Submariner (2008) (33 page)

Then the weather – Shrimp’s own deadline, based on weather reports to be received from the boats – from
Ursa
anyway – as called for in orders, for a late decision either to proceed or to abort. ‘Indications are a little better than
they were, thank God … Yes, Dan – hoisted that in, have you?’

‘
Think
I have, sir – but no pick-up? I land my chaps and bugger off?’

‘What it comes down to, yes. But I want you to discuss this with Captain Haigh. The proposal being that you spend four or
six hours within signalling distance of the beach, in case they run into serious trouble at that early stage and need to be
taken off. It’s a possibility, apparently. But if that period expires without a call for help, away you go.’

‘Aye aye, sir. But may I know what –’

‘We don’t know what they’ll be doing, only that we aren’t supposed to bring them back.’ Shrimp was very evidently conscious
of having no time to waste. With a convoy on its way – as it had to be and pretty well immediately, Mike guessed, to have
had the date settled for this outing, he’d have a lot more than just ‘Backlash’ on his hands – most of the rest of the flotilla
to re-dispose as well, presumably. Adding now, ‘A novelty our commando friends have brought us is a new kind of torch for
signalling through periscopes – communications between shore and/or folboats and submarines. Demonstration at dusk this evening
– meet in the Lazaretto wardroom at 1830, all welcome. Until then, any questions?’

‘One thing, sir.’ Mike – who after a moment’s alarm had realised he could get down there for the demonstration then back up
to South Street at the speed of light, leaving them to load their canoes without
his
help – ‘Minor suggestion for the soldiers – rather than have it all to do tomorrow, might embark gear including canoes this
evening?’

That had gone down well, and Shrimp had wound the meeting up with a brief exposition, for Melhuish’s and Gerahty’s benefits,
of the importance of getting the commandos ashore on time and in the right places. ‘
Then
, it’s their pigeon – wrecking those three airfields simultaneously and in so doing disrupting the enemy’s air operations
right across the board. It’ll be a hell of an achievement, if they can bring it off. The weather’s still a
little
doubtful, but I can assure you I won’t be aborting the operation if it’s anything less than downright impossible.’

Gerahty blew smoke at an overhead light, then met Shrimp’s eyes. ‘Bringing in a convoy, are we?’

‘Is that your guess, Dan?’

‘Unless we’re invading Sicily, or something.’

‘Most likely will be, before long. All right, gentlemen … Oh, wait – RAF activity you may or may not encounter, during and
after the assaults …’

Abigail said quietly, ‘The intention of working through my lunch-hour and knocking-off early is aimed at – ah – adapting to
your
situation – whichever way the cat jumps?’

He stooped, kissed her neck, told her ‘It’s jumped – or at least signalled its intention of doing so. I’ve been at another
meeting, couldn’t get to you sooner.’

‘So what’s
our
programme?’

‘Well –
mine
is to spend as many consecutive hours with you as possible. What time at Strada Mezzodi this afternoon, for instance?’

‘Three-thirty?’

‘I can be there by four. Then I’ll need to get down to Lazaretto at six or six-thirty, but only for about an hour, back to
you seven-thirty or eight. Tomorrow’ll be a very early morning, I’m sorry to say.’

She grimaced slightly. ‘And the last one, for a while?’

‘Does look like being so.’

‘Yes.’ Those eyes on his, from a distance of about two inches. ‘You won’t be doing anything too damn silly, I hope?’

‘Do my best not to.’ They’d stopped – more or less out of other people’s way. ‘For much the same reason you
ask
me not to.’

‘You mean – same wavelength. You realise it matters.’

‘It’s always mattered. Part of my job’s to keep us alive. Just that
now
it matters from every other point of view as well.’

‘Well, that
is
good news!’

‘So what was the niggling about – Tuesday or Wednesday, crack of dawn, I thought somewhat hoity-toity?’

‘It was a little early, for a proposition of – I mean, that far-reaching, right out of the blue, one we’ve never discussed
before and frankly I’m not at all sure I’m ready for in any case. Let’s not talk about it now?’

He’d got to her a little after the time he’d promised; he was inside and had the door shut and bolted again within seconds.
Like surfacing for a gun action, almost. He kissed her. ‘Sorry. May say I came most of the way at the double.’

‘What else have you been doing?’

‘Oh – this and that. Some chartwork was the important thing. Also a procedure known as Requestmen and Defaulters. Then generally
squaring things off, solving another guy’s non-existent problems for him. Oh, and conversing with various members of my crew.
As I say, this and that.’

It had included further discussion of beachhead reconnaissance. And a proposal of more widely separated departure times for
Ursa
and
Unsung
, and varying their routes on both outward and return trips. It had been well worth while, he thought, but he still didn’t
think much of Charles Melhuish. Abigail had said – in the kitchen and in reference to
Ursa
’s crew – ‘I’d like to meet some of them, some day.’

‘I’m sure they’d like to meet you, too. When we’re back from this one, any time you like.’

She’d made that face again. ‘Saying hello, goodbye.’

He frowned. ‘Saying hello, goodbye, see you back home.’

‘Think we
will
, Mike?’

‘If we want to. I most certainly want nothing else. You against it now?’

‘Just that here and now it seems a touch incredible … What’s that?’

‘Present from the wardroom messman. Supper – or contribution to it.’

‘Is he
allowed
–’

‘He’s a pragmatist with a kindly disposition. If one’s only there for about one meal in ten he concludes one’s eating elsewhere,
someone
else
’s rations, so – Abbie, you’re
lovely
. You truly are, you’re
perfect
. I have you pictured in my mind all day, and when at last I get to focus on you, you just bloody
slay
me …’

When he got back down to Lazaretto, soon after six, Ormrod was telling Gerahty and Melhuish that two of his hates were fishermen
and farm dogs. ‘Fishermen who don’t show lights, especially, as well as those who have a Hun rifleman as passenger. You’d be
surprised how often they crop up.’

‘So – you’re in a folboat, presumably – what can you do about it?’ Gerahty pinched out a cigarette stub and flicked it into
the creek. ‘Could you mount a Bren or somesuch on a folboat’s bow?’

‘We often do – for other purposes though, not for that. No, all one can do is play it very, very carefully – steer around
them, if you’ve seen them in time, or lie still, dead-in-the-water and holding one’s breath until the buggers pass. Otherwise
– well, you can let rip with a .45 or a 9-millimetre – may be lucky, if you’ve taken ’em by surprise. But the
problem with farm dogs is they bark. Which is what farmers expect of them, of course, keep the place clear of miscreants of
various kinds – including Hun soldiery, as like as not.’

‘You shoot them, do you?’

‘The dogs? Yes, have done. But a knife’s better. Gunshots in the night don’t exactly allay suspicion. Mind you, a crossbow
has a lot to be said for it as long as there’s enough light to see by.’

‘D’you carry one?’

Melhuish had asked the question; Ormrod said yes, one did, except on nights that were going to be moonless or so cloudy as
to be guaranteed pitch-dark. Otherwise one scarpered – or could crouch, freeze, pray the bloody things would either shut up
or come into knife-range. It depended on circumstances, terrain, weather and so forth. You improvised, as much as anything.
The conversation ended with Melhuish saying ‘Not
my
idea of fun’, and Billy Flood arriving with the torches.

Which worked all right, from a motionless submarine secured between buoys. The torches were primarily intended for use when
recovering canoes, guiding them out from the beach; you’d see a blue light flashing from shore, set the periscope on it and
give the landing-party a few flashes
they
’d see. But obviously when you were on the surface periscopes didn’t come into it; and to recover a landing-party you did
need to be surfaced. The general conclusion was that there could be circumstances in which they’d come in handy, but that
was about the extent of it.

Melhuish said, low-voiced, when he and Mike were making their way shoreward over a long reach of brow, ‘When I told you Shrimp
had me down for this lark, you must have known we both were?’

‘I gave a hand with some navigational planning. Shrimp didn’t want the scope of the operation known. His orders
stressed the need for maximum security – for the simple reason that getting the convoy in as near intact as possible’s about
as important as anything could be at this stage, so why risk someone shooting his mouth off? As I’m doing now for instance.’

‘Or presumably as
I
might if I’d known about it.’

‘
Anyone
might. You and I just
have
. What people don’t know about, Charles, they can’t talk about. That’s not original, I know, but if they don’t
need
to know about it, why bloody tell them?’

‘That’s an old refrain too, of course. But all right, forget it.’ Then: ‘You hanging on to see the canoes embarked?’

‘No. My Number One’s seeing to it.’

‘Going back ashore, then?’

‘Yes, Charles. Going back ashore.’

Accompanied by McLeod and the coxswain, he’d completed his usual predeparture tour of the boat, chatting with various individuals
encountered along the way – including some of Ormrod’s team – Colour Sergeant Gant RM, four other Royal Marines and two Army
corporals. In all, forty on board instead of thirty-two. Now, back in
Ursa
’s wardroom, he enquired of Ormrod, who was at the table with a mug of tea, ‘Are you happy to stay down here? Bridge isn’t
exactly spacious.’

‘Thanks, I’ll keep out of your way.’

‘Be a little while. Trim-dive when we’re a mile down-channel.’

‘Good luck with it.’ Looking from Mike to McLeod, who of course was responsible for the trim, slightly complicated this time
by the added weight of eight men and their gear. The Major had been around submarines quite a bit, of course, knew what it
was all about. Mike checked the time again, and nodded to McLeod. ‘Harbour Stations, Jamie.’

For the penultimate time, he thought, on his way up the ladder.
Last
time, as a departure for patrol. Actually her eighteenth. Dog minus 3, in that vernacular, and
Ursa
the last to go.
Swordsman
had sailed at noon, Dan Gerahty having elected to give himself six additional hours in which to cover the 120-odd nautical
miles to the vicinity of Acireale, a few miles to the north of Catania. Delays, interruptions or diversions of one kind or
another weren’t unusual, and having a few hours you could afford to waste was a relaxant. Gerahty had taken Shrimp’s admonition
to heart, had been thinking about it last evening before the periscope–torch exercise and raised it with Shrimp afterwards,
Shrimp according to Charles Melhuish responding in his usual laconic manner with ‘All right. Shift in alongside here when
Upstart
shoves off at first light.’ Reason for this being that
Swordsman
hadn’t finished storing ship, as both
Ursa
and
Unsung
had, and it was more easily and quickly done alongside than out at the buoys; in fact she’d been lying-off, ready to slip
into that ‘wardroom berth’ which
Upstart
had been in the process of vacating, when Mike had arrived for breakfast, telling himself authoritatively
Forget all that
– meaning her damp eyes and warm body, the anxious ‘Promise, no longer than a week?’

That was how long he’d told her he
thought
it might be before he got back to her.

Unsung
meanwhile had slipped from her buoys and motored out into Marsamxett and the swept channel about an hour ago – before sunset,
and the gradual darkening of the water that had been taking place since they’d watched her gradual diminution and disappearance.
Very nearly
still
water now, incidentally, and a mainly clear sky, pinpoints of first stars and the square-cut Valetta skyline in grey and
then black silhouette against some short-lived brilliance. Staggering the two ‘U’s’ departures had been a suggestion of Broadbent’s,
his point being that with only a few degrees’ divergence between Melhuish’s course to the Gela beachhead and Mike’s to the
offloading-point for Comiso, putting an hour between them
rather than only minutes would ensure their being well clear of each other right from the start, thus could concentrate on
the essential lookout, forget about each other. Then – another change – at about the halfway mark
Ursa
would be making a detour eastward, as far east as the longitude of Pozzallo, while
Unsung
performed similarly but the other way off Gela.
Swordsman
of course had no such problem, making her enviable twelve or thirteen knots northeastward to round Cape Passero. Anyway,
Mike was in
Ursa
’s bridge now, casing party and bridge staff having gone up ahead of him: past sunset, so no ensign flying and no farewell
salute to the invisibly watching Shrimp. Jarvis and his team clambering over and down the rungs on the tower’s starboard side
and thence around it to the fore casing, Tubby Hart and his trio heading aft. Here in the bridge the coxswain ready at the
wheel, Walburton close to the for’ard periscope standard, Aldis in his hands, Danvers at the voice-pipe in the port for’ard
corner, McLeod on his captain’s arrival passing down the order to Hart to let go aft – allowing the stern to drift clear of
that buoy and its chain-cable mooring so he could use the screws when he was ready to, making it easier for Jarvis and his
lads up for’ard by taking the weight off that lot. Mike telling Danvers, ‘Group down, Pilot’ – hearing the order acknowledged
in the copper tube, and simultaneously from the after casing Hart’s report of ‘All gone aft!’Via Danvers again then, ‘Slow
ahead port’, and to McLeod, ‘They can let go for’ard.’ Stopping that screw then: McLeod giving tongue again, and Jarvis’s response
virtually instant; some time in the past hour they’d have riven a wire in place of
Ursa
’s anchor cable on that buoy, making the job now quick and easy – with her bow already beginning to fall off to leeward you
hardly needed the confirmatory yell of ‘All gone for’ard!’