All at once their own small world had been changed. The outside events, the war, all that went with it had come crowding in once more.
The Japanese had not been halted. That strip of water between Singapore Island and the mainland was not an English Channel as everyone had claimed it to be. The enemy had crossed it and were already advancing into the island itself. It was impossible but it was happening.
Stannard had stood in the sunlit cabin watching Lindsay as he had read the signal.
`What d'you think, sir? Will they pull our lads out?'
Looking back to that moment it was hard to remember what he had really believed. Not another retreat, surely? For this time there could be no Dunkirk with friendly white cliffs within reach of those brave or foolhardy enough to try for them. No sane man would write off the whole garrison. Not an army. It was inconceivable, just as now, standing on the sunlit bridge he could see it had been inevitable.
There had been a security clampdown on signals and little more was heard of that other war. Benbecula had continued across the Indian Ocean, enjoying perhaps the waters which had once- been so familiar to her well-worn keel. They had passed several convoys heading in the opposite direction. Meat and grain from Australia and New Zealand-, oil from the Gulf. The very stuff of survival for the people who waited in England for those ships to arrive,
The Benbecula's people had watched them pass. Had waved and, laughed at the usual exchange of crude or witty signals. Inwardly they had thought of that other ocean which still lay awaiting those convoys. Which they had endured and somehow survived to get this far.
Lindsay had watched Stannard going about his duties with growing concern. And he was not the only one with Singapore on his mind. Several men had brothers and friends there. Some even had fathers and uncles on the island, so great were the demands of war.
Then, just a week ago, while Benbecula had been passing within visual distance of the Seychelles, the news had broken. Singapore had fallen. The Gibraltar of the Far East, as it had been so often described by the press, had surrendered. And with it, every man who had been unable to escape on the few vessels left afloat by Japanese bombers.
Commodore Kemp's fast convoy, or the remains of it, still lay in Trincomalee with many other ships which had been expecting to go to Singapore's aid. Many a soldier would be thanking God right now that they had not arrived in time to be sacrificed for nothing.
Stannard came out to the wing and saluted. He was wearing sun-glasses- and it was impossible to read his expression.
`All secure, sir. Permission to clear the bridge?'
`Carry on.' He hesitated and then said quietly, `Look, . Pilot, it may not mean your brother is still out there. He might have been one of the lucky ones.'
Stannard looked down at the milling figures which were struggling to assist Archer's seamen with securing the brow.
`I don't know whether I wish him dead or a prisoner. You've heard what the Japs have been doing to prisoners.' He added with sudden bitterness, `And it seems to me the chance of our ever retaking Singapore, or any other bloody place for that matter, is pretty remote.'
`I know how you must feel.'
Stannard turned. `Yes. I know how I feel, too. It's Jason I'm thinking about. Never been out of Aussie in his life. He's not like us. He's just a kid.' He saluted. `I'll carry on then, sir.' Then he swung round and hurried into the wheelhouse.
Goss had appeared on the wing, his red face running. with sweat. `What's up with him then?'
'His brother.'
Goss nodded. `Yes. I forgot.' He sighed. `I reckon the dockyard people will be aboard to see about the damage, sir.' He glared at the crowded jetty below. `We'll have to screw everything down to stop those bloody wogs from stealing it!'
`You deal with it.'
Lindsay watched him wearily. Goss had'withdrawn into his old shell. Or partly. But there was a difference now. An unspoken understanding. One which had been sealed with a handshake. Lindsay knew he did not have to ask. It was unbreakable. Like the man.
`Aye.' Goss jerked his thumb vaguely. `What'll they do with all these troopships and the squaddies?'
Lindsay watched some uniformed figures starting towards the brow. The first visitors. Questions and reports. Assessments and promises.
`Who knows? India maybe. South to Australia if the Japs look like getting that far.'
Goss scowled. `It's all getting too big for me.' He too was watching the white figures at the brow.
`I'll go an' see 'em aboard, sir.' He showed his teeth. It was almost a grin. Then he pointed to the tall funnel where a grey submarine had been painted with a swastika below it. `Reckon that'll take some of the starch out of their breeches!'
Maxwell climbed to the bridge and saluted. In his shorts and gleaming white shirt he looked- as thin as a stick. A ramrod.
`I'm O.O.D., sir. The, ambulances are arriving for our wounded. And an escort for the Jerries.' 'Good.'
Lindsay watched him march away. He had changed, too. He still made a lot of noise but was withdrawn and seemed to avoid the other officers whenever possible.
He had expected to hear of Maxwell's boasting about the accuracy of his guns and the sinking of a U-boat. Also that for once, the marines had been left out of it.
When he had congratulated Maxwell he had replied curtly, `What I was trained for, sir. Given time, you can even teach a block of wood to shoot straight.' And that was all he had said.
Lindsay looked up at the painted U-boat and wondered why he had kept the prisoners aboard. He could have dropped them at Simonstown or passed them to the destroyers which had came to search for him and the Demodocus. He had seen them once or twice as they were exercised on the after well deck. A dozen in all, including the lieutenant who took his walks alone but for an escort He had even used his binoculars to study them without knowing why. What had he expected to see? Some sign of a; master race? Superior beings which in captivity could still display their arrogance? For the most part they had looked very ordinary.
So perhaps-he was getting like Goss and his submarine painted on the funnel. He wanted to show the.Germans off like trophies. Heads taken in battle. Scalps.
He ran his hand over his neck and shuddered. The sun must be hotter than he had realised.
He glanced briefly at the wheelhouse, deserted now and strangely peaceful. Then he ran lightly down the bridge ladder and then another to A deck where an entry port had been opened to receive the heavy wooden brow from the jetty. He passed groups of ratings who had been dismissed from duty, already on their way below to prepare for shore leave. They seemed cheerful, even jubilant, and he could guess that they were still reliving their small victory. But once ashore they might find it even smaller, he thought. Other events had already outweighed and outreached one sunken U-boat, no matter what the circumstances had been.
Further aft some marines were busy polishing boots, apparently determined to retain their usual smartness in spite of having their messdeck blasted to blackened fragments.
He paused and looked at the. smoke-grimed paintwork, the bright scars of deflected splinters, and was suddenly moved. After a destroyer, he had seen this ship as the end of the line. A limbo from which there was no return, and in which he could find no future.
Now he knew differently. And when the U-boat's last shell had shaken the bridge beneath his feet he had felt something more than anxiety. Affection, love, there was no proper word for it. But it was there all the same.
Maybe most of his officers had been appointed to her because they were not much use for anything better. The majority of the ratings had been untrained to the ways of war, so they too had been sent to make up the required numbers. His own appointment he understood well enough and had accepted it.
But somehow, back there over the hundreds of miles from the Arctic Circle to Ceylon, they had come together, and that was more than could be said for many ships.
Like Goss, Benbecula was all he had. Now, he needed her to go on living
.
Goss was waiting by the entry port, an elegant lieutenant in white drill at his side.
The latter saluted smartly and announced, 'Commodore Kemp sends his compliments, sir, and would you join him at his residence for dinner?'
Lindsay nodded. `Very well.'
`The admiral would like to see you too, of course, sir. But he sends his regrets and is unable to do so until tomorrow. You will be informed of the time, of course, sir.'
Of course. `Thank you.'
The lieutenant gazed around at, the nearby splinter holes. `The wires were fairly humming about your Uboat, sir.' He sighed. `But we are rather involved with this other unhappy affair at present.'
Boots clumped on the planking as the German prisoners marched towards the entry port, some military policemen bringing up the rear. Lastly, their lieutenant, who had miraculously retained his cap after jumping from the sinking submarine and being hauled. into the motor boat, walked alone towards the sunlight.
Seeing Lindsay and the others he threw up a stiff salute which was returned with equal formality by Kemp's lieutenant.
The German made as if to speak but Lindsay turned away until he heard the footsteps recede down the brow.
He heard the lieutenant say testily, `That man over there! Don't you know you should stand to attention when an officer passes, enemy or not?'
That man there was unfortunately Fraser. Hatless, his -boiler suit almost black from a recent inspection in the bilges, he was leaning against a ventilator shaft, his slight body bowed with fatigue. He stood up very slowly and stared at the angryy lieutenant.
`One, I don't salute any bastard who's been trying to blow my backside off! And two, I don't take orders from some snotty-nosed little twit like you!'
Goss said gravely, `This, is Lieutenant-Commander Fraser. The chief engineer.'
The lieutenant blushed. `I-I'm sorry, sir. I didn't understand.'
Fraser stared at him calmly. `You wouldn't.'
The lieutenant turned desperately to Lindsay. `I'll tell the commodore, sir.' He darted a frightened glance at Fraser. `I have to go now.'
Goss looked down at Fraser and said, `Amazing. I'm surprised he didn't recognise a real gentleman when he saw you like that.'
Fraser eyed him with equal gravity. `In my book a gentleman is someone who gets out of his bath to have a pee.'
Goss turned to Lindsay. `Now you see why we used to try and keep the engineers away from the passengers in the company, sir? Their refinement might have made some of them feel inferior.' Then he turned and walked slowly towards the bridge.
Fraser gaped after him. `Well, I'll be damned! He made a joke! Not much of one maybe, but he made it!'
Lindsay smiled. `And you asked for it, Chief. If you insult another up-and-coming admiral I may not be able to save you.'
`Fraser shrugged. `When the likes of that upstart are admirals I'll either be tending my garden at home or six feet under it.' He chuckled. `But fancy old John Goss cracking a joke.' He was still chuckling as he walked towards his quarters.
Maxwell crossed the deck and saluted.
`I've assembled the dockyard people for you in the wardroom, sir.'
`Good idea. It never hurts to soften them up with a few drinks before asking their help.'
He paused by a screen door. `Is there anything wrong, Guns? Any way I can help?'
Maxwell stiffened. `Wrong, sir? Why should there be?' He stared at a point above Lindsay's shoulder. `All the starboard watch and second part of port watch for liberty this afternoon, sir?'
Lindsay studied him thoughtfully. `yes. Have it piped.'
He would have to keep an eye on axwell. He was so tensed up he might well become another Aikman. He smiled bitterly. Or Lindsay.
He straightened his shoulders and pushed open the wardroom door.
`Now, gentlemen, about these repairs.'
Commodore Kemp's temporary residence was situated several miles from the naval base, and after the crowded, jostling streets, the seemingly endless numbers of servicemen, it gave an immediate impression of peaceful seclusion. A staff car, driven by a bearded Sikh corporal, had collected Lindsay at the jetty at the exact minute prescribed, and as it left him standing just inside the open gates Lindsay wondered how he had arrived without a fatal accident. The Sikh had driven with expressionless abandon, as if every street had been empty, using the car's horn as the sole form of survival.
It was a very attractive house, white-walled and fringed with palms. There was a colourful, well-tended garden, and he could imagine the number of servants required to keep it so.
A house-boy in white tunic and scarlet sash took his cap and ushered him into a cool, spacious room where the commodore was standing with his back to a large portrait. It depicted a bearded Victorian who was staring steadfastly into the distance, arms folded, and with one foot on a dead tiger.
Kemp waited for Lindsay to reach him and thenoffered his hand. `Good to see you safe and well.' He snapped his fingers to the servant. `You'll have a drink before dinner, I imagine.'
`Thank you, sir. Scotch.'
Kemp was smoking a cigar and gestured for Lindsay to sit in one of the tall gilt chairs.
`Nice place, eh? Belongs to a tea-planter. He stays up-country for most of the time. Just comes here to get away from it all.'
Lindsay tried to relax. The whisky was good. Very good. Kemp certainly appeared to be enjoying his new role. Relishing it, as if the house and all it entailed were his by right.
`I was damn glad to hear about your U-boat.' Kemp's eyes followed the cigar smoke until it was plucked into a nearby fan. `Merlin's captain was pretty sure he'd done for that one, otherwise I'd never have left you without another escort, naturally:'
Lindsay thought of the convoy receding over the horizon. The sense of isolation and danger.
`But your ships got through all right, sir.'
Kemp shrugged. `Lost the other freighter, I'm afraid. She had a bit of engine trouble. Her master signalled that
some of our depth-charges had exploded too close for comfort.' He poured himself another drink without calling for the servant. His hand was shaking. `But I knew
there was no real risk of more U-boats attacking us, so I pressed on. The convoy was vital, as you know. Anyway, there were more escorts on way from Freetown, plus two destroyers from the inshore squadron.'
Lindsay watched him over his glass. `You left him behind.'
Kemp looked uneasy. `It should have been safe enough. But the destroyers could find no trace of the poor chap. Must have had an explosion aboard. Anyway,
can't be helped. All water under the bridge, as they say.' Lindsay swallowed his drink and held the glass out to.
the impassive servant. Kemp had abandoned the freighter. Just like Benbecula and the ammunition ship. `Didn't she send any distress signals, sir?' `No.' Kemp sounded too casual. `Nothing.' `That's strange.'
Kemp stood up and walked to one of the wide windows. `Well, there's damn all we can do about it now.' He turned, his face set in a smile again. `Now, about you. I gather you've had the repair yard hopping like mad all day. They'll do what they can, of course, but I can't promise too much. It'll have to be a patch up job. I've been informed that your damage is largely superficial where the hull is concerned.'
`We'll manage, sir.' He tried to hide his bitterness.
Kemp nodded. `That's the spirit. Front-line ships are right at the top of the list, I'm afraid. But I don't have to tell you that.'
'I was wondering about the next assignment, sir' He saw the decanter hovering above Kemp's glass.
`Well, we can't talk shop tonight, eh? This is a sort of celebration for you. A welcome back.' He became serious. `Of course, with Singapore in the enemy's bag there's nothing for all these reinforcements. we brought out from U.K. I've seen the admiral and his Chief of Staff, and I gather we'll be expected to help in another convoy.' He sounded vague. `I daresay the troops will be a godsend elsewhere, anyway.' Things have been getting
a bit grim in North Africa to all accounts.'
Lindsay watched him as he took another drink. You don't care. Don't give a damn about anyone but yourself.
Ships left without help, men dying, none of it counted. It was outside, beyond Kemp's vision, and interest too for that matter.
Kemp seemed to realise Lindsay was studying him and said with forced cheerfulness, `But you shouldn't complain.' He wagged his glass. `I'll not be surprised if you get a decoration for saving the ammunition ship and sinking the U-boat. Promotion too, I wouldn't wonder. Now that you've overcome your, er, past problems, I see no reason why you should not be given something better.'
`There are several of my people I'd like to recommend for Kemp frowned. `Well, we must wait and see. Nothing definite, you understand. Everything's in turmoil here, and it sounds as if the whole naval structure is being changed. Merlin's captain is being promoted and is to be given one of these new escort groups. Killer-groups, they're being called. Nice young chap. Should do well.'. He stared vaguely at Lindsay's glass. `But for your early setback I daresay you'd have been on the list for something of the sort, too.'
Lindsay replied calmly, `I lost my ship, sir. I was blown up in another. May have suffered the same fate.' His voice hardened `May were less fortunate.'
Kemp,seemed to have missed the point. He nodded gravely. `I know, Lindsay. We who face death and live to fight again rarely realise how narrow the margin can be.'
Lindsay fixed his eyes on the portrait opposite his chair. His immediate anger at Kemp's words was already giving way to a new realisation. Not merely that Kemp was drunk but that he needed to be so. We who face death. Kemp had not been to sea in wartime before this last convoy. Had it really been the vital need of ships and men. for Singapore which had made him drive them without letup? Or was it his own fear, his new understanding that he had been left behind by war, of a role he only vaguely recognised?
Another house-boy appeared in the doorway. `Dinner served, sir.' He grinned from ear to ear.
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