The White Guns (1989) (16 page)

Beri-Beri's eyes crinkled. 'Serve him right!'

They were both on the bridge again as the gunboat altered course into the Fehmarn Belt and ploughed heavily through an offshore swell, the early blink of an island lighthouse barely reflecting on the dull-coloured water.

The watches changed and the two lieutenants settled down to watch the dusk making shadows on the land while garlands of gulls dipped and pitched in the bow-wave, rosy pink in the fading light.

Marriott said, 'Good lookout tonight. There are several Swedish ships reported in the area.'

Evans waited by the signal locker. 'Darken ship, sir?'

'Yes. I don't want any more
strangers
slipping past us because they've seen us first!'

One of the lookouts laughed. The
Ronsis
was just another memory.

'Coming below, Beri-Beri?'

Fairfax, who had the watch, coughed discreetly. 'I think he's dropped off, sir.'

Marriott saw Kidd's fair hair flapping untidily in the breeze over the screen and smiled. He had fallen asleep in the bridge chair, one arm swinging in time with the boat's uneven motion.

He said, 'Leave him. He's earned a rest.'

Marriott lowered himself to the wardroom and saw Lowes lying on a bench, covered with a blanket and breathing heavily.

Marriott pushed past to his small cabin and wondered what he ought to do about him. Lowes was only pretending to sleep, and he had eaten hardly anything since they had slipped their moorings in Kiel.

He sat down in his cabin and watched his oilskin swaying from its hook behind the door. It was good to have Beri-Beri here, to know he was going to be around. For a while anyway. In the navy
a while
was valuable. He did not feel like resting but decided he would write a letter to Penny. It could go off as soon as they returned to harbour. She would at least know that he cared and was thinking of her. He rested his head on one hand as he stared at the writing paper and wished he had not watched the swaying oilskin. Seasickness could hit anyone, even the old Jacks –

He swung round, startled as the handset jangled above his bunk.

'Sorry to call you, sir.' It was Fairfax. Apologising again. 'Sparks has picked up a signal.' He swallowed hard.
'Mayday,
sir.'

'I'm coming up. Call the cox'n!'

'He's already here, sir –' But Marriott was already bounding up the ladder. He found Kidd wide-awake and Fairfax ducked beneath the protective hood on the ready-use chart-table.

'Got a fix yet?'

'No.' Beri-Beri shrugged. 'But I've got a nasty feeling.'

Fairfax withdrew his head and shoulders. 'W/T can't get more than a garble, sir. But she's one of ours,
that
Sparks does know.'

Long John Silver slid past them to his place at the rear of the bridge. Still a team. No matter what.

Marriott looked at his friend. 'Well, what about your feeling?'

'I think she's the ML that sailed ahead of you.' He added softly, 'The one I should have taken passage in.'

Marriott moved restlessly about the bridge. Beri-Beri did not have to elaborate. The ML had been taking the bulk of the explosives for the job in Neustadt. 801 only carried detonators and some steel jacks from the engineering department.

Rae stood by the voicepipes, wide-awake as ever when he was on watch. He was still astonished at getting his hook from the Skipper. It would show his family he'd not been completely unrewarded.

He lowered his face to a voicepipe and snapped, 'Bridge!'

Then he stood up and said, 'It's a fire, sir. Somebody's replied to the Mayday, Sparks thinks it's a supply ship somewhere astern of us.'

'Is the Chief up and about?'

Rae nodded in the darkness. 'He is, sir.' It sounded like
of course.

Beri-Beri watched his indecision as he moved about the bridge.

'Might not be a
serious
fire.' That was Fairfax.

Marriott snapped, 'It's a Mayday, not an invitation to a party!' He relented immediately. 'See if you can find her call-sign.' He felt Silver move past him. 'We could try to call her up on R/T.'

Marriott was thinking aloud as voices echoed tinnily up and down the pipes, and an occasional stammer of morse escaped above the sea noises around them.

Down in the chartroom again, Marriott stared at the calculations and bearings until his mind ached.

Fairfax said, 'I think she's around the next headland, sir.' He rested his forefinger on the coastline. 'There's another lighthouse beyond there. Also it might explain why our radio reception is so bad.'

Marriott stared at him in the reflected chart-light. 'Good thinking. With luck the lighthouse keepers might summon assistance.'

He made up his mind. 'Pass the word, Number One. Full revs in three minutes!' Fairfax nodded, still feeling Marriott's praise when seconds earlier he had felt the lash of his contempt. Then he bolted for the ladder.

Beri-Beri was watching him, his eyes hidden as his body leaned this way and that as if to follow his shadow on the bulkhead.

'If you close the land now you'll be right amongst the sweeping area, but you realise that, don't you? I know we're safe enough with our depth, but there may be a few drifters around.' He reached out and took his arm. 'But that
is
what you intend, isn't it?'

Marriott returned to the chart, the coastline and pencilled markings blurred as he tried to control his racing thoughts.

It was over. Done with. And anyway you couldn't leave them to brew up without trying something.
Not one of your own.

He said between his teeth, 'When we do find the bastard I'll lay odds he's put the fire out and is on his way to Neustadt!'

Beri-Beri watched him, feeling his sudden anxiety. Torment was a truer word.

Silver swayed down the ladder with his recognition book, more dog-eared and stained than ever.

He said bluntly, 'She's Lieutenant Duncan's ML, sir. Call-sign
Vagrant.'

'Yes, I see.' Marriott tried to clear his mind. He could see the ML's skipper quite clearly in his thoughts. A round-faced, cheerful Devonian from the River Exe. He had been in Coastal Forces for all of his service, and two years in command of this ML.

Now he was out there somewhere.
Fire.
Feared, dreaded more than anything else by sailors.

Fairfax called down. 'Ready, sir! Course to steer is South-Sixty-East!'

'Very well. Half speed. Bring her round, Number One. I shall be in the W/T office.'

Down in the hutchlike compartment with its shining bank of instruments and flickering dials, Telegraphist White peered over his shoulder with surprise.

'Nothin' more, sir!'

'Try R/T.' How dry his throat had become, and his back felt like ice.

He watched the telegraphist switch on, his eyes on Knocker White's fingers moving the dial, seeking the other vessel. Why did they call Whites
Knocker?

'Hello
Vagrant,
this is
Otter,
do you read me –'

He felt the hull begin to jerk as the screws beat the sea into a mounting bank of foam. But the motion was easier. MGB 801 was at home in these conditions.

'Dead, sir.'

'Keep trying.' Marriott clambered back to the bridge, aware that every sheltered place was crammed with silent, watching figures.

'Full speed, Number One.' He groped his way to the chair where Beri-Beri was clinging to a handrail, his hair rippling, standing on end as the hull bounded forward, suddenly unrestricted as if cut free from a leash.

'Lighthouse, fine on the starboard bow, sir!'

They all saw the edge of the long beam waver then fade as the far-off lantern completed another turn. Regular, constant, reliable. No wonder old sea pilots called them their Silent Sentinels.

Rae said, 'No more signals, sir.'

Marriott gripped the back of the chair hard. In his mind's eye he could see the hidden mines, the ones which those sweepers were supposed to clear at first light, before he had even arrived here.

He raised his glasses and saw the tremendous arrowhead of white-banked water surging back from the bows. It was impossible to hold them steady.
Where the hell was she?

Silver had relieved Rae at the voicepipes so that the bridge could have the benefit of his cat's eyes.

He yelled, 'Signal from HQ, sir! Plain language!'

Marriott knew what it would say. He replied, 'Repeat it!'

'Fire reported in area south of Staber Huk. No further details. Attention is drawn to –'

Marriott snapped, "That's enough! We should see something soon!'

He heard someone retching and knew it was Lowes. Another rude awakening for him.

The hard glare of the lighthouse swept over the black water. It was a dangerous place for ships which had too much draft and too little power in their engines.

'Dead ahead, sir! Fire on the water!'

Marriott watched in silence, feeling Fairfax and Beri-Beri pressing against him on either side while they trained their night glasses on the flickering glow of yellow and orange flames. It was like being carried against his will. As in a dream when you can't run away or hide.

Fairfax shouted, 'Fire-parties to your stations! Stand by rafts and heaving lines!'

Marriott tried again to moisten his lips. 'Remain on this course. We must hold up to windward.' But it was like hearing someone else giving the orders. A robot.

Men blundered about in the darkness, sometimes blinded by the sweeping impartial glare from the lighthouse.

Marriott said, 'Half speed all engines.' The keepers must have telephoned about the fire. Germans seeing their old enemy in danger, but the code of the sea too strong to challenge.

The bows seemed to slide down and hurl the spray as high as the masthead. Men with torches were groping along the slippery foredeck, others called out for assistance, or cursed horribly as they fell over some immovable object.

'All ready, sir!' Fairfax was back on the bridge again, breathing fast, eyes shining in the glow.

Marriott raised his heavy binoculars very slowly and then stared at the fire on the water.

The outline of the ML's hull was sharper now, like a black line beneath a flicker of fire and steam, the latter probably from hoses and extinguishers.

Beri-Beri whispered, 'They've not got it under control. My guess is it was the engineroom. We might be able to grapple before she loses all her power!'

Marriott barely heard. He had seen a few tiny figures momentarily in silhouette against the flames. How small and vulnerable they looked.

'Call them up. Let them know we're coming.' He doubted if anyone had the time to man the W/T office, and he saw Silver's Aldis lamp clattering away, telling them in his own fashion that they were no longer alone.