Read Online Sea Thrillers 4-Book Collection by Alistair MacLean - Free Book Online

monologue.
    The Bo’sun said: ‘How do you feel, Chips?’ Chips was Rafferty, the ship’s carpenter.
    â€˜I’m dying.’ He caught sight of the rum bottle in the Bo’sun’s hand and his stricken expression vanished. ‘But I could make a rapid recovery –’
    â€˜This man is not dying,’ Dr Sinclair said. ‘He has a simple fracture of the tibia, that’s all. No rum – morphine and alcohol make for bad bedfellows. Later.’ He straightened and tried to smile. ‘But I could do with a tot, if you would, Bo’sun – a generous one. I feel in need of it.’ With his strained face and pale complexion he unquestionably looked in need of it: nothing in Dr Sinclair’s brief medical experience had even remotely begun to prepare him for the experience he was undergoing. The Bo’sun poured him the requisite generous measure, did the same for Patterson and himself, then passed the bottle and mugs to the men with the torches and the two ward orderlies who were standing unhappily by, strapped stretcher at theready: they looked in no better case than Dr Sinclair but cheered up noticeably at the sight of the rum.
    The deck above held the officers’ accommodation. It too, had been heavily damaged, but not so devastatingly so as the deck below. Patterson stopped at the first cabin they came to: its door had been blown inwards and the contents of the cabin looked as if a maniac had been let loose there with a sledgehammer. The Bo’sun knew it was Chief Patterson’s cabin.
    The Bo’sun said, ‘I don’t much care for being in an engine-room, sir, but there are times when it has its advantages.’ He looked at the empty and almost as badly damaged Second Engineer’s cabin opposite. ‘At least Ralson is not here. Where is he, sir?’
    â€˜He’s dead.’
    â€˜He’s dead,’ the Bo’sun repeated slowly.
    â€˜When the bombs struck he was still in the seamen’s toilet fixing that short-circuit.’
    â€˜I’m most damnably sorry, sir.’ He knew that Ralson had been Patterson’s only close friend aboard the ship.
    â€˜Yes,’ Patterson said vaguely. ‘He had a young wife and two kids – babies, really.’
    The Bo’sun shook his head and looked into the next cabin, that belonging to the Second Officer. ‘At least Mr Rawlings is not here.’
    â€˜No. He’s not here. He’s up on the bridge.’ The Bo’sun looked at him, then turned away and wentinto the Captain’s cabin which was directly opposite and which, oddly enough, seemed almost undamaged. The Bo’sun went directly to a small wooden cupboard on the bulkhead, produced his knife, opened up the marlinspike and inserted its point just below the cupboard lock.
    â€˜Breaking and entering, Bo’sun?’ The Chief Engineer’s voice held puzzlement but no reproof: he knew McKinnon well enough to know that the Bo’sun never did anything without a sound reason.
    â€˜Breaking and entering is for locked doors and windows, sir. Just call this vandalism.’ The door sprang open and the Bo’sun reached inside, bringing out two guns. ‘Navy Colt 45s. You know about guns, sir?’
    â€˜I’ve never held a gun in my hand in my life. You know about guns – as well as rum?’
    â€˜I know about guns. This little switch here – you press it so. Then the safety-catch is off. That’s really all you require to know about guns.’ He looked at the broken cupboard and then the guns and shook his head again. ‘I don’t think Captain Bowen would have minded.’
    â€˜Won’t. Not wouldn’t. Won’t.’
    The Bo’sun carefully laid the guns on the Captain’s table. ‘You’re telling me that the Captain is not dead?’
    â€˜He’s not dead. Neither is the Chief Officer.’
    The Bo’sun smiled for the first