Then north-east with his own home, Fowey, somewhere in port, shrouded in gloom and mist; until like a disembodied island, the headland of Rame Head, guardian of Plymouth Sound and marked by a solitary winking buoy, passed finally abeam.
It was a nuisance to have to wait for morning, another day before he could take the ship into the dockyard. But it was a difficult entrance, past Drake's Island and through the narrows, a hard passage even in broad daylight.
'Tell Fallows about the gunnery thing.'
Sherwood nodded and resumed his position in the forepart of the bridge. It was odd about Bunny Fallows, he thought. He barely spoke to anybody these days; it could not still be pique over Tritton and Morgan's little joke. It was something much deeper, which gnawed away at him from within like a disease. Not fear then? It seemed unlikely. Fallows did not have the imagination to feel that kind of emotion. Sherwood pushed him from his thoughts and trained his glasses astern. Ranger was somewhere in their wake, the only one still in company. The rest were on their way to Chatham and Harwich, Rosyth and Tynemouth. Repairs, a lick of paint - then what?
He heard Morgan speaking quietly to the signalman. Would it mean a breakup of this company? Promotion, courses in various shore establishments, drafts to other ships to make way for green youngsters like Gold, and Boyes, who no longer seemed so youthful.
He glanced at Ransome's shadow framed against the glass screen. As if he never moved. Rob Roy and Ranger each carried a Render Mines Safe Officer. It was fortunate that the other R.M.S.O., like himself, held a watchkeeping certificate. It made the officers' watches on the bridge less of a strain, spread out instead of four hours on and four off without let-up. But the captain was always here. Everyone who visited the ship remarked how young he was to hold a command. Sherwood had told more than one, he bloody well needed to be young to keep from splitting into halves.
He shied away from thoughts of the girl he had met in London.
rosemary. But she often came into his mind when he was unprepared and vulnerable. He was all that and more just now. He was coming home - to what? A big bank balance which he had done nothing to create, property which was filled with memories and a background which was worth very little in a fighting war he recalled her question. What will you do after the war? And his own cynical reply.
he might leave Rob Roy; he was surprised that the idea seemed almost painful. Once he had believed it did not matter, that he could not care less. In that at least he must have changed. Ransome had probably done it. He remembered that moment on the Sicilian beach when he had understood Ransome's own anxiety, shared it; afterwards he had thought it was like being privileged to do so.
Even if he did not see her again, he might give her a call. He owed her an apology for the way he had acted after — again he closed his mind to it.
I must not think like this. Next week, or the one after, he might In- called to examine some new enemy technique, a booby trap designed only for the likes of him. He smiled as he thought of the soldiers' resentment when he had ordered them from the bombed church. Their embarrassed grins afterwards, their stammered thanks for saving them from being killed or maimed. It did no good to think that some of those same men were probably dead anyway by now.
A slight shadow crossed the bridge and he heard Morgan report, 'Ordinary Seaman Boyes, sir.'
Then he heard Ransome say, 'I want you on the plot full-time, Boyes.'
A flurry of snow sifted over the screen and a look-out muttered, |esus! Roll on my doz!'
Ransome continued, 'You've done well.' There was some mumbled response from Boyes. 'I shall see it goes in your papers.'
Boyes stared at the captain's silhouette, oblivious of the snow which froze on his eyelids and lips. In a small voice he whispered, Papers, sir?'
He tried to remember each word as Ransome replied, 'I think you should have another go, Boyes. A proper interview at least. How do you feel about it?'
Boyes could scarcely speak. It was everything he wanted, and yet to his amazement his first reaction was one of disloyalty to the men who had helped and guided him in the brutal kindness of the navy's lower deck.
'T-thank you very much, sir.'
Ransome said, 'We'll be entering the Sound within the half-hour, so get your charts tidied up. The dockyard maties will doubtless want to see Malta's efforts to repair your plot-table, eh?'
Boyes climbed down the ladder and saw Morgan's white teeth set in a grin as he passed. Another go. He had not really had one before. What would his mother have to say about that?
'All the port watch! First part forrard, second part aft, stand by for entering harbour!'
Boyes gripped the rail of the bridge wing, buckled by the shell which had cracked around the wheelhouse, killing, killing. He still found it hard to sleep; it haunted him like a nightmare which had no beginning or ending.
Leading Seaman Reeves, his eyes bulging with horror as if he had seen the shell coming, Davenport lolling against him, trying to laugh, and coughing out his blood while it drowned him. And the towering figure of the coxswain, tough, outspoken and unexpectedly kind. He still limped a bit from his wound, but was more afraid of being put ashore than any momentary pain.
When he had first come aboard he had been almost too frightened to speak. Bursts of anger born of strain, foul language and stories of conquests on runs ashore, blondes, barmaids and waterfront toms. They had been baiting him, testing his reactions. And yet at the sea burials it had been Sid Jardine who had put his arm over his shoulders while in their different ways they had shared the same grief.
If the captain could push his papers through it would mean leaving all this, and he knew that nothing would ever be quite the same again. As Rob Roy picked her way between the blinking buoys until she was met by a fussy harbour launch, there were others in her company who did not share Boyes's feelings.
Leading Seaman Gipsy Guttridge had been able to keep his wife out of his mind while the ship had been in the Med. Now he was back, and as he waited with the quarterdeck party amongst the well-used coils of mooring-wires, springs and rope fenders, he wondered what he would do when he faced her again. A laughing, bright-eyed girl with dimples. A friend had written to him once to tell him she was having it off with a pongo from the local army camp. He had confronted her with it but it had ended in passion in bed. And there had been another letter waiting for him at Gib, from the same 'friend'.
the Buffer brushed past and rasped, 'Jump about, old son, you look shagged out!'
guttridge glared after him. It never seemed to bother the Buffer. If half of it was fact, he'd screw anything. He gripped the guardrail and turned his face into the freezing snowflakes.
When I catch whoever it is, I'll do for them both!
Alone at the wardroom table Sub-Lieutenant Fallows chewed half-heartedly on some corned-beef hash. He stared at the tablecloth, still soiled from the previous meal, then poured himself another mug of black coffee.
He could not remember needing a drink more. He swallowed hard; he could almost hear it being tipped into a shining, clean glass. What should he do? He glanced up as the messman padded through the wardroom. It was madness to feel guilt, or was it fear? But it was not Parsons; he would be on the forecastle for entering harbour.
I must have been out of mind to give him money. Fallows pulled out a tin of duty-free cigarettes and gestured to the mess-man to clear the table.
Parsons had explained that he would soon be leaving the ship, to go on an advanced gunnery course at Whale Island and pick up his leading rate. They would never see each other again.
Fallows wiped the sweat from his forehead although the wardroom was almost cold.
He should have seen it. Stood firm and stamped on the little bastard when he had first brought up about Tinker.
Fallows glanced at the single, wavy stripe on his seagoing reefer. He had not liked Davenport because he imagined he came from a better background than himself, but he understood how he had felt about getting on in th
e navy. Take the chance while it lasted. When he became a lieutenant he would feel more secure, and then - He stubbed out the cigarette and lit another without noticing. Parsons had asked for a loan at first, then another to tide over his domestic problems until he had completed the gunnery course.
He thought suddenly of his father in Glasgow, a belligerent, sneering drunk who had barely worked for years and had made all their lives hell.
'You'll never get anywhere with those stuck-up bastards! I know you too well, you'll fall in yer own shit before you get what you want!'
Nobody knew or cared what it had cost him to get where he was, or what that piece of tarnished gold lace represented to him. And despite all his care to cover up his humble background he had allowed a crawling rat like Parsons to sneak under his defences.
The last time they had been alone Parsons had explained in a hurt, wheedling voice, 'I feel as much to blame as you, sir. I should 'ave spoken out — an' wot if someone asked me about it sometime, wot then, eh?'
Who could he have turned to? Now of course it was all stark and clear. He should have gone to the commanding officer there and then. It might have damaged his chances of promotion, but it was better than admitting he had bribed a rating to conceal the truth, for that was exactly how it would look in the cold eyes of a court martial.
Fallows lived on his meagre pay and had no other funds. He had got into debt several times with his mess bills, and had borrowed at first to square the accounts.
With Parsons constantly pressing him - he shuddered; the word was blackmail— he. had been forced to do some deals with a friend he had met in Alexandria. They had been at King Alfred together, but his friend had failed to become an executive officer. He had ended up as a paymaster-lieutenant in the naval stores there.
Dockyard paint which until then had meant nothing to Fallows It was merely slapped on by the ship's company or men .....In punishment whenever there was a spare moment.
butt in Alexandria any kind of naval stores were big business. Fallows had been required to do was sign for something which in fact was never delivered to the ship.
He had told himself a hundred times that Parsons was too implicated to cause any more trouble for him. He was a vindictive and unpopular man in the ship, but there were always those who would believe his story.
Surgeon Lieutenant Cusack entered the wardroom and slumped down in one of the battered chairs.
You can smell the land!' He watched Fallows curiously as he remained pensive and silent. 'There were times when I thought I'd never see green grass again.'
I allows stood up and looked at him without understanding. 'I must go.'
Cusack leaned back and stared at the deckhead, picturing the work above as wires scraped on steel, and seaboots thudded past the sealed skylight.
It had been an experience, and he knew he did not want to go hack to hospital until it was over. He thought of the men he had come to know, their hopes, and perhaps above all their secrets. Cusack smiled grimly. He had a brother who was a priest in Cialway; perhaps he would be more use here than a doctor.
Above them all Ransome stood high on the bridge step and stared down at the activity on deck. Merely shadows and shouts of command, but he knew Rob Roy blindfold if need be.
Water thrashed in the darkness and he saw one of Devonport's ancient paddle-wheeled tugs standing by, her bridge and forecastle white with driven snow.
'Stop port!' He heard Sherwood repeating the order, the instant response from the engine-room. 'Slow astern port!'
He watched, dashing the snow from his eyes as he gauged the slow swing of the stern towards the stone wall.
'Sternrope's made fast, sir!' That was Morgan.
'Headrope's being hauled over now, sir!'
'Stop port, slow astern starboard!' He pictured the hands hauling the rebellious wires and securing them to their bollards.
The deck rocked, and he heard the call for more fenders as they came reluctantly alongside. 'Stop together!'
He heard Hargrave's voice from the forecastle as he supervise! the mooring. 'Out springs and breasts!'
Through the snow Ransome saw the blink of a signal lamp, A greeting, fresh orders; he was too tired to care.
'All secure fore and aft, sir!' Sherwood was looking up at him through the snow, his cap white against the wet steel.
'Ring off main engines, if you please.'
The deck shuddered and fell still as a low shadow passed slowly abeam, while the wary tug thrashed round with the ease of a London taxi. It was Ranger following their example.
Mackay called, 'Unusual signal, sir.' He controlled a chuckle. 'From the Wrens at the Signal Tower. Welcome home.''
Ransome stepped down. 'Tell them thanks, from all of us.'
But he was thinking of Eve. It was as if she had spoken those words just to him.
Lifelines
Commander Peregrine Bliss, DSO, Royal Navy, tossed his oak-leaved cap carelessly on to a locker and sat down in Ransome's other chair.
'All quiet, Ian? He looked bright-eyed and fresh, his powerful hands resting in his lap as if unused to inactivity.
Ransome nodded. The first day in Devonport dockyard and it had been a full one. People to see, at least five tours around the ship with various dockyard officials and other experts, not least the business of getting the major part of the ship's company away on leave again. It was only months since their last leave, but it felt like years.
He replied, 'They say at least three weeks, sir. There's apparently quite a queue for repairs or boiler-cleaning.' He recalled Hargrave's face when he had left the ship. Hargrave was changed in some way, perhaps more than he had realised. He had seemed uncertain, and could almost have been reluctant to leave Rob Roy now that the chance had arrived. Ransome wondered if it was because of his father and the lovely second officer named Ross Pearce. When they all got back there would be more changes waiting for them.
Ransome said, 'I know I have to stay aboard, sir, but I could let Lieutenant Sherwood go. One officer for occasional duty is enough for me, and I do have Ranger's Number One at my beck and call.'
Bliss examined his fingers. 'I sent word for Sherwood to stay.'
He looked up and flashed a white smile, like an impish schoolboy, but for his eyes. 'For a day or so. After that, well, it 'II be up to you, of course.'
Ransome glanced at the list of names on his desk, a copy of the one he had already sent on board Bedworth for Bliss's considera tion. He guessed he had not had time to read it yet. Bliss probably wanted Sherwood to transfer to another ship. Experienced watchkeeping officers were like gold, RNVR, or not. Once again Bliss proved him wrong.
i read your summary of people for promotion and so forth. To some 1 can agree, others will have to wait.' He saw Ransome's expression and added, 'You can take it higher of course, but -'
Ransome said, 'There will be several overdue for advancement this time, sir.'
Bliss went off at a tangent. 'I see that you've started papers for Ordinary Seaman Boyes. I gathered he was washed out the last time?'
'He was not properly examined, sir.'
Bliss grinned, in your opinion. We must trust these training chaps. Surely they know their stuff.'
Ransome glanced down the list, seeing their faces, knowing them like his own family. He said flatly, 'I have put Boyes down for a Mention in Despatches.'
Bliss answered, 'Saw that too. Good thinking. No promotion board could very well turn down an interview with a chap who has a M-i-D, eh? He threw back his head and laughed. 'God, you are a crafty one, Ian. I'd have done the same myself!'
He glanced around the cabin and nodded, suddenly grave. 'Stout little ships. If I couldn't drive a destroyer I'd have one of these old ladies any day.'
'About Lieutenant Sherwood, sir —'
There was a tap at the door and Bliss said casually, 'Hope you didn't mind, Ian. A bit high-handed maybe, but I sent my snotty to dig him out when I came aboard.'
Their eyes met. A
challenge. A threat.
Ransome called, 'Enter!'
Bliss said, 'Good show. I can explain to both of you together. It'll save time, eh?'
Sherwood glanced round for a chair and then leaned against the closed door. It was as close to showing his irritation at being summoned by Bliss as he could demonstrate.
Bliss regarded him impassively. 'I know you, Sherwood. Your record, and it's damn good.'
Sherwood sounded surprised. 'Thank you, sir.'
Ransome watched the pair of them. Sherwood was beginning to lose his Mediterranean tan already. It was strange that he always looked so pale, his skin, his hair, his lashes. Even his eyes, which were watching Bliss. Like a cat's, Ransome thought, deciding whether to purr or lash out with its claws.
'You've done some useful work in the flotilla too.' He wagged a finger. 'There isn't much I don't know.'
The guard came down. 'Really, sir.'
Bliss turned to Ransome. 'Fact is, Ian, we've found a new german magnetic mine.' He said to Sherwood without facing him, 'I believe you had a go at one last winter?'
Ransome saw the lieutenant nod, his defences falling slightly is his intelligent features recorded some memory — the mine, or another before it.
Bliss said, 'They found it in the Thames Estuary while we were in Sicily. Commander Foulerton said it was a more sophisticated version.' Then he did turn to Sherwood again. 'You know the name, I see?'
Sherwood nodded, a lock of fair hair dropping over his forehead. 'He was at HMS Vernon when I was there, sir. Taught me everything I know. A fine man.'
Bliss smiled gently. 'A regular officer too.' The smile vanished. 'Well, now we've found another one of the bastards, near portland Bill, provided it hasn't blown up yet. It's being kept a close secret — we mustn't let Jerry know we've got one.' He glanced briefly at Ransome. 'Not yet anyway.'
In those flashing seconds Ransome saw Sherwood's face change again. As if he had seen a ghost.
Ransome said quickly, 'I don't see why we should -'
In Danger's Hour Page 24