She had been there this morning when Hakka had come in, and once again had felt the excitement and pride all around her. Hundreds of Wrens, seamen and dockyard workers cheering their hearts out. It was difficult not to feel emotional about it, and she had found herself waving her hat with all the rest.
And so strange to see Hakka after all this time. A ship she had never laid eyes on, but one which had almost broken her heart.
Hakka was to be a part of one of the new support groups. Eventually these ships would go elsewhere, but the Atlantic was the key, perhaps to the whole future of the war.
She stopped outside the office and adjusted her hat. I’m ready for you this time.
“Here you are.” Raikes gestured to a chair. “I’m just about finished with Nobby.”
Nobby was a paymaster-lieutenant who acted as the Commodore’s secretary, obviously a demanding job. But she was still taken aback by Raikes’s appearance. His cap was on his briefcase and his jacket slung on the back of a chair. Like another person. She glanced at the big desk, and the shelves that lined one wall. There were no photographs; like the room, there was no sense of permanence.
Raikes watched his secretary clipping some signals together. “I’ve heard good things about you.” He looked at her directly. He had a clean-cut face, with lines at the corners of his mouth, caused either by strain or by some past humour, both of which he kept well under control.
He took the papers from the other man and stared at them. His eyes were pale, tawny. Like a tiger, she thought.
He said, “Set it up, Nobby. I’ll sign it.” He shook his head. “No, you do it, those fools won’t know the difference!”
He turned to her again.
“We’ve got yet another fact-finding mission up from London. As if I don’t have enough bumf to wade through.” He was watching her, so still that it was quite out of character. “Your German and French are good, I’m told?” He did not wait for an answer. “What we need, or will before much longer.” He reached out suddenly and adjusted a paperweight on the desk. There were, she noticed, no ashtrays. No weaknesses.
He came to a decision.
“The Atlantic war is in hand. Many of the past mistakes have been ironed out. At a cost. There was a strong belief at Admiralty that escort and support groups were interchangeable. They are not. The corvettes and sloops which make up the majority of escorts are too slow to catch a U-boat once it is surfaced. And too slow to be moved with haste when a particular convoy is in danger of attack by wolf packs, as Dönitz calls them. Destroyers are kept hanging about with convoys crawling along at ten knots or less. This is where our new support groups will come into the picture. There is the Gap, that stretch of ocean which is at present beyond the reach of air cover. New bases and long-range bombers will settle that.”
Anna tried to relax, but it was impossible. In a few terse sentences this remote man had brought the panorama of sea warfare to life. Not mere flags and counters on a chart but ships, and submarines, hunters and hunted. And men.
“There are big plans in the offing.” He was moving again, his shadow leaning across the bare walls like a spectre. “We shall be needing the most valuable cargo of all if we are to hold any hope of hitting back.” He gazed at her. “Invading!”
“Troopships, sir?”
He nodded. “Fast and safe. Where groups like ours will be of paramount importance.”
She wanted to push some hair from her forehead but she was afraid to break the spell. How different it sounded from the world she had abandoned when she left Canada to join the W.R.N.S. Poor little Britain. Starved out and grateful for the food parcels and warm clothing. Survival had been in doubt. Invasion had never been contemplated.
“I want you on my team.” His hand rose as if to deal with any protest or gratitude. “It will be hard work, and I know I’m not easy to serve. If you can’t keep up, you’ll go back to general service, no shame in that.”
The door opened slightly. It was Nobby returning, and she realized she had not even noticed him leave the room.
“Yes?”
“The Admiral, sir. You told me to inform you . . .”
“Later!” He waited for the door to close and asked casually, “Not engaged to be married, or anything? I’d surely have heard.”
“No, sir.”
“I see. Surprised.” He walked past her and adjusted some books. Somehow she had known that he was not going to touch her, not like one of the staff officers at Larne, who always leaned on your shoulder when he was trying to help, or made a handshake last just a little longer than necessary.
She said, “I’d like to do it. Very much.”
He dragged his jacket from the chair and slipped into it without effort.
He said, “Crawfie will fill you in. She’s pretty genned up on the group.”
Anna licked her lips. Crawfie. She had learned a lot in a few minutes.
She heard herself say, “I watched Hakka coming in this morning, sir.”
“Yes. I saw you down there, bright and early. I think that decided me. The team. It’s vital.”
He picked up his cap and regarded it impassively. Commodore was a temporary appointment. If he was forced to step down, the same cap would serve him as a Captain again. But a step up the ladder would be flag rank.
He said, “Hakka’s Skipper is coming here shortly. Care to meet him?”
She looked at her hands. “Later, perhaps, sir.”
“Quite. A bit of a goer to all accounts. He would be, of course, to ram a bloody German cruiser! You’ll meet all of them before long.”
She had been unprepared for it, and had told herself she would never make a fool of herself again. Not for any man.
But the man she had just heard described was a stranger. Not the one who had shown such concern for her at the club in Plymouth.
Raikes snatched up a telephone after a single ring and snapped, “What are you doing about it?” He waited, his eyes on the clock. “Then do it! ” He replaced it. “Another mental pygmy!”
She heard voices and saw him indicate the other door. She went to it, and heard him say, “I shall now speak to God!”
She walked through an outer office and did not see the Wren writer look up from her typewriter, assessing her. The new one.
She would write to her mother about it. Ask about Tim, too.
She stepped into another narrow tunnel and came face to face with him.
He stared at her and then a smile lit the austere features.
“Of all people! Here!”
She said quickly, “It was supposed to be secret. I couldn’t explain.” She saw the shadows around his eyes. “We heard about the U-boat. Watched you come in.”
He hesitated, and the eyes were troubled, uncertain. “I thought . . . So many people. I’m not used to it.”
Doors were opening and slamming and she heard the urgent clatter of typewriters and teleprinters. Putting on a show for the Admiral—God, as Raikes had described him.
She thought of the moment when she had touched the crimson ribbon, and found herself hoping he would remember it too. It was stupid, and she had been warned . . . Another door slammed. That would be the loyal Nobby fleeing before the great man entered.
He said, “I’m glad you were there. Perhaps we might meet, have a drink . . .” His voice faltered. “But I’m hardly in a position to . . .”
That look again, as she put her hand on his arm and said, “I’d like that. Very much.” What she had said to Raikes. She smiled, unable to stop it.
They stood aside and a seaman carrying a tray of cups and plates pressed past them, his lips pursed in a silent whistle. The smallest glance. All right for some, it said.
He had removed his cap. Like the one Raikes had been examining. Not the naval commander, the hero, the bit of a goer. Suddenly he seemed much younger, as if the strain were momentarily at bay.
He said, “I’d better go in. I’ll call you.”
He paused, expecting her to ma
ke an excuse. When she had smiled at him just now, she had been the student in the photograph again.
She said something and walked away into the tunnel. He went up to the door which had been indicated at the security gate and raised his hand to knock, but something made him look back, and he saw that she was doing the same.
She was no longer smiling, but had extended her hand as if to offer it. Then she turned and was swallowed up by the tunnel.
Nothing lasted for long in wartime.
But he thought of the youth who had been snatched from the sea, his only anxiety that he might be moved away from the ship, and of the tough seaman who had just been reinstated to leading hand, who had gone to the youngster’s aid without a second thought. And Fairfax, who had risked everything in his attempt to board the helpless tanker. To prove something to himself, or to me? Or to the previous Captain who had been killed on that same bridge. A man who had somehow betrayed him, and the girl named Anna.
He pushed open the door. It lasted, given a chance.
7 | A Special Day
Fairfax stepped into the Captain’s day cabin, his eyes moving quickly around as if he still expected to see it changed, before settling on Martineau at the desk.
“I came as quickly as I could, sir.”
Beyond the door the tannoy squeaked into life yet again.
“Hands to tea, shift into night clothing. Libertymen fall in!”
It was four in the afternoon, but outside it was as black as a boot.
Martineau gestured to a chair.
“Everything all right?”
“Not many volunteers for a run ashore, sir. The glass is falling again. Bitter.”
Martineau thought of his day. Meeting people, explaining, deciding. Was it only this morning when they had entered port to the cheers of hundreds of men and women?
He decided not to delay matters.
“You spoke earlier about a Christmas party, Number One? And some leave for those still outstanding?”
Fairfax nodded. He did not need to be told; it was in the air, like the frost.
Martineau said, “It’s off, I’m afraid. Orders have been brought forward. We are required to leave in two days’ time, in company with Jester, Java, and Kinsale. You can look at the details later. I just wanted you to know that I’m as surprised as you are.” He smiled suddenly. “Not much of a Christmas, though!” He thought of the one man who stood out in his mind. The Commodore, Dudley Raikes, who let nothing slip past him. Where many senior officers he had known would have accepted first impressions, Raikes left nothing open to chance. Even a casual conversation was more like a cross-examination than something to pass the time.
Raikes had been very aware of the risks.
“It will be something of an experiment, the success of which will carry more weight with Admiralty than a ton of written proposals. Four destroyers will meet and replace the other escorts for the last leg of the passage. St John’s to Liverpool. Stopping for nothing.”
Martineau said, “We’re to escort several thousand troops, Canadians for the most part.” He saw the words hit their mark, Fairfax thinking of the hundred and one items a first lieutenant would have to deal with. He had met the other destroyer Captains; one he already knew, the others would come to terms with it, the new faces, the unexpected change of orders. As Roger Kidd, Hakka’s bearded navigator, had remarked, nothing ever went according to plan.
Fairfax’s open features did not conceal his surprise, even a touch of resentment.
Martineau said it for him. “Captain (D) is remaining here with the other ships in case of contrary reports on enemy movements.” Lucky Bradshaw would at least have his Christmas in harbour. He thought of Raikes again, his contained and undramatic enthusiasm for the new support groups. He had leaned forward to brush a speck of something from his impeccable jacket as he had continued, “These fast troop movements will be the springboard for invasion. Just think of it! Last year it was gloom and disaster everywhere. Singapore and Hong Kong snatched from us, ships and men lost when sensible planning might have prevented much of it. And now we’re on the turn. North Africa, the Atlantic—where next? I was saying as much to a new member of my staff, Second Officer Roche. Bright girl—I believe you know her?”
So casually said. But there was nothing aimless about Raikes.
Martineau had replied, “We did meet briefly.” He had seen the quick scrutiny, the apparent satisfaction. But it would not end there.
Raikes had parted with, “Good show about that U-boat. I’m glad you’re with the group.”
Fairfax said ruefully, “The new doc has come aboard, sir. I’ve got him settled in, at least.”
Martineau gestured to the cabinet.
“A gin, I think.”
He could almost feel Fairfax watching him as he opened the cabinet and took out the glasses, carefully arranged some time earlier by the sad-faced Tonkyn.
They drank in silence, the shipboard noises subdued, muffled.
The weather reports were not good. He would speak to the ship’s company and explain the importance of this unexpected mission. Not planned especially to ruin their Christmas in harbour, when the whole of Liverpool would be trying to celebrate after three years of war. And not because their Skipper had a thirst for glory, no matter what. His grip tightened on the glass. If only they knew.
He thought of the girl who had touched the crimson ribbon, and had looked at him as if she expected to see something different because of it. And what of Alison? How would she be passing her Christmas? He could almost hear her laugh.
Fairfax stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, sir. I have to check the men under punishment.” He forced a grin. “Three.”
As he turned to leave Martineau asked, “Can we get a shore telephone line?”
“Being half-leader hath its privileges, sir. I’ll tell the O.O.D.”
Alone in his cabin again Martineau stared at the neat file of orders, his mind already probing at the speed and size of the ship and her cargo. Ocean Monarch, twenty thousand tons at least, a familiar name in the now unreal days of peace. Kidd would probably know her, as he had the giant tug Goliath. Fast, stopping for nothing, and the escorts would be expected to place themselves between the big passenger liner and any torpedo, should a U-boat manage to break through the screen.
Zigzagging when necessary, the ships would also be in danger of collision. It was foremost in everyone’s thoughts since the light cruiser Curaçao had been rammed and cut in half by the liner Queen Mary just two months back off Bloody Foreland while attempting a similar fast passage.
What must they have thought in those final seconds when the great bows had reared over them before smashing them into the depths?
He was in the quartermaster’s lobby without really noticing he had left the cabin. Apart from one shaded light by the temporary telephone, and the dim blue police lamp outside by the brow, it was in darkness. He saw someone cover the red glow of a cigarette, and another figure move outside on to the open deck.
It seemed to take an eternity to get through. Clicks and bursts of static, hardly surprising when he considered all the electronic equipment he had seen there that afternoon.
A voice said sharply, “Operations?” A woman, probably the senior Wren he recalled shaking hands with.
It was. “This is First Officer Crawford, and I am afraid you cannot speak with any of my staff. In fact it is irregular . . .” She hesitated. “Who is that, by the way?”
“Commander Martineau. I was hoping to speak with Second Officer Roche.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. And in any case . . .”
He said, “I told her I was going to call. I shall not be able to now.”
For a moment he thought she had hung up.
Then she said, “I shall tell her you called, Commander Martineau.”
He replaced the handset. At Derby House they would know all about the change of orders. Security would take care of everything else.
P
erhaps Anna had told them she did not wish to speak to him. It might even damage her relationship with the Commodore.
And what, after all, had he expected? That she would drop everything just to be with him, to listen to his problems, all on the strength of a surprise encounter? She had been hurt enough. She probably realized it now.
He saw that Fairfax was in the lobby.
“Surgeon Lieutenant Morrison is waiting to see you, sir.” He hesitated. “I can put him off until tomorrow.”
“No. I’ll see him now.” He had even forgotten the new doctor’s name.
Fairfax was still there.
“I’m a good listener, sir, if it helps.”
Martineau touched his arm. “Thanks. I’ll remember that.” Fairfax would probably go aft and tell the others that their iron Captain was cracking up, bomb-happy. At the same instant he somehow knew he would not.
It was little enough, but at that moment it was all he had.
Lieutenant Roger Kidd walked uncertainly into the bar and looked around with surprise. He had not even noticed the name of this small hotel when he had climbed out of the taxi. After the noise and bustle of Liverpool, the place seemed an unexpected haven. He should have known. All sailors knew. You never go back. Ship or place, it would never be as you remembered.
For Valour Page 11