McBride was already in bed, stripped to his vest and pants. ‘You’ll have to excuse us,’ he said with a sleepy, boyish grin. ‘Not very sociable, but I don’t seem able to remember when we had more than four hours at a stretch. We just sleep when we can.’ And he pulled the blanket up over his head. A moment later he was snoring with a whistling intake of the breath and a gurgling quiver of the nostrils. ‘Och, he’s awa’.’ The operator showed his long front teeth in a smile. ‘I mind the time when a’ couldna hear a wor’rd they were saying at Base for Mr McBride lying there snoring.’
From beyond the partition the murmur of men’s voices continued for perhaps five minutes, gradually dying away to silence. And after that there wasn’t a sound except for the generator and the wind blasting the four corners of the hut and McBride snoring. But not everybody was asleep.
Through the uncurtained window I could see a glow of light from the next hut. The shadow of a man’s figure came and went against the drawn blinds, distorted and grotesque, and I knew it was McDermott… McDermott, who’d retched his guts out all the way across and was now trying to put together the broken pieces of another man’s body.
I must have dozed off, but it could only have been for a moment. I jerked awake in my chair to see the operator shaking Pinney by the shoulder. ‘Captain Pinney, sir. Captain Pinney.’ There was a movement. His head came up and his eyes ungummed themselves.
‘What is it, Boyd? Somebody want me?’
‘Major Braddock, sir.’
‘Then it’s not …’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Oh well….’ He kicked the blanket aside and swung his legs off the bed. He was obviously relieved it wasn’t the call he’d been expecting. ‘What’s Major Braddock want?’ he asked, rubbing at his eyes.
‘It’s urgent, sir. We’re evacuating.’
‘Evacuating? Nonsense.’ he stared at the operator in disbelief.
‘Aye, it’s true, sir. We’re leaving right away, to-night. I hear-rd him give the order to Captain Stratton. Eight-six-one-o is coming in to beach noo.’
It was the moment of the fatal decision, the moment when the order was given that was to cost so many lives.
Pinney shook his head, forcing himself back to full consciousness. Then he was over at the set and had the earphones on, speaking into the mouthpiece. ‘Pinney here.’ He sat down in the chair the operator had vacated. ‘Well, yes. The wind’s off the shore, northerly. There shouldn’t be any risk…. What’s that…. Yes, but what about the rest of the stores? According to the schedule the landing craft should be running six more trips…. Yes. Yes, I quite agree, but …’ He laughed. ‘No, we shan’t be sorry to go. Life isn’t exactly a bed of roses here. It’s just that my orders … Yes, I gathered it was a War Office appointment. But I should have thought Colonel Standing …’ There was a long pause, and then he said, ‘All right, sir. So long as it’s understood that I’m quite prepared to continue here until every piece of Army equipment has been shipped out. And so are my men…. Fine. We’ll get cracking then.’ He got up and handed the earphones back to the operator. ‘Remain on the set, Boyd, until you’re called for boarding.’ He stood there a moment looking round the room as though finding it difficult to adjust himself to the fact of leaving. Then he woke McBride and in an instant all was confusion, orders being shouted and men cursing and stumbling about as they sleep-walked into the clothes they’d only just taken off. Outside, the night was clearer, no stars, but the shadowed bulk of Tarsaval just visible. The wind was still very strong, coming in raging gusts that tore at the men’s clothing, bending them double against the weight of it as they stumbled towards the beach.
An engine revved and a big six-wheeled Scammell lumbered past me. Seaward the lights of the two landing craft showed intermittently through the rain. One of them had its steaming lights on and the red and green of its navigation lights stared straight at the beach, coming steadily nearer. Orders shouted above the gale were whipped away by the wind. Pinney passed me, big in the lights of a truck stuck in the mud with its wheels spinning. ‘Better get straight on board.’ His voice was almost lost in a down-blast.
I was standing on the beach when Stratton brought his landing craft in towards the loading ramp. There was almost no surf now, the sea knocked flat by the wind. Bows-on the landing craft was square like a box. He came in quite fast- two knots or more, and ground to a halt with an ugly sound of boulders grating on steel, the bows lifting slightly, towering over us. Lines were flung and grabbed, steel hawsers paid out and fastened to shore anchor points, and then the bow doors swung open and the ramp came down; a stranded monster opening its mouth to suck in anything it could devour.
The bulldozer came first, its caterpillar tracks churning sand and water. It found the edge of the ramp and lumbered, dripping, up the slope, clattering a hollow din against the double bottom as it manoeuvred to the far end of the tank hold. The Scammell followed, towing a loaded trailer, wallowing through the shallows and up the ramp where Wentworth and the Cox’n with half the crew waited to receive it. Men straggled in from the camp and they unhitched the trailer and man-handled it into position. The Scammell reversed out and by the time it was back with the next trailer, the first had been parked and bowsed down with the sprung steel securing shackles.
This went on for almost two hours; more than thirty oilskin-clad figures sweating and cursing in the loading lights and the tank deck gradually filling up. By eleven the tempo was slackening, though Pinney was still loading equipment from the camp, sending down all the small, portable, last-minute stuff.
I was working on the tank deck until about eleven-thirty. By then the Cox’n had more men than he needed. I went up to the bridge housing, took over my old bunk and cleaned myself up, and then went into the wardroom, lured by the smell of coffee. Stratton and Wentworth were there and I knew at once that something was wrong. They barely looked up as I entered, drinking their coffee in silence, their faces blank and preoccupied. ‘Help yourself,’ Wentworth said. Beside the coffee a plateful of bully-beef sandwiches lay untouched. ‘Afraid you didn’t get much of a run ashore.’
I poured myself some coffee and sat down. ‘Cigarette?’ I held the packet out to Stratton. He took one automatically and lit it without saying a word. Wentworth shook his head and I took one myself. A message form lay on the table close by Stratton’s hand. He glanced at his watch. It was an unconscious gesture and I had the impression he knew the time already. ‘Another half-hour yet before low water. If we off-load — sling all this heavy stuff ashore …’ He left the sentence unfinished, the question hanging in the air.
‘And suppose nothing happens — the wind remains in the north?’ Wentworth’s voice was hesitant.
‘Then we’ll look bloody silly. But I’d rather look a fool …’ He shook his head angrily. ‘If he’d come through just two hours earlier, before we took the ground.’ He pushed his hand up wearily over his eyes and took a gulp of coffee. ‘Thank God there’s only one of us on the beach anyway. If Kelvedon hadn’t buckled a plate …’ He lit his cigarette. ‘I’d give a lot to be anchored out there in the bay with Four-four-Double-o right now.’
‘It may not come to anything,’ Wentworth said. ‘The midnight forecast didn’t say anything about it. Troughs, that’s all. And the wind northerly….’
‘Of course it didn’t. This is local. Something very local.’ Stratton shook his head. ‘Nothing for it, I’m afraid. We’ll have to unload. Empty we’ll be off- what? An hour sooner?’
‘Three-quarters anyway.’
‘Okay. Find Pinney. Tell him what the position is. And get them started on off-loading right away.’
Wentworth gulped down the remainder of his coffee and hurried out. Stratton lay back against the cushions and closed his eyes with a sigh. The effort of reaching a decision seemed to have drained him of all energy. I was thinking of the wasted effort, all the trailers and vehicles to be got off with the men tired and exhausted. ‘You’ve met this fellow Morgan. How good is he?’ His eyes had opened again and he was staring at me. ‘I think very good,’ I said. And I told him something about Cliffs background and about the book he’d written.