Kleber's Convoy Read Free Page B

in.’
    â€˜Dereliction of duty, is it?’ said Emlyn Lloyd. ‘Forget them, lad. Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow. Indeed, we may be sunk and they won’t be necessary at all.’
    â€˜Now that’s a fact,’ said O’Brien, ‘That’s a really practical attitude.’
    There was a burst of laughter from the two midshipmen in the corner, Rogers and Bowrie. Lofty Groves turned on them. ‘Pipe down. Can’t hear myself throw a dart.’
    â€˜He’s losing,’ said the engineer-officer.
    O’Brien went over to them. ‘And what’s amusing the children?’
    â€˜N-nothing, sir,’ Bowrie had a slow stammer. ‘Rogers was telling me what he d-did on leave.’
    O’Brien shook his head. ‘What midshipmen do on leave. Bless my soul.’
    â€˜Rather sad, really,’ said Pownall. ‘Caught between childhood and adultery.’
    â€˜Anyone seen Huff-Duff?’ asked the first-lieutenant.
    â€˜In his c-cabinet calibrating h-his …’
    â€˜Steady lad,’ said O’Brien. ‘Speak no evil.’
    â€˜H-his set, sir,’ finished Bowrie.
    Huff-Duff was the wardroom’s name for Sunley, a specialist branch RNVR lieutenant who maintained and operated Vengeful ’s high-frequency direction-finding apparatus – HF/DF, known in the Navy as huff-duff – a key weapon in tracking U-boats.
    A man with a horse-like face, pale eyes and straw-coloured hair came into the wardroom. He went to the notice-board and took from it an OHMS letter addressed, ‘Surgeon-Lieutenant E. B. Sutton, RNVR.’
    He sat down on the padded seat round the Charlie Noble, the wardroom’s coke fire, its circular iron body topped by a shining brass chimney.
    The first-lieutenant said, ‘Ship’s company fit, Doc? Clean bill of health?’
    The doctor frowned, looking up from the letter he was opening. ‘Beer, please, Guilio. Yes, Number One. I think so. Common cold, VD. A few old friends. Nothing operable.’
    â€˜L-lucky for someone,’ murmured Bowrie. The doctor’s pale eyes regarded him with distant contempt.
    The wardroom steward brought the beer. The doctor finished the letter, looked thoughtful and put it in his pocket. While the others laughed and chatted he worried. Redman had at the doctor’s request visited the RN hospital at Bridge-of-Weir for examination. The captain had stalled, postponing the visit to the day before the ship sailed from the Clyde. The OHMS letter was from the consulting physician. ‘Lieutenant-Commander Redman,’ it reported, ‘is suffering from bronchial asthma brought on by nervous exhaustion; too long at sea, too much stress, too little sleep. There is a childhood history of the complaint. With a suitable period of rest and freedom from anxiety it will probably disappear. The patient makes light of it and is not amenable to any suggestion of leaving the ship. He has particularly requested that no medical report be submitted to Captain (D) until Vengeful returns to the Clyde in three weeks’ time, and then only if the complaint persists. Since the X-ray plates only became available the day after the examination, Lieutenant-Commander Redman was not informed of the diagnosis.’
    The consulting physician’s diagnosis did not surprise Sutton – at least not the part about stress and nervous exhaustion.It accorded with his own. But Redman hadn’t told him of any previous history of bronchial asthma. That had been unhelpful of him.
    Stress and anxiety symptoms were not uncommon among escort captains in the Western Approaches, but the doctor’s problem was what to do about the letter. When Captain (D) Greenock, the group’s administrative authority, received the medical report he would no doubt act. Put the captain ashore for a rest whether he liked it or not. The doctor decided it wouldn’t help to tell Redman the