J. E. MacDonnell - 139

by Death Of A Destroyer(lit)

  Spindrift was stopped, lying into the wind - wind-rode - with her sharp nose pointing over the reef towards the sea.

  "Finished with main engines," Sainsbury said, which was the definitive end of the mission, his first in her. "Fall-out special seadutymen. Usual leave, Number One." "Aye aye, sir."

  He went down the ladder and turned into the passage leading to his cabin. But outside the wheelhouse door he halted. The special sea-dutymen coming out halted too. They saw his thin face, mouth puckered in thought, and they wondered what the hell they had done wrong. Then he swung abruptly and went down the next ladder to the irondeck.

  "Jeez, that look,' said the telegraphman of the port engine, "I thought we were in, boots and all.'

  "He wasn't looking at you, but through you," said Smith the coxswain. "If you're in, you'll know about it. I'll see to that. Come on, get the lead out."

  Sainsbury turned in under the break of the foc'sle and walked along the passage to the sickbay door. As he opened it he took off his cap. Doherty looked up from his little desk, frowning, then he jumped up. Apart from on Saturday rounds, this was the first time he'd seen a captain in the sickbay.

  "Sir?"

  "No panic, Doc," Sainsbury said easily. "All well?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Fine." He stopped beside the double bunk, looking at the patient in the top one. "Well, Stoker Graham, how's the leg?"

  "Hundred per cent, sir." Graham sat up, unaccountably pleased that the new captain knew his name, and without reference to the surgeon. "I, er..."

  "Yes?"

  "Should be up and about soon, sir. No, ah, need to go into hospital ashore."

  Sainsbury was well aware of sailors', which included stokers', aversion to being transferred from their ship in a forsaken port like Moresby. Had if been Sydney or Melbourne they might have overcome their aversion.

  "Well now, that depends on the surgeon."

  "We can look after him, sir," Doherty smiled, glad that Sainsbury had not mentioned gangrene. As with all hospitals, what a patient doesn't know about what might have been doesn't hurt him.

  "Good." Sainsbury bent down to the lower bunk. "And you, Leading-Seaman Carella. Ready for a nice soft spell ashore, eh?"

  "Like hell! Ah... She'll be apples, sir. Just a scratch."

  "Doc?"

  "Rather extensive laceration of the deltoid muscle, sir, and some damage to the long head of the triceps."

  "Mmmm," murmured Sainsbury.

  "Christ!" jerked Carella. "Look, sir, I don't feel no pain at all! Felt worse when that leopard got at me, and I didn't have to go into no hospital for that, even."

  "Leopard?" Sainsbury said, as did Doherty's frown.

  "Well, I used to be in a circus, see, and this cat got out and I tried to stop him."

  "Which he didn't like, apparently," Sainsbury said deadpan. Sailors, Buster Crewe had advised, you've got to understand them. "What on earth were you doing in a circus?"

  `I was the sharpshooter, sir. Used to shoot fags and things out of Barbarella's mouth."

  "Barbarella...?"

  "Me partner. Blonde, blossomy, y'know? Her real name was Ethel, so we made the other up. St. Barbara being the patron saint of gunners."

  "Oh. I see."

  "I never hit her once, neither."

  "Thank heavens for that. And so, oddly enough, you were made layer of the pom-pom?"

  "That's it, sir," Carella said eagerly. "I got me marksman's badge, y'see, and the pom-pom o'course is a pretty important gun..."

  "It is indeed." Remembering that Zero. "Well, Doc?"

  Funny, Doherty was thinking, how remote this bloke can seem, and yet at the same time draw you in; let you know his thoughts, make you an accomplice. He made his face and voice solemn.

  "Well, sir, I managed to suture the affected parts all right. So long as he doesn't have to climb the mast or pull a... lifeboat, he should be on deck in a few days."

  "I think we can rely on Leading-Seaman Carella performing the minimum amount of exercise. Eh, Carella?"

  "Sure thing, sir! Well..."

  "Then he can remain on board." Looking at Doherty, but speaking to Carella, he ended: "He didn't do a bad job on that Zero. I wouldn't like to lose him."

  Sainsbury left the sickbay a happier place than when he'd entered it. Which, as Buster Crewe might nod, is all part of the ploy.

  Chapter Nine

  Spindrift was granted six days in harbour. After the loss of Mack, authority ashore had decided that Moresby's own radar, and its spotters up in the Owen Stanley Mountains, must suffice to give warning of approaching bombers. She was not given patrol, or even convoy duty. This, coupled with other evidence, gave Sainsbury much ammunition for reflection. As he said to Caswell, enjoying a four o'clock beer in the captain's cabin:

  "This morning makes the tenth destroyer to come in here for fuel and supplies."

  "Not to mention those three heavy cruisers," Caswell nodded.

  "All American," Sainsbury mused. "Is this normal procedure?"

  "Not here, sir, no way. I've been based on Moresby for about six months now, and have never seen more than the occasional destroyer in for something or other; slight damage, fuel shortage due to bad weather, things like that."

  "Well, Splinter?" By now, the nickname sounded natural.

  Caswell took a pull at his beer and laid the glass down. "I think there's something big building up. Bloody big, if you ask me."

  "Agreed."

  "There are only two questions - when, and where."

  "Three. Are we to be included?"

  "You've got me there, sir."

  "Mmmm. There have been some convoys, and there is always the need for patrols. Yet we've been kept here."

  "Ah..."said Caswell.

  "Exactly," said the boss, "Have the other half?"

  * * *

  They were finishing the second bottle, and their pleasant little chat, when a knock came at the door. It was opened before Sainsbury had closed his mouth on the usual "Come."

  "Yes, Yeoman? Sailing orders for Sydney?"

  The yeoman offered the very briefest smile. "There's a big American cruiser coming in, sir."

  "Oh?" Sainsbury's eyebrows added: And why should this require your presence here? The yeoman told him.

  "She's still well out, sir. As soon as she was in visual she flashed us. Asked our name. When I gave it, she requested the commanding-officer's presence on board as soon as she's anchored."

  That was reason enough for the yeoman's presence. The officers glanced at each other. Sainsbury said, "Thank you, Yeoman," and to Caswell, "We're ready for sea?"

  "Except for libertymen."

  "How many?"

  "Twelve, sir."

  "Some recommendation for Moresby as a tourist paradise." The tone was light but his eyes were gleaming. "They'll probably all be in the pub. You'd better recall them, Number One."

  The use of Caswell's title changed the atmosphere.

  "Aye aye, sir," he acknowledge crisply, and hurried out.

  Sainsbury took a quick shower and changed into fresh khakis. For the first time, holding his shirt and looking at the shoulder pads, he wished he carried heavier weight there. Two rings with a thin one in between seemed pitifully junior compared to four big ones. Ah well, he thought, that American captain had been a lieutenant-commander once. Maybe he'd remember his junior days. Then Sainsbury remembered that they were both commanding-officers, size of ships and rank regardless, and that naturally brought him to his next thought: why in hell was he worrying about his reception?

  When he went on deck and walked aft to the gangway, the cruiser was shaping-up for the reef entrance.

  Sainsbury checked that the piping party and signalman were ready, then he raised his binoculars. Their lenses brought the American on to the quarterdeck. She was big, indeed. One of the latest, probably Baltimore-class he judged. Two triple-gunned turrets on the forepart, with a third invisible to him abaft her superstructure. Nine 8-inch guns; wi
th batteries of 5-inch and anti-aircraft quick-firers sited both sides amidships. He knew all her relevant details, for five minutes earlier he had studied the identification book. She displaced 16,000 tons full load, and could raise thirty-three knots, damn near as fast as Spindrift. And as heavy as a German pocketbattleship. No doubt about the Yanks - nothing but the biggest. But he refused to be over-awed. This dark-grey brute had nothing like the radar and fire-control system of a British 10,000-ton cruiser. Again, at once, he wondered about his defensive attitude. National pride, he supposed, then put it from his mind, for Caswell had said, "Pipe".

  The pipes of the quarterdeck party, including Hooky Walker, shrilled out their respect to this senior member of an Allied Navy, and the signalman lowered Spindrift's ensign. With a sudden, unreasoned and unanalysed surge of pride, Sainsbury thought: no bloody Jap or German could cause that flag to be lowered! Then he was saluting, with all hands on the upper-deck standing to attention, while across the water came the cruiser's piped acknowledgement of the little ship's salute. They waited, for the senior ship must give the carry-on order first; it came, whereupon Hooky's party blew the carryon and the ensign was hoisted again.

  "Have the boat alongside, please, Number One."

  "Aye aye, sir."

  There was time enough - a cruiser does not come to her anchor like a destroyer - but Sainsbury was more used to the Royal Navy, and for all he knew this American captain might order him on board, up a Jacob's ladder, even before the cruiser was anchored. So he waited, with the boat at the gangway, but no order came.

  "Big bugger," Caswell commented, looking now at the cruiser's stern. "Good Lord, she's got two catapults, one either side of the quarterdeck." His eyes squinted. "But I see no planes."

  "They're stowed in a hangar below the quarterdeck," Sainsbury said casually, whereupon Caswell squinted at him. But before the source of his knowledge could be questioned Sainsbury said:

  "What's the position with the libertymen?"

  "The motor-cutter's inshore, sir, and I saw a group of them coming on to the pier. Shouldn't be long now."

  Sainsbury nodded. At that moment there came an iron rumbling of thunder from the cruiser as she let go her anchor. A few minutes later she lowered her port-side gangway. The sight of this resolved a small dilemma for Sainsbury: as a captain, in actual position if not in rank, he would normally be entitled to use the starboard gangway, which was reserved for the use of senior officers. It seemed as if the cruiser would not be in port long, and therefore was not bothering with two gangways. Fair enough. As he went down into the boat he saw a fuelling lighter heading for the American. Topping-up her bunkers and then off - where? A swirl of excitement began to move in Sainsbury's guts.

  "There's no starb'd gangway down, sir," said the boat coxswain.

  "That's all right. Port side."

  "Aye aye, sir. Bear off forrard."

  Port or starboard, the gangway led up to the quarterdeck. As he stepped on to it, saluting the pipes' salute for a commanding-officer, Sainsbury felt surprise at the apparent smallness of the quarterdeck; until he realised that what in other cruisers was mostly empty space, here was crammed with catapults and cranes, with 8-inch and 5-inch guns, and with nests of Bofors and Oerlikons. Her fire-power must be tremendous. And accurate? He put that from his mind easily enough, for another surprise hit him.

  "Lieutenant-Commander Sainsbury, sir?" said the smart officer of the day, and Sainsbury just managed to bite back his natural question. Obviously they had been given the name of his ship - and her commander's name as well.

  "Yes."

  "Follow me, please."

  Instead of being led to a cabin below the quarterdeck - he should have remembered that hangar down there he'd been so clever about

  -Sainsbury followed the O.O.D. along what seemed a mile of deck and up into the towering bridge structure. His guide knocked on a steel door. Sainsbury heard something that sounded more like a grunt than "Come". The O.O.D. opened the door, said "Lieutenant-Commander Sainsbury, sir," and then withdrew with what seemed unseemly haste.

  Sainsbury stepped into the cabin, and in that precise moment knew that O.O.D.'s haste was actual.

  He disliked the face at once. It was heavy, with bulbous lips, and set on a bull neck above a body and broad as a bear's. Hairy with it; more like a seven o'clock shadow on his face, hair sprouting up above the top button of his shirt, hair thick on the backs of his hands. And a dark glowering look bent on the visitor.

  "Good afternoon, sir," said Sainsbury.

  "Good God," said the captain.

  "I beg your pardon, sir."

  A waved paw ended that conversation. "I don't have much time, Sainsbury. We sail in an hour."

  "Aye aye, sir. I'm ready in all respects for sea."

  "Christ..." He looked at Sainsbury as though he were moronic. "We. My ship and I. Not you, damnit."

  "I see." Never in his career had Sainsbury been addressed like that. His head went back and his eyes looked coldly and steadily down his long nose at the American captain, still seated. "May I ask who I have the pleasure of addressing, sir?"

  In that thin acidulous voice, the words cut across the cabin with the chill of a knife blade. The captain's fists thumped on the table. Anger flared in his eyes. "Who in hell do you think you're talking to?"

  "I don't know, sir. That was the purpose of my question." And be damned to you, said Sainsbury's eyes, still cold and steady. For a moment he thought the captain would jump him; then the American visibly forced the rage back under his face and jolted back in his chair.

  "My name is Budensky, Captain, United States Navy. Happy now?"

  "Thank you, sir. You wished to see me?"

  "I had to see you." Sainsbury decided to ignore the covert insult. "My orders, you understand?"

  "Perfectly, sir. You mentioned the shortage of time. My orders, sir?"

  It seemed that Captain Budensky might never have been addressed by someone like this, either. It was some time before he spoke again; his voice a slurring growl with the control he forced upon it.

  "There is a large Japanese force out, including a carrier. We figure it's heading for Guadalcanal. Can you figure why?"

  Also with some degree of control, Sainsbury kept his voice even.

  "They possibly mean to carry out a ship and aerial bombardment of American forces on the island, sir."

  "Brilliant. American forces is right. There aren't any other forces on the goddam island. Or didn't you know that?"

  "Yes, sir. I also know that British and Australian forces happen to be somewhat heavily engaged in other parts of the world."

  "Goddamnit! That's insolence!"

  "It was not meant to be, sir. Nothing but a simple matter of national pride."

  "Christ on a crutch! Jamieson, get this tin-can driver the hell out of here! Brief him in the chart room."

  "Yes, Captain."

  Sainsbury swivelled. He had not noticed the man who had been at a book case to the right of the door, and who now came towards him; his lean face neutral but his eyes friendly.

  "Commander Jamieson," he introduced himself, and held out his hand. "Please come with me, Commander." He turned his head a little. "I'll bring the charts in later, Captain?"

  Budensky hand-waved them out. Jamieson led the way, without a word, up several ladders and into a large chart room in rear of the bridge. He slid the door shut and turned.

  "My God," he said wonderingly. "You've got balls, Commander, I'll say that for you." He waited, expectantly. Sainsbury read his look accurately.

  "Here, perhaps," he said, and gave his vinegary smile. "But if he'd been a captain in my Navy - perhaps not so much."

  The answer seemed to please Jamieson. "He's not all bullshit and bluster. He does know his job."

  "To be given a beautiful brute of a ship like this? I'm quite sure he does."

  That pleased the American, too. "Well, now, I guess you want to know what this is all about, huh? We're part of a task
force which is scheduled to patrol north-east of Bougainville, the most northerly island of the Solomons."

  Sainsbury nodded his understanding. Budensky still rankled, but most of his mind now was concerned with a mental picture of the seven main islands of the Solomons chain, near the bottom of which lay Guadalcanal.

  "We think the Jap force will come down from Rabaul or the Admiralty Islands - anyway, to the north or north-west of our patrol area. Trouble is, we can't be one hundred per cent sure. The Jap is a cunning bastard, and he just might come in at Guadalcanal from the eastward. If so, we want to know about it. You will patrol to the south of us and east of the Solomons - I'll give you the exact area later - and report anything you find. Simple, eh?" Jamieson smiled. "Any questions?"