Battlecruiser (1997) Read Free Page B

shoulder. It was a different navy now: errand boys and bank clerks, brick-layers and bus conductors. A miracle which had been performed without any one noticing, or so it sometimes seemed to him.
    The operations officer looked up from his watch. ‘The launch is coming, sir.’
    Sherbrooke shivered again, but not because of the cold. ‘Right on time.’
    The operations officer sounded relieved. His part was almost over. ‘She would be on time, sir. In
that
ship.’
    Sherbrooke barely heard him. He was feeling in his pockets, half expecting to find his pipe there, but that had gone too, probably when they had cut his frozen clothing from his body. All the time, he had been trying to hold onto the other man, hearing his voice.
Help me. Somebody help me.
And another voice, a stranger’s. ‘No use, Captain. He’s gone.’
    ‘Excuse me, sir.’
    ‘
What?
’ He swung on the Canadian almost blindly. ‘What is it?’
    ‘I just realized what a stupid goddamn fool I am. Who you are. What you did.’ He shook his head. ‘And all I do is . . .’
    Sherbrooke held out his hand. ‘Don’t say it. This is an important day for both of us.’ He slipped out of his new raincoat, feeling the bitter air through his uniform, and stinging his face. This young Canadian temporary lieutenant would be the replacement pilot for the ship’s Walrus amphibian, affectionately known throughout the navy as ‘the Shagbat’, which was used for both reconnaissance and rescue. He had made a good start; he had just rescued his captain, without even knowing it.
    He heard the throaty growl of the launch as it swung around a ponderous tug and headed straight for the jetty.
    Very smart: it could have been Spithead in peacetime. The bowman with his raised boathook, a petty officer as coxswain, and some other face beside his in the cockpit. There was a rear-admiral’s flag painted on either bow.Stagg was doing him proud. He would . . . He almost smiled. In
that
ship.
    Sherbrooke watched as the boat’s engines coughed astern, and the hull came to rest against the jetty’s fenders with barely a shudder.
    A midshipman scrambled ashore and saluted. ‘Ready when you are, sir.’
    Sherbrooke turned to shake hands with the operations officer. A few passers-by were hanging about to watch. He could almost hear them.
    All right for some, eh?
    He found that it did not worry him. ‘Thanks for your help.’
    ‘Good luck, sir.’ The other man saluted.
    The midshipman was staring at the Canadian lieutenant, confused, angry perhaps, that something unrehearsed was happening. The pilot was gathering up his bags, and lastly the banjo, if that was what it was.
    ‘After you, sir.’
    Sherbrooke did not raise his voice. ‘It’s not vital, Mr Rayner, but senior officers go
last
, right?’
    More confusion, until a seaman ran to help carry the bags into the launch.
    He could feel the scrutiny, the curiosity, perhaps the understanding, too. The navy was a family, after all.
    He touched the peak of his cap and stepped down into the boat.
    ‘Bear off forrard! Let go aft!’ The midshipman’s voice was just a little too loud. He would be watching everything, preparing what he would say to his fellows in the gunroom when he was dismissed from this duty.
The new captain, what’s he like?
    The boat tore away from the jetty and caught the Canadian off-balance; Sherbrooke heard a twang as thebanjo fell onto the deck. A face he would get to know, and the man behind it, like all the rest of them. He gripped the safety rail until his hand throbbed. But not too intimately. Not again.
    He thought suddenly of his last visit to the Admiralty, the barrage balloons like basking whales in the washed-out sky, uniforms everywhere, representing every country imaginable, all fighting the same war with their homes under German occupation.
    When he had been told about
Reliant
, he had heard himself ask, ‘Why me, sir?’
    The admiral’s face had crinkled. Relieved, perhaps, that it