The White Guns (1989) by Douglas Reeman Page B

promise.'
     
It was almost over and Marriott stood up, groping for his cap.
     
'And my orders, sir?'
     
Meikle was reaching for a telephone in its leather case. 'I want you to be ready to put to sea at one hour's notice. There is something which I must decide.'
     
Marriott hesitated, angry that he had lost so completely to this self-contained man, and yet somehow grateful that he was still 801's captain.
     
Meikle looked at him and gave a dry smile. 'We are both on the same side, you know.'
     
Marriott walked out into the drifting ashes and smoky sunlight and found the patrolman waiting for him.
     
'I can find my way back, thank you.'
     
The patrolman slung his sub-machine gun over one shoulder and grinned. 'Sorry, sir, orders say otherwise. Nobody moves alone in this place.'
     
They walked past the smashed vehicles and Marriott saw the outflung arm almost hidden now in rubble thrown up by passing tractors. How long had the dead soldier been there, he wondered? How much longer before his journey would finally end?
     
He found Fairfax and Lowes waiting at the guardrails with mixed expressions of anxiety and hope.
     
Marriott glanced along the deck, the activity which was part of his life. In his absence the ensign had been hoisted like the others on nearby warships and supply craft.
     
Did this old clapped-out gunboat mean that much to him, after all? How many hundreds of miles she must have thrashed with her four big screws; how many thousands of rounds of cannon shells and bullets. Three commanding officers. And I shall be the last.
     
He said, 'We are in business again, gentlemen.' He saw their grins. Was that all he had to do or say? 'One hour's notice.'
     
He saw to his surprise that Cuff's boat had been warped further along the pier.
     
Fairfax explained, 'Tommy Updike is preparing to take on stores, sir.' He faltered under Marriott's gaze. 'Cuff – that is Lieutenant Glazebrook – has gone to see the N.O.I.C. wherever he is, sir, to make a report in person.'
     
Marriott looked across the swirling waste of oil and filthy flotsam. He could picture the exploding charges as if he had been there. And to think he had been worried for Cuff's safety. They had dropped plenty of charges in their time. Not to sink submarines but to blow the bottoms out of coasters and the like, or armed schooners which they had encountered in the Med. To use them against unarmed fishing-boats, knowing that hostilities had ceased, was little better than murder. He could almost hear Cuff saying the words he had used right here.
     
They started it.
     
He had met his match in Meikle, but as always would come out of it whiter than white. It was his way.
     
Lowes asked timidly, 'Is there a flap on, sir?'
     
Marriott smiled and felt some of the tension draining away. Lowes made a habit of using the slang and jargon of the war he had been too late to fight. Is there a flap on?
     
'It could be anything. Just be ready for it, Pilot.'
     
As the youth bustled away, Fairfax said, 'I'm glad we're still together, sir.'
     
Marriott eyed him thoughtfully. 'Thanks, Number One. I hope you can still say that in a week's time in this place!'
     
The coxswain turned as Fairfax laughed, then tried to concentrate on what Sub-Lieutenant Lowes was telling him about readiness for sea.
     
So they were leaving harbour again already. Evans stared at the shore where some German sailors were pausing to take soup and bread from an army jeep.
     
There would be plenty of time, he thought. He had nothing else to think about now.
     
He straightened his cap and nodded. 'Right away, sir.'
     
He had not heard much of what Lowes had been saying. But that rarely seemed to matter.
     
Alone by the bridge Lowes, unaware of Marriott's amusement or the coxswain's contempt, settled down to watch the slow-moving Sea Harvester as she steamed ponderously between two wrecks, puffing out smoke while she prepared to lay marker buoys for her divers.
     
It was all so