Hamilton drained his glass. ‘Thanks, Chief. You’ve probably saved me from making a bloody fool of myself. It’s my own fault for judging by appearances. But with that sort of service behind them, why the hell do they let the Japanese walk all over them?’
Alf Bennett picked up an empty glass and started polishing it. ‘You’ll find out, sir,’ he said dismally. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’
It was almost dark when Hamilton finally left the club, and the short tropical twilight had already deepened into a velvet blackness by the time he reached the quayside. Rapier was berthed between two destroyers and a precariously long gangplank stretched out across the murky water to the nearest ship, Thracian. Hamilton considered it carefully for several moments and then launched himself on to it a trifle unsteadily. The swaying of the gangway did not help his equilibrium but, squaring his shoulders and staring straight ahead, he managed to stay on the narrow planking.
A marine sentry was guarding the far end and saluted smartly as he saw the officer approaching.
‘Your pass, sir.’
Hamilton grabbed at a stanchion to maintain his balance and blinked at the burly figure blocking the step on to the destroyer’s deck. He was not drunk, but the whisky, after an enforced abstinence of almost a fortnight, was making his head swim.
‘Lieutenant Hamilton◦– Rapier.’
‘Sorry, sir. Must see your pass. Captain’s orders.’
‘I am the captain, man. Let me through.’
Somehow the Marine corporal contrived to expand, so that his already large body completely blocked the shipboard exit from the gangway. He shone his night-lamp on Hamilton’s face.
‘No, you ain’t, sir◦– with respect. Never seen you before.’ He moved his head slightly and spoke to someone standing in the shadow of the starboard cutter. ‘Nobby, go and fetch the OOW – this ’ere bloke says he’s the Captain.’
‘Not of this boat, Corporal,’ Hamilton snapped impatiently, as the unseen Nobby vanished in the direction of the quarter-deck in search of the officer of the watch. ‘I’m in command of Rapier, the submarine berthed alongside.’
‘Let’s see your pass then, sir,’ Isaacs said stolidly. He was a man of somewhat limited conversational power.
The cool night air had cleared Hamilton’s head, although it had done little to assuage his temper. He was about to give the corporal the full benefit of his impatience when he heard the sharp footsteps of the destroyer’s OOW approaching.
‘What’s going on, Corporal?’ The question was asked in the high-pitched voice that Hamilton detested, and he squinted through the darkness at the OOW’s uniform to see if he could pull rank. He was disappointed by the two gold rings on Jessop’s epaulettes. Despite his growing irritation, he bottled his temper. After all, he reminded himself, the marine corporal was only carrying out his orders.
‘Gentleman trying to come aboard without a pass, sir,’ Isaacs explained portentously. ‘Says he’s the Captain.’
Lieutenant Jessop epitomized everything Hamilton hated about the Royal Navy. He was immaculately dressed in his tropical whites, with shorts just that trifle too long and the tops of his white stockings adjusted with almost mathematical exactitude an inch below his knees. Hamilton suppressed a snort of derision as he saw the telescope tucked under his arm in the approved Dartmouth fashion. Unaware of the impression he had made, Jessop stepped forward and examined the visitor carefully with his shaded lamp.
‘He’s not the Captain,’ he confirmed to the corporal, in a tone suggesting an important discovery.
Hamilton clenched his hands. He had an enormous desire to push the pompous little duty officer into the sea, but he restrained the impulse. ‘I am Lieutenant Hamilton◦– Commanding Officer of the Rapier. My boat is berthed to seaward and my only means of access is via your gangway. Now if you have completed this little farce, perhaps you’ll let me go aboard my own boat!’
‘He don’t have a pass, sir,’ Isaacs pointed out impassively.
‘Of course, I don’t have a pass. We only arrived today and I was immediately called ashore to see Captain Snark. I know nothing of your security system, but no doubt I can come to some amicable arrangement with your Captain in the morning. Right now I just want to get aboard my own boat.’
‘We have to make sure the Chinese don’t get into the ship,’ Jessop explained earnestly. ‘That’s why we have passes.’
‘Good God, man! Do I look like a bloody Chinaman?’ Hamilton exploded.
Jessop agreed that he didn’t. But without the magical pass, there appeared to be no way of crossing the threshold on to Thracian’s deck. Hamilton fumed in the darkness and weighed up his chances of bursting past the gangway guard. He concluded, however, that Corporal Isaacs was a trifle too solid to be swept aside.
‘Look, Lieutenant,’ he gritted. ‘I know I don’t have a pass. But perhaps if my Number One was called over to identify me that would suffice until the morning?’
Jessop visibly brightened. ‘Sounds a good idea, old man. Styles! Go across to the submarine, give the Executive Officer my compliments, and ask him to come to the gangway.’ Nobby merged back into the shadows again on his latest errand, while Jessop endeavored to fill the interval with his own brand of light conversation.
‘Sorry about all this, old man. Have to take all these precautions, you know. Can’t have any of these damned Chinese on board◦– never know what they’ll get up to.’
‘I would have thought it more important to worry about the Japanese,’ Hamilton said sourly. ‘I was under the impression that the Hong Kong Chinese were on our side.
The sarcasm was lost on Jessop. His high-pitched laugh reminded Hamilton of a donkey braying. ‘To be frank, old boy, I can’t tell the difference. Both look the same to me. But I take a jaundiced view.’ He sniggered at his own tasteless pun.
‘This should be Mannon,’ Hamilton interrupted, as he heard the footsteps echoing across the deck planking. The tall familiar figure of the Rapier’s executive officer ducked under the blast screen of the for’ard gun, and grinned cheerfully as he recognized the skipper.
‘Thank the Lord you’ve arrived, sir,’ he said without ceremony. ‘We’re having a spot of trouble on board◦– your girlfriend refuses to leave. Keeps on telling us you’re her master. The other two are just as bad◦– gibbering away like a wagonload of monkeys.’
Jessop’s jaw dropped incredulously. He’d heard that submarines were a piratical undisciplined bunch◦– but to have their own women aboard! He looked at Hamilton and gulped.
‘Okay, Number One,’ Hamilton said cheerfully. ‘I’ll come and sort them out.’ He nodded towards Jessop. ‘Our friend here wants you to identify me. Seems I don’t have the right visiting card.’
Jessop was feeling slightly demoralized. He stepped back from the gangway as if Hamilton’s licentiousness would contaminate him. Women aboard one of His Majesty’s ships! What next? He forced his mouth into a ghastly smile.
‘We can waive the formalities, Lieutenant Hamilton. I’m sure there is a great deal to be attended to on your boat◦– please proceed.’
‘You’ll have a word with your skipper in the morning and arrange about the passes? I don’t want my men going through this charade every time they come aboard.’ Hamilton made his way to the port side and paused as he reached the narrow gangplank leading down on to the Rapier’s fore casing. ‘By the way, old boy,’ he said casually. ‘Can we borrow one of your boats? Got to get rid of the evidence, you know.’