Knife Edge (2004) (7 page)

“There she is! Starboard bow!” The seaman’s oilskinned arm showed briefly above the choppy water as the helm went over, and the motor’s pitch eased for the first time since they had climbed aboard. It had begun to rain, too, warm and refreshing against the skin, but making the lights along the shore seem far away, alien.

Ross Blackwood took a firmer grip as the coxwain swung the little craft on to a different course. There were only three men in the boat’s crew, shining occasionally like wet seals as the tiller swung this way and that, and prior to this nobody had said a word. They knew their jobs, and any attempt at conversation was pointless anyway. He could feel Irwin pressed beside him, bouncing up and down with the hull’s lively motion, twisting around from time to time to peer astern, but otherwise keeping to himself.

A dark, wet night; it could have been anywhere, but suddenly, rising over them like a grey breakwater, was the ship. No challenges or flashing signals, no fuss at all. One moment they had the black waters to themselves, dashing it seemed into nowhere, and now she was here. H.M.S.
Taunton
, one of the TON class, so called because every ship’s name ended in ‘ton’, had been originally designed and built as a small coastal minesweeper. Dozens had been constructed during and in the wake of the Korean War, with every kind of non-magnetic material to lessen the chance of
disaster. As some wag had said at Naval Operations, they must have fast been running out of ‘tons’ when the last vessels were launched. Now they had changed roles, and most had been relisted as patrol vessels, ideal for this part of the world.

They were almost alongside, and Ross saw the
Taunton
’s brightly painted pendant number,
P1095
, passing just above his shoulder. A new life for a veteran ship. She must be at least fourteen years old by now. Launched at the famous yard at Cowes on the Isle of Wight, which had been the birthplace of so many wooden vessels, motor torpedo boats, rescue launches, and sweepers. Now they were back to building luxury yachts for those who could afford them; and there were a growing number who could. He had been serving in Ulster when the great new liner
Queen Elizabeth II
, ‘QE2’ as she was already affectionately known, had made her maiden crossing to the States. The year his father had been killed in Cyprus, and a young marine had died in a mean Belfast suburb. It still made no sense.

The boat squealed against the grey side, and somebody jumped down to fix the hoisting gear. Wasting no time.

Figures loomed out of the rainy dimness, a hand reached down to grasp his elbow as he climbed a short ladder and on to the deck.

A voice murmured, “Welcome aboard, sir.”

Another called, “Take up the slack! Stand by to hoist away!”

Irwin said, “They’ve done this sort of thing a few times before, by the look of it.”

“This way, sir!”

Somewhere a bell clanged, and Ross felt the wet deck shiver into life. They were moving, even as the boat was being hoisted and manhandled into position abaft the squat
funnel. It was strangely exciting, like going back, and yet somehow new. The hot air and smell of diesel, the whirr of fans, even the sluice of sea and spray drifting from the bows. Under way . . .

Taunton
, like her many sisters, was a far cry from frigate or destroyer. Less than four hundred tons, and some hundred and fifty feet in length, with only two Bofors guns as her main armament, she was exactly right for her new role, and with a company of thirty, including her four officers, she was the last of her kind.

Taunton
’s commanding officer appeared for a few seconds. A quick handshake, a voice in the darkness. “All your people are below. One’s in the sickbay, I’m afraid. Fell down a ladder when he came over the side. Thought it best to keep him aboard. No sense in wasting time, or drawing attention to my ship.”

Somebody murmured in his ear and he said, “Time to chat later when we’re clear of the channel.” Only a lieutenant, but
Taunton
’s captain. And proud of it.

They groped and stumbled after their guide. And then, suddenly, there was light, the ship’s sounds and smells crowding around them.

The commanding officer’s cabin was cramped and neat, with a bunk and a desk, and a battery of telephones. There was a framed photograph above the desk, the glass of which was cracked. The little TON craft could be very lively in a storm, not to mention a typhoon.

As one of the Operations staff had commented, “The old TONS roll on wet grass!” He had served in one himself. A ‘small ship man’. It was always there.

Their guide proved to be a midshipman, the youngest member of this small wardroom.

Curiously, Ross looked at the photograph, and recognized the lieutenant now up there on his crowded little
bridge, feeling his way clear of all other shipping. He was standing with his bride outside a church doorway.

The deck tilted steeply and the engine vibration became more insistent.

Irwin said, “Cracking it on a bit. What can she do?”

The midshipman smiled, and it made him look like the schoolboy he had so recently been. “She can manage fifteen knots, sir.” The smile broadened. “With a following wind, that is!”

He pointed to a file of signals.

“The C.O. left these for you, sir.” He looked at Ross. “I’ve got some food laid on.”

He left the cabin, his foot lifting automatically over a coaming, in time with the lowering of his head as he ducked through the door.

Irwin said, “Fifteen knots. Jesus Christ, we should have taken the Star Ferry,
with a following wind
!” He unfastened his coat. “Well, let’s get on with it.”

Then he leaned back against a pile of folded lifejackets, his eyes very calm again. Like some one else looking out.

“I’ll go through it first with you, Ross. Then we’ll get the others into the picture.”

Ross thought of the other lieutenant who had taken a different route to join the
Taunton
. Debonair, very sure of himself.

“What about Piggott?” He had almost called him ‘Blondie’.

Irwin shrugged. “Far as I’m concerned, you’re second in command. My decision, O.K.?”

There was a tap at the door and it swung inboard without waiting for permission. It was a petty officer in a grubby boiler suit, an empty mug in one hand.

“Sorry to trouble you, gents.” He looked directly at Ross. “One of your chaps is askin’ for you.”

The door closed and Irwin said, “Very matey lot, aren’t they?” It seemed to amuse him. “I’ll leave you on your own. Ten minutes?”

The door opened again, and there was a brief blare of music, probably from the main messdeck, which would be more crammed than ever with the marines aboard. A voice yelled, “Turn that bloody row off, for Gawd’s sake!”

There was silence again but for the everpresent shipboard noises, and the occasional sluice of the sea against the hull.

They faced each other across the small cabin, lieutenant and sergeant.

“Sergeant Blackwood, sir. I thought I should report to you, and not wait until the briefing tomorrow.” He swallowed, but did not remove his gaze.

Ross said, “You must be a mind-reader. I was thinking of making my number, too. But I expected you might have your head down.”

Steve Blackwood looked past him. “In this ship, sir? Not likely.”

Ross gestured to the other chair. “Well, I’m glad you came. It can’t have been easy.” It was not what he wanted to say at all. Like strangers. Or enemies. “I’ve often thought about this moment. After all the years, the uncertainties. As it was, I almost didn’t get assigned to this mission. I bloody nearly put in my papers.”

“Resigned? Leave the Royals? Why the hell—”

Ross reclipped a deadlight over one of the scuttles. He had not noticed it rattling before.

“Sit down, will you?” He turned abruptly and thrust out his hand. “Look, we’ve met. That’s what matters.” Just a momentary flicker, a hesitation. He had been about to refuse. Like Houston’s old sergeant, who had saved his life.

But the handshake was strong. Like the man. His cousin.

“I went to the house. When all . . . well, what were they, salesmen? When they were there. I’d heard about the Colonel, of course, everybody had. And I knew about Hawks Hill. I just wanted to be there. To be sure.” He broke off, as if unable to put it into words.

“I wish I’d known.”

The eyes challenged him again, searching for something.

Ross thought of Irwin. “We’re in this together.” He smiled unconsciously. “This is like part of a bad film, isn’t it?”

“We’ll not let you down.” The slightest pause. “Sir.”

“I’m the one who should be saying that.” There were feet on a ladder, voices: Irwin and perhaps the
Taunton
’s skipper. It had to be now.

He saw the surprise on the other man’s face, the features like and unlike his own.

“This is as good a time as any. At least, I hope it is.”

He took a piece of folded velvet from his pocket and laid it carefully on the desk. It was the old, much polished badge, the Globe and Laurel. The one in the photograph.

“This is for you. It was your mother’s.”

The door was open and Irwin was inside the cabin, his hair almost brushing some pipes that ran across the deckhead, his eyes full of questions. Two of
Taunton
’s officers were close behind him.

“All done, then?”

Ross could remember exactly, as if it had been this morning, when his sister had given him the square of velvet.
Just in case you meet up with him.
It was probably the worst thing he could have done.

He looked at the desk. The piece of velvet still lay there, but the badge had gone.

It was not over. Maybe it was only just beginning.

Taunton
’s commanding officer had lit a cigarette, and the other officer was filling his pipe. Some coffee or tea had appeared, and some one had laid out a chart on top of the bunk.

Ross heard himself answer, “Ready when you are, sir.”

Something fell heavily on the deck above and feet thudded across the wet planking in response.

The wind was getting up; he could feel it. But all he could think about was the stranger walking alone through Hawks Hill, perhaps thinking of what might have been, or, for only a few moments, being a part of it all.

He moved closer to the chart, another voice speaking in his mind.

It’s what we are. What we do.

He glanced at his hand and the scars where the broken wire stay had ripped the skin. They were healing well, and he was surprised to see that the hand was completely steady. Relaxed. Like seeing some one else.

It was true, then. He
was
ready.

Ross Blackwood raised himself carefully on his elbows and waited for his breathing to recover. He felt the hard, uneven ground digging into his body; it was like being on another exercise, except that this was the real thing. He could still feel the tossing discomfort of the little boat which had brought their party ashore in darkness, minds dazed by the sickening motion and a continuous rain.

He peered at the sky. The rain had stopped, and even the sounds of sea and wind were silent, as if a giant door had been slammed.

He pictured the chart and the hand-drawn maps, which they had studied and discussed until every one had run out of questions. Or choices. There were none left.

In total darkness,
Taunton
had closed with this island and waited offshore while the marines and their weapons were landed, at any second expecting an alarm, or a challenge, even a burst of gunfire. They could have had the place to themselves. Some one had found breath enough, after scrambling through the shallows and flopping down to cover the rest of the landing party, to suggest they might find themselves completely alone when daylight found them.

Ross did not pull down his glove to look at his watch. It would be dawn within the hour. But the sky was still
hidden in cloud; not even a star had shown itself since they had cast off from
Taunton
, no margin between land and sky.

Hard to accept that so much had happened in so short a time. The marines had crowded into the ship’s main messdeck while Irwin and
Taunton
’s skipper explained the layout and the approaches to this gaunt little island, Raven’s, one of many scattered across the South China Sea. Barren and uninhabited for the most part, except by fishermen or local craft sheltering from bad weather, they were not a safe or wise refuge if the wind rose to storm force. This island took its English name not from a bird but the master of a passenger vessel which had caught fire and been driven aground in the twenties. The master, one Daniel Raven, had used every trick and no little courage to save nearly all his passengers. He had died shortly afterwards, but his name lived on.

Ross wiped his mouth with the glove. The intelligence which had brought them here must have been good.
Taunton
’s skipper was the last person he could imagine who would want to share Raven’s fate.

Only today, while the hands were being piped to breakfast, they had passed another patrol vessel,
Yelverton
,
Taunton
’s exact twin to all but those who served in either. A brief blink of signals, no alteration of course to exchange greetings or gossip; it had been an ordinary crossing of patrol areas, had any one been watching.

He thought of the faces around him as Irwin had listed the risks. Young and eager for the most part. No sign of anxiety, or the fear he would recognize. Only the more experienced showed any uncertainty, and there had been a question or two, a few nods in confirmation.

Even the marine who had fallen and injured his leg had been present, ignoring the jokes thrown in his direction by
his mates, and openly distraught at the prospect of being left behind.

So where do I stand?
He had seen Steve Blackwood pointing out something on one of the maps.

Irwin had said, “Of course, you were in the Malayan flare-up before, weren’t you? Well, we don’t want that happening again just yet. Big Brother over the border would see it as open provocation, and the United Nations would say we were still trying to cling to the days of Empire!”