A Prayer for the Ship (23 page)

Although dawn should have made its full appearance, a heavy, wet mist, mingled with a soaking drizzle, kept the visibility down, and darkened the skies with a fast-moving blanket of grey vapour. It was very depressing, but typical.

With the first light, came a visible change too in his command. Instead of an air of woolly indecision, the hands grouped silently by their guns, matured and woven together as a crew overnight.

The only openly cheerful face was that of Paynton, who had taken part in, and recovered from, his first action like a nervous patient after a difficult operation. He was, literally, glad to be alive. Even as Royce slumped moodily against the port screen, he could hear the boy's soft humming, as he busied himself, oiling his Aldis lamp. He had taken to the “trade,” but as Kirby had put it, “They come, and they go.” Royce laughed aloud, and Raikes twisted his head sharply, his eyes shrewd.

“Told yer they'd learn, didn't I, sir?”

“You did, 'Swain. I thank the high heavens we had the chance.”

“Aircraft dead astern!” yelled Paynton suddenly.

As the signal rippled up the line of boats, the men forgot their chilled bodies, and numb fingers, and reached for the tools of their new profession. As he raised his misted glasses, Royce heard Denton's gruff voice from the Bofors.

“Nah then,
proper
shootin', this time!”

There it was, a black beetle, whose shape expanded and contracted as it felt its way through the gaps in the cloud.

“What do you make of her, Number One?” he called.

In his bright new duffle coat, and gleaming cap, with the fair hair curling from under the peak, Carver looked every inch the film star, about to make a momentous action or statement, which would bring an empire crashing.

Instead, after a long look, he said lamely, “I think it's a Wellington. But then again, I—”

“She's divin'!” snapped Raikes suddenly, and pulled himself protectively against the wheel.

Out from the cloudbank now, gathering body and menace, the plane skimmed lower.

Royce sighed. “Take your time, gunners, then open fire!”

The plane was pointing straight at him, its twin propellers making silver circles on either side of the bullet nose. Then a throaty rattle filled the air, and a hail of cannon shells changed the oily waters into a frenzied dance of flying spume. Then it was gone, darkening their decks for a brief instant with bat-like wings, the black crosses directly over the masthead.

With a roar of engines the pilot pulled out of his dive, and turned for the safety of the clouds.

Crack-crack-crack! went the Bofors, and in jealous haste the Oerlikon joined in, sending a spray of shells after the intruder. Above the thunder of their own power, they could still hear the more resonant note of the German circling, apparently dissatisfied with his first efforts.

“
That
wasn't no Wellington, sir!” shouted Trevor, from behind his gun. “Gave me quite a turn!”

There was a snigger, and Carver turned to the bridge for support. “Rather like one though, don't you think?” He was never at a loss.

“I think she's coming back!”

The aircraft zoomed into view, this time from the port quarter, her guns spitting as she dived at them. The rattle was so sharp, that it deprived their brains of power or motion.

Brownings first this time, then the others, and from the wreaths of smoke around Cameron's boat, it was plain to see they were being well supported.

“Two aircraft, bearing red four-five!”

Lower than the first plane, the twins swept in barely a hundred feet off the sea, their wing-edges afire with yellow, spitting flames. For God's sake, Kirby, do something, he cursed.

“Ninety degree turn to starboard!” yapped Paynton.

Thank heavens, Kirby was bringing his boats into line abreast, giving maximum fire-power to the aircraft. There would be no unhappy straggler to be picked off at leisure. They surged round, working up to full speed, the air splitting with their full-throated snarls, the water burst asunder with a vast wall of twisted bow-waves and rolling wakes. Every boat came to life, the professional and the amateurs, old hands and the new. Butchers' boys, clerks, bus conductors, and fishermen, with eyes narrowed, teeth gritted, and stomach muscles pulled in tight. Royce pulled the stripped Lewis into his shoulder, and squinted into the sights. It was all blurred. The grey background, the dark bottom-edge of torn water, and then into line the speeding, wafer-thin silhouette. He squeezed the trigger, and felt the ancient weapon pummel his shoulder. The first plane swung wildly away from the mounting cone of destruction, but the twin held his course. Something thudded into the bridge deck, and a chorus of shouts broke out from aft, and the plane was over them, revealing the shark-like underbelly. Twisting and turning, she swung away, but lacking the support of the other, she was done, for as she passed free of the boats, a savage line of bursts rippled her from nose to tail, making her stagger. Then, with a forlorn cough, one engine died, and a thin plume of black smoke billowed out of her cabin. Lower and lower, and the drizzle almost blotted her out, when at the point where sea met sky, she struck, bounced, and pancaked heavily, in a shower of spray, and vanished.

Of the other two planes there was no sign. There was only the flotilla, now needlessly speeding in their determined little line.

“Detach from group, and pick up survivors, if any,”
read Paynton.

“Blast!” He's done this deliberately, he thought furiously. Probably thinks I'll go off my head, because of Deith. “Acknowledge!” he snapped.

It was lonely being away from the others so soon, and with the throttles down, they pushed back into the teeth of the weather. He called the officers to the bridge again.

“What was all that damn shouting aft, Mid?”

Leach smiled nervously, his pink face pinched and haggard. “Sorry about that, sir. The Brownings were running short of ammo, and the loader, Cleavely, didn't arrive. Both my chaps reckoned they could have finished that Jerry, if they could have given him the whole magazine-full.”

“Well, have a word with him. I won't have anybody going chicken in the middle of a stunt like that!”

Was that me talking? The harsh captain? What price nervousness now? He turned quickly to Carver, lowering his eyes. “Well?”

“Oh, jolly good, sir. I said this is a lucky ship. Just a few more holes for the Chippy, and that's the lot! I'll get the Jerry airmen to clean the boat up, if we find them!” He laughed.

“I can manage without your humour, thank you!” he snapped. He saw Carver's face stiffen. “And I'll trouble you to brush up your aircraft recognition. Make yourself useful!”

He stalked to the front of the bridge, furious with Carver, and more so with himself. They think I'm jumpy, too hide-bound, that's what it is. He looked quickly at Raikes, but the Coxswain's face was quite expressionless. He was aware that Leach had gone forward to supervise the scrambling nets, and noted with childish satisfaction that he looked extremely miserable.

Raikes glanced over his shoulder. “Go and fetch the new ensign, Bunts, you'll find it in my cabin.”

Captain and Coxswain stood alone, side by side, as they had on the sinking M.T.B., Royce thin-lipped and strained, and Raikes steady-eyed and thoughtful.

“You remember that time we shot up the oil-tanker, off the Bight, sir?”

“I remember. I hadn't been aboard very long at the time.” “That's right, sir. I recall the C.O. saying afterwards that he thought you'd make a very good officer. You know why, sir?”

“You tell me.”

Raikes looked steadfastly ahead, at the small white horses. His face was grimly determined. “Beggin' your pardon, sir, but he said it was because you'd managed to joke about it, although you'd been through a private hell of your own.”

Royce felt a lump in his throat. “That was quite the politest telling-off I've ever had! Blast you, Raikes!”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“And thanks very much, too.”

“'S all right, sir. I've served long enough to know that whatever ship you're in, gashboat or flagship, the junior officers always think their C.O's past it! You'll never change the Andrew.”

Royce felt fresh and clean, and forgot his inner pain, and when the signalman returned to say he couldn't find the ensign, he was very tempted to say that he had only been sent out of the room while his captain got a fatherly “bottle.” Instead, he said, “Well, get some cocoa then!”

They eventually found the airmen floating in their brightly coloured life jackets, their faces turned up towards the boat in a trio of shivering, coughing wretchedness.

The scrambling net splashed down, and two seamen, Jenkins and Archer, climbed down until their legs were lapped by the icy water. Denton kept a watchful eye from the rail, while Carver and Leach made up the reception committee. Royce noted with great satisfaction that the gunners maintained a vigilant watch on the skies while the boat lay motionless, although their curiosity must have driven them frantic. Yet another lesson learned.

The three airmen stood dripping on the deck, gazing round in ill-concealed astonishment. They must have thought it unlikely they were going to be found.

One of them, a small, pudding-faced youth, held his shattered hand inside his tunic, his features twisted in agony.

The tall one, fair-haired and tight-lipped, snapped at him angrily, and then drew himself very straight, as Royce stepped down from the bridge.

“I shut be greatfull ef you gould attend to mein unterofficer, Captain. He is slightly vounded!” he said stiffly.

Royce nodded, and Leach stepped forward with the firstaid satchel.

The other German, a hard-faced brute of a man, with a shock of dark curls, snarled angrily. “It's a pity ve dedn't get you first!” he snapped. His accent was slightly American.

The officer rattled a string of obvious harsh comments, and the airman stood stiffly to attention, looking rather ridiculous.

The officer bowed slightly. “The man is a fool, Captain. Ignore him. He has not learned to, er, how do you say, play the game?” He smiled briefly.

“Take them below, Mid, with an armed guard.”

As the strangers were led below, Royce shook his head and sighed. “I don't know, Number One. I thought they'd look different somehow. You know, the Master Race and all that. They're very like us to look at, aren't they?”

“If I may say so, the comparison ends there. Cocky little bastards!”

Leach came back panting. “All tucked up nicely. Two survivors and three Jerries. In the wardroom and P.O.s' mess respectively.”

Royce climbed the bridge ladder, then stopped, his foot poised halfway, and looked down into their expectant faces. “By the way, I think you both did very well. Oh, and Number One, I'm sorry I bit your ears off. It was completely unjustified, so forget it.”

Carver beamed. “I'm sure I deserved it, sir!”

“No, I forgot something. But I was reminded of it just in time,” he said quietly, and hurried up the ladder.

They had an inspiring welcome at the base, complete with sirens, and witty signals from every direction.

Not the least of Royce's pleasures was to see that as the three captured Germans were being escorted ashore, one of the war correspondents of his Rosyth trip was standing open-mouthed on the jetty, and looking suitably impressed.

He joined the other two in the wardroom as soon as they had snugged down. “Won't worry you now, blokes, but there's just one little bit of advice I can give you to save any embarrassment in the future. If you get yarning with the other officers, never mention those who've ‘had it.' No matter how much they meant to you.”

He felt suddenly tired and heavy, and looked dully from Carver to Leach, trying to fathom out their reactions to his words, which to him already seemed meaningless and pointless.

Carver was holding out one slim hand, studying it thoughtfully. “Look at that, shaking like a jelly!” he mused, and for a moment, Royce imagined he had not heard. “I think that idea you've just mentioned is a damn good one. When a chap has been through what you've put up with in the past, I think it must be extremely necessary to sever all strings, and especially when you've lost a friend or two.” He nodded several times, like an old man, his fair hair flopping over his high brow.

Leach looked up defiantly. “I wasn't a bit scared! I couldn't see a blessed thing from down aft! But that M.T.B. burning like that . . . I kept thinking, it might have been us!”

Royce shrugged heavily. “Anyway, it wasn't us. And by God it never will be if I can do anything about it!” he said savagely.

Carver stood up slowly, unwinding himself like a cat, and stretched himself languidly, wringing from his tall frame all the discomforts of cold, tiredness, and anxiety. “It's my humble opinion, sir, that we've nothing to worry about, so long as we have a professional for a C.O.”