“He’s awfully calm for someone who just wrecked the Navy’s most decorated ship,” Connor comments.

“Are you sayin’ he ran us aground on purpose?” Evan asks. “Why in the name of Lord Nelson would he do that?”

“So, he could spend one last night with the love of his life.”

Standing on the bridge wing, Vernon looks forlornly at the foaming waves hitting the rocks.

Connor joins Vernon’s vigil, wiping the rain from the bill of his cap.

“I was thinking that we ought to eat together like a crew. You know, like a last supper,” Vernon says.

“There might be a few tins of Spam left in the galley.”

A lone seagull hovers overhead, shrieking.

“Almost sounds like it’s mocking me, doesn’t it?” Vernon asks. “I’m an old man on an old ship, and we’re both going out to pasture.”

Vernon smiles at the crew as he looks around the table.

“Where are your other two men?”

“Rhodes and Pinder are keeping watch,” Connor answers. “Benson and Hedges will relieve them once they’ve eaten.”

The men’s attention is diverted by the sound of the Goliath’s hull creaking.

“She’s like an old house settling,” Vernon says. “Even now, stripped of her guns and headed for the breakers, there’s still some fight in the old girl. I remember how well she performed at the Battle of Jutland…May 31, 1916…. She was hit fifteen times… I was scared stiff… But we were in the hands of Captain Balfour James, the bravest man I ever knew…”

Captain James looks through his binoculars at the flashes on the horizon.

“Looks like three German battlecruisers against two of our armored cruisers, the Castor and Pollux.”

“Hardly a fair fight,” Lieutenant Declan Cronin replies. “They’ll tear our ships apart.”

“Then we need to even up the odds. Radioman, send a wireless message to the fleet that we’re engaging the enemy.”

“Should we wait for the rest of the fleet to catch up?” Cronin asks, swallowing hard.

“Ask the men on the Castor and Pollux.”

Captain James glances at Vernon. The fresh-faced navigator seems to be clinging for dear life to the wheel.

“How old are you again, Mister Vickers?”

“Nineteen, sir.”

Captain James sighs. “You’re just a babe. Right now, I need you to be a man. You’re on my bridge because you can guide this ship through the eye of a needle. Give me full speed ahead.”

The Goliath cuts through the water, bearing directly for the three German battlecruisers.

“Fire forward batteries, Lieutenant.”

The Goliath’s forward guns fire as the enemy ships bring their weapons to bear on the ship.

The first German ship is hit, and flames shoot skyward.

“Two direct hits on the Stuttgart,” Lieutenant Cronin announces.

The Goliath shudders.

“Feels like we’ve taken a few hits in return,” Captain James says. “On my command, Mister Vickers, I want you to steam the ship in a circle.”

The bridge crew stares in wonderment at Captain James.

“We need to save the Castor and Pollux. The best way is to draw the German’s attention away from them onto us.”

Captain James speaks into the pipe connected to the engine room. “We need smoke! Give me enough for a smokescreen.”

Nodding at Vernon, he adds, “Turn the ship, Mister Vickers.”

Vernon crosses himself, turning the wheel.

Half a dozen shells hit the water near the ship, spraying the deck. The Goliath is rocked, taking several hits.

“Let’s show our foes how to target shoot. Fire on the Stuttgart.”

Smoke belches from Goliath’s guns. A ball of flame shoots in the air on the horizon, followed by a cloud of thick black smoke. When it clears, the Stuttgart is gone.

Shells splash around the Goliath. One hits the second main turret, blowing it off the ship and into the water fifty yards away.

The stunned crew has no time to react when a shell hits the bridge.

Vernon is thrown sideways, hitting his head against the deck. Concussed, he wobbles to his feet. Most of the bridge crew are dead, lying face down in their own gore. Parts of Lieutenant Cronin are scattered across the deck and are hanging off the ship’s wheel.

Captain James slowly stands. His left arm is torn off, and a shard of metal protrudes from his chest.

“Man your station, Mister Vickers.”

Wiping Cronin’s remains off the wheel, Vernon continues to steer Goliath in a circle.

A doctor and his assistant enter the bridge, shocked by the carnage.

The doctor attempts to attend to Captain James, but he pushes him away with his remaining arm, saying, “See to the others.”

The Goliath turns toward the enemy ships, firing a broadside at the third German vessel.

The ship explodes. The remaining battlecruiser veers off under a smoke screen.

Looking at Vernon, Captain James salutes him, collapsing…

“Captain James was given the Victoria Cross,” Vernon says. “Fine lot of good that did his widow and three kiddies. Anyway, they rebuilt Goliath between the wars. It was like giving the old girl a facelift… Radar, new engines, anti-aircraft guns… I had a lot of good times on board her then. We had prize fights, casino nights, and Noel Coward hosted a variety show. We even ferried the Queen to Singapore twice.”

“What about your home life?” Hedges asks.

“I spent a lot more time at home than I should have. My second wife, Cora, was a rebound romance. My first wife, my dear Maize, died from meningitis while I was at Jutland. I married Cora a year after Maize’s passing. Met her when she and her parents came aboard for a tour of the ship. We were strangers to each other, and it didn’t take us long to realize it. The less said about my third wife, Estelle, the better. But I still had the Goliath. She became my world. I met a lot of nice blokes, but the Second World War took many of my shipmates away from me...”

Vernon looks up from his bowl of soup to find two grinning young seamen staring at him.

“And who might you two whelps be?”

The crewman with crooked teeth and big ears replies, “Anti-aircraft gunner Angus Debrickashaw.”

“Albert St. Laurent, anti-aircraft gunner,” his swarthy, dark-haired friend says. “We man the port side four-inch gun on the shelter deck. This is our first tour of duty on Goliath… If this lucky duck makes it home, he’s gonna get married.”

Vernon’s eyebrows rise. “You?”

“Funny, isn’t it?” Angus comments. “You figure the handsome one would be the one getting hitched, not the one the other kids called Donkey Boy.”

“Proving it’s not always what you see, is it, Vernon?” Albert says, mussing Angus’s hair. “We heard you know of some places in Malta where you can buy a rock the size of Gibraltar for two thousand pounds…”

“And you want me to find you one?”

“Colleen deserves the best that money can buy. I want to show her how much I love her, and I’ll always do right by her.”

“All right. I also know a few cafes where the ladies are easy on the eye, and they serve real liquor. We can start working on getting you hitched, Albert.”

Vernon runs into his shipmates the following morning. Albert is leaning over the side of the ship.

“You look green around the gills, Albert,” Vernon says.

“Yeah, remind me to thank you for that. I should have stopped after the tenth drink and the twentieth dance. I didn’t get married last night, did I?”

“No, but I’m gonna, and this seals it,” Angus says.

Pulling out a small box, he marvels at the size of the ring inside.

“This ring’s got more carrots than Bugs Bunny,” Angus says proudly. “I owe you, Vernon. If we have a boy, I’m gonna name him after you.”

“Poor tyke, he’ll already have one strike against him,” Albert jokes.

As Goliath is sailing out of Malta a week later, the ship’s emergency siren sounds. A swarm of Stuka dive bombers descend on the battleship.

“Hard to port!” Captain Newcastle shouts at Vernon, who expertly evades two bombs.

Captain Newcastle nervously checks the sky. “Give me a Zig Zag course, Vickers!”

The anti-aircraft gunners shoot down three planes. A fourth dive bomber is hit, but its loss exacts a price as it crashes into the ship’s shelter deck.

After the battle, Captain Newcastle grimaces as he reads the list of casualties.

“Fourteen dead and twenty-eight wounded,” he says aloud, “including both anti-aircraft crews on the shelter deck…”

Vernon lights his corncob pipe. “When I returned to England, I had the miserable task of giving Angus’s fiancé her wedding ring. But I’ll never forget the look of joy on Angus’s face when he bought it for her.”

The men secure the Hecuba’s tow line to the ship.

“I don’t like it. Ships aren’t meant to be pulled sideways,” Vernon says.

“There’s no other way to get her off these rocks,” Connor replies.

The wind kicks up, nearly knocking the men off their feet, and the rain intensifies.

“I feel helpless. I should be at the wheel,” Vernon says.

“Let the Hercules and the Hecuba do the hard work. Once Goliath’s free, you can pilot her again.”

“The waves are risin’,” Evan notes.

The tow lines tighten as the tugboats pull at the ship.

The Goliath protests, making a mournful groaning sound as it begins to move.

The sound of metal scraping roughly against the rocks makes Vernon cover his ears.

“She’s off!” Benson shouts enthusiastically.

Goliath lists to port.

“Those buckled plates in the bow were worse than I thought,” Connor says. “She’s sinking.”

The men glance uneasily at the breeches buoy, a ship-to-ship rescue device resembling a zip line.

“I’m not worried,” Benson says. “We used to have competitions using these things in the

 Boy Scouts. It’s just the timing that concerns me… What if the waves rise too high…”

“And did I mention I’ve got a thing about heights?” Hedges says.

“I’d be more concerned about it not being able to support your weight,” Evan jests. “And for the record, I can’t swim.”

“Is this a crew or a sewing bee?” Connor asks. “You don’t have any choice.”

The waves swell, splashing against the ship.

Benson slides down the line and across to the Hercules first, followed by Hedges, Rhodes, and Pinder.

“I wish we could have brought Goliath to the scrapyard,” Evan says. “We’re losin’ a big payday.”

“Small price to pay for your life,” Connor replies.

Evan hooks himself to the line. “What about Vickers?”

“He’s still steering the ship, keeping the Goliath in position,” Connor answers. “You go. I’ll get him.”

Connor enters the bridge. Vernon is at the wheel, smoking his pipe.

“Steady as she goes,” he says.

“Time to go, Vernon.”

“You first.”

“I’m in charge of this muddled-up mess. Get going.”

“She needs to be held steady, and only I can do it. Time’s a waistin’, Connor.”

“We’ll radio you to come over once I’m on board the Hercules.”

The men gather on the side of the Hercules, looking at the Goliath.

“The waves are getting higher. She’s goin’ under,” Evan notes.

Captain Laday exits the bridge. “We’ve been trying to reach Vickers by radio. He’s not responding. I don’t think he has it on.”

The Goliath begins to capsize.

“Still fightin’ the inevitable,” Evan says.

“She’s sending out a clear message,” Connor replies. "She’s saying, ‘I deserve better than the scrapyard.’"

Vernon ties the wheel into position. Moving out on deck, he waves goodbye to the men on the Hercules.

“Well, old girl, there’s no me without you,” Vernon says, leaping overboard.

Captain Laday looks through his binoculars at Vernon. “He’s in the water.”

With a loud groan, Goliath capsizes.

The old ship lands on top of Vernon.

“There’s nothing we can do for him now,” Captain Laday says.

“He didn’t want our help,” Connor replies. “It’s fitting that they died together.”