"Thanks," I said.
"Aye, sir. Anything else, Captain?"
"Yes, ask Petty Officer Banville to join us."
"Aye, sir."
Stubbins stepped down from the bridge and we both sipped the hot, strong tea. I didn't know what to say, but I was glad Harry at least tolerated me on the bridge. I watched him, and he looked like the same Harry I had met just a few months ago, but worn, tired, and thinner. He was about my age, with shiny blond hair that the breeze was blowing in every direction and whipping against his face. He was tanned, lines showing at the corner of his eyes from squinting into the sun, like he was doing right now. He had bags under the bags under his eyes.
"Pretty big boat," I said, trying to make conversation.
"She's a Fairmile D, newest model," Harry said, not taking his eyes off the horizon. "Bigger than the boat I took you out on last. Over 115 feet long with a crew of twelve. She can do twenty-eight knots without even trying. And this time we have torpedoes, four tubes."
"How long have you been with this squadron?"
"Less than a month."
" Why'd you leave your boat in Scotland?"
"I didn't. Keep a lookout, will you?" That was that. We stared at the sky and drank tea.
"Captain?"
We both jumped a bit at the voice, like a couple of nervous Nellies.
"Yes, ah, take the wheel, will you, Banville?"
Harry stepped aside and cupped his hands around the tea mug, planting his legs wide as the boat skimmed the waves. "Petty Officer Banville, this is Lieutenant Billy Boyle."
"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant," said Banville, taking his place at the wheel and looking straight ahead. "I'm going ashore with you and the captain, since I parlez fairly well. I learnt my French working trawlers between Boulogne and Brest, hauling everything from potatoes to scrap metal. Between the docks and the whorehouses, I managed to pick up a good bit of the lingo. I'll do my best to get the point across when the time comes."
"Banville's a good man ashore as well as at sea," Harry said. "I heat he can handle himself in a brawl."
"That's what comes of a misspent youth at sea," said Banville with^ a wink. There was a scar at the corner of his eye and his nose had been broken at least once. He was a wiry, dark-haired guy with a scrubby beard, a knife on his belt, and a crumpled once-white naval cap on his head. He looked like someone you wanted on your side if you were walking down a dark alley, which we well could be before long.
Banville gave me the once over. "By the looks of that hardware I'd say we should expect trouble," he said.
"I hope not," I said. "We're only looking for a couple of people but I like to be prepared."
He looked at my jaw and swollen lip, then at Harry's bandaged hand. "Good advice," he said, as he turned back to stare over the bow.
"I'm going below for a radio check," Harry said. "We're supposed to contact your Major Harding back at base as soon as we land." He left the bridge and Banville and I remained, swiveling our necks.
"So you knew the captain back in England?" Banville asked.
"We did a job together," I said. "But he doesn't seem too happy to see me again."
"So I noticed. But he's not been that happy about anything since he got here. Not that any of us are thrilled to be here, but we try to make the best of it. Nothing wrong with a good time ashore now and then, right?"
"Not a thing. What about Harry?"
"Keeps to himself, he does. He's a good captain, no doubt, but he holds his cards close to the chest. Doesn't pal around a lot with the other officers, either."
That didn't sound much like the Harry I'd known, however briefly, back in England. He had been cheerful and even wild, ready to take on the German Navy and the North Sea weather. He had been close with his crew, friendly, and down-to-earth. He seemed distant now: not quite aloof, but detached.
"Something must've happened," I said. "A man doesn't change that much for no reason."
"Aye. Not in peacetime, anyway."
"He said he didn't leave his boat. Any idea what he meant by that?"
Banville frowned and shook his head. "He told us about his runs between Scodand and Norway, and what that was like. Not a mention of his crew, though. I asked him about his boat, and he told me plenty about how it was kitted out, but that was all. Near as I can figure it, something happened that he doesn't want to talk about. Or think much about. Some of the boys are worried he's bad luck, but there's been no sign of it yet."
"He was good luck for me last time we were out," I said.
"Well then, maybe you'll be good luck for him," Banville said.
I knew sailors could be superstitious, so I didn't let on that I hadn't been good luck for some of his last crew. Better to let him think I was a walking rabbit's foot.
We cruised along the coast for another hour, the seas growing rougher as the wind freshened. I watched the squadron ahead of us peel off, taking up positions farther forward to cover the approach of the two destroyers. We kept on due east and then began to angle in toward the shore. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on the rolling water and creating sparkles of light everywhere as waves heaved around us. I had to hang on as the waves grew larger and we began hitting each one hard as we changed course. Harry came up and trained his binoculars on the shore.
"There's Bone, dead ahead," he said. "I hope the chaps you're looking for are home."
"Me too," I said. "Me too."
Chapter Twenty-one
We watched the two destroyers cut across our wake, making for the central wharf. I could see the dome of a big church beyond the docks dead center, but other than that Bone didn't seem much different than Algiers. Smaller, sure, but with that same mix of regular buildings you'd see in any small city back home, with Arab mud brick houses around the edges. Minarets poked up around the city like fingers pointing to heaven. The destroyers slowed as they approached the docks, guns trained on the shore, seeking out any opposition hidden in the city. No one knew if the Vichy forces were going to put up a fight, or if they'd already fled.
"No sign of the enemy, French or otherwise," said Harry, lowering his binoculars. "Lots of locals standing around and watching, rather like they're waiting for a parade."
"Good," I said. "They'll pay less attention to us."
Harry scanned the shore ahead of us. We were close to a group of dilapidated warehouse buildings, one of which had half-collapsed into the water where the pier it was built on had rotted away.
"Take her in there," said Harry, pointing to a relatively intact dock between two wooden buildings. Banville guided the boat in slowly, as two crewmen stood on the port side holding lines to tie up at the dock, and two others stood at the bow, Sten guns at the ready.
The wooden dock was weathered gray, with broken planks leaving gaping holes over the dark water beneath them. The warehouse seemed to be empty, a rough wooden door hanging open crookedly, swaying on a single hinge. Its rusty corrugated tin roof looked as if the next good wind would carry it into the Sahara, but there wasn't any wind, just the stillness of heat rising from dry wood. With the sun high in the sky, the heat was unforgiving. I tossed my jacket to the deck and took off my extra wool shirt, quick. I rolled up my sleeves and while Harry and Banville fiddled with lines and barked nautical orders to the crew, I hoisted myself up onto the dock and looked around.
As I edged along the warehouse wall to the doorway, I found that the wood was soft and swollen, damp on the outside and rotten inside. The door was hanging from the top hinge, so I knelt down to get a better view, poked the barrel of my Thompson inside, and saw a dozen small forms scattering from a pile of broken crates. Rats. Rats and garbage. The smell hit me just before the flies did, and I backed off, swatting them from my eyes. I stopped myself just before I reached the edge of the dock, waving my free arm like a pinwheel while hanging! onto the Thompson with the other as I tried to fan the flies away.