The Unforgiving Sea (The Searight Saga Book 2)

by Rupert Colley

  ‘Very funny, Palmer.’

  On seeing me awake, Hodgkin bid me good morning. ‘You managed to sleep the whole night through – rather impressive, I thought. So, I think you were the last, Searight, you and Swann.’

  ‘So how many men went down?’ asked Swann.

  ‘Thirty-three,’ said Hodgkin. ‘Plus the two coolies.’

  ‘May they rest in peace,’ said Davison, crossing himself.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Hodgkin.

  ‘Thirty-five men and six hundred or so mules,’ said Swann.

  ‘Yes, Arbatov here made a point of freeing them, although to what purpose beats me.’

  ‘Just seemed like the decent thing to do,’ said Arbatov in his deep Russian voice.

  ‘A lot of them were shot,’ I told them.

  ‘Shot?’

  I related the tale of the Germans and their machine gun.

  ‘No, that is terrible. Poor beasts,’ said Arbatov, shaking his head.

  ‘So the Krauts were being merciful then,’ said Owen.

  ‘Krauts – merciful? No, no, no,’ said Arbatov, slicing the air with his hands. ‘No such thing as a merciful German. No, they want target practice.’

  ‘Well, their mercy didn’t extend to picking us up,’ I said. ‘They simply left us to drown.’

  Hodgkin scoffed. ‘Thank your lucky stars, I’d say, Searight. You’d be a prisoner of war by now.’

  ‘Yeah, but he’d be nice and cosy, wouldn’t he, sir? said Palmer. ‘Schön und gemütlich,’ he added in a shrill German accent.

  ‘I say, you speak German, Palmer?’

  ‘Ein bisschen.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said a little bit.’

  ‘Hmm. Could prove handy that.’

  ‘No, we speak with no German,’ said Arbatov. ‘We see a German, we kill him.’

  ‘And with what, you stupid Russian git?’ This was Beckett, who until now, like John Clair, had said nothing. ‘You’ll bite them to death, will you?’

  ‘I would die trying, Mr Beckett. And for your information, I am not Russian. I am as English as you are.’

  ‘With that accent, Comrade Arbatov? What sort of name is that? Anyways, I’m Welsh, me,’ said Beckett, jabbing his chest with his thumb. ‘And don’t you be forgetting it.’

  Hodgkin cleared his throat. ‘Yes, thank you, Beckett. Calm down now.’

  ‘What happened to the other lifeboats?’ asked Swann.

  ‘The two starboard ones copped it with the explosions,’ said Hodgkin. ‘The other one on port couldn’t be freed in time – the davits had been wrenched. And this one… well, the mast is shattered.’

  ‘So all we have are the oars?’ I asked.

  ‘Afraid so.’

  ‘Too bad,’ said Arbatov.

  We fell silent for a while. I gazed round and a feeling of despair rose in my chest. Here we were, the nine of us in a tiny boat, some twenty-five feet long, eight feet at its widest, designed perhaps for twenty-five people, surrounded by sea. Sea, sea, sea, as far as the eye could see, and here we were in the middle of it, a speck, a tiny, insignificant little speck. The sun was rising and with it the heat. I closed my eyes and breathed heavily, trying to shake off the feeling of utter vulnerability.

  My thoughts were interrupted by John Clair, rising clumsily to his feet. ‘Are we almost there yet?’ he asked, his voice as soft as a nervous child. He looked at us all, but without really seeing us.

  ‘Get a grip, you silly beggar, said Beckett. ‘Bloody sit down and stop leaning on me.’

  Davison stretched out his hand. ‘Leave him be, Beckett. You can see the poor boy’s in a state of shock. He needs our help, not to be shouted at.’ Davison, I knew, was a kind man. His cheeks always flushed, the end of his nose always red, men called him the Beacon behind his back. ‘No, John, I’m afraid we’re not almost there. But don’t you worry, someone will come by shortly and pick us up, I’m sure.’

  ‘I’m hungry, Ed. Really hungry.’

  ‘I know, John. We all are.’

  ‘Yeah, we’re all hungry,’ said Beckett. ‘So, what about the rations now, Captain?’ Turning to me and Swann, he said with a scowl, ‘I suppose you two will be wanting your share.’

  ‘Not surprising, is it, Beckett?’ snapped Swann.

  ‘OK, OK, enough now,’ said Hodgkin. He stepped over a couple of benches and sat down. ‘I’ve been giving this some thought. It’s fair to say, gentlemen, we are in a tight spot–’

  Beckett guffawed. ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘Let the man finish,’ said Palmer.

  ‘Weren’t you able to send an SOS from the ship?’ asked Swann.

  ‘Ha, no, ’fraid not. The radio was caught in the explosion. But don’t worry, Swann, the captain sent a message beforehand, after we’d been spotted by the Condor, so Karachi will know we were in trouble and I’m sure they’ll send something. We’re in somewhat a precarious situation but it could be a lot worse.’

  ‘Worse things happen at sea, sir.’

  ‘Shut it, Palmer,’ barked Beckett.

  ‘Now, the natural instinct is to try for land – but we’re a good nine hundred miles from India’s southern tip, and even as fit men, that could take us over a month. And we simply do not have the rations to last us that long. Alternatively, we’re on a well-used path here, and a convoy is bound to pass by eventually, that is if a search and rescue doesn’t find us first. It’s just a matter of how long. We put it to a vote last night, and we’ve decided to stay here in the vicinity of the sinking.’

  ‘Don’t we get a say?’ asked Swann, jerking his thumb at me.

  ‘We voted five to two, so it wouldn’t have made any difference.’

  ‘Something will come along soon, won’t it, Captain?’ asked Clair.

  Hodgkin tried to smile. ‘I’ve no doubt about it, John.’

  Arbatov put his hand up. ‘Can we have breakfast now?’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Palmer, rubbing his hands. ‘Bacon and egg for me, Captain. Black pudding too, if you’ve got it.’

  ‘And a strong cup of tea, no sugar,’ added Owen.

  ‘Yes, yes, very droll,’ said Hodgkin. ‘Right, these boats come with rations but they don’t amount to much, I’m afraid. Some of it must be missing; I can’t believe they’d supply so little. Anyway, I’ve taken stock, given that we now have two more men on board–’

  ‘Lucky us,’ said Beckett.

  Swann glared at him but held his tongue.

  ‘I’ve divided it up by seven days. We have, per person, per day…’ He counted off the items on his fingers. ‘A biscuit each, a couple of malted milk tablets, a tin of bully beef–’

  ‘Each?’ cried Swann.

  ‘Ah, no such luck, Swann, between the nine of us. Also a mouthful of pemmican.’

  ‘What’s that when it’s at home?’ asked Palmer.

  ‘Come on, Palmer, you know what pemmican is – it’s dry meat paste, and very nutritious too, or so I’m told.’

  ‘What sort of meat is it?’ asked Owen.

  ‘I don’t know. Beef, I think.’

  ‘Does that suit, Gardner?’ asked Beckett. ‘Because if you’re not partial to beef–’

  ‘He was only asking,’ said Arbatov.

  Hodgkin coughed. ‘If I may continue. The real concern, of course, is water. We have six bottles of fresh water. If it’s to last a whole week, we have to limit ourselves to one teaspoon in the morning and one at night, around dusk. That’s about two ounces a day each. And no more.’

  Swann groaned.

  ‘Do we have a teaspoon?’ I asked.

  ‘We do indeed, Searight, and even a tin opener, would you believe? The navy authorities think of everything. We also have a basic medical kit and a flare gun with five flares. We even have a bucket.’

  ‘To shit in?’ asked Arbatov.

  ‘I think it’s more for bailing the water out.’

  ‘Did they supply any fags?’ asked Swann.

  ‘I’ve got some fags,’
said Palmer.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Here…’ He reached into his back pocket and produced a sodden pack of cigarettes.

  ‘You bloody idiot. Why do keep them?’

  ‘As a reminder of happier days, Swann. Happier days.’

  ‘Tobacco is not a concern,’ said Hodgkin. ‘Water is my main concern.’

  ‘No, wait, Captain,’ said Clair. ‘I’ve got my bottle. I grabbed it at the last minute.’

  ‘Good man,’ said Davison.

  Clair rummaged beneath the bench. ‘It’s here somewhere, I know it is. Here it is, here it is.’ He held it up as if it was a trophy.

  ‘Good lad,’ said Hodgkin. ‘Pass it here then.’

  Clair’s expression changed in an instant. ‘No, it’s mine,’ he said, hugging the bottle to his chest.

  ‘Hey, come on, boy,’ growled Beckett. ‘You pass that over.’

  ‘No, you should have brought your own,’ said Clair, turning away and hunching his body over the bottle.

  Hodgkin stood up, causing the boat to sway a little. ‘Now, you give that bottle to me, and that’s an order, Seaman Clair.’

  Davison patted the boy’s arm. ‘We’re all in this together, John. If we’re to survive, we have to share. You know that.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Palmer. ‘We’re all in the same boat.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘In the same boat. Get it?’

  ‘Shut up, Palmer,’ said Swann.

  Clair looked back at Davison from beneath his black fringe.

  ‘Come on, John, pass me the bottle.’

  Without taking his eyes off Davison, Clair passed him the bottle.

  ‘Good lad. Now, let’s just check to see if it’s OK.’ He unscrewed the lid and smelt its contents. ‘Oh dear,’ he said.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Owen.

  Holding the bottle at an angle, he dipped his finger inside and sucked it. He shook his head. ‘False hope, alas. The sea’s got in. It’s salty.’

  We all groaned. ‘Idiot,’ murmured Abatov.

  ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ said Davison.

  ‘No, it’s fresh,’ cried Clair. ‘It’s got to be. It’s mine.’

  ‘I’m sorry, John,’ said Davison.

  Clair gripped Davison’s wrist. ‘But we can still drink it, right, Ed? It’ll still be OK.’

  ‘You bloody fool,’ barked Beckett. ‘You drink seawater, you’ll go mad.’

  ‘If he’s not already,’ added Swann, tapping his temple.

  Clair slumped.

  ‘Well, back to where we were, gentlemen,’ said Hodgkin. ‘One teaspoon each by morning, one at dusk. And that’s an order.’ He sat back down. ‘Lastly, I’ve devised a look-out rota. Two men at a time, one hour shifts. Gardner – it’s you on the port and stern, and Searight, you can take your turn on the opposite side.’

  Owen saluted. ‘Aye, aye, Captain.’

  ‘But first, let’s have this morning’s water ration.’

  We formed an orderly queue with Swann and me, as the relative newcomers on board, at the back. Hodgkin gave us each a teaspoon of water, cupping a hand beneath the spoon, feeding it to us as if we were children. We all watched intently, making sure that no one got more than their fair share. It was only then I realised quite how thirsty I was. I swallowed slowly, enjoying the feeling of the water on the back of my throat. Hodgkin gave himself his share last.

  I made my way to the front of the boat, swaying, stepping round the men. The boat had six benches and two more along the sides. Beneath the front bench, where Hodgkin took his place, was a little hold where he kept the rations and a box of first aid. As I passed, I noticed that Davison had his arm round Clair’s shoulders. The boy was quietly crying on Davison’s chest.

  Chapter 6

  The Boat: Day Two

  I awoke on my second day on the boat some time around midday with the sun at its highest. It took me a few seconds to register. I was sitting on a bench, drifting in and out of sleep, wishing the sun would disappear, when I saw far away a dark shape on the horizon. Slowly, I rose to my feet, trying to work out whether I was imagining it or whether there really was a ship. ‘I think… I can see a ship.’

  The effect of my words was immediate. Everyone sprung up, shaking off their lethargy. ‘Bleeding hell, he’s right, there is as well,’ said Palmer.

  We all erupted into a state of excitement, shouting, waving our arms, rocking the boat. It was Beckett that told us to calm down. ‘You fools, it won’t see us from that distance. Or hear us’

  ‘What direction is it going in?’ asked Arbatov.

  ‘Hard to tell from here,’ said Davison.

  ‘Impossible, I’d say,’ said Swann. ‘Too far to row anyway.’

  ‘Palmer,’ shouted Hodgkin, ‘pass me the flare gun.’

  With his hands trembling, Hodgkin inserted a flare into the gun.

  ‘Shouldn’t we wait, Captain?’ asked Owen. ‘Until it gets closer.’

  ‘And what if it’s going the opposite direction, eh, Gardner? We can’t afford to lose sight of her. Right, here goes.’ The flare shot up, fizzing. We watched its trajectory intently as it arched into the sky. The red light it gave off seemed so inadequate against the vivid blue and in the full glare of the sun. We watched it as it descended, leaving a trail of smoke and light in its wake.

  ‘They’re never going to see that,’ muttered Beckett.

  ‘It only takes one man to be looking in the right direction,’ said Davison. ‘We just have to hope.’

  ‘How many flares we got left now, Captain,’ I asked.

  ‘We’ve still got four. Still plenty.’

  We all stood in silence, watching the ship, hoping, just hoping to God that it would give us a sign that it had seen us, that rescue would soon be upon us. The minutes ticked by. Nothing happened. Swann was the first to sit down.

  ‘It hasn’t seen us, has it, Captain?’ said Owen.

  ‘I fear not.’

  ‘How about another flare?’

  He shook his head. ‘Too risky.’

  ‘No, it might be our only chance,’ said Swann. ‘What’s there to lose?’

  ‘Quite a lot, I would’ve thought,’ said Palmer.

  ‘It’s going away from us,’ said Arbatov.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ said Hodgkin.

  ‘Shit, shit,’ said Beckett.

  One by one, we sat back down, each of us filled with utter disappointment. To think our salvation lay just a few miles from us, a ship full of healthy men with plenty to eat and drink, men able to turn in and sleep on a comfortable bunk. And none of them, not one of them, realised that within reach was a little boat with nine very desperate men.

  Davison checked on John Clair. ‘Was there a ship?’ asked the boy.

  ‘Yes, but it didn’t see us, more’s the pity.’

  ‘There might be another.’

  ‘Yes.’ He patted Clair on the shoulder. ‘That’s right, John. There’s bound to be. We just have to wait.’

  *

  ‘Are you married, Captain?’ No one had spoken for hours. Davison’s question came out of the blue.

  ‘Yes, Ed, I’m married. Two years now. In fact, my wife is pregnant. Our first.’

  ‘Congratulations, sir.’

  Hodgkin laughed. ‘Thank you, Ed. Yep, baby’s due… well, any day now, I guess.’ He sighed. ‘It’s killing me. Being stuck out here while on the other side of the world my child is being born. I’d promised her, my wife I mean, I’d get home as soon as I could. Doesn’t look like I’m going to get home anytime soon, though, does it?’

  ‘Course you will. Just think – going home to see your new-born baby. What are you hoping for? Boy or girl?’

  ‘I don’t mind really.’ He tried to smile. ‘I think a girl. If it’s a boy, well, there’s always the chance he might have to go fight, like we’ve all had to do. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. A girl at least would be spared. I’d like to call her Alice.’

  ‘Alice?’ I s
at up on hearing the familiar name. ‘No, don’t call her that.’

  ‘Why not? It’s a lovely name.’

  ‘No, anything but that.’

  ‘I’ll call her what I like, thank you, Searight. It’s none of your damn business.’

  ‘Alice – that name belongs to someone else.’

  Owen patted my arm. ‘It’s all right, Robert, calm down.’

  ‘He can’t call her that, Owen. It’s not right.’

  ‘It’s just a name, Robert; just a name.’

  Alice. Just a name, I repeated. Oh, Alice, where are you, my love? Where are you? I feel so empty without you. Come back to me; I miss you so much; so very much.

  Davison cleared his throat. ‘Well, whatever name you decide, Captain, I’m sure she’ll be beautiful, and that you’ll all be very happy.’

  ‘And what about you, Ed; are you married?’

  ‘Me? No, no, not me.’

  ‘Not met the right woman yet?’

  Davison guffawed. ‘No, not that. I’m just not the marrying kind. In fact, I live with my mother. She’s in her seventies. She’s not a well woman. Losing her mind, the poor old thing. And then there’s Sherlock, my dog, a cocker spaniel. My sister’s staying with them while I’m away, looking after them both.’

  ‘You’re from the Lake District, aren’t you?’ asked Owen.

  ‘Ah yes, indeed I am. The beautiful lakes.’ He scratched the swirl of his bald patch. ‘I miss them, you know. Often, I take Sherlock for walks and I sit a while and admire the views. It’s something I never tire of. I always feel humble – seeing God’s work in all its splendour. My, what I wouldn’t give to be back there now – perched on a hill, the blue sky above me, the hills rolling in the distance, the birds flying above me. Ha, I once tried to paint the view. Lugged an easel and paintbox all the way up. I had my picnic in my haversack, set everything up and started painting. Toiled all day while Sherlock dozed in the sun. It didn’t work. I couldn’t even begin to capture the beauty. Made me appreciate the work of men who can though; you know, real artists. I never tried again. I know my limitations.’

  ‘You’ll get back there one day, Ed; you and Sherlock.’

  ‘I hope so, Owen; I do hope so.’

  *

  ‘My God, someone’s in the water!’