Sheridan saw the chief boatswain’s mate crawling towards him.
“Right, Buffer. Jump about. Towing job!”
Petty Officer Vickery gripped a bandage between his teeth and tightened it round his wrist.
He said, “I’ll get the lads, sir.”
Sheridan stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit it, his fingers shaking badly. It didn’t matter now, he thought. What with bursting torpedoes hurling shattered piers, hunks of metal which had been midget submarines and towering banks of flame right up to the clouds, one more light would not make much difference.
Men blundered past him, groping for wires and tackles, and he hurried to join them. He saw a man crouching by two inert bodies. It was Tyson, rocking from side to side, sobbing and whimpering like a child.
Someone gripped his sleeve, but when he looked down he saw it was not a human touch. A splinter had ripped through his clothing, laying bare his arm from shoulder to elbow without even bruising the skin.
Bullets hammered sparks from the side and deck plating, and he saw his men falling back.
He felt strangely calm, even elated, and found that he could walk right aft without stooping. He was going mad. It had to be that.
He turned his back towards the clattering machine guns and yelled, “Move yourselves! Nobody lives forever!”
18
Reunion
Several great fires had begun to explore the immediate waterfront and jetties, so that the falling snow gleamed in bright orange hues, as if each flake was hot to the touch.
Drifting smoke, the confusion of spitting tracer helped Drummond considerably as he brought his ship alongside the crippled Lomond.
Wingate shouted, “If her charges go up, we’ve all had it!”
Drummond ignored him. The charges would have exploded by now if things had gone as planned. Lomond should have been wedged into the nearest overhanging concrete cliff, her small passage crew speeding to safety in one of the M.L.s.
“Stop starboard!”
Shadows danced through the glittering snow, and he saw some of his men clambering across to Lomond’s deck with heaving lines as Warlock nudged firmly into her bulging fenders.
“Stop port!” He craned over the screen to peer aft. “Tell number one to get a move on!”
He felt something fan past his shoulders and smack into the forward funnel. He found he could ignore most of it, concentrate on the immediate situation.
Cable and wire hawsers were clinking across decks, and several men fell sprawling on the slush and ice.
He thought he saw Vaughan climbing on to the ship alongside, and gritted his teeth as a motor torpedo boat surged abeam and fired her fish towards the dock area.
The explosions roared back, and more debris, pieces of wood and metal rained down on every side.
Ives said imperturbably, “Signal from senior officer M.T.B.s, sir. All torpedoes fired. Am proceeding to assist ingeneral evacuation.”
“Tell him. Many thanks.”
He forgot Ives and his small winking light as Hillier yelled,“All secured aft, sir!”
“Very well. Slow astern port.”
He watched the ships angling apart, the apparent tangle of wires and shackles dropping into place as Lomond’s bows slewed round to follow in Warlock’s wake.
“Slow ahead together. Port fifteen.”
Sheridan dashed on to the bridge, his face streaked with sweat in the reflected fires.
“De Pass’s gunnery officer broke the fuses, sir. Just in time.
She’s holed below the bridge, but the pumps will be able to cope if they can get the engine room cleared.”
He seemed to realise that the bulk of the fires were swinging away across the starboard beam as Warlock continued to turn towards the open sea.
“Good.”
Drummond raised his glasses, searching for the command vessel. Maybe it had sunk with some of the M. L. s, and Beaumont killed.
“Midships. Steady. Steer two-five-zero.”
Sheridan watched him. He was remembering his brief visit to the ship which was now following obediently astern.
De Pass, teeth bared in agony while Vaughan did what hecould, seemed to have lost most of one leg and was cut about the face in a dozen places.
He had said between groans, “Beaumont should have beenaboard. He knew what to do. I signalled for assistance when wegot disabled, he acknowledged, and that was all he bloody welldid do!”
The pain and the morphia had mercifully released him from his despair.
Drummond said, “De Pass did well. Better than I gave him credit for.”
Ives called sharply, “W/T office have urgent signal from Admiralty, sir.”
“Must be for Beaumont.”
He listened to the steady thump of gunfire through the snow and smoke, and wondered how the little boats were getting on with the evacuation. The wounded would have to be left behind to spend the rest of their war behind barbed wire. It was to be hoped they knew that their suffering was not for nothing.
Ives said, “No, sir. Restricted. To you.”
Sheridan remembered the wounded who had been brought off the Lomond.
“I’ll see to it, sir. Doc’s busy.”
Drummond nodded. An urgent signal in the middle of hell. He had the sudden desire to laugh out loud. Probably an announcement about clothing issue for Wrens.
He saw Victor steaming abeam, her guns firing up and over the nearest M.T.B.s which were heading out from the land. They would have to get a move on. Their fuel must be running out fast.
When he looked at his watch he saw it was barely half past two.
Ives called, “Command vessel closing to port, sir.”
“Tell the buffer to get a side party to haul Captain (D) aboard.”
If he wants to come, he thought bitterly.
He gripped the vibrating screen and threw back his head to let the clinging snow cover his face. It helped to steady him. To realise that the gunfire was less rapid now, the pale waterspouts further away. They had gone in with little hope of completing the mission, still less of getting away. The snow had saved them. That, and a whole lot more.
He heard the snarl of engines alongside, the scrape of wood against steel as the M.G.B. surged along the hull before lurching away again, her skipper waving his hand towards
Warlock’s seamen.
Beaumont clambered on to the bridge, his face glowing in the strange reflections.
He shouted, “Why didn’t that fool de Pass get closer to the pens?”
“It was too late. He cut the fuses just in time. My doctor says he’s dying.”
Beaumont moved restlessly round the bridge, his feet catch ing on broken glass and some severed halliards.
Drummond watched him calmly.
Beaumont swung on him. “I think most of the troops are away. Had some losses, of course.” He glared as Sheridan appeared by the chart table. “What d’you want?”
Drummond listened to his voice. He could barely recognise it. Flat, toneless. “Urgent signal from Admiralty. ” He looked at Sheridan’s dull shadow. “Read it under the chart screen.”
Even Sheridan sounded different. “To commanding officer Warlock. Discontinue the action immediately and withdraw as planned. Due to weather conditions, no air cover is at present available, but surface support is on way.”
Beaumont rasped, “In God’s name! Now tell us something we didn’t know!”
Sheridan continued, “Yesterday off North Cape the battlecruiser Scharnhorst was sunk by units of the Home Fleet under command of Admiral Fraser. During recent bad weather in English Channel remaining battlecruiser Moltke passed unobserved westward towards Brest. She was damaged by Bomber Command but still able to maintain ten knots. She is now believed to be somewhere in your vicinity with two destroyers in company.”
Beaumont murmured thickly, “In God’s name! After all this time!”