The Second bent down and, retrieving an empty whisky bottle from a drawer, held it out. ‘I found this sculling about under the desk. It wasn’t there when I went off watch at eight bells, I’d swear.’ He waved it from side to side like a pendulum. ‘And when a bloke’s got outside this much stuff in a few hours, well… the boat doesn’t need a wave to make it seem like it’s rolling.’
And that was that. Epitaph for an operator. Cause of death— drowning, with ninety per cent proof complications! I took the bottle and turned away. ‘I’ll tell the Captain, he’ll need to enter it in the Log. You may have to sign a statement, Larabee… about your finding this bottle, I mean.’
He picked up the paperback again. ‘Anything you say, Mate. We… er… aren’t going back to search then?’
‘No,’ I answered, feeling helpless and very sad. ‘No, we won’t be going back for Alf.’ I put my hand out to the blackout curtain, then hesitated as a thought struck me. ‘We’ll signal the escort as soon as it gets light. Ask for a temporary replacement operator.’
Personally I didn’t give a monkey’s damn if Larabee had to sit there twenty-four hours a day ’til his hand mummified round the key, but I was the executive officer of Cyclops and, as such, had a responsibility to give him every assistance. He didn’t seem to appreciate my solicitude though, judging by the violent way in which he swung round, thin face working angrily. ‘You tryin’ to make out I can’t do my job without a bloody gaffer to watch over me, Mate?’
I stared at him in surprise. I knew we were all a bit on edge — my own nerves were beginning to strum like wire stays in a gale — but Larabee’s reaction seemed curiously out of keeping with his previous indifference to everything that went on around him.
‘No, I’m bloody not, Larabee!’ I answered sharply. ‘I’m saying that you can’t do your job twenty-four hours a day without even a W.T. rating from Mallard to stand by the set while you get some kip.’
The veins stood out in the scrawny neck as he stabbed a bony finger at me. ‘If you think I’m goin’ to let some fuckin’ poncy Bluejacket get within three cables of this set you can stuff it, Mate. Right up your hawse pipe!’
That did it! I’d had just about as much as I could take for one day. First, the sick horror of the Commandant Joffre’s agony, followed by the Old Man’s revelations about our cargo, then the far too close death rattle of the Kent Star. And pathetic old Foley with his lonely passing. And now… Larabee! I threw the empty bottle on the bunk and leapt at the wireless operator, lifting him out of his chair and shaking him like a kiddy’s teddy bear so that the earphones rattled against the back of his skull.
‘You ever speak to me like that again, you little bugger, and I’ll break your goddamned BACK!’ I yelled, spraying flecks of spittle on to the staring white face close to mine. ‘I’ll break your bloody back, d’you understand? You talk to me like I’m the First Mate of this bucket and not some bloody Hong Kong steward in the galley. You’re a rotten, unpleasant little man for my money, Larabee, but by God, you’ll do as you’re bloody well told while you’re on this ship or so help me I’ll put you over the rail to keep that poor bastard company…!’
Then, suddenly, I felt sick. Terribly sick and tired of it all. My anger evaporated, leaving me swaying with fatigue and the fear of what I somehow knew was going to happen. The scrawny doll in my hands jerked convulsively and, almost absentmindedly, I let him flop back into the chair where he sat, tugging fretfully at the torn collar of the white tropical shirt. I noticed that the two thin, wavy gold bands on his epaulette had come adrift and he sobbed a bit as he picked ineffectively at the slender badges of rank. He reminded me a little of inadequate old Foley, the way he slumped there so helplessly.
I couldn’t bring myself to touch him again so I just waved my hand, vaguely apologetic. ‘I… er… I shouldn’t have done that, Larabee.’
He didn’t seem to hear me. ‘I jus’ want to be left to get on with my job, that’s all. Just to get on with my job.’
‘Sorry,’ I gritted, at the same time hating myself for having to say it.
The plaintive voice was almost tearful, ‘I don’t need no bloody sheepdog to help me out. Not with the amplifier on and me in the bunk next to the set.’
I understood what he was getting at. Not so many years ago very few ships had carried more than one operator, if they had any wireless at all. Internationally agreed radio watches allowed for normal message traffic during set periods and, while the Sparks slept, it was accepted practice to leave the receiver on and amplify all incoming calls. Operators were mentally tuned to react to the emergency and distress frequencies and, even while asleep, the twitter of an S O S or M A Y D A Y call would bring them to instant wakefulness. The same thing applied to their own ship’s signal letters.
I looked at him with a little more respect — at least he appeared to have some professional pride. ‘You think you could manage it yourself?’
He nodded morosely and sniffed. ‘It’s all incoming traffic with us bein’ under radio silence. The only outgoing stuff I’m likely to transmit is a distress call.’ He grinned slightly and the sardonic look flickered back into the white face. ‘The bloody bang’ll wake me if you don’t!’
I came to a decision, subject to the Old Man’s approval. I suppose it could have been construed as selfish in one way, because I didn’t fancy having to slow down or stop, even for long enough to transfer a rating from Mallard. Seventeen knots was a better insurance against torpedoes than a dead ship in the water at the wrong place. I nodded. ‘OK, Larabee. You’re on your own until Cape Town. Then we pick up a replacement for Alf whether you like it or not.’
As I slipped through the door, stepping over the coaming into the velvety blackness of the night, I caught a glimpse of him lifting his feet back up on to the desk and I wondered what it was that I didn’t like about him. I shrugged. At least he was honest enough to let you know if he didn’t like you, not like some others I could think of who did everything right yet still managed to leave you with a feeling that they couldn’t care less whether you vanished on the spot. Curtis, for instance, the Third Mate; quiet, well mannered and thoroughly efficient, but indefinably aloof, almost mysterious. Like the Kent Star message that still nagged away at the back of my mind. I shook my head and climbed slowly down the ladder to the well deck. Mallard had picked her signal up too, so there couldn’t be any mistake.
Athenian slipped quietly along on our flank. Even without lights her great hull showed black against the faint line of the horizon. To a waiting Kapitan-Lieutnant she was as clear a target as a Celluloid rabbit in a shooting gallery — which meant we were as well!
The stars looked very bright above my head, but I didn’t think the night was still lovely — not anymore.
I got nearly a whole hour’s sleep before the thunder woke me. I stretched out an arm and, switching the light on, tried to focus on my watch through the white glare in my gummed eyelids. Two a.m., four bells in the middle watch. I rolled over with a lazy groan and buried my head in the pillow. Still two more hours of blessed sleep before the duty quartermaster called me with a cup of stewed tea and an ingratiating smile.
Thunder though? The ship felt steady as a rock. Surprising… thunder, with no sea running…?
Aw, Jesus!