Hardy and Number One stood near what had once been A Turret but was now a mass of scorched metal. The superintendent was gone, speeding back to the yard in his dilapidated launch, bearing his reports, calculations, and estimates. The crane astride the barge, surrounded by bits and pieces of Firedancer in the well of the ugly box, continued to swing casually back and forth, carrying the dead parts of the destroyer. The yard workers, large men in filthy dungarees, dismantled portions of Firedancer, and she — she remained stoic through it all, immune to the humiliation.
“Those poor chaps never had a chance,” Land said, kicking a piece of metal to one side, glancing at the pitiful memorial to the gun’s crew.
“No,” Hardy said. “They did not. Still, we’ve had our chances and a few more, haven’t we?”
“It seems so long ago. Does it feel that way to you as well?”
“Oh yes,” Hardy said thoughtfully. “Centuries ago.” He stopped to watch Norfolk steam toward the North Channel. “When Whittlesey and I were at Dartmouth together, centuries past, we had Amoss as a teacher. One of those brilliant idiots, more brains than anyone has a right to possess, and not a sliver of common sense to go with them. He taught ancient history, Romans, Greeks, that sort of thing. When he became excited, which, thank God, was not often, he had a habit of throwing both arms in the air and hopping up and down. He did so only when he thought it most important that we cadets pay strict attention to what he was saying. One morning, I shall never forget it, his lesson was on the Athenians, on their seamanship, courage, and service. He spoke of the Athenian rams, the finest of their kind. Swift, deadly. Naturally, he became excited and began hopping, arms straight up in the air. Well, the exertion caused his braces to give way and down came his trousers. We cadets remembered that of course. We were young, foolish boys. But we were enchanted by the Athenians and we saw them as mystical souls. When Whittlesey sent his message, I knew exactly what he proposed, and I knew the consequences.”
Land said nothing as Hardy watched Norfolk disappear into the distance.
After a moment, Hardy, relieved of the need to talk, said: “Come on, Number One. We shall have plenty to do to get the old girl ready to put to sea.”
Cole waited patiently for the pilot of the battered Hudson to climb out of the lorry. He must have been sixty, Cole thought, with a flowing white mustache and a round belly.
Another man waited on the hardstand with Cole, a British naval officer who looked as if he had been through hell. His uniform was wrinkled and he needed a shave, and his eyes were sunken in their sockets. Cole suddenly realized that he probably looked worse.
“Well, chaps,” the pilot said brightly, “just two this flight. Not to worry, not to worry. Tubby’s old but experienced. We’ll get you there, me and my Sal. She’s old too, but she’s dependable.” He dug into a haversack and pulled out two tins as the ground crew opened the door and attached the steps leading into the aircraft. “Presents. Presents galore. One for you.” He handed a tin to Cole. “And one for you,” he said, giving a tin to the other man.
Cole looked at his. Sardines.
“Time to get aboard,” the pilot said. “Tubby’s never late. You chaps follow Tubby. He’s got to fly the plane, you know.”
The two passengers exchanged glances and followed the pilot into the plane. As the door was closed and locked the Royal Navy officer extended his hand.
“Harland,” he said.
“Cole.”
“Are you stationed with the Home Fleet?”
“Heavens no,” Harland said. “My chief sent me up to this horrible place. I think it was some sort of object lesson. Some punishment or other.”
Cole thought of his own assignment to Royal Navy Photographic Operations by his superior. You aren’t navy, he had been told. Not part of the team — someone who didn’t belong.
“If you don’t mind me saying,” Harland said, fastening his seat belt, “you look a bit used.”
“Yeah,” Cole said, looking at the tin. “What did you get?”
“Cheese,” Harland said, stuffing the tin into the seat next to him. “Fancy meeting old Saint Nick on this trip.”
The left engine turned over with a backfire and Cole jumped. He looked at Harland to see if he had noticed, but the man was almost asleep. Thankfully the right engine started smoothly and Cole felt the aircraft taxi to the runway.
He looked around the interior of the old Hudson. Some of her ribs were bent and several of her windows had been replaced by sheets of aluminum. There were patches along her roof and Cole wondered if she had seen action.
He settled into his seat and thought of N-for-Nancy. Up there where the W.T. station had once been he saw Prentice working diligently. He glanced over his shoulder to see that the turret had been removed and wondered how Johnny was getting along. He remembered the gunner’s watch and the death of the tiny raft alongside Firedancer. Past the odd pilot up front was the tunnel leading to the bomb aimer/navigator’s station and he saw Peter’s scowling face and recalled how the man had stayed at the controls so that the others had a chance to live.
Cole remembered lifting the lifeless form of Bunny from the pilot’s seat and dropping him, dying, to the floor of N-for-Nancy.
He regretted that he had not been gentler with the pilot. That he had not taken the time to treat the horribly wounded man with the compassion that he had deserved. Cole hoped that he would one day be able to quiet that regret and that he would remember those men as they lived.
Before he fell asleep, Cole remembered Firedancer and Hardy, Land, Baird, and Blessing, but most of all he recalled the excitement mixed with fear that he’d felt as the destroyer raced through the North Atlantic, trembling with anticipation at closing with the enemy. It was a strange place to find one’s purpose, at sea, but he knew that’s what he had found. He never really belonged anywhere, he had told Rebecca. He had always been, and he thought of this with real irony because of how he had come to be on the deck of that destroyer: an observer. He had stood aside life, content to watch without becoming involved. He had remained uncommitted because there was nothing that had interested him. Or I had not made it my business to become interested, he thought — knowing that it was more the latter than the former. In this way he knew that he had been a coward. But that was in his life, Before. Now, this was the life, After.
He had read about men going to war — he had taught his students about men at war, but it had been themes, trends, facts and figures that were nothing more than cold notations on a crisp, white field. You cannot go into it, he had often told himself, you cannot go into war and come out the other side the same man. He knew this.
He knew also that he would not be content with his life in any form, until he was on the deck of a warship in time of war. Despite the fear, death, and carnage — he knew.
Rebecca. He would go and see her when he got to London. He had had time to think about her and his life without her, and he knew that nothing would have meaning unless he could share it with her. Her husband wouldn’t be back for some time, so he had a chance. He had planned what he was going to say, discarded that, and created a new speech. She had to understand, she had to take him back.
As the Hudson cleared the runway and banked slowly to gain altitude, Lieutenant Jordan Cole, United States Navy, was deep asleep, teetering on the edge of his dreams.
Chapter 34