The White Guns (1989) by Douglas Reeman Page A

particularly hairy raid or close-action.
     
What is left of our poor squadron? ... Twenty crosses in a row!
     
To be no more. Because of some brasshat's order they had been wiped out, something which even the enemy had failed to achieve.
     
He searched Meikle's features for some indication of his feelings, but there was nothing.
     
Marriott said abruptly, 'So that's all they care!'
     
Meikle did not rise to the bitterness. 'I am not completely blind, Marriott, nor am I a fool. I saw the display of medals when I arrived when you were ordered to change into your Number Fives, knowing it would further illuminate that I have none.'
     
His tone was completely calm and Marriott could imagine him using it when summing up the evidence of guilt at a court martial, or in his pre-war legal days when Spruce had known him.
     
Meikle continued in the same unemotional way, 'Of course I am aware of your courage, just as I admire it in others. The policeman on his beat in the blitz, the nurse staying with her patients beside a landmine or unexploded bomb.' His lips moved in the hint of a smile. 'There has been all manner of gallantry in the past six years. Even the conscientious objector driving his ambulance under fire is not without it.' His tone hardened. 'Although I dare say there are no medals for him.'
     
Marriott felt beaten and drained. 'Is that all, sir?'
     
Meikle ignored the question. 'How long have you known Lieutenant Glazebrook?'
     
Marriott regarded him coldly. 'I know him well enough. He is my senior officer and . . .'
     
'Lucky for you too.' He leaned forward to emphasise each point. 'When you were on passage here, Glazebrook detached his boat to investigate a shipping-movement report, yes?'
     
Marriott nodded, caught out by the change of tack. It was odd that it had happened just two days ago and he had all but forgotten it.
     
Meikle turned another page. 'They were fishing-boats under enemy control.'
     
'That was common enough, sir.'
     
'Why are you always springing to someone's defence or taking a general criticism as something personal? I was about to say that Glazebrook signalled them to stop and to obey his signals.' He closed the folder and kept his eyes on the grave-faced lieutenant opposite him as he added, 'He says in his report that they tried to avoid him, in fact to escape. So he closed with them and dropped two depth charges between them. I don't have to spell it out to you what must have happened to the fishing-boats with wooden hulls at close quarters – not someone of your obvious experience.'
     
Marriott saw Cuff's face as the mass of German sailors had advanced towards the gunboats, and recalled those other times when because of the war, and the daily presence of death, those you knew and cared about, Cuff's hardness had gone overlooked.
     
Meikle's voice was surprisingly gentle. 'I do not like the Germans, but we are here to administer and to govern until order is restored. We will never achieve anything but hate and disgust if we merely use our power to emulate their Nazi doctrines.'
     
'I didn't know, sir.'
     
Meikle looked at the outer door as the leading writer peered in at them.
     
'Very well, Lavender. I shall be free in two minutes.'
     
Marriott looked at his hands, almost expecting to see them shaking. Lavender. It would be. Just the right touch of unreality along with all the rest.
     
He heard Meikle say, 'We need to set an example here, and to get things done. Harbour clearance, the removal of corpses from the sea and the town, and we must have the ability to provide food and shelter for those who cannot hope to fend for themselves. No fraternisation, no sliding standards. I can imagine your experiences merely by reading about them. Let them be an asset, not a conceit.'
     
He pressed his fingertips together.
     
'I don't care what you or anyone else thinks of me. All I want is to get the job done. But if somebody should stand against me, he will go, that 1 can