Jerram pouted doubtfully. ‘Let us hope it is not too late.’
The two of them disappeared to Dalziel’s quarters, and Irvine who was O.O.D. said, ‘Not much love lost there, I should imagine.’
The forenoon dragged on very slowly, with the sun rising more steeply above the inlet and the airless anchorage changing accordingly to something like oven heat.
‘Up spirits’ was piped and the decks became heady with the smell of rum as Pigott and his supply ratings made ready to serve the daily tots, although to Standish the thought of drinking the rich, watered mixture in this heat was beyond consideration.
Then Caley appeared, and seeing Irvine said testily, ‘The captain wants you in his cabin. I’m to take over.’ He waited grim and unsmiling as Irvine unbuckled the unaccustomed pistol and handed it to him before adding, ‘And he wants the charts you were preparing yesterday.’
Irvine drawled, ‘Ah, the light dawns. We are to discuss the new patrol area.’
Standish walked from beneath a Bofors mounting and Caley called, ‘The captain said to tell you to go too, Number One.’
Irvine’s lips curved slightly. ‘Really, you must learn the proper naval phraseology, old chap. Did the captain not send his compliments to number one?’
Caley flushed darkly. ‘Well, er, yes he did as a matter of fact.’ He looked at the pistol and muttered, ‘Sorry. I got a bit mixed up.’
As Standish walked to the screen door he said quietly, ‘Must you be so bloody sarcastic, Pilot? Caley finds it a bit difficult to settle in. You don’t make it easier for him.’
Irvine seemed amused. ‘Sometimes I think I’ve been out here too long. I shall return to U.K. one fine day and find the Navy, maybe the whole country, run by Caleys. Dumb, ignorant morons who’d be better off between the shafts of farm carts.’
Standish kept his voice level. ‘Perhaps if he had had your advantages he would show a bit more self-confidence.’
Irvine did not appear to have heard. ‘He told me once that he and his wife like to have a run ashore in London sometimes, for special occasions.’ He chuckled. ‘I can imagine. Lyons Corner-house and a visit to the Imperial War Museum.’
The quartermaster’s lobby was momentarily deserted and Standish said, ‘Tell me, what is it that makes you so bloody special?’
Irvine regarded him calmly. ‘Do you know, Number One, I really cannot answer that. I just know that I am.’
‘Well, for the record let me tell you something. If you speak to Caley again as you did just now, I will ask for an apology, and what is more, old chap, you will make one!’
Irvine stared at him. ‘No offence, Number One, and I hope none taken.’
They reached the companionway and Standish added, ‘Now get those charts and meet me there.’
Irvine smiled gently. ‘At once.’ And as Standish ran down the ladder he added, ‘Old chap.’
Jerram was sitting behind the cabin table, arms folded, with a short stubby pipe jutting from his mouth. Dalziel stood by an open scuttle, hands thrust into his pockets, back turned to his superior as he said, ‘Sit down, Number One. This is to put you in the picture.’ He sounded tense and on edge.
Standish seated himself and waited as Jerram removed his pipe and tapped the ash carefully into a brass bowl. As he refilled it with methodical slowness from an old, much-used tin he said, ‘You will have a large patrol area. Two hundred miles north to south, staying for the most part thirty miles offshore.’ He tamped the tobacco home and then leaned over his chair to pick three small shreds of it from the carpet. These he replaced carefully in the tin. ‘Don’t believe in waste. Never have.’ He held a match above the pipe and sucked for several seconds, his eyes watching Standish through the spiralling smoke. ‘For that reason I do not intend to waste this ship. The patrol will be for the express purpose of watching for any unidentified craft which try to approach the Malaysian coast without permission. Your ship will shadow such vessels and contact my patrols by radio. My people can do what is necessary to investigate, and if required, detain any such unauthorized excursions. That is about all there is to it.’
There was a long silence, broken only by the lap of water below the open scuttle and the gentle sucking noise from Jerram’s pipe.
Standish asked, ‘Will we be having any support, sir? Another ship perhaps?’
The pipe smoke was getting thicker. ‘No.’ Puff, puff. ‘None to spare.’ Puff, puff. ‘In any case I am not anticipating anything drastic, if that is what’s worrying you.’
Dalziel swung round, his eyes almost desperate. ‘I have read all the Intelligence reports, sir. It is obvious to me that the communists intend to force our hand in Malaysia and Thailand.
‘Obviously to you, possibly.’ Jerram’s voice was cold and uncompromising. ‘But others, perhaps better informed, say differently. Malaysia, and for that matter Thailand, is not Viet Nam. It is not going to be one either.’
Dalziel was breathing quickly. ‘Why? Because you say so?’
Jerram eyed him for several seconds. ‘I will disregard that.’ He looked round irritably as Irvine knocked and stepped into the cabin. Then he relaxed slightly and said, ‘Put the charts down here where I can check them properly.’
But Dalziel strode to the table, blocking Irvine’s way.
‘I’m not satisfied, sir! This ship is as good as any in the command! In my view it’s nothing short of lunacy to put her right out at sea, away from possible landing places and rendezvous areas.’ He was almost shouting now. ‘You have only to look at a map, the daily newspaper if you like, surely it must be obvious what’s happening right here and now!’
Jerram said, ‘Nothing is that obvious.’ To Irvine he added, ‘Would you kindly do as I asked?’
Irvine shuffled the charts. ‘I was about to, sir.’
‘Just stay where you are until I have finished!’ Dalziel turned so suddenly that he knocked one of the charts to the deck. ‘I want to make a formal complaint! I’ll not have this ship denigrated to some half-baked, useless operation without proper explanation!’
Standish found that he had risen to his feet, and was conscious of the tension around him, the agony and disappointment in Dalziel’s voice. He saw Irvine’s face alight with interest as he looked from one to the other, and could imagine the damage Dalziel’s outburst might do if it was not stopped, and at once.
He said, ‘Perhaps the Americans have some scheme of their own, sir. They may not have considered our role in this.’
Jerram looked down at the table. ‘Rear-Admiral Curtis does not wish to interfere with our internal matters, Number One. Quite the reverse.’
Dalziel leaned on the table, his eyes blazing. ‘You see? I knew this would happen! Someone has got it in for this ship, and for me!’
Irvine had managed to reach the table and placed the charts casually on top of the other papers.
Standish gave him a quick nod and said, ‘If Lieutenant Irvine can be spared now, sir, he can go to the wardroom and gather the other officers. I’m sure they’d like to show a bit of hospitality before you leave.’
Jerram studied him thoughtfully and then replied, ‘Good idea.’ As Irvine backed, still watching, from the cabin he added, ‘I was forgetting, you have already had a command, Number One. Your display of tact is commendable.’ He stood up and spread his arms. They were very short. ‘I think I’ll toddle along to your wardroom now, if I may. I’ve not long, and there’s a lot to do.’ He looked at each of them. ‘Just check those orders and apply your signatures. I’ll collect my copies before I leave.’ He stepped out of the door and closed it quietly behind him.
Dalziel pushed himself away from the table and said tonelessly, ‘I did a very stupid thing just then.’
‘I’ll tell Irvine to keep his mouth shut, sir.’
‘Damn him!’ Dalziel turned and studied him gravely. ‘It’s Jerram I’m worried about.’ Then he smiled, a slow sadness spreading across his mouth. ‘Thank you for what you just did. You’re an odd
chap in some ways. But I’ll not forget.’
They both looked at the neatly worded orders. Short and to the point. No room for manoeuvre or misunderstanding there.
Then Dalziel remarked offhandedly, ‘I do fly off the handle sometimes you know. When I was in hospital I had a lot of time to think …’
‘I didn’t know you were in hospital too, sir?’
Dalziel turned away frowning. ‘Oh, I thought I’d mentioned it.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘All history now of course. But last year was a bad one all round really. For me that is.’
Standish looked at him. To think that while he was lying with his skin-grafts and his nightmares, Dalziel was probably in the next room, or the next bed even.
‘Was that Haslar hospital, sir?’
Dalziel signed the papers, his signature large and sprawling. ‘No.’ He shook his head sharply. ‘No, it was another one. Duncan House.’
Standish had never heard of it.
‘Best to forget all those things, Number One.’ Dalziel rubbed his hands together. ‘Let’s get to sea, and to hell with Jerram and his bloody piousness.’ Then he gave a great grin. ‘See the way he picked up the tobacco? Always was a mean bastard.’ He seemed to be recovering and growing in stature with every second.
Standish smiled, strangely relieved that the man he had come to know was somehow returning to his proper image.
‘Better not let him hear that.’
Dalziel looked round the cabin and then let his eyes rest on the photograph of the destroyer.
‘He’ll not take this ship away from me, no matter what he does!’
He picked up his cap adding lightly, ‘Come. We’ve given ’em long enough to gossip behind our backs, eh? In any case, if my officers are waiting for Jerram to push the boat out we’ll never get to sea.’
And four hours later, with rather too much smoke frothing from her funnel, the Terrapin steamed from the anchorage and turned her dented bows towards the north.
* * *
One week and a day after leaving Kuala Papan found the Terrapin steaming at eight knots, her narrow hull rising and corkscrewing uncomfortably in a slow, undulating swell. During the forenoon she had turned to head south-east on another leg of her patrol area, and with the sun almost directly overhead the upper bridge was blistering in the relentless heat. Even with a strip of awning above their heads the watchkeepers drooped in the glare, their eyes squinting at a million reflections thrown back from the sea around them, a sea which was both empty and seemingly endless.
Standish stood on the sun-dried gratings, his feet well apart to take the uncomfortable motion, his body poised to avoid touching the steel plates or the instruments, all of which felt as if they had just been lifted from a glowing fire.
In his chair on the port side of the bridge Dalziel sat hunched forward, his cap tilted over his eyes, glasses hanging loosely around his neck. He could be asleep or brooding, and Standish felt it was better to leave him to his own thoughts for the moment.
For today was like those which had gone before. Hot, oppressive, and with nothing to break the painful monotony of that empty, mocking expanse of sea.
On the first few days they had sighted several ships, and Dalziel had rung down for full speed and had altered course to investigate. But each time Burch, the yeoman, had checked his lists of authorized traffic, and had reported all was well. Standish had found himself wishing that some suspicious craft would appear, if only to snap the torpor which held the whole ship and made the daily drills both uncomfortable and pointless. But the drills went on just the same, with Dalziel springing fresh ideas and new tests to drive his officers and men to the point of exasperation and defeat.
He had refrained from using the guns for target practice again, and Standish suspected that Jerram had voiced his disapproval of Dalziel’s action in stripping them from their mothballed retirement when there was no prospect of replacing the covering until the next overhaul.
There had been just one episode, and for a while Standish had imagined that Dalziel’s outward calm would disintegrate.
On the fourth day they had sighted a tall-funnelled freighter, and upon closer inspection found her to be Russian, her course set for the north of the Gulf, probably to Bankok.
As the Terrapin’s plates had quivered and vibrated to the sudden increase of speed Dalziel had said, ‘This is more like it. The bloody Russians have probably got this whole Gulf sewn up into supply areas for their local guerrillas and arms dumps.’
But Burch had come up with the same weary shake of the head.
‘She’s the Umba, sir. Nothing against her.’
Dalziel had remained unperturbed. ‘Bits of paper! What the hell do people ten thousand miles away know about her movements, eh?’
The Terrapin had closed to within two cables and turned to steer parallel with the other ship, above which a tattered red flag had appeared.
‘Signal her to heave to!’ Dalziel had fidgeted with impatience as Burch had goaded his men into action. ‘We’ll soon know if she’s behaving lawfully.’
Several heads had appeared on the freighter’s high bridge, and for a long time nothing happened. Then at length a lamp had stammered out a slow reply, the flashes almost lost in the reflected sunshine.
Dalziel had snapped, ‘Well?’
Burch, like most of his trade, was a careful man. Being a yeoman he was privileged to hear and see his officers at close quarters. To know of their uncertainties and to accept or disregard their varying ways without spreading his knowledge around the ship. But this time he could find no way of translating the misspelt signal into more diplomatic language.
He had replied unhappily, ‘He says, go to bloody hell.’ He had swallowed hard. ‘Sir.’
Standish had seen the muscle jump in Dalziel’s throat, the sudden clenching of his fists. Then the captain had climbed back on to his chair and said cheerfully, ‘Make another signal. Tell him it’s the Tsar’s birthday and …’ but the mood seemed to elude him. He had added curtly, ‘Belay that! Alter course and return to three-zero-five.’ To Standish he had added, ‘We’ll leave him to the big boys, eh? Don’t want to start an incident, do we?’
Irvine, who had been crouching over the gyro repeater had said quietly, ‘And so another gallant episode in naval annals draws to a triumphant close.’
Two seamen nearby had heard him and had exchanged delighted grins. Standish had seen and heard all of it, but had said nothing.
Now, on the upper bridge for another watch he wondered why Dalziel had been so reckless as to expect the Russians to allow a search. Even if they had been weighed down to the scuppers with plastic explosives and armed terrorists it was unthinkable that they would permit such a thing.
The story had of course gone over the ship, growing and becoming more outrageous by the hour. When the hands went to their drills it was common enough for a rating to cry out, ‘Please, sir, I think there’s a Russian on the messdeck!’ And once, scrawled below a gun mounting Wishart had reported finding the words, ‘Dalziel go home!’
It was as stupid as it was trivial, but under these conditions even small things could only make their lonely vigil worse.
And there was not even much prospect of locating another ship today, for as was too common an occurrence, the radar was switched off for running repairs, reducing their effectiveness as a picket to the length of a man’s eyesight.
Behind his back he heard the clatter of teacups and the sudden stir of feet as the watchkeepers pulled themselves from their torpor, and seconds later a bosun’s mate switched on the tannoy and called, ‘Stand easy!’
Standish glanced at his watch. God, how the afternoon was dragging. He turned as a voice came from somewhere overhead.
‘Bridge there!’
He crossed to the wing, feeling the sun searing his neck as he moved from beneath the small awning. High above the bridge, their half-naked bodies shining like brown chestnuts against the sky, two mechanics had been working unenthusiasticall
y to service the radar scanner. At the sound of the call to stand easy and find a few moments respite below decks they had been about to climb down when one, the man who now stood with his arm outstretched and the other hooked around a steel ladder, had turned to stare seaward.
Now, as Standish squinted up at him, he yelled, ‘There’s a ship of some sort, sir! On the port quarter. But I can’t make her out yet.’
Standish raised his glasses and trained them across the side of the bridge wing. He had to blink to clear the sweat from his eyes, but after a slow search he could still see nothing. Nothing but a low bank of sea mist which hung above the glittering water like a fallen cloud.
He felt Dalziel at his side and bit his lip. Another second and they might have missed the other vessel. Or if the radar mechanic had not paused to look round … he checked his thoughts and asked, ‘What do you think, sir?’
Dalziel was peering through his glasses, his mouth turned hard down at the corners in a tight grimace.
‘Bit of luck that lad kept his eyes open. He can see above this damn mist.’ He lowered the glasses and looked at Standish. ‘What do I think?’ He frowned. ‘I’m surprised at you!’
He crossed to the compass and then snapped, ‘Port twenty!’
The quartermaster sounded startled. ‘Port twenty, sir!’
Dalziel kept his eyes level with the compass. ‘Midships.’ He smiled as if at some inner memory. ‘Steady. Steer zero-one-zero.’
He straightened his back and looked at Standish. ‘We’ll take a look at him, eh?’ He seemed to read Standish’s thoughts and he added more quietly, ‘We’ll play it cool this time. Make it an exercise, right?’
Standish relaxed. ‘Aye, aye, sir.’
Dalziel climbed back on to his chair. ‘Mustn’t split our stacks, or anything obvious like that!’ He sounded almost cheerful again.
In a crisper tone he snapped, ‘Send another man aloft to help that mechanic. This mist seems to be thicker than ever now.’
‘Ship, sir!’ A bridge lookout was peering through the mounted binoculars on the port wing. ‘At red four-five!’
The Greatest Enemy Page 7