on the bridge to hear him. “You’ve certainly worked them up well. They’ve probably called you all sorts of a slave-driving bastard in the last three years — but now all is forgiven.” He saw the look-out grinning and heard the killick of the twelve-pounder snort with laughter.
“Glad we got her, anyway.” But Dunbar did not sound as though he cared very much. He looked around. “I’m the better for being up here where I can breathe. And it’s quieter. I looked in the wardroom and it’s crammed full o’ bodies. Brodie’s got his hands full although he’s got the cook to help him. I told Sanders to stay there.”
Smith said, “They’re coping?” It was more statement than question and Dunbar nodded. Smith thought that was how it was when you served in ships that were wrong for the job they were set, or built for the war of a generation ago. You had to act the doctor with a first-aid manual and a prayer. You coped. You had to.
Dunbar went on, “The drifter lost two men. When she caught alight her skipper went below to fetch up the engineer — she’d taken a hit in the engine-room. Neither of them came out. The airman seems all right, though I understand they had to bring him up on a line. He doesn’t know what happened to his observer but he must have gone down with the Harry Tate. One of
Judy’s
crew has a broken leg. Sanders set a sentry over the two Germans, though I can’t see them giving trouble. One of them is a seaman but the other is the boat’s captain.”
Smith said, “Is he, by God!” It was not often that a U-boat captain was taken prisoner.
“Aye.” Dunbar nodded his head, winced and put a hand to it. “Brodie reckons the German skipper hasn’t got long and I think he’s right. He keeps coughing up blood and ranting and raving at the top of his voice. Sanders knows a bit of German and he says its gibberish. The man’s delirious. I told Sanders to sit with him.”
Smith nodded. “I’d better see that young airman. You’re fit to stand a watch?”
“Aye. Better up here than laying down there, thinking —” Dunbar stopped, then went on shortly, “I’ll take her, sir.”
Better on the bridge than lying below, thinking of his wife and child. He had not mentioned them but he did not need to. Smith never heard Dunbar mention them again. Smith said, “Course is two-four-oh. You’ve another seven minutes on this leg — Lorimer’s keeping the track. Nieuport on the port bow.” He thought a moment then added, “You’d better get a signal off to the Commodore and Dunkerque, saying we’re on our way to the rendezvous, we’ve got the pilot and sunk a U-boat. Tell Dunkerque to repeat it to the R.N.A.S. at St. Pol. They’ll want to know about the pilot.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Well, they were shouting for anti-submarine action. You gave it to ’em quick enough.”
Smith blinked. He had not thought of that. But he wanted to be away. He clambered down the ladder from the bridge to the iron deck and started aft, his legs loose and barely controlled. His hands had begun to tremble as they always did at this time, when the action was over. He thrust them in his pockets.
Behind him on the bridge Dunbar took a deep breath and blew it out. Gow cocked an eye at him. “Reckon we’ve got a live one, sir.”
“I won’t argue with you on that,” Dunbar answered grimly. “Not after tonight.”
And in the darkness at the back of the bridge, Buckley grinned.
* * *
Smith passed the starboard side six-pounder, its crew still excited, joking and laughing. One of them saw him stride by quickly with his hands driven deep in his pockets and his shoulders hunched, his face a pale smudge in the darkness, and unsmiling. The man stared but then Smith became aware of him and forced a smile. The seaman returned it and as he watched Smith’s retreating back he wondered if he’d imagined that haunted look on the Commander’s face.
Smith kept the grin on his face as he passed the after
“Glad we got her, anyway.” But Dunbar did not sound as though he cared very much. He looked around. “I’m the better for being up here where I can breathe. And it’s quieter. I looked in the wardroom and it’s crammed full o’ bodies. Brodie’s got his hands full although he’s got the cook to help him. I told Sanders to stay there.”
Smith said, “They’re coping?” It was more statement than question and Dunbar nodded. Smith thought that was how it was when you served in ships that were wrong for the job they were set, or built for the war of a generation ago. You had to act the doctor with a first-aid manual and a prayer. You coped. You had to.
Dunbar went on, “The drifter lost two men. When she caught alight her skipper went below to fetch up the engineer — she’d taken a hit in the engine-room. Neither of them came out. The airman seems all right, though I understand they had to bring him up on a line. He doesn’t know what happened to his observer but he must have gone down with the Harry Tate. One of
Judy’s
crew has a broken leg. Sanders set a sentry over the two Germans, though I can’t see them giving trouble. One of them is a seaman but the other is the boat’s captain.”
Smith said, “Is he, by God!” It was not often that a U-boat captain was taken prisoner.
“Aye.” Dunbar nodded his head, winced and put a hand to it. “Brodie reckons the German skipper hasn’t got long and I think he’s right. He keeps coughing up blood and ranting and raving at the top of his voice. Sanders knows a bit of German and he says its gibberish. The man’s delirious. I told Sanders to sit with him.”
Smith nodded. “I’d better see that young airman. You’re fit to stand a watch?”
“Aye. Better up here than laying down there, thinking —” Dunbar stopped, then went on shortly, “I’ll take her, sir.”
Better on the bridge than lying below, thinking of his wife and child. He had not mentioned them but he did not need to. Smith never heard Dunbar mention them again. Smith said, “Course is two-four-oh. You’ve another seven minutes on this leg — Lorimer’s keeping the track. Nieuport on the port bow.” He thought a moment then added, “You’d better get a signal off to the Commodore and Dunkerque, saying we’re on our way to the rendezvous, we’ve got the pilot and sunk a U-boat. Tell Dunkerque to repeat it to the R.N.A.S. at St. Pol. They’ll want to know about the pilot.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Well, they were shouting for anti-submarine action. You gave it to ’em quick enough.”
Smith blinked. He had not thought of that. But he wanted to be away. He clambered down the ladder from the bridge to the iron deck and started aft, his legs loose and barely controlled. His hands had begun to tremble as they always did at this time, when the action was over. He thrust them in his pockets.
Behind him on the bridge Dunbar took a deep breath and blew it out. Gow cocked an eye at him. “Reckon we’ve got a live one, sir.”
“I won’t argue with you on that,” Dunbar answered grimly. “Not after tonight.”
And in the darkness at the back of the bridge, Buckley grinned.
* * *
Smith passed the starboard side six-pounder, its crew still excited, joking and laughing. One of them saw him stride by quickly with his hands driven deep in his pockets and his shoulders hunched, his face a pale smudge in the darkness, and unsmiling. The man stared but then Smith became aware of him and forced a smile. The seaman returned it and as he watched Smith’s retreating back he wondered if he’d imagined that haunted look on the Commander’s face.
Smith kept the grin on his face as he passed the after
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