‘Take it easy, Number One. You had a rough time of it.’
It was coming back now. Fast and terrible.
He asked quietly, ‘Harris?’
The doctor looked at his hands under the light. ‘You did your best. Couldn’t be helped.’
Standish closed his eyes. They seemed to be pricking him. He noticed that the motion around him was easier, and through the hull he could hear the sea pounding more evenly. He gripped the sheet tightly. It sounded pleased with itself.
He asked, ‘How long have I been out?’
‘Five hours. I had to do it. You were trying to get back on deck.’
Standish looked at him emptily. ‘I don’t remember anything about it.’
‘Just shock, old chap.’ Rideout studied him curiously. ‘Quite normal.’
‘Not for Harris it wasn’t.’ He wanted Rideout to go. To leave him to readjust his mind.
‘I know. However, but for you young Wishart would be gone, too.’
Standish turned his face away. He could feel the sleep returning, and when he closed his eyes he could picture it quite clearly. Like smoke advancing across the sea’s face.
Rideout watched him until he was asleep and then walked unsteadily to the sickbay door. Outside he found Irvine, leaning against the side and smoking a cigarette.
‘I’m afraid you can’t see him yet. He’s still doped.’
Irvine looked at his cigarette and said tersely, ‘It’s you I want.’
‘Oh?’ Rideout’s eyebrows lifted very slightly. ‘How can I help you?’
Irvine looked over his shoulder. ‘Come to my cabin. I want your advice about something very serious.’ He eyed him coldly. ‘For all of us.’
* * *
It took another thirty-six hours for the storm to blow itself out, with the Terrapin keeping just clear of its fringe, like someone dodging the wheel of a monstrous juggernaut. During that time the wind altered direction to the north and the rain returned as heavy and as drenching as before, but as the W/T office listened and prayed, the reports became calmer, and they knew that the real danger was at least passing them by.
Sleep for off-watch officers and ratings was almost impossible. Messdecks swilled with trapped water, and as the ship rolled her hull through every conceivable position and angle the sea spurted past sealed scuttles and doors, pursued the dazed and weary seamen with relentless zeal.
On the bridge it was no better, for most of the watchkeepers were too tired to take proper care and to avoid the sudden leaps and plunges. Rideout stayed in his sickbay dealing with a growing list of injuries. Bruises and cuts, and a few fractures, evidence of the sea’s constant attacks.
In spite of Rideout’s warnings Standish returned to his duties, and was shocked to find the deep change which had come about. Even when the cloud began to break up and the first rays of watery sunlight brought back life and colour to the sea around them he was immediately aware of the depression, the air of despair which seemed to pervade the whole ship.
The sky cleared, and as the first real warmth raised a steamy haze from the dripping decks and superstructure watchkeeping returned to the upper bridge, and with it a first real awareness of what the ship had endured.
Gratings were scattered and chipped, and the ready-use chart table was smashed to fragments. The paintwork looked as if it had been carefully scoured from the steel by several giant razors.
Dalziel had remained without sleep for most of the time, but apart from the shadows under his deepset eyes and a stubble of beard he seemed little the worse for it. Not physically anyway. But in the time Standish had been in the sickbay he had nevertheless changed and was remote to the point of coldness.
He said, ‘I have had a signal. We are to proceed to Songkhla forthwith and anchor. We will carry out internal repairs and await instructions.’ He looked at Standish and added, ‘I’m going to my sea cabin. E.T.A. at Songkhla is 0900 tomorrow.’ That was all.
When dawn came up the following day it was hard to appreciate there had been any storm at all. Standish stood on the fore gratings and watched the long stretch of coastline emerging in the early sunlight until it reached out on either bow, lush and green, as if to embrace them. There were only a few clouds, and they were soft pink, without threat or malice as they glided slowly with the growing dawn light.
And when he moved his feet he felt dust beneath his shoes. Dust carried by a lazy offshore breeze which defied the memories of towering whitecaps and great sluicing seas, of men falling and slipping waist deep in water, and of one man in particular being dragged to his death.
Petty Officer Harris had been a popular member of the ship’s company. He had been Motts’ best friend. But the sense of heavy depression seemed to go far deeper than that, although few had expressed their feelings openly to give some clue of the course it might take. It was like a storm, he thought. The signs were there, but no one knew the cause, or how each would react when it finally broke over them.
He heard a step behind him and saw Wishart climbing on to the gratings, one arm in a sling.
‘How is it, Sub?’
Wishart looked past him towards the brightening strip of land. ‘Thailand,’ he said vaguely. Then, ‘It’s only a sprain. Nothing at all really.’ His mouth trembled. ‘I keep thinking about Harris. He was trying to save me when he slipped. Every time I try to sleep I see his face.’
Standish replied, ‘It could have been any of us. Or all of us.’ What use were words? He had thought about Harris, too. He had even wondered what it had been like in those last terrible seconds. Harris might have lived just long enough to see his ship fading away. Might even have survived until he was plucked into the whirling screws.
He added harshly, ‘It wasn’t your fault. That’s all you can remember now.’
Irvine appeared on the bridge and asked quietly, ‘Can I have a word, Number One?’
‘What about?’
Irvine glanced at Wishart. ‘Alone.’
‘Can’t it wait?’ Standish could not face another discussion. One more list of recriminations.
Wishart said, ‘I’ll leave.’
As he climbed down Irvine said, ‘I suppose we’ll have to anchor offshore until some of the brass come and see us again?’
‘Did you send Wishart away merely to tell me that?’ The tiredness brought an edge to his voice. ‘If so, you can take over the watch now and I’ll have some breakfast.’
Irvine eyed him flatly. ‘I can manage without that young hero. When I want to hear from him, I’ll yawn.’ He looked above Standish’s shoulder. ‘The fact is I feel we should get together and discuss this last fiasco before we all get involved.’
Standish glanced through the salt-encrusted glass screen and saw a few seamen moving gingerly around the bows. They were looking at the empty hawsepipe, the scars where the broken cable had made its last journey.
‘Involved in what?’
‘Look, I know all about your position, and I will respect it. But it’s also your responsibility to listen to the rest of us.’ He cleared his throat. ‘The officers, that is.’
Standish turned and studied him, feeling neither anger nor surprise.
‘Have you been voicing your opinions again?’
Irvine’s mouth tightened. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve not been rallying a mutiny! But it must be said. The captain nearly had us in the middle of that typhoon, and you damn well know it.’ When Standish said nothing he added, ‘Maybe there was a submarine, and maybe not. We’ll never know now. In any case, what could we do? There’s no proof it was responsible for the patrol boat’s destruction, and apart from depth-charging it, do you imagine it would allow us to arrest it? It’s sheer, bloody stupidity!’
‘You seem to have reached some conclusion. Get it off your chest if it helps.’
‘There’s a lot we don’t know about the captain. He got off with a reprimand after that collision with the carrier, but how do we know it wasn’t really his fault?’ He watched Standish narro
wly. ‘Another thing, he says he’s not married. We both know that’s a lie, don’t we?’
Standish looked at him impassively. ‘You should have been a private detective. But is it any of your business?’
Irvine frowned. ‘Not directly, but added to the other symptoms I’d say the captain is not all he tries to appear.’
‘Symptoms?’ Standish let it hang in the air. ‘Have you been discussing this with the doctor?’
Irvine seemed less sure of himself. ‘I just mentioned a few things.’
‘Did you? Well let me give you some advice. Put this in writing and I’ll give it to the commanding officer myself. You can request a transfer, or you may make an official complaint to the C. in C.’s office. I will see that it gets officially noted.’
Irvine bit his lip. ‘That would put me in a bad spot.’ His eyes flashed angrily. ‘You know what it would do to my chances of promotion!’
Standish turned and stared at the land again. He could see strips of white against the green. Low-lying houses by the water’s edge. People would be there. Room to breathe and think. He said quietly, ‘You make me sick, do you know that? You want others to do your work for you, to carry the can if it goes wrong. I can admire a genuine coward, but you disgust me.’ There was no reply, and when he turned his head he saw that Irvine was already going down the bridge ladder.
He gripped the vibrating screen and breathed out very slowly. Like Dalziel’s wife, Irvine wanted him to take sides, to join their own conspiracy.
A signalman called, ‘Launch approaching port bow, sir. Royal Thai Navy colours.’
‘Very good. I’ll inform the captain.’ He crossed to the telephone, his mind still dwelling on Irvine’s words.
Suppose he was right? He paused with his hand on the telephone. If he had not pressed on into the storm it would have been less hazardous to turn the ship, and Harris would still be alive. And the anchor. If it had not come adrift would Dalziel really have carried on regardless of consequences? He thought of Quarrie’s angry defiance and of his own uncertainty about the submarine’s reality. After all, it might have been a small vessel. The radio had already reported several fishing craft sunk in the storm and one freighter completely vanished in its path.
He realized he had the telephone to his ear. He said, ‘The anchorage is four miles distant, sir. There is a Thai launch approaching, possibly with a pilot aboard.’ He heard Dalziel breathing heavily.
‘Very well. I’ll come up.’
Standish walked to the rear of the bridge and looked down at the side deck where some seamen were replacing the lashings on the whaler. It was a wonder the boats had survived at all. Then he craned over the rail to watch as the two women appeared below a Bofors mounting.
The girl had a green headscarf but was still wearing her khaki jacket. Beside Mrs. Penrath’s tweedy figure she looked slight and defenceless.
The storm must have kept her mind occupied, he thought. But now the ship was moving towards the shore again. To the very destination intended for the Cornwallis. He thought too of their brief contact, the moment of hope and trust. With the passing of the storm it seemed to have been broken, and there was no longer any more time left.
A light blinked from the fast moving launch, and as the signalman triggered the recognition back to her Standish saw the girl raise her eyes to the bridge and look directly at him. He raised his hand and saw her return the wave. Across the heads of the seamen, the flaked paintwork and buckled rails they retained that contact for just a few more moments.
‘Well, where’s this launch, Number One?’ Dalziel strode to the gratings and lifted his glasses.
Standish dropped his arm and turned towards him. The contact was broken.
14 Between Friends
LIEUTENANT PIGOTT ENTERED Standish’s cabin and placed a typed list on the small bulkhead desk. ‘Petty Officer Harris’s personal effects.’ He wiped the back of his neck with a grubby handkerchief. ‘Not much to show for twenty odd years service.’
Standish leaned his spine against the chair and studied him thoughtfully. ‘All quiet on deck?’
Pigott shrugged. ‘The work’s going ahead in a sort of fashion.’
Through an open scuttle the afternoon sunlight blazed down across the anchored ship, and Standish could tell from the lack of noise above his cabin that there was very little work being done at all. The captain had gone ashore in the Thai navy launch during the forenoon to see the local authorities about the possibility of unloading the medical stores which had been intended for the Malaysian side of the border. He had taken the two women with him and had not so far returned.
He said, ‘Well, they’d better get cracking all the same. The longer the repairs take, the longer we’ll be bogged down here.’
In his heart he knew he should go himself and chase them up, jerk them out of their new torpor. He recalled Jerram’s words. I hope they’ll still be laughing in a month or two. And that had been less than a week back.
He said, ‘I’m going on deck.’
Together they climbed up to the quarterdeck and paused beneath one of the well-worn awnings. Over the rail the sea looked very clear and inviting, and it was possible to see small regiments of brightly coloured fish darting towards the motionless screws, pausing stockstill and then flashing away in another direction. Here and there about the upper deck parties of seamen were working without enthusiasm, their skins brown against the sky and the haze-shrouded beaches below the town. Few craft had come near the ship, and although the distant town looked quiet enough, Standish guessed that even there the storm’s edge had left its mark, and they too were tidying up before another visit.
The boats had been lowered alongside, and in the battered motor boat he saw two seamen pumping it dry, their naked backs shining with sweat in the glare.
In the Whizz-Kid two mechanics were putting finishing touches to a gun mounting above the stemhead. Whatever else was on Dalziel’s mind when he had gone ashore, he had made quite sure that this job was to be given priority.
Petty Officer Motts, who had been watching the work, came aft and saluted wearily.
Standish asked, ‘All right? Any complaints?’
Motts shrugged. ‘I was just lookin’ at the new toy, sir.’ He paused before adding bitterly, ‘An’ wonderin’ who the next poor bugger is who’s goin’ to get hisself killed.’
Pigott glanced at Standish and then said quietly, ‘Can’t really blame you.’
Standish rested his hand on a newly-spliced guardrail and looked up at the bridge. He thought he saw Irvine moving about in the chartroom. Somehow they had avoided each other except for the brief necessity of duty. But it was there right enough. A latent hostility which they both now accepted.
He thought of the girl and wondered if she had met the man she would marry. She was probably still in the town. Waiting and fretting.
Motts said suddenly, ‘Some of us ’ave been a bit bothered, sir.’ He dropped his eyes as Standish looked at him. ‘Will there be an inquiry after what’s ’appened? I know I shouldn’t be askin’ like this, but, well, it don’t seem right the way things are going.’
Pigott said mildly, ‘You’ve been aboard longer than most. I think you’ve a right.’
Standish thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘You’ve been aboard long enough to know that you’ve no right at all, Motts.’ He saw the changing emotions on Motts’ face and guessed what it had cost him to speak out. He stifled the sudden pity and added, ‘What are you, a leader of some deputation or something?’
‘I’m no lower deck lawyer, sir.’ Motts looked suddenly defiant. ‘But everyone in our mess knows that the old Shellback’s days are numbered. She’s nearly worn ’er guts out, an’ there don’t seem any point in gettin’ killed, ’specially when there’s no war on.’
Standish eyed him calmly. ‘I know Harris was your friend. But in a storm, a man, anyone at all, can lose his life. It’s got nothing to do with war, and you know it.’
Pigott s
aid, ‘There were the others of course.’
Standish replied, ‘There may be more. Either way it’s not for you to question your orders, Motts, so carry on with what you were doing.’
As he walked away Standish turned to Pigott. ‘That was a bloody stupid attitude to take in front of him. Have you been talking to Irvine?’
Pigott coloured slightly. ‘What’s the use of beating around the bush? Everyone’s blabbing about it. They won’t speak in front of you because either they respect you too much or they’re afraid you’ll take them in front of the captain.’ He forced a grin. ‘I want to stay in the Service too, y’know. I wouldn’t stick my neck out unless I was damned worried. Which I am.’
Standish tried to shut out the nagging apprehension which had dogged him since Harris’s death. And before that. There was nothing to be gained by listening to Pigott’s interpretation but he had to do something. But what?
The quartermaster called, ‘Boat approaching again, sir.’ He shaded his eyes and added, ‘Not the captain.’
It was the same Thai launch, but it contained two different passengers this time. Both were dressed in neat, lightweight suits, but from the easy way they climbed up the accommodation ladder Standish guessed them to be naval men.
The first, a sleek-haired man with quick, restless eyes, introduced himself as Standish stepped forward to meet him.
‘Lieutenant-Commander Lamb. British Operations Liaison Officer to Rear-Admiral Curtis.’ He smiled briefly. ‘My companion is Lieutenant Rhodes, United States Navy, also from the Sibuyan.’
The latter was tall and rather studious looking, with very sparse hair for so junior an officer.
He said, ‘Communications are my interest.’ He had a lazy drawl, and appeared very relaxed.
Standish ushered them towards a screen door. ‘The captain’s still ashore I’m afraid, but if I can help you in any way?’
‘Yes, maybe you can.’ Lamb seemed untroubled at Dalziel’s absence, and Standish suspected he knew already.
In the deserted wardroom Lamb said, ‘I have just a few instructions which you can pass on to the commanding officer, if you would be so good. Pure routine for the most part.’
The Greatest Enemy Page 25