H.M.S. Ulysses Part 46

"I wish they'd have a go at the Stirling once in a while." Something like that. His mouth twisted. They'd had a go, all right. The Stirling, a mile ahead, was slewing away to starboard, to the south-east, her for'ard superstructure enveloped in a writhing coc.o.o.n of white flame. He stared through his night gla.s.ses, tried to a.s.sess the damage; but a solid wall of flame masked the superstructure, from the fo'c'sle deck clear abaft the bridge. He could see nothing there, just nothing-but he could see, even in that heavy swell, that the Stirling was listing to starboard. It was learned later that the Stirling had been struck twice: she had been torpedoed in the for'ard boiler-room, and seconds later a bomber had crashed into the side of her bridge, her torpedo still slung beneath the belly of her fuselage: almost certainly, in the light of the similar occurrence on the Ulysses, severe icing had jammed the release mechanism. Death must have been instantaneous for every man on the bridge and the decks below; among the dead were Captain Jeffries, the First Lieutenant and the Navigator.

The last bomber was hardly lost in the darkness when Carrington replaced the p.o.o.p phone, turned to Hartley.

"Think you can manage now, Chief? I'm wanted on the bridge."

"I think so, sir." Hartley, blackened and stained with smoke and extinguisher foam, pa.s.sed his sleeve wearily across his face. "The worst is over... Where's Lieutenant Carslake? Shouldn't he------?"

"Forget him," Carrington interrupted brusquely. "I don't know where he is, nor do I care. There's no need for us to beat about the bush, Chief we're better without him. If he returns, you're still in charge.

Look after things."

He turned away, walked quickly for'ard along the port alley. On the packed snow and ice, the pad of his rubber seaboots was completely soundless.

He was pa.s.sing the shattered canteen when he saw a tall, shadowy figure standing in the gap between the snow covered lip of the outer torpedo tube and the end stanchion of the guard rails, trying to open a jammed extinguisher valve by striking it against the stanchion. A second later, he saw another blurred form detach itself stealthily from the shadows, creep up stealthily behind the man with the extinguisher, a heavy bludgeon of wood or metal held high above his head.

"Look out!" Carrington shouted. "Behind you!"

It was all over in two seconds, the sudden, flailing rush of the attacker, the crash as the victim, lightning fast in his reactions, dropped his extinguisher and fell crouched to his knees, the thin piercing scream of anger and terror as the attacker catapulted over the stooping body and through the gap between tubes and rails, the splash and then the silence.

Carrington ran up to the man on the deck, helped him to his feet. The last flare had not yet died, and it was still light enough for him to see who it was Ralston, the L.T.O. Carrington gripped his arms, looked at him anxiously.

"Are you all right? Did he get you? Good G.o.d, who on earth------?"

"Thank you, sir." Ralston was breathing quickly, but his face was almost expressionless again. "That was too close I Thank you very much, sir."

"But who on earth------?" Carrington repeated in wonder.

"Never saw him, sir." Ralston was grim. "But I know who it was-Sub-Lieutenant Carslake. He's been following me around all night, never let me out of his sight, not once. Now I know why."

It took much to disturb the First Lieutenant's iron equanimity, but now he shook his head in slow disbelief.

"I knew there was bad blood!" he murmured. "But that it should come to this! What the Captain will say to this I just------"

"Why tell him?" Ralston said indifferently. "Why tell anyone? Perhaps Carslake had relations. What good will it do to hurt them, to hurt anyone. Let anyone think what they like." He laughed shortly. "Let them think he died a hero's death fire-fighting, fell over the side, anything." He looked down into the dark, rushing water, then shivered suddenly. 'u Let him go, sir, please. He's paid."

For a long second Carrington, too, stared down over the side, looked back at the tall boy before him. Then he clapped his arm, nodded slowly and turned away.

Turner heard the clanging of the gate, lowered the binoculars to find Carrington standing by his side, gazing wordlessly at the burning cruiser. Just then Vallery moaned softly, and Carrington looked down quickly at the p.r.o.ne figure at his feet.

"My G.o.d! The Old Man! Is he hurt badly, sir?"

"I don't know, Number One. If not, it's a b.l.o.o.d.y miracle," he added bitterly. He stooped down, raised the dazed Captain to a sitting position.

"Are you all right, sir?" he asked anxiously. "Do you? have you been hit?"

Vallery shuddered in a long, exhausting paroxysm of coughing, then shook his head feebly.

"I'm all right," he whispered weakly. He tried to grin, a pitiful, ghastly travesty of a smile in the reflected light from the burning Aldis. "I dived for the deck, but I think the binnacle got in my way."

He rubbed his forehead, already bruised and discoloured. "How's the ship, Commander?"

"To h.e.l.l with the ship!" Turner said roughly. He pa.s.sed an arm round Vallery, raised him carefully to his feet. "How are things aft, Number One?"

"Under control. Still burning, but under control. I left Hartley in charge." He made no mention of Carslake.

"Good! Take over. Radio Stirling, Sirrus, see how they are. Come on, sir. Shelter for you!"

Vallery protested feebly, a token protest only, for he was too weak to stand. He checked involuntarily as he saw the snow falling whitely through the barred beam of the Aldis, slowly followed the beam back to its source.

"Bentley?" he whispered. "Don't tell me..." He barely caught the Commander's wordless nod, turned heavily away. They pa.s.sed by the dead man stretched outside the gate, then stopped at the Asdic cabinet. A sobbing figure was crouched into the angle between the shelter and the jammed and shattered door of the hut, head pillowed on the forearm resting high against the door. Vallery laid a hand on the shaking shoulder, peered into the averted face.

"What is it? Oh, it's you, boy." The white face had been lifted towards him. "What's the matter, Chrysler?"

"The door, sir!" Chrysler's voice was m.u.f.fled, quivering. "The door, I can't open it."

For the first time, Vallery looked at the cabinet, at the gashed and torn metal. His mind was still dazed, exhausted, and it was almost by a process of a.s.sociation that he suddenly, horrifyingly thought of the gashed and mangled operator that must lie behind that locked door.

"Yes," he said quietly. "The door's buckled... There's nothing anyone can do, Chrysler." He looked more closely at the grief dulled eyes. "Come on, my boy, there's no need-----"

"My brother's in there, sir." The words, the hopeless despair, struck Vallery like a blow. Dear G.o.d! He had forgotten... Of course Leading Asdic Operator Chrysler... He stared down at the dead man at his feet, already covered with a thin layer of snow.

"Have that Aldis unplugged, Commander, will you?" he asked absently.

"And Chrysler?"

"Yes, sir." A flat monotone.

"Go below and bring up some coffee, please."

"Coffee, sir!" He was bewildered, uncomprehending. "Coffee! But, but-my-my brother------"

"I know," Vallery said gently. "I know. Bring some coffee, will you?"

Chrysler stumbled off. When the shelter door closed behind them, clicking on the light, Vallery turned to the Commander.

"Cue for moralising on the glories of war," he murmured quietly.

"Dulce et decorum, and the proud privilege of being the sons of Nelson and Drake. It's not twenty-four hours since Ralston watched his father die... And now this boy. Perhaps------"

"I'll take care of things," Turner nodded. He hadn't yet forgiven himself for what he had said and done to Ralston last night, in spite of Ralston's quick friendliness, the ready acceptance of his apologies.

"I'll keep him busy out of the way till we open up the cabinet.... Sit down, sir. Have a swig of this." He smiled faintly. "Friend Williams having betrayed my guilty secret.... Hallo! Company."

The light clicked off and a burly figure bulked momentarily against the grey oblong of the doorway. The door shut, and Brooks stood blinking in the sudden light, red of face and gasping for breath. His eyes focused on the bottle in Turner's hand.

"Ha!" he said at length. "Having a bottle party, are we? All contributions gratefully received, I have no doubt." He opened his case on a convenient table, was rummaging inside when someone rapped sharply on the door.

"Come in," Vallery called.