Rendezvous-South Atlantic

by Douglas Reeman

  He nodded to Boase. `I'll leave you in peace now.'

  Lindsay did not even know why he had come down to tell them the news. Boase could have done it. It was just as if he was still torturing himself by wanting to be near someone who had been with Eve when she had died. What did Malaya and Pearl Harbour mean to them at this moment anyway? The sea was all they understood now. During the night, before sleep relieved them, -they would be.thinking of it just beyond the sides of the hull. Waiting.

  He recalled the atmosphere in the sickbay when Benbecula had sighted the second personnel ship two days after the attack. She had been edging through some drift ice, and her relief at seeing B enbecula's recognition signals had been obvious to everyone aboard. Except here, in the sickbay. Was it that they felt cheated? Did they think it so cruelly unfair that their friends had been slaughtered while the other ship had escaped with little more than a bad scare? It was hard to tell.

  The other ship had been ordered to Iceland and would be in Reykjavik by now with another escort. Benbecula had not been short of company either. As she turned and steamed south once more she had been watched by two long-range aircraft, as well as a destroyer on the far horizon. But it was all too late. And the evidence of it lay and sat around him listening to him as he said, `And remember, you'll all be having Christmas at home.' He turned to leave, the words coming back to mock him like a taunt. Christmas at home.

  Something plucked at his jacket and when he looked down he saw it was the Wren's hand, the girl with the burned face.

  As he bent over the cot he heard her say, `Thank you for coming for us.' He took her hand in his. It felt hot. She said, `I saw you when I was brought here. Just a few seconds.'

  Boase shook his head. `That's enough talking.'

  But her voice had broken Lindsay's careful guard like a dam bursting. Still holding her hand he asked gently, `Did you know Wren Collins? Eve Collins?'

  `I think so. I think I saw her by the lifeboats when She could not go on.

  Lindsay released her hand and said, `Try and sleep.' Then he swung round and hurried from the sickbay with its clean, pure smells and shocked minds.

  He found Goss and Fraser waiting for him outside his day cabin. `Sorry you were kept so long.' He could not look at them. `I just wanted to go over the docking arrangements at Liverpool.' He remembered the other thing and added quietly, `By the way, Number One, you told me when I took command that one of Benbecula's sister ships was an A.M.C. in the Far East.'

  Goss watched him closely. `The old Barra, sir. That's right.

  `Well, I'm afraid she's been sunk by Jap bombers off Kuantan.'

  He saw Goss's face crumple and then return swiftly to the usual grim mask. `That's bad news, sir.' It was all he said.

  Lindsay could feel the agony inside his skull crushing his mind so that he wanted to leave the others and hide in his sleeping cabin.

  In a toneless voice he said, `Right then, we'll start by discussing the fuel and ammunition. We must arrange to lighten ship as soon as we pick up the tugs.'

  Fraser took out his notebook but kept his eyes on Lindsay's face. You poor bastard, he thought. You keep fighting it and it's tearing you apart. How much more can you take?

  Goss was thinking about the Barra. He had been third officer in her so many years' back. Her picture hung-in his cabin beside all the others. Now she was gone. He looked desperately around the cabin. Benbecula could go like that. In the twinkling of an eye-. Nothing.

  Lindsay was saying, `And there's the matter of leave. We should get both watches away for Christmas with any luck.'

  Goss said, `I'd like to stay aboard, sir.'

  Fraser looked at him. Oh God. Not you, too.

  Lindsay made a note on, his pad. `Right then. Now about Number Two hold...'

  In his pantry Jupp listened to the muted conversation and walked to a scuttle. Below on the promenade deck he saw a figure in a duffel coat walking slowly aft. He knew from the bandaged wrists it was Lieutenant Aikman. He saw two seamen turn to watch Aikman as he shambled unseeingly past them, and wondered how he would be able to survive after this.

  He returned to his coffee pot and hoped Fraser at least would remain and talk with the captain. He had seen what the. girl's death was doing to Lindsay and knew he must not be left alone. He had heard him whenever he had turned into his bunk, which was not often. Fighting his nightmares and calling her name like a lost soul in hell.

  Whenever he was alone Lindsay seemed to be searching through his confidential books and intelligence logs, totally absorbed, his eyes filled with determination, the like of which Jupp had never seen.

  Maybe when the ship was in dock the captain would 'find some comfort at home. He frowned as he recalled hearing that Lindsay had no proper home to go to.

  The bell rang, and with a flourish he picked up his coffee pot and thrust open the pantry door. Something might turn up: And until it did, Jupp would make sure Lindsay would have his help, just as long as he needed it.

  The wardroom stove glowed cheerfully across the legs of the Benbecula's officers as they waited for the stewards to open the bar. The ship felt rigidly still, for she was moored to a wharf awaiting the next move to dry dock, and some of the officers glanced repeatedly through the rain-dashed scuttles as if unable to accept the fact. Murky grey buildings, motionless in the rain, instead of a tossing

  'wilderness of angry wave crests. Tall cranes and gantrys and the masts of other ships, instead, of loneliness and complete isolation.

  Dancy listened to the clink of glasses and squeak of bolts as the stewards opened their pantry hatch, and tried to think of some special, extravagant drink to mark his return to the safety of harbour. While the ship had crept through the morning drizzle and mist and tugs had snorted and puffed importantly abeam, he had watched the great sprawling mass of Liverpool opening up before him with something-like wonder. There had been little for him to do at the time so he had been able to let his ready imagination encompass everything he saw and felt. Relief, sadness, excitement, it had all been there, as it was now. Around him on. the bridge he had watched his companions, faces and voices who had become real and very close to him. Stannard at the gyro taking careful, unhurried fixes while the ship glided up channel. Ritchie and his signalmen peering through their glasses at the diamond-bright lamps which winked from the shore. Down on the forecastle he had seen Goss waving his arms as he strode amongst the busy. seamen at the wires and fenders, while from the upper bridge the pipes shrilled and twittered in salute to passing or anchored warships. Cruisers and sturdy escort vessels. Destroyers and stumpy corvettes, all showing marks of the Atlantic weather, the seasoned look of experienced and hard used warriors.

  Lindsay had been sitting in his chair for most of the time. He had seemed very remote, even aloof whenever someone had attempted to make personal contact with him. But Dancy had watched him, nevertheless, and had tried to draw from him some of the strength he seemed to give. He had seen the twin towers of the Royal Liver building loom above the mist and had felt the infectious excitement and purpose of this great port. Headquarters of Western Approaches Command, it was also one of the main doors through which came the very life blood of a country at war.

  Stannard crossed to his side and held his hands above the glowing stove. `Well, Sub, we've made it. All snug and safe. Until the next bloody move!'

  He sounded relaxed, and Dancy envied him for it. Stannard was really important, a man who could work out a position when there was neither star nor sun to help him. When the deck was trying to stand on end while he plotted and brooded over his charts and instruments.

  A steward said, `Orders please, gentlemen.'

  Dancy and Stannard stood back to wait for the first rush to subside.

  `What do you think about the laps, Pilot?'

  Stannard looked at him thoughtfully. `God knows. We were always told that if Malaya or Singapore were attacked the enemy would come from the south.' He shrugged. `Still, I guess they've got it in han
d by now. When I think of the places I've been out East, it makes me puke to picture those little yellow bastards clumping all over them.'

  Then he brightened and added, `Now, about that drink. Have it on me.'

  Dancy frowned. `A brandy and gin.'

  Stannard stared at him. `Mixed?'

  `Mixed.'

  `You greedy bastard!' Stannard waved to a harassed steward. `I hope it chokes you!'

  The door banged open and Goss marched towards the fire.

  Stannard asked, `How about joining us, Number One?'

  Goss did not seem to hear. Turning his back to the fire he barked, `Just pipe down a minute, will you!'

  They all paused to look at him, suddenly aware of the harshness in his tone.

  Goss said, `We've just had news from the Far East. The Japs are still advancing south into Malaya.' He swallowed hard. `And they've sunk the Prince of Wales and Repulse.' He did not seem able to believe his own voice. `Both of 'em. In less than an hour!'

  `Jesus.' Stannard stared at Dancy. `Those two great ships. How the hell could they wipe them out so easily?'

  Goss was staring into space. `They had no air cover and were overwhelmed by enemy bombers.'

  `It's getting worse." Stannard downed his drink in one swallow. `I thought it would have been a fleet action at least.' He sounded angry. `What's the matter with our blokes out there? No air cover, they must be raving bloody mad!'

  Goss continued, `There'll be leave for three weeks. If you'll 'all see Lieutenant Barker about your ration cards and travel warrants after lunch we can get it sorted out without wasting any more time.'

  Dancy looked at his glass. Goss's news had left him confused and feeling vaguely cheated. They had done so much, or so it had seemed. The quick, savage gunfire in the darkness, the handful of gasping, oil-sodden survivors, it had all been part of something special. The brief announcement about the two great capital ships sunk in some far off, unknown sea had changed it in an instant. That was the real war, the swift changing balance of sea power which could and might bring down a country, a way of life for millions of people. It made his own part in

  things appear small and unimportant.

  Stannard said quietly, `Drink that muck, Sub. I think I feel like getting stoned.'

  Dancy touched the drink with his tongue. It tasted like paraffin.

  Stannard was saying, `My brother's out there in an Aussie battalion.' He looked away. `To think his life depends on those stupid Pommie brasshats!' He faced Dancy and smiled. `Sorry about that. You're quite a nice Pommie, as it happens.'

  Dancy watched him worriedly. `Thanks.'

  Then he said quickly, `What about coming home with me, Pilot? My people would love to fuss over you. Christmas is pretty quiet but.....' He hesitated, realising what

  he had done. All his carefully built up disguise as the intrepid writer would be blown to ashes when Stannard met his parents.

  Stannard eyed him gravely. `No can do, Sub.' He was thinking of the girl he had met on his last leave in London. She had a small flat in Paddington. He would spend his leave with her. Have one wild party and make it

  last until the leave was over. He added, `But thanks all the same. Maybe next time, huh?'

  Dancy nodded, relieved and saddened at the same time. He could imagine what Stannard had in mind. And he thought of his own house. The Christmas decorations, his mother complaining about rations, his father telling him how the war should be waged, where the government were going wrong.

  He said, `Maybe we could meet up somewhere? Just for a drink or something.!

  'Yeh, why not.' Stannard grinned lazily. `I'll give you a shout on the blower when I get fixed up.' She would probably have forgotten him by now anyway. But she was a real beaut. Long auburn hair, and a body which seemed to enfold a man like silk.

  pA steward called, 'Ambulances'ave arrived to take your eople away, sir.' He waited until Boase had extracted himself from the group by the bar. `The P.M.O. is comin' aboard.'

  Dancy said, `Let's go and see them leave, Pilot.'

  Stannard nodded. `I was feeling very sorry for myself just now.' He nodded again. `We'll go and cheer them up a bit, eh?'

  pThey grabbed their caps and hurried to the promenade deck. There were plenty of the ship's company with the same idea, Dancy noticed. A ragged cheer greeted the first of the survivors, as on stretchers or walking with white-coated attendants from the base hosital they started to move towards the gangway. Stannard muttered quietly, `Oh Jesus, there's Aikman.' Dancy turned and saw the lieutenant walking slowly along the deck, a suitcase in his hand, a sickberth petty officer following him at a discreet distance.

  Stannard bit his lip. Aikman was going ashore for observation. That was typical of Lindsay, he thought.

  Most other skippers would have slapped him under arrest to await court-martial for negligence and God knows what else. But Lindsay seemed to realise Aikman could not be punished more than he was already. He would probably be kept in hospital and then quietly dropped. Kicked out. Forgotten.

  He said impulsively, `Poor bastard.'

  Dancy looked at him, recalling Stannard's bitter anger on the bridge. His contempt for Aikman's pathetic efforts to cover his mistake.

  Stannard strode forward and asked, `You off then?'

  Aikman stopped as if he had been struck. When he turned his face was very pale, his eyes shadowed by dark rings, like a man under drugs.

  He said thickly, `Yes. I-I'm not sure quite what He could not go on.

  Dancy watched Stannard, wondering what he would say next. Aikman looked terrible, far worse than immediately after'' he had tried to kill himself. He had remained in his cabin, one of Boase's S.B.A.'s with him the whole time. Now he was slipping away, with not even a word from the other officers.

  Stannard thrust out his hand and said quietly, `Good luck, mate. I'm sorry about what happened.' He turned away as if to watch the ambulances on the jetty. `Could have been any one of us.'

  Aikman seized his hand and said brokenly, `But it wasn't. It was me.'

  There were tears running down his cheeks, and the petty officer said cheerfully, `Come along, sir, we don't want to keep 'em all waiting, now do we?'

  Dancy looked at Stannard. It was like hearing a teacher speaking to a backward child. He said quickly, `So long, sir.' Then he saluted and watched Aikman being led down the gangway and into one of the ambulances.

  Stannard said, `When you're in a war you think sometimes you might get bloody killed or have a bit shot out of yourself.' He shook his head as they turned back towards the wardroom. `You never think about this side of it.'

  Lindsay's cabin was filled with swirling tobacco smoke and the smell of whisky. The dockyard officials in their blue serge suits, some officers from the base engineering department, a lieutenant of the intelligence section, there seemed to bean endless array of alien faces.

  He held a match to his pipe and watched the flame quivering above the bowl. It was shaking badly, and he had to force himself to hold it still. He saw Fraser talking with another engineer and knew from the slur in his voice he was halfway to being drunk. Lindsay had already had more drinks than he could remember yet felt ice-cold sober. He did not even feel tired any more, just numb. Empty of anything which he could recognise.

  Lindsay had been down to see the survivors over the side and had spoken to most of them. A handshake here, a quick thumbs-up there. They. had all responded by playing their allotted roles. It was the unspoken word and unmade gesture which had moved him. The glances from some of the Wrens as they had looked down at the solid, unmoving jetty. The wounded sailor on a stretcher who had looked up at the grey sky and had stared at it with something like awe. And the girl with the bandaged face who had been carried by two S.B.A.'s on a kind of chair over the gangway with all the others.

  It was almost as if she had sensed Lindsay was there, and had reached out to hold his hand. Nothing more. Just a quick contact, not even a squeeze, but it had told him- so much.
/>   Now they were all gone and the old ship was waiting patiently for the next phase to begin. Repairs and all the indignities of dry dock. Then back again. To the Atlantic.

  If Goss had not been so determined to stay with the ship he knew he would have done so. He did not want to I go anywhere else. Not to spend his leave in some hotel with all its Christmas noise and urgent gaiety. He would have to go somewhere. He thought of Aikman's face as he had explained what was arranged for him. But you never knew with men like Aikman. He might go under completely. He could just as easily grow a new outer covering and start all over again. Given time, he might even believe he had been blameless, that everyone else had caused the mistake. Lindsay hoped it would. be the latter. Aikman was too weak and insecure to carry the brand entirely for what had happened.

  He realised with a start that the earnest young lieutenant from Intelligence was speaking to him.

  `I shall make a careful study of all your considerations, sir.' He nodded gravely. `I feel sure that something very useful may come of them.'

  Lindsay regarded him evenly. The lieutenant was a temporary officer with a beautifully cut uniform and perfect manners. Perhaps a journalist in peacetime who had found. his niche on the staff. He certainly appeared to be enjoying his role. He even spoke with a conspiratorial confidence, like some master-spy in a pre-war film..

  Lindsay found himself wondering why he had bothered to compile such a lengthy report. Probably to retain his own sanity. He knew he needed some new purpose if he was to keep from cracking apart. And if hatred was a purpose then he might be halfway there.

  He said, `I believe that if we can discover more about the German raider, the man who commands her, then we might learn something.' He stopped. It was obvious from the lieutenant's polite smile he was already thinking of something else. He added, `With the Japs in' the war we won't be able to rely too much on American protection on the other side of the Atlantic. They'll need all their spare ships in the Pacific until they can get on their feet again.'