“Yeah,” Cole said, pulling himself into the aircraft. “Let’s hope.”
Chapter 20
Chief Yeoman of Signals Dove, at his station on the starboard rail of Firedancer’s crowded bridge, called out: “Flagship signals to Prometheus, sir.”
Hardy and Land turned around at the announcement. Land could see Dove’s mouth moving, translating the message that he saw through his binoculars. Dove had damned good eyesight and it was said aboard Firedancer that he did just as well without binoculars as he did with them.
Hardy moved alongside Land. “Gentlemen shouldn’t read other gentlemen’s mail,” he said. “But I’ll not let Prometheus steal a march on me. Well, Dove?”
“Prometheus’s pennant. ‘You are instructed to break off and return with all speed to Scapa. Accompanied…’” Dove was straining to read the message. A wisp of smoke from Prince of Wales’s funnels might have momentarily covered the flags. “‘Accompanied by…’” Dove looked at Hardy. “Other ship’s pennants, sir.”
“Go on, man, read them,” Hardy barked. He whispered in a ragged tone to Land, “Watch it be Firedancer. Send off with that officious bag of wind. I’ll wager it’s Firedancer. We get every rotten duty in the Royal Navy.”
“‘ Windsor… ’”
“Watch them, Number One, the bloody hypocrites. Get us out this far and have a turnaround, shepherding Prometheus as if we don’t do enough of that with convoys.”
“‘Eskimo…’”
“I’ve had to follow Whittlesey on every turn. It wasn’t enough that he was one jump ahead of me in commands. His family, you know. Filthy rich. Well bred and well bedded. It’ll be Firedancer all right and he’ll have us riding his wake.”
Dove dropped the binoculars. “It’s Firedancer, sir.”
Hardy gave Land a knowing, bitter glance, hooked his hands behind his back, and made his way to the edge of the bridge.
“Keep a close eye on Prometheus, Dove. She’ll be sending something our way.” He joined Hardy. It was a moment before the captain spoke and he kept his voice low.
“Number One, you might as well know it. I can’t stand the man. He goes about his business without a care and I…”
Land knew what Hardy was thinking. It was the night that he had run through those sailors. The Second Night.
“And I am forced to live with decisions that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I taste bile in my mouth every time that I think of the wretch and now he sails in Prometheus.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hardy turned on him. “Don’t be condescending to me, Number One. I won’t have it. If you must say anything, say nothing.”
“I wasn’t being condescending, sir.”
“Your tone, Number One. That said it all.”
Land glanced over his shoulder and saw the bridge party making every effort not to hear them.
“Sir, the men are listening.”
“We’ll let them listen,” Hardy whispered hotly. “They’ll learn something about how the Royal Navy works. How favorites rise in rank and how we that do our duty are merely tolerated. You can’t see that because of your arrogance, Number One. Barrister or no barrister or whatever you were before coming into service, you’ll go home and have a lovely life after the war while we Active Service types continue to make do.”
Land thought briefly before answering. He was a barrister in civilian life, in his life before the war so long ago, and he understood how men under stress could do and say strange things. He knew, despite what Hardy said and how viciously that he attacked Whittlesey, that the stress for Hardy did not come from unrealized ambition; it came because one night he had made a perfectly logical decision — like a hundred that he had made before — and had run his ship through a patch of screaming men. It should not have happened, but Firedancer was trapped between two freighters and she had been called to move with all speed to the head of the convoy. Hardy gave the order, an unremarkable order like a hundred that he had given before… like a hundred that he had given before. Except fate had placed an obstacle in his way; fate in its own twisted, perverted game now called on Hardy and Firedancer to do the unspeakable — kill their own countrymen. This was Hardy’s burden, Land knew, and not Whittlesey and Prometheus or the slights, imagined or real, he had suffered as a poor man among aristocrats.
“Captain Hardy,” Land said, keeping his voice calm but making sure that his eyes were locked on Hardy’s and that Hardy could read the emotion in them. “I was on the bridge that night as well. I saw the men and I heard their screams. You don’t have a monopoly on that, sir.” Land moved closer so that no one could overhear him. “Look here, sir. You asked me if I thought a man’s life was defined by a single moment. I was taken aback when you asked me that, because if there was ever a man who did not let events define his life it is you.”
“Don’t try to curry favor, Number One. It doesn’t become you.”
“I say that, Captain Hardy, only because you seem to have forgotten it,” Land said, ignoring Hardy’s sarcasm. “A man’s life is defined by a single event only if he allows it.”
“Pleading a case, barrister? You’re some distance from the Old Bailey, so I doubt your arguments have much merit out here.”
“You can live your life in the shadow of the awful night,” Land said. “If you choose. Or you can acknowledge it for what it was, one of the horrors of war that we are forced to encounter all too often. It will not be a single event, sir. It will be a series of events, perhaps each one worse than the last. Your choice is a simple one, sir. Choose to survive the horrors, or let them destroy you.”
Land watched as the fire went out of Hardy and he leaned against the windshield. He was a proud man and a good man, if decidedly eccentric at times, but he held shame close to his heart for what he had done.
“True enough, Number One,” Hardy said softly. “But you weren’t the one who gave the order, were you? That shall remain with me until the day I die. And perhaps beyond. We are all judged, aren’t we, Land? Each of us goes before his Maker to state his case.”
“The Almighty isn’t blind, sir. When you appear before him you will be judged for all actions collectively, for what you could control. Not what was beyond your power.”
“You’re a philosopher as well, Number One?” Hardy said with a faint smile.
“Firedancer’s pennant from Prometheus,” Dove called out.
“Read the message,” Hardy said, walking back to the clump of brass voice tubes. He leaned over them, spent by his conversation with Land.
“‘Prometheus to Firedancer. You will kindly take position two points off my port quarter at a reasonable distance. I am turning to port now.’ End of message.”
“Acknowledge,” Hardy said. “Number One, bring us about after Prometheus passes and place us fifteen hundred yards two points off her port quarter.…”
“Another message, sir. Aldis lamp,” Dove said. “‘Prometheus to squadron. Flagship reports communication from Scapa.’”
Hardy realized that it was straight-out Morse code; the message was in the clear with no attempt to encode it. Something strange was going on.