Wickersley folded the paper across his lap and stared unseeingly at the glass which had quietly appeared at his elbow. Twenty-three years ago. Yet in the cool silence of the library it seemed like yesterday. Like now.
Were we really like that? One figure remained fixed in his drifting thoughts. He could see Chesnaye’s face outlined against the smoke and flames, and seemed to hear his voice.
Suddenly Wickersley was on his feet and groping through the neatly laid lines of papers and magazines. He found the Radio Times and thumbed back to the previous night’s programmes. His heart was thumping painfully, but he knew somehow that he would find the answer there.
There it was, another small item near the bottom of the page.
Tonight viewers will see a short film from the Pacific of Britain’s latest air-to-surface nuclear missile. The film, presented with the co-operation of the United States Navy, will show the missile being homed on to a moored target ship. The vessel used was an old British hulk, once named Saracen.
Wickersley sat down in his chair and stared emptily at the shadows.
So, even at the end, they had been together.
End
HMS Saracen Page 35