to starboard, sir.’
Marshall trained his powerful glasses and watched it for several moments. One of Browning’s security boats. Making sure.
‘Well done. Disregard it now and carry on with your sweep.’
‘Yessir.’ It was the lookout he had previously choked off for gossiping. But his voice sounded slightly mollified by the brief praise.
On down the loch, with the swell growing more noticeable as they ploughed towards the sea.
Gerrard seemed to have no difficulty in holding the yacht’s sternlight in his periscope. It would be good practice for him. Start with something simple.
Warwick’s round face appeared above the bridge screen, shining with spray.
‘All wires secured and stowed, sir!’ He sounded breathless.
‘Very well.’ And there they will stay until we tie up again in a home port. ‘Unless’ … He said, ‘Fall out your people and send them below.’ He hesitated. ‘Then check the fore hatch again, Sub.’
The boy vanished and Buck said, ‘I think he’s enjoying all this.’
Marshall glanced at him. ‘Probably. What about you? You’ve been eighteen months in submarines, I understand.’
Buck sifted through his answers and settled on, ‘Makes a change, sir.’
Feet scraped on the ladder and a man tried to struggle on to the bridge even as the first of Warwick’s casing party crowded over the rear of the conning-tower.
Marshall snapped, ‘What the
hell
are you doing?’
Buck said, ‘He wants to be sick, sir.’
The seaman from the casing, already cold and sodden with spray, stared at the wretched man unfeelingly. One said, ‘Shove over, Ginger, and let the real men get below!’
Marshall added, ‘Send him down. If he wants to be sick he’ll use a bucket.’
He heard the man retching and bubbling as he dropped from view. He bit his lip. He had been harsh with the luckless seaman. But once at sea, with just the officer of the watch and his lookouts on the bridge at any given time, one such incident could cause disaster. A sudden attack, the need to crash dive, and men could be struggling in an open hatch even as the boat plunged under. Gerrard, who was in charge of the control room, should have known better.
Warwick came on to the bridge and shook himself like a puppy emerging from the rain.
‘All secure sir.’ He grinned. ‘Really.’
Marshall smiled. Perhaps he had been like Warwick once. He must have been. It hardly seemed possible.
‘Right. You can go below.’
Warwick asked shyly, ‘Can I stay here, sir?’
‘Of course.’ Marshall raised his glasses and watched the yacht lift and stagger across the first of the inshore swells. ‘But hold tight.’
He tried to picture the land which was sliding into the darkness abeam. Nobody would see them pass. Somewhere above the clouds an aircraft droned faintly until it was lost in the noise of diesels. Marshall thought suddenly of Frenzel as he had been that lunchtime. Cheerful, confident that his department was ready to move. Above the engineer’s bunk Marshall had seen a picture of his wife and small son. That had been a bad moment.
‘Captain, sir!’ It was Gerrard on the voicepipe.
‘What is it?’
‘Coming on to new course now. Two-seven-zero, that is if the
Lima
has checked her own compass properly.’
‘Very good.’ He waited knowing, there would be more.
‘Sorry about that seaman, sir. Stupid of me.’
‘That’s all right Bob. I expect you’ve got your hands full.’
A chuckle. Relieved, ‘Enough, sir. But the lads seem to be able to manage her. She handles very smoothly. Touch wood.’
Marshall stood upright again. Gerrard’s personal worries could be almost anything. War or not, mortgages had to be paid, bills met, even if there was precious little to buy. His wife, Valerie, would be alone once more. He wondered if she was wearing the shawl Gerrard had bought her in Malta.
Warwick asked, ‘Do you think we’ll get really close to them, sir?’
Them
. ‘The Jerries, you mean?’ He
Marshall trained his powerful glasses and watched it for several moments. One of Browning’s security boats. Making sure.
‘Well done. Disregard it now and carry on with your sweep.’
‘Yessir.’ It was the lookout he had previously choked off for gossiping. But his voice sounded slightly mollified by the brief praise.
On down the loch, with the swell growing more noticeable as they ploughed towards the sea.
Gerrard seemed to have no difficulty in holding the yacht’s sternlight in his periscope. It would be good practice for him. Start with something simple.
Warwick’s round face appeared above the bridge screen, shining with spray.
‘All wires secured and stowed, sir!’ He sounded breathless.
‘Very well.’ And there they will stay until we tie up again in a home port. ‘Unless’ … He said, ‘Fall out your people and send them below.’ He hesitated. ‘Then check the fore hatch again, Sub.’
The boy vanished and Buck said, ‘I think he’s enjoying all this.’
Marshall glanced at him. ‘Probably. What about you? You’ve been eighteen months in submarines, I understand.’
Buck sifted through his answers and settled on, ‘Makes a change, sir.’
Feet scraped on the ladder and a man tried to struggle on to the bridge even as the first of Warwick’s casing party crowded over the rear of the conning-tower.
Marshall snapped, ‘What the
hell
are you doing?’
Buck said, ‘He wants to be sick, sir.’
The seaman from the casing, already cold and sodden with spray, stared at the wretched man unfeelingly. One said, ‘Shove over, Ginger, and let the real men get below!’
Marshall added, ‘Send him down. If he wants to be sick he’ll use a bucket.’
He heard the man retching and bubbling as he dropped from view. He bit his lip. He had been harsh with the luckless seaman. But once at sea, with just the officer of the watch and his lookouts on the bridge at any given time, one such incident could cause disaster. A sudden attack, the need to crash dive, and men could be struggling in an open hatch even as the boat plunged under. Gerrard, who was in charge of the control room, should have known better.
Warwick came on to the bridge and shook himself like a puppy emerging from the rain.
‘All secure sir.’ He grinned. ‘Really.’
Marshall smiled. Perhaps he had been like Warwick once. He must have been. It hardly seemed possible.
‘Right. You can go below.’
Warwick asked shyly, ‘Can I stay here, sir?’
‘Of course.’ Marshall raised his glasses and watched the yacht lift and stagger across the first of the inshore swells. ‘But hold tight.’
He tried to picture the land which was sliding into the darkness abeam. Nobody would see them pass. Somewhere above the clouds an aircraft droned faintly until it was lost in the noise of diesels. Marshall thought suddenly of Frenzel as he had been that lunchtime. Cheerful, confident that his department was ready to move. Above the engineer’s bunk Marshall had seen a picture of his wife and small son. That had been a bad moment.
‘Captain, sir!’ It was Gerrard on the voicepipe.
‘What is it?’
‘Coming on to new course now. Two-seven-zero, that is if the
Lima
has checked her own compass properly.’
‘Very good.’ He waited knowing, there would be more.
‘Sorry about that seaman, sir. Stupid of me.’
‘That’s all right Bob. I expect you’ve got your hands full.’
A chuckle. Relieved, ‘Enough, sir. But the lads seem to be able to manage her. She handles very smoothly. Touch wood.’
Marshall stood upright again. Gerrard’s personal worries could be almost anything. War or not, mortgages had to be paid, bills met, even if there was precious little to buy. His wife, Valerie, would be alone once more. He wondered if she was wearing the shawl Gerrard had bought her in Malta.
Warwick asked, ‘Do you think we’ll get really close to them, sir?’
Them
. ‘The Jerries, you mean?’ He
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