The Destroyers

by Douglas Reeman

  Sheridan clattered up the bridge ladder and saluted formally.

  “Ready to move ship, sir.” His face looked dark with stubble, and his eyes were like dull stones.

  “Yes. We will tie up ahead of the oiler.”

  Drummond was so desperately tired he felt he could not move from the gratings. They had arrived in the first light, having been too late to make an entrance earlier. The search for survivors, the need to allow the convoy to reach port ahead of them and disperse. It had all taken time.

  He heard Hillier say, “I thought it would be all snow and ice. “

  Galbraith wiped his forehead with one gloved hand and left another streak of grease on it.

  He said, “Stay here a wee while, Sub, and you’ll get all the snow you want. They’ve only got two seasons in Iceland. July and winter!”

  Tucker, the yeoman of signals, who was examining the halliards above the bridge, snorted, “Bloody Icelanders. They’d rather have the Jerries here than us!”

  Drummond felt for his pipe, touching the broken stern with his thumb.

  “I see that Lomond and the others beat us to it.”

  He had already exchanged signals with Beaumont’s ship, which in her new dazzle paint lay across the harbour at the best mooring. Ten minutes’ walk from the officers’ club.

  Sheridan said awkwardly, “Shall I take over, sir?”

  Drummond nodded, fighting back a yawn. “Yes. Warp her forrard when you get the go-ahead from the dock party. They’ve a little engine on rails. You just pass them the warps and they do the rest.”

  He touched his cap to Galbraith and the others, his mind already on his report. What he would say. How he would say it.

  Galbraith thrust his hands inside his flapping white boiler suit and muttered, “He feels it badly.”

  Sheridan stared at him. “What about Warden’s people?”

  “I’m an engineer, Number One. I told you that. I admire a brave man, but I canna abide a fool. Warden’s gone west, an’ a hundred of her lads with her. That we know for certain.” He looked up at some circling gulls, hopefully watching the newcomers. “We’ll never know if that U-boat was any real menace to the convoy. So in my book Duvall was a bloody fool.” He strode to the ladder, adding tersely, “You do things properly, or you don’t do ‘em at all. That’s the law of the engine room. It should be the same on th’ bloody bridge!”

  Wingate whistled. “The old chief’s getting steam up again. “

  Sheridan looked at him bitterly. “What the hell’s the matter with everyone? Don’t you care either?”

  “Of course I care.” Wingate was pulling his charts from the ready-use table with quick, savage motions. “But what good does it do to show it, eh? I care that a ship, and all the other ships I’ve seen go to hell, are lying on the bottom! I care that the chief gunner’s mate’s wife and daughter were killed last night in an air-raid on Chatham, and nobody’s been able to tell him yet. I care about all these things, and a lot more, Number One, but I know that I don’t have to do a damn thing about them.” He gestured angrily at the empty ladder. “He will though!”

  Feet clattered through the other gate and broke the sudden stillness like an explosion. Sheridan stared at the petty officer who was watching all of them with tired resignation. It was the chief gunner’s mate.

  He said, “Beg pardon, sir, but the dock party is ready to take our wires. I’ve mustered the duty watch for you. “

  Sheridan swallowed hard. “Thank you, Abbott.”

  Wingate said harshly, “Haven’t you forgotten something, Number One?”

  Sheridan said, “Go and see the captain, will you, Abbott.” He saw the man’s face growing pale. “Quick as you can.”

  As the petty officer hurried away Wingate said softly, “See? All you have to do is pass the buck.” He walked past him, his eyes cold. “Just don’t ask if I care, that’s all.”

  Fitzroy, the petty officer telegraphist, appeared from the rear of the bridge.

  “Captain (D) wants the skipper over aboard Lomond, Yeo. ” He saw Sheridan and added, “Sorry, sir. I thought you were down aft.”

  “I’ll tell him. Thank you.” He moved very slowly to the ladder. “He’s seeing Petty Officer Abbott at the moment.”

  Fitzroy and Tucker exchanged quick glances. Then the bearded yeoman said, “We’ll take him ashore tonight, eh, Maurice? Fetch a jar of heaters with us, too.”

  Fitzroy nodded, his eyes suddenly very bright. “Poor old bastard. Couldn’t believe it when I was taking down the signal. “

  Sheridan left the bridge, his mind reeling. It was like part of a nightmare. The swiftsure touch of death. The way everyone tried to face up to it. Above all was the unnerving pattern of events which had ended with Warden’s sudden destruction. The distorted voice on the R/T, Drummond’s impassive acceptance, the way they had held back and let a ship die. It was like the Conquerorall over again. The destroyers holding off. By order.

  He found Mr. Noakes and the chief boatswain’s mate, and the weary-looking duty watch waiting with wires and fenders again.

  He said, “Ready when you are.”

  Noakes said, “Look at ‘em. All gapin’ at the bloody shore. Can’t wait to put their fancy gear on and go chasm’ the tarts. They’ll be lucky, I don’t think!”

  Vickery, the chief boatswain’s mate, turned as Abbott hurried past along the iron deck.

  “See you in the mess, Ted. When we get the old girl snugged down. “

  Abbott strode on without a word.

  Vickery looked at Sheridan and exclaimed, “What the hell’s got into him?” Then he said slowly, “Jesus, not his family?” He swung away, his voice harsh. “Come on then, jump about! Take up them bloody wires and try an’ look like seamen!”

  In his sleeping cabin Drummond stripped off his sweater and threw it on a chair. For a while he looked at the rusty plates of the oiler alongside, waiting until they began to move slowly and steadily past the scuttle, and then he turned to his mirror. Perhaps a good shave would help. Owles had laid out a crisp new shirt and best uniform. He was doing his best. He heard wires scraping along the deck above and Noakes bellowing at some unfortunate rating or other. He had never allowed anyone else to move the ship like this, even though it was perfectly simple with the dockside engine in control. But he knew he could not have stood a moment longer on that bridge. He would either have smashed Sheridan in the face, or burst into tears. Neither would have changed anything.

  Perhaps his last conversation with Sheridan had been on Duvall’s mind even at the moment of death. That Beaumont was in some way responsible for all that had happened. The Conqueror, the men who had died in the burning decoy, and the Warden herself as she split asunder and painted the sea and sky with bright orange fire.

  It got just that bit worse each time. Everyone who was in combat said the same. If he was honest. At Harwich, Drummond had known a lot of the fighter pilots at the nearby base. Not unlike destroyer men, in their way. Young, reckless, yet so full of life. Some of them had told him of their own fears. The first kill in the sky, the terror giving way to exultation. Not at killing an enemy pilot, but winning a single-handed battle. The next times were easier, and then they seemed to reach a peak, after which things got more tense, minds became edgier, less tolerant of minor faults in planes and other pilots. After that, they usually died.

  In ships, especially small ones, it took longer. For the sense of permanence and indestructibility was always with you. You carried your home wherever you went. Little else mattered beyond the steel shell. But the strain mounted, nevertheless. And he was seeing it now in his own face. As he had watched it on Wingate’s and Galbraith’s. As he had seen it when Duvall had been asking about Beaumont. I can’t get his measure. Nor would he, now.

  He thought, too, of Petty Officer Abbott, as he had looked when he had told him about the signal. A very tough man was Abbott. He had been wounded twice, and had been in the Navy since he was a boy. He had stood by the desk, not
looking at Drummond but at the signal in his hands.

  He had said, “Not them, sir! Not them!”

  Drummond had poured out a glass of brandy. “Drink this.”

  He had wanted so much to know the words. The right way to say them. At the same time he knew there were none.

  Abbott had exclaimed brokenly, “What’ll I do, sir?”

  “I’ll have you flown home immediately. Someone else can take over until … “

  Abbott had said emptily, “But they was my home, sir.” The glass of brandy stood untouched on the desk in the other cabin.

  Drummond laid down the razor and touched his face. The bulkhead telephone buzzed and he took it as he was about to slip on the clean shirt.

  “First lieutenant here, sir. There was a signal from Lomond. “

  “For me to go across?”

  “Yes, sir. “

  “Thank you.” He leaned against the cool metal bulkhead, the picture of the neat bunk behind him looming like a spoiled dream. “He doesn’t waste much time.”

  “Ship is securing now, sir. Whirlpool will be coming along the port side when she finishes oiling.”

  “Good. Send the duty watch to breakfast while they’re waiting. “

  Sheridan seemed to be hesitating. Then he said, “Sorry I got worked up about Warden, sir.”

  “Forget it. ” He saw the brandy on the desk. “It happens. ”

  Sheridan said, “I’ll carry on then, sir.”

  “Yes.” He thought of the girl and Sheridan at the hotel.

  “You know where I am if you need me.” He replaced the telephone and walked to the desk.

  Then he gave a great sigh and pushed the glass away.

  “No. I’ll drink his bloody brandy for a change!”

  Through the door Owles listened and gave a satisfied nod. The skipper was getting over it. Just one more time. He busied himself brushing Drummond’s cap. It was the only way to manage things, he thought.

  Beaumont sat in a new leather armchair and regarded Drummond thoughtfully. His quarters smelled of fresh paint and had an air of unusual comfort.

  He said at length, “I read your report. My number one is adding a few touches for my benefit, otherwise it seems fine. “

  Drummond felt the drowsiness coming back and concentrated his gaze on a swaying harbour crane which he could see through one of the polished scuttles.

  Beaumont continued, “Pity about Hector Duvall, of course. But you can’t play God without some risk. In his case he went too far, that’s all.”

  “Would it have made that much difference if the rest’of us had followed, d’you think, sir?”

  Beaumont wagged one finger. “Now, you must not ask me, Keith. I was not there, was I? You’ve made it all clear in the report. You weighed up the situation and decided. I don’t think anyone can blame you for what happened. “

  Drummond stared at him. “Blame me? I was obeying your orders, sir.”

  Beaumont picked something from his sleeve and smiled gently. “Of course. “

  “Look, sir, if you think I should have acted as my instinct dictated, then I’d like to hear it.”

  “Easy, Keith!” He was still smiling. “It’s over and done with. I’m not condoning Duvall’s actions for a single second. By charging in like a bull in a china shop he might have brought all hell down on our heads. That convoy arrived almost intact. But even if it had been wiped out, Duvall’s four destroyers did not exist as far as the convoy’s escort commander was concerned. When the convoy weighed anchor it had four corvettes and a trawler to protect it. If their lordships thought them insufficient they should have acted accordingly. Nobody relies on miracles all the time. Especially me. “

  He stood up and walked to the nearest scuttle, his face smooth and pink in the reflected light.

  “I was only saying that I did not know how I might have reacted in your position once Duvall had gone off at half-cock. ” He turned, smiling broadly. “No traps, Keith. No false motives. “

  His P.O. steward peered round a curtain.

  “Shall I lay out the glasses yet, sir?”

  “In a moment.” Beaumont flicked up one white cuff and examined his watch. “They’ll be aboard in about fifteen minutes. Better not have a drink until then, eh?”

  The steward withdrew.

  “Visitors?”

  The thought of shaking more hands, or facing either friendship or hostility, was more than Drummond could bear.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Beaumont tugged his jacket into place, “Miles Salter and his lot are here, too. Flew up from U. K. to oil the wheels, so to speak.”

  He tried to see where it was all leading. “Anyone else I know?”

  “Miles’s pet worry, Sarah Kemp. She should be very decorative. The Icelandic girls have been told to stay away from Jolly Jack. They’re not too keen on us locally.”

  “Won’t all this fuss draw attention to what we’re doing?” But he was seeing her face as he asked. One of the image makers.

  “They’re used to the information and propaganda people here. The admiral seems quite taken with the idea. ” Beaumont frowned. “But I agree we must be careful. Too much at stake to risk anything. This operation must be perfect.”

  Feet moved overhead, and Drummond heard the O.O.D. hurrying to the gangway to greet the visitors.

  Beaumont turned to face the door, arranging himself. Like an actor waiting for the curtain to go up.

  Miles Salter came in first. He was as crumpled as ever, but seemed in good spirits.

  He shook hands with Beaumont and smiled to Drummond, remarking, “So you’re still with us, Commander. That’s the ticket. “

  There were two other men in suits which looked as if they had been slept in, one of whom carried a large and very expensive camera.

  Sarah Kemp walked across the cabin, smiled at Beaumont and then stopped directly in front of Drummond. She thrust out her hand, her eyes never leaving his face.

  “Hello, yourself.” She did not smile. “I’m glad you’re as. right.” She tightened her grip. “Really.”

  He said, “You’ve heard all about it.”

  “I’m sorry. It sounded like bragging, I expect.” “No. It’s just that I’m not used to it.”

  She sat down beside his chair, crossing her legs and smoothing her skirt in two quick movements.

  “Well, talking about events is easier than enacting them.”

  She watched him gravely. “Have they been giving you a hard time?”

  “Just the usual.” He forced a smile. “I heard you were in Falmouth. “

  She touched her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. “You make it sound worse than it was.”

  “I’m sorry.” He looked away. “None of my business anyway. “

  “When you say it like that, it means you think it is yourbusiness. “

  Beaumont called brightly, “How about a drink?”

  She laughed. “I thought you’d never ask. Honestly, this country!” She looked at the others. “Nothing to drink, the streets full of potty-looking men and beautiful girls, it’s not fair!”

  The stewards were moving in, the petty officer watching the girl’s knees as he deftly arranged the glasses.

  Drummond took out his spare pipe. He did not feel like a smoke or a drink, but it would give him time. He watched her as she threw quick remarks amongst the others. She had their attention most of the time, and knew it. And yet it was more like a game, he decided. An act to hide something else. He thought of Sheridan holding her. Feeling her lithe body. Enjoying her, and she him.

  “Drink, sir?” The steward watched him.

  “Horse’s neck, please.”

  She swung round. “You should be in the cavalry!”

  More people arrived, including some senior officers from the Area Combined H.Q., Navy and R.A.F. The admiral, it seemed, could not come, but would see them later. It was getting very noisy and jolly, and he could see her being hedged away from him, swallowed up by dark and
pale blue uniforms.

  Beaumont’s voice seemed to carry above all the rest. Like a trumpet. “So I said to this bloody woman in Oxford Street, how much for the night? And she had the damn nerve to reply, five quid! I mean, I know things have gone up in wartime!”

  A tall group captain asked, “What did you say?”

  “I told her, by God. ” He grinned. “I want to hire the bloody thing, not buy it!”

  Drummond turned and found she was beside him again. “He really is a card, don’t you think?” She grimaced and

  rolled her eyes. “A man’s man from the socks up!”

  “I gather you were talking about the Conqueror with my number one?”

  She studied him curiously. “You come out with it, don’t you? No messing about.” But she did not make a joke of it. “Yes, I was. I was trying to find out about my brother. Things like that.”

  “I heard something of the sort.”

  “You heard what you wanted to hear. ” She moved closer and dropped her voice. “And most of it was wrong, I’ll bet.” He had to lower his head -to hear above the din of voices and

  clattering glasses. He could smell her hair. Her skin.

  She said, “I didn’t go to bed with him, by the way.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “There, how’s that for

  directness? Your move.”

  He said, “I never thought-“

  “Oh, come on!” She was smiling again, showing her perfect teeth. “Now who’s kidding who? It’s written all over your face! I’ll not say it wasn’t a battle at one time, but I’m stronger than I look. I have to be!”

  He tried to appear calm. “I was wondering … ‘

  “There you go again!” She touched his sleeve. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me. And the answer’s yes. ” She smiled at his confusion. “When you’re free, give me a call. I’m at that special hotel for women, a cross between a convent and a prison. Like Worthing on a wet September Sunday!”

  Salter was calling her name, waiting, his face already flushed with drink, to introduce her to the latest arrivals.

  She said, “I’d like to talk. Soon.”

  He replied, “Yes. I’ll see what I can arrange.” He smiled. “And thanks.”