The signalman was staring at him. “Sir?”
“Say, mines laid as ordered. Warlock is rejoining you now. Wingate said shakily, “That’s it then.”
“Yes.” Drummond slipped on to his chair, not seeing the other captain’s blood. Not really seeing anything. “It certainly looks like it, Pilot.”
Within an hour of Whirlpool’s violent end there were two more air attacks.
At full speed, zigzagging as they had not done for many years, with total disregard for safety-gauges and hull strain, the four surviving destroyers had fought back. Time had become meaningless, distance measured only by the span of a gunsight, the closeness of a bomb burst.
Victor and Ventnor shared a bomber between them. Lomond sent another racing for the Norwegian coast with a long trailer of smoke behind it.
And then, quite suddenly, it was over. Finished.
Drummond clung to the side of his chair, the tinny echo of the cease-fire gong still in his ears as he stared over the screen towards the other ships. Battered maybe, and each with her share of wounded, but there were still four of them.
He thought of Whirlpool, of Kydd’s face at the meeting when he had been told about the mines.
He walked slowly to the rear of the bridge, surprised that he could move without the chair’s support. Of the land there was no sign, and only a dull smudge along the blurred horizon showed the extent of the fight, and the cost to both sides.
The bodies had all gone from the bridge, and he realised dully that they must have been taken below during the ceaseless din of gunfire and barking anti-aircraft weapons. Tucker’s cap lay in a corner, his old brass telescope nearby. It was unbroken.
“From Lomond, sir. Reduce to cruising speed.”
“Acknowledge.”
He glanced at the navigator who was sitting on his chart table, his arm-sling very clean against his leather jacket.
“Did you hear that, Pilot?”
Wingate nodded. “Yes, sir.” He moved to the voice-pipe. “Half ahead together.”
Feet moved on a ladder and Vaughan appeared in their midst. He was hatless, and his white coat was spotted with blood. Like a butcher’s. He removed his rimless glasses and blinked at Drummond.
“Another has died, sir. ” He shrugged. “Did all I could. ” He looked at the sea, realising that there was no enemy. No land either. “What happened?”
Drummond eased his shoulders. He felt filthy and dead-beat. His mind simply would not react beyond simple matters of duty.
He said, “It worked, Doc. Caught them completely by surprise. I’m sure there must have been other reasons, but surprise was one.” He thought of those who had been left behind, and of the gallant Norwegians. Of Archer, a man who had risked so much to make the raid a reality. “And courage.”
Wingate said, “There’s a long way yet, sir. We may be running head-on into a whole Jerry squadron!”
Hillier grimaced. “D’you know something? I think my ribs are cracked. ” He looked so stunned that even Vaughan smiled.
“Take your coat off. Let me have a look.”
Drummond turned away, brushing unseeingly against a lookout who was resting his elbows on the stained metal to keep his binoculars level. Below the bridge he heard the scrape and clang of metal as the guns’ crews cleared up the mess of empty cases and checked over their weapons for the next attack. They could not take much more. If another ship were to be sunk, the remainder would be unable to support each other. Perhaps that was what the enemy was trying to do. He stopped his racing thoughts with something like physical effort. The enemy was not a master-brain. It was people. Like himself and Wingate, Beaumont and Admiral Brooks. They could not always be perfect. Ready for everything.
Sheridan climbed up to his side on the gratings. He did not look at him as he’ reported, “The splinter holes are plugged as best we could manage, sir. The buffer’s party are going round the rest of the lower hull now.”
“Thanks, Number One.” He watched his profile. “What about you?”
Sheridan replied flatly, “I’m all right, sir. Glad we’re getting away from the land. Away from all that”-he shuddered, despite his heavy coat-“that bloody hell.”
He turned suddenly, his eyes bright and feverish. “Well, sir, was it worth it?”
“Strategically, of course it was. The Navy lost more ships at Narvik and achieved far less. More destroyers were sunk at Crete with nothing to show but a cruel evacuation job because of somebody’s blunder.” He nodded slowly. “This will rate as a success.” He hardened his voice. “Even if we never see land again.” He gestured to the other three ships. “Any of us.”
Sheridan licked his lips. “If we do get back, sir.” He looked away. “I’d like to apply for a transfer.”
“You would?” Drummond tried to feel something. To react or to care.
“I don’t happen to think this sort of operation warrants such …”
“Energy?” Drummond gripped the rail as the deck canted unevenly. “Is that what you object to?” He smiled. “Perhaps a war without pain would be more in your line. I know it would be in mine.”
“That’s unfair, sir. I’ve done my share.”
Drummond saw Wingate drawing away, leaving them isolated on the gratings.
He said quietly, “There are no shares, can’t you see that? We want to win this bloody war, not come in at the end as a nice, clean second! A lot of good men, and women, are depending on it. A whole lot have died already trying to make it come true.” Weariness, anger, the edge of shock made his voice suddenly bitter. “D ‘you know, Number One, your reasoning astounds me. When the Warden went off like a bat out of hell after that alleged U-boat, you thought we should have supported her, despite all the things which were, and still are, expected of us. But when I stopped to pick up survivors today, you thought it was a selfish gesture.”
Sheridan swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”
Drummond groped for his pipe. “I am very pleased to know that!” He added harshly, “I wish you could have been up here to see Charles Cromwell’s face when his ship was destroyed. I knew what he was thinking. And I thought you had it in you too when you joined this ship.” He tamped the tobacco into the bowl, much of it falling unheeded to the gratings. “Transfer? If we get out of this lot, you can have it, and with my blessing!”
Sheridan stepped down, his face as shocked as if he had just been hit in the mouth.
The intercom rasped, “Aircraft! Bearing Green four-five! Angle of sight two-oh!”
Sheridan was still at the foot of the gratings, his face working as he said, “Here is your answer, sir.”
The intercom said curtly, “Disregard. These are friendly, repeat friendly aircraft.”
Drummond did not know what to do with his pipe, as first one and then another of the men around the upper deck, behind gun-shields and at ammunition hoists, below the belching funnel, or right aft by the depth-charges, began to cheer.
“I think you may be right, Number One. It is an answer, for now.”
Wingate strode across the littered deck and gripped his hand. “We made it!” He was half grinning, half choking. “Never mind for now. Never mind that some jokers in high places think we’re expendable. We did the job, and we got this far.” He squinted up as the first of the promised air-cover roared low above the mastheads, rocking its stubby wings in salute. “And that, sir, shows what can be done, given a bit of faith!”..
Lyngstad said quietly, “Light your pipe, Captain.” He put his arms round Wingate and Hillier. “We salute you, too.”
Sheridan looked at each of them. “I suppose I spoke out of turn. I’m sorry.”