He was lolling in his chair, half sleeping, half listening to the engines’ steady beat, when Stannard roused him again. He was actually asleep when the watch had changed — and had heard nothing at all. He had been dreaming of a sunlit beach. The girl, wet with spray and warm in his arms. Laughing.
He straightened himself in the chair. ‘Yes?’
Stannard had his back to the shaded compass light and Lindsay could not see his face.
‘Just decoded an urgent signal, sir. Admiralty. If you come into the chart room you can read it.’
‘Just tell me.’ He waited, almost knowing what he would say.
‘R.A.F. reconnaissance have reported a large German unit at sea. Out of Brest, sir.’
Lindsay stared at him. ‘When was this?’
‘That’s just it. They don’t know. Weather has been very bad for aerial photography and the flak has been extra thick around Brest lately. The Jerries have been using all sorts of camouflage, nets and so forth. All they do know for sure is that one large unit is not there any more.’
‘When was the last check made?’
‘Two weeks back, sir.’ Stannard sounded apprehensive. ‘Won’t affect us, will it? I mean, this is a top secret convoy.’
Lindsay slid from the chair. ‘Nothing’s that secret. How can you hide twenty-four ships and God knows how many people?’ He added sharply, ‘Send someone to rouse the commodore. He’ll want to know.’
As Stannard hurried to a telephone Lindsay walked out on to the port wing. He could see the nearest troopship quite clearly in the moonlight, her boat deck and twin funnels standing out against the stars like parts of a fortress.
A mistake? It was possible. The Germans were always trying to move their heavy units to avoid bombing raids. They had to keep them afloat and to all appearances ready for sea. Just by being there they were a constant threat. Enough to tie down the Home Fleet’s big ships at Scapa andd others further south. Having the whole French seaboard as well as their own, the enemy were more than able to extend the menace.
He gripped the screen and tried to clear his mind of the nagging doubt. Just suppose it was part of a plan? That the raider’s attacks on Loch Glendhu and the other convoy had been a working-up for all this? At best, it would mean the Germans had been right in assuming that a single raider could tie down, a far greater mass of ships than her worth really suggested. At worst… he gripped the screen even tighter. Then it would mean that every available cruiser had been withdrawn from this convoy to search for a red-herring, The raider would be caught and sunk. He stared fixedly at the troopship. But in exchange for their sacrifice, the Germans might hope for the greatest prize of all. A whole convoy. Men, supplies, vital materials and…
He swung round as a man called, ‘Commodore’s comin’ up, sir.
Stannard joined him by the screen. ‘What shall we do, sir?’
‘Wait, Pilot.’ He did not look at him. ‘And hope.’
The following morning was another fine clear one. Even during the last part of the morning watch the sun gave a hint of the power to come and the horizon was hidden in low haze, like steam.
Maxwell was officer of the watch, and-as Lieutenant Hunter started,the daily check on the columns and bearing’ of the various ships nearby, Maxwell stayed by the screen, staring at the tiny shape of the American destroyer directly ahead. The haze was playing tricks with her upperworks and spindly funnels. As if she had been cut in halves, with the upper pieces replaced at the wrong angle.
He glanced at Lindsay but he was still asleep in his chair, one arm hanging down beside it like that of a corpse. He returned to his thoughts, unconsciously clasping his hands behind him as if on parade.
Soon now he would be getting his half stripe. Without effort he could see ‘himself at the gunnery school on Whale Island. The toiling ranks of marching officers and men. The bark of commands and snap of weapons. It would be like picking up the threads all over again. With luck, further advancement would follow automatically, and people would forget the one mistake which had cost him so.much time.
Maxwell had been young and newly-married to Decia when it had happened. Her family had been against the marriage from the start but had put a brave face on things when it had come about.
As gunnery officer in a destroyer he had been in charge of a practice shoot, a normal, routine exercise. His assistant had been a sub-lieutenant, a spoiled, stupid man whom he should never have trusted. Perhaps he had been thinking about his new bride. The excitement and sudden prosperity the marriage had brought him. He was a proud man and had at first disliked the idea of having a rich wife while he lived on a lieutenant’s meagre pay.
Whatever he had been thinking about, it had not been the shoot. The sub-lieutenant had made a serious mistake.with deflection, and instead of hitting the towed target, the shell had ploughed into the tug and killed seven men.
The sub-lieutenant had been dismissed the Service with dishonour. But he had been inexperienced, a nervous breakdown following the accident had more than proved the point to the court’s satisfaction. So if Maxwell had not directly pressed the trigger, he was certainly recognised as the true culprit. Only his excellent record had saved him from the same fate. To be required to resign was a lesser punishment in the court’s eyes, but to Maxwell it spelled disaster.
Returning to the Navy because of the war, he had half expected that his past would be buried. Another chance. One more fair opportunity. He had been wrong. One empty job after another, until finally he had been appointed to Benbecula. The bottom rung of the’ ladder.
He swayed back on his heels. But when he reached Whale Island again no one would sneer or cut him dead. He would be the man who had sunk a U-boat and made history. Ancient six-inch weapons with half-witted conscripts behind them against the cream of the German Navy. And it had been his eye and brain which had done it.
Then he thought of Decia. The nightmare vision of the bedroom and the man on his knees pleading with him. It would all be too late. He would not have her. Not see the admiration and envy on the faces of brother officers when he entered a room with her on his arm.
The telephone by his elbow made him start. ‘Officer of the watch?’ His eye moved to the pod on the foremast as he formed a mental picture of the lookout.
‘Aircraft, sir. Green four-five.’
Lindsay was awake. ‘What was that?’
Maxwell kept his eyes on the foremast. ‘Say again.’
‘I’m sure it wass an aircraft, sir.’
Maxwell covered the mouthpiece and looked at Lindsay. ‘Bloody fool says there’s an aircraft on the starboard bow, sir.’ He frowned. ‘Fifteen hundred miles from the nearest land and he sees an aircraft! Must be the bloody heat!’
Lindsay moved from the chair and took the handset. ‘Captain here. What exactly can you see?’
The seaman sounded flustered. ‘Can’t see nothin’ now, sir.’ Then more stubbornly, ‘But it was there, sir. Like a bit of glass flashin’ in the sun. Very low down. Above the laze.’
‘Keep looking.’ To Maxwell he added, ‘It’s disappeared.’
Maxwell sniffed. ‘Naturally.’
Hunter came out of the sunlight, folding his shipping lists. ‘Could be a small plane, sir.’ He smiled awkwardly as they looked at him. ‘But I was forgetting. There are no carriers hereabouts.’
The phone rang again.
Lindsay took it quickly. ‘Captain.’
‘Just saw it on about the same bearin’, sir. Just one flash. Very small, but no doubt about it.’
Lindsay handed the telephone to Hunter. ‘Inform the commodore that I would be grateful of his presence here.’ He waited for Maxwell to pass his message. ‘Very well, Guns.’ He glanced towards the nearest troopship. ‘Now you can sound off action stations.’