Once the boat was secured with numerous lines, double checked by Busby, the company moved as one and filed inside one of the doors. It led into what looked to have been the main mess for the crew; long tables bolted to the deck, steel cupboards with locks to keep them shut on rough seas, a simple kitchen.
‘Give me a hand,’ said Hamilton to Warner, ‘let’s see if there’s anything edible in this place.’
Warner nodded and followed the kitchen hand with a smile, happy to be out of the small boat and back on something that resembled safety. Collins was laid down on one of the tables while they tried to decide what to do with him.
‘Maybe see if there are some blankets, more medical supplies maybe, something to make him more comfortable – I don’t think it will be long now...’
Connelly nodded to Amelia.
‘Think we need to send out a scavenging party. Make sure that there isn’t anyone else on board as well.’
‘Split up?’ said Putner and Connelly nodded.
‘We need to keep this room secure while we ride the weather out. But in the meantime, you need to get to the radio room, we need to make Collins comfortable, and we need whatever we get from this ship.’
Snell nodded.
‘The women, Warner, Hamilton and Collins all stay here. I’ll try and find the radio room with Putner, you and Busby go and see what else can be found.’
‘Makes sense to me – Busby?’
‘Me and you, Professor.’
Snell checked the Webley.
‘How many shots you got left?’ asked Busby.
‘Enough, Mr Busby, enough. Putner, let’s try to find this radio room and see if we can get a message out.’
‘Just try not to bring any Japs down on us, those little Nip bastards listen in just like everyone else.’
Connelly touched his hand to Busby’s elbow.
‘Come on, let’s see if we can find some morphine for Collins or a bottle of sake for you.’
Busby grinned.
‘I haven’t had sake since Yokohama,’ he looked over at Collins. ‘Yeah, we’ll get him some blankets and that as well,’ he raised his voice, ‘you still owe me money Collins, so don’t go dying on me!’
Amelia sighed and went back to tending the injured seaman. Hamilton, Warner, and Lily were rifling through the cupboards. Lily stopped and turned.
‘Go hunter-gather, we’ll try and have something hot waiting for you.’
Busby looked back at her and grinned before Connelly pushed him out of the mess and down a ladder that ran to the lower decks. A moment after, Snell and Putner headed back out onto the rain-lashed deck to hunt out the radio room.
CHAPTER SIX
The cupboards in the mess gradually gave up their treasure; sacks of rice, jars of pickled vegetables, salt, chillies, two dozen tins of canned fish, another dozen of corned beef, several gallons of water, and two big cans of cooking oil. Hamilton looked over the loot along with the pile of pans and knives they had discovered.
‘Looks like pay dirt. We’ll eat well once I find out how they work their stove.’
‘Not quite champagne and steak but right now I could eat a scabby horse.’
Amelia pulled a face and then laughed.
‘No cigarettes though,’ said Conrad Warner.
‘You need to check the crew’s quarters for them,’ replied Hamilton.
‘Might just have to do that.’
‘See if you can find me a comb while you’re at it, Connie, I feel like a scarecrow.’
‘My pleasure, madam,’ said Warner while affecting a bow and kissing Lily’s hand.
With that he headed off towards the ladder leading down.
‘Hey, man, might be an idea to wait for the others.’
Warner looked back at Hamilton and smiled.
‘I’ll be fine.’
Hamilton shook his head and then picked up a cleaver from amongst the kitchen knives that they had found. He offered it handle first to Warner.
‘Take this with you, just in case.’
Smiling, Warner walked back and took the proffered weapon.
‘Really?’
Hamilton dead-eyed him.
‘Okay, okay. I’ll take it with me, mother hen.’
He laughed and then turned towards the ladder.
‘Be careful, Connie.’
‘I always am! Back soon.’
The hallways and passages of the ship were dark. The lights unlit showing that the ship had no power. It rolled in the swell and push of the sea and Snell steadied himself against the wall. He was scared, scared of what they might find in the dark, scared he would let the rest of the company down with a bad decision, and scared that he would not live up to the belief that had been placed in him as an officer.
‘This way you think, sir?’
Snell nodded.
‘I think so. It has to be this way somewhere if this ship is built like any other that I’ve been on.’
‘Looking forward to getting a look at their radio.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’ve been feeling pretty useless, truth be told. Connelly and Busby, they’re proper sailors and know what to do. I’m just a radio man – do you know what I mean?’
‘Yes, I think I do. How many voyages have you been on?’
‘This was my fourth trip.’
In the dark, Snell grimaced, that was three more voyages than he had been on.
‘Well, we all have our skills and our berth. Let’s find this radio room and then you can show everybody what you can do.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Snell’s hand felt sweaty on the hard waffle-pattern of the Webley’s grip, He wiped his hand on the cuff of his jacket and then did likewise with the pistol butt. He was glad of the hard, heavy weight in his hand and he thought about what it would be like to fire the bullet into the flesh of another man.
They pushed on along the dark corridor trying to find the right door.
‘First time we been on our own since all this started.’
Connelly looked up at Busby and his hand slipped into his pocket to find the closed clasp knife. He had travelled enough that he was quick with his hands but he had seen Busby brawl and would rather be armed if it came to that; in New Orleans he had seen Busby fight on after a chair had been broken over him and fork stuck into his head. They were in a cabin that looked like it might have belonged to one of the ship’s officers. Two bunk beds, metal desk bolted down to the floor and a loose chair – not much to pick up and use if it came to a fracas.
‘And you have some things to say do you?’
Busby smiled and then looked down at the deck.
‘No – not like that, Professor. I know why you backed Snell up and you were right to do it.’
‘Yes?’
Busby nodded.
‘Yeah, we make port – and we will, and I’ve done the officer it’d go badly for me – so thanks. You know me, Professor, they just rile me, officers, especially when they don’t know fuck all.’
‘Well, that’s most of them.’
‘Ha! Always liked you, Connelly. Let’s get these blankets back to Collins. Keep an eye out for fags or booze though.’
‘I always do.’
Conrad Warner whistled Duke Ellington’s Don’t Get Around Much Anymore as he walked. It was dark below decks, the only light thrown by the occasional porthole. He stopped and looked out of one; rain lashed in off a grey sea, the water looked high and choppy the waves starting to grow higher. Warner reached for his cigarette case and had it half-open before he realised that it was empty.
‘Shit,’ he swore with a half-smile playing on his lips.
He tried a door and found it locked. The next opened into what looked like the quarters for eight men – four sets of bunkbeds. He looked around and couldn’t see much difference between this and the crew quarters he had seen on other ships during his travels. He used the cleaver to smash the locks off of the foot lockers at the ends of the bunkbeds and began to rifle through them; jumpers, spare uniforms, pictures of sweet hearts, and pictures of a more unclothed nature from ports around Asia, and cigarettes… Warner smiled. He had hit pay dirt in the first chest – a large carton of Golden Bat cigarettes.