Read Online For Valour by Douglas Reeman - Free Book Online

I’ve got an oppo in her!”
    Spicer’s eyes had barely moved. “ Had an oppo, more likely! Hold your noise!”
    Wishart watched the plot indicator moving imperceptibly beneath the chart. The Dover Strait. Even on this chart it looked narrow. He twisted round and tried to see the gyro repeater. They had altered course again. He was terrified of being sick, of showing it in front of the others. He glanced at the midshipman, so like one of the heroes in the books he had in his room at home, even the white patches on his collar, the confidence. How would I ever . . . ?
    They all jumped as the tannoy squeaked into life. Here, and throughout the ship.
    â€œThis is the Captain speaking.”
    Wishart could picture him, as he had seen him on the upper bridge, and on the Gaumont British News at a local cinema, receiving his V.C. from the King.
    â€œWe shall be entering the area for the Channel guns shortly. They may or may not open fire. We shall take avoiding action if they do.”
    The speaker went dead.
    Seton said casually, “Probably won’t happen.”
    Standing by the port engine room telegraph, Forward grimaced. How would he know? He tried to remember what he had heard about the guns. When you saw their flashes it took a full forty seconds for the shells to climb and come pitching down on you. Not like the Med, where even the bloody tanks would take a pot-shot if you moved too close inshore.
    He thought of his return to the ship from leave. Compassionate leave, because of his father. It had been a long way from Newcastle to Battersea in London, with a strange, light-headed feeling after the confines and comradeship of a destroyer.
    His father had worked on the railway, most of them did who lived around Clapham Junction, the huge shunting and marshalling yard, so vital now in wartime. Forward supposed there was a sort of camaraderie there, too. Long hours, taking cover every so often when the sirens wailed their warning, and never knowing if their houses would still be standing after every shift.
    Coming back this last time had been bad. He saw the youngster Wishart watching the midshipman. Poor little sod, he’d soon learn. Unless he became one of them . . . The kindness had been the worst part. Tots of rum, sippers, gulpers, as much as he could carry. What would they have said? His father had died even as he had walked along that familiar street which led down to the Thames. They had never been close, and he had been sorry because of that. Angered too, that nobody had cared to tell him about it earlier.
    So he had gone to see Grace. To share it, without telling anybody. He had grown up with her, and they had kept in touch even after he had joined the navy. Always good company, stunning to look at, but that was as far as it went. Or so he had believed.
    He should have left after the funeral, gone straight back to the Tyne and the ship. He glanced at the coxswain by the wheel. Spicer had been good about it too, and had said that Jimmy-the-One was interested in seeing him rated leading hand again.
    Grace had moved from her old place, and had left her job at the Arding and Hobbs store at the Junction. But he had found her eventually.
    He clenched his fist around the telegraph lever until his fingers throbbed.
    It couldn’t be. Not like that. A bloody tom, a common prostitute, doing it for anybody who could pay for it. And she had laughed at him.
    The coxswain leaned over the spokes and snapped, “Here we go!”
    How could he know? Something over the voicepipe he was not meant to hear? Training? The old Jack’s instinct?
    They did not have to wait long.
    â€œFull ahead both engines! Port twenty! ”
    The bells clanged and hands darted out for support as the helm went over and the high, raked bows began to swing.
    â€œMidships! Steady! Steer two-two-zero!”
    Wishart seized the table and tried to prevent the parallel rulers and the freshly sharpened pencils from