I blinked. I hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps I was the one suffering the effects of fear and sleep deprivation? Perhaps, as Larabee had said, I'd become so paranoid that I was seeing something to suspect in everything that happened round me? What fifth columnist would invite — no, positively demand — a witness to his every movement? And anyway, surely no trained enemy agent could be quite as bloody objectionable as Larabee? A professional would blend in unobtrusively, not stand out like a skyscraper in a desert.
Of course there was no link, no purpose, behind the events of the past two days…
By then I was so convinced it was all in my mind that I nearly apologised to the still white-lipped Sparks. I didn’t, though. Instead I forced a sneer and tried to sound like a tough, bucko mate. ‘Your point, Larabee, being that you haven’t been slammed on the skull an’ shoved over the wall so far, then?’
His response followed me as I turned away triumphantly towards the bridge, the harsh voice full of malice. ‘No… But then again, so far I haven’t bumped into the fuckin’ Mate of this bucket when I’ve been left on my own!’
And, as usual, I couldn’t think of anything sharp enough to retort.
The Old Man was stamping back and forward out on the starboard wing when I arrived on the bridge. His cap was crammed well down over his eyes, and the way he paced out there, like a caged lion, hands clasped grimly behind his back, made me shoot a guilty glance at Brannigan as I entered the wheelhouse. Evans had been standing my watch while I had dinner and did my rounds and, judging by the glare in his eyes, I’d been too long away. I stole a quick look at the stolid quartermaster behind the wheel — it was McRae — and tiptoed over to the Fourth Mate.
‘What’s the Captain so raised about, Four Oh?’ I whispered apprehensively.
He jerked a casual thumb at the sea, out past the threatening figure of the Master. ‘The escort, Sir. She’s been swanning around under our bows for the past half-hour. Dropping back, then surging up alongside us like she doesn’t know what she’s doing.’
I felt distinctly relieved. At least it wasn’t me who was incurring the Old Man’s wrath this time. The zig-zag clock dinged for the next leg and Brannigan turned to McRae. ‘Five more to port, McRae.’
The blue-jeaned sailor put her two spokes down and watched the lubber line on the gyro compass. The ship’s head had hardly moved across the now darkening horizon before he was bringing the helm back amidships, stopping her dead on her new course. ‘Steady on 060, Sir.’
I glanced up at the course board. We were now running at twenty-five degrees to port of our mean course, with that big, scary sixty-degree swing to starboard as the next leg. It was starting to get dark quickly too, as it always did in these latitudes, then we’d really have to be on our toes. I sort of hoped that Braid over on Mallard would decide to change the zig-zag pattern during the night. Even with the apparently adequate distance between us and Athenian, it was only too easy to creep up five cables on the ship ahead of you when they weren’t showing any stern lights. I decided to do something to help overcome that problem at least, and gestured to young Conway who was standing out in the solitude of the port wing, keeping as far away from the Captain as possible.
‘Nip down and tell the Bosun to prepare a barrel for streaming astern during the night,’ I said, as the kid came over.
He nodded, looking intelligent. ‘Aye, aye, Sir,’ then moved away on the run. I stopped him before he slid down the ladder. ‘Conway.’
‘Sir?’ he blinked at me.
‘Do you know why I want a barrel streamed aft?’
He frowned in concentration, then shook his head. ‘No, Sir.’
I didn’t think so. Why was it that all cadets were the same? None of them ever had the sense to know that, unless they asked questions, they never learnt anything about what was supposed to be their chosen profession. Or was I too much of an ogre-like figure for a scared young kid like Conway to approach? I didn’t want to be.
I tried to look patient and understanding, though I suppose, to him, I still looked bloody bad-tempered. ‘I want a barrel streamed over the stern, Conway, because when it gets dark it will be extremely difficult for the watch-keepers on Athenian to know exactly where we are. We aren’t showing any lights, there may not be a moon like there was last night, God be pleased, so if we allow a barrel to drag along the surface of the water about a cable astern of us…’
He looked bright. ‘…then the spray it kicks up will help them keep their distance, Sir?’
I nodded. Thank heaven for small mercies. ‘Affirmative, lad. You’ll probably find the Bosun having a last pipe on number five hatch.’
He dashed off and Brannigan said, ‘Now, when I was a cadet…’
‘…which was less than a spit ago, Mister Brannigan,’ I finished for him, ‘you still didn’t know anything. Like now.’
He beamed shamelessly as I decided to face the storm and stepped out on to the starboard wing. Evans met me with a growl of rage directed, however, at the little Mallard, now less than two cables off our beam. She was so close I could almost make out the features of the two officers and the ratings on her bridge.
‘What the bloody hell do they think they’re playing at?’ the Old Man gritted. ‘They’ve been buggering round under our bows like this was some kind of fancy fleet exercise we’re on!’
I leaned over and looked down at the corvette. When you actually saw her up close she seemed to be all depth-charges and White Ensign aft while, farther forward, there was just a miniature superstructure that could have sat on our smallest hatch cover with room to spare, then a slip of a foredeck to provide a platform for the gun. She was smart, though. Everything either smooth black or smooth grey with hardly a scratch or flaw to be seen in the paintwork. Wooden hulled, of course, which helped to minimize rusty streaks.
I shook myself suddenly and realised that I’d been looking at her with the critical eye of a ship’s husband and not as a navigator viewing a potential hazard. I started to get an uneasy feeling myself about the way she was seemingly ignoring our proximity. If it had been me down there, with all the South Atlantic to play with, I’d have been a good half-mile away at the least.
Why was she so bloody near?
The binoculars were in the box in front of me so I lifted them and took a good look at the men on her bridge. One of the white-shirted officers was a midshipman and the other didn’t look very much older, come to that. Probably the First Mate or Lieutenant or whatever it was they had in the RN. The silly bastards seemed to be just watching us and grinning as if this was some kind of game we were playing. Chicken. That was the name of it… Chicken! See who gave way first. Obviously Commander Braid wasn’t up there or they wouldn’t be arsing around like that.
Beside me Evans still seemed to be more angry than concerned so I decided to act. It was my watch anyway, even though I hadn’t formally relieved the Old Man again. I moved over to the wheelhouse and told Brannigan to get the Aldis out on the wing, then I ordered McCrae at the helm to ease her a little to port to give us a bit more room. Stepping back out to the wing, I sighted the Aldis on her bridge and commenced signalling irritably, GET OFF MY BACK IMMEDIATELY YOU ARE MUCH TOO CLOSE FOR SAFETY.