Authors: Douglas Reeman

Dive in the Sun (36 page)

BOOK: Dive in the Sun

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Sergeant Dunwoody looked at the lone figure on the poop and licked his lips. ‘This old ship’s all right, lads! I expect the Jerries’ll be soon now. They’ll look after you O.K.!’ There was no irony or bitterness in his voice. ‘I’m almost past carin’ meself!’

Curtis looked up suddenly, as a white gull swerved past the stern, and almost level with his face. It hung motionless, one black unwinking eye fixed on him.

He remembered the casual scrutiny he had received from the German pilot. Casual; indifferent; efficient.

He remembered how the floating dock had appeared through the periscope. Had he ever considered what was happening beyond the cold impartiality of the lens? He groaned and Jervis hovered nearer.

‘Can’t I do something, sir?’ He fell back as the eyes followed the gull over the poop, and fixed his face with a flat stare.

‘Well, Ian. Have you learned anything by all this? D’you think your father would call it useful experience?’

Jervis stammered, ‘I don’t know how to answer, sir! I—I’m too shaky to think of anything!’ He turned miserably for Duncan, but he was at the other end of the schooner with the soldiers.

‘Why are you always running away, Ian?’ His voice was mild, and the boy found he could no longer meet those unblinking eyes.

‘Why not just sit down like me, and think about it all?’ He moved his hand vaguely to take in the ship and the sea. ‘This is all experience, if you care to make use of it.’

Jervis shifted uneasily. ‘How d’you mean, sir?’ He prayed that Duncan would not be long.

‘We started off as a well-oiled machine. Look at us now!’ He hurried on as if he was afraid that Jervis might not understand. ‘Somewhere, somehow, in the middle of all this efficiency, we find something real and precious. I suppose that it could happen to a soldier, too. He might be lying in a shell-hole, waiting for the shot to come which will kill him,’ he smiled secretly, ‘then he sees, right by his face, a small leaf, or perhaps a flower, which has been overlooked by the efficiency of man. What must he feel at that moment, eh?’ He reached out with sudden force and gripped Jervis’s tunic in a hand of steel. ‘Tell me what he feels!’ He was shouting.

Jervis tried to pull away, but he was quite powerless. He swallowed hard. ‘Well, I suppose he feels that …’ He tried to think of an answer, but he was mesmerized.

‘He feels that up to that single moment his life has been empty, and wasted, and beyond it there is nothing more!’ He stared hard into the boy’s eyes. ‘Remember that, Ian!’

He unhooked his fingers and jerked the German eagle from the white tunic. He held it for a moment, then dropped it over the rail. When he looked up again, Jervis had gone, and he saw him talking to Duncan by the hold.

The warmth of the smooth rail caressed his hands, and he noticed that there was dried blood on his fingers and on the front of his jacket. He made a last effort to close his mind, to use it like a flood-gate against the torrent which at any
moment
would finally break him down. He looked up warily as a man shouted.

‘There! There it is I tell you!’ The voice was cracked and incredulous.

He saw that the others were looking across the rail towards the inviting water.

A muscle twitched in his cheek, but that was the only outward sign to show that he, too, had seen the movement beneath the surface.

A gasp rose from the soldiers, as with a terrifying roar, the submarine heaved itself out of the depths, water cascading from her evil, slime-covered snout and from the squat conning-tower.

Duncan ran aft, his face hard. ‘They’re here!’ He passed his hand over his face and stared at it dully. ‘Nice timin’, the bastards!’

Sergeant Dunwoody tore his eye away from the surfacing monster and turned briskly to his men.

‘Well, come on there! D’you want to show ’em we’re licked, eh? Come on there! Fall in! Two ranks, an’ pick up yer dressin’!’

The weary men shuffled into line, while their friends who lay on the deck stared unseeingly at the sky, waiting for the inevitable.

Jervis walked to the rail, his limbs suddenly light and without feeling. He watched the water stream from the gun-barrel and dance like diamonds along the jumping wire. It was nearly over. The conning-tower blossomed into a moving flower of heads and white caps, and from behind the gun he saw another group moving briskly under the orders of a man with binoculars. The black gun-muzzle trained round until it was pointing straight at him, and he turned his eyes to Curtis. He was still sitting on the rail, his eyes resting on the submarine with something like disinterest.

A breeze came from nowhere and rippled eagerly across the calm water, making small catspaws dance along the submarine’s ugly hull. It fanned across the conning-tower just as a seaman was hoisting a flag on the stumpy staff. It reached
into
the flag and blew it out stiffly, with sudden pride, over the heads of the men on her bridge.

A soldier started forward from the wavering ranks and pointed, his mouth working with inarticulate excitement.

‘Look! Look at the flag!’ He broke down, sobbing, as the White Ensign floated in front of their eyes.

The ship was alive with cheering and noise, as the submarine slowly manoeuvred alongside and the gun was trained away.

Before she ground against the wooden hull, seamen were already leaping aboard to take the heaving lines, and from the conning-tower the commander watched the shattered schooner in silent disbelief.

Duncan waved to him. It was the same submarine from which they had disembarked, so very long ago.

A young lieutenant landed on the deck at his side and shook his limp hand.

‘It’s good to see you! I still can’t believe it!’

Jervis was shouting. ‘How did you find us?’

The lieutenant grinned, his unshaven face alight with pleasure. ‘Too long a story for now. We had a whisper from Intelligence that something was going on, but we never dreamed it would be you!’

The submarine commander scanned the sky with sudden urgency.

‘Look alive there! Get those poor chaps aboard, Brian! And be sharp about it!’

The forward hatch of the submarine was already open, and more seamen were lowering some of the badly wounded men into the boat’s bowels strapped like mummies in Neil-Robertson stretchers. As they swung down, many hands reached out for them, and bearded faces grinned encouragingly.

‘’Ere comes the bleedin’ army!’ called one. ‘Just in time for a tot!’

The schooner’s deck was all at once deserted, and the little khaki flood had been completely swallowed up by the hatches, which were closed once more.

The lieutenant walked across to Curtis. ‘Are you ready to leave, sir?’

Curtis stooped beside the Italian captain and tied the man’s belt through the splintered steering wheel.

The schooner was already much more sluggish, and was no longer answering to the gentle movement of the water.

The lieutenant watched Curtis rise. ‘Are you all right, sir?’

Duncan answered gruffly, ‘Of course he is! What the hell did you expect?’

‘I’m just going below, Steve. You get aboard the submarine.’

Jervis and Taylor clambered over the slippery casing and climbed on to the conning-tower to stand beside the commander and his lookouts. The powerful diesels throbbed impatiently, and the seamen on the casing flicked the lines expertly, ready to cast off.

The lieutenant stared down at the dead Italian. ‘It must have been quite a party!’ he murmured. ‘All those soldiers, the five prisoners,
and
the crew to contend with!’

Duncan was not listening. He was remembering the strange gleam in Curtis’s eyes as he had gone back to the cabin.

‘S’cuse me! I’m just goin’ below. I shan’t be long!’

‘Well, all right. But for God’s sake don’t hang about. We’ll be in real trouble if the Jerry turns up!’

Duncan walked softly down the ladder, his heart pounding. The ship was quite still, and he was conscious of the eerie silence, which added to the impression of desertion and finality.

The cabin door was partly ajar, and he halted noiselessly outside. He could see the pale shape of the girl’s face on the bunk, and framed against the white bulkhead he saw Curtis’s tall shadow. He seemed to be saluting, but as Duncan peered around the edge of the door, he saw the pistol in his hand.

He darted across the deck, not daring to call out, and gently prised the gun from his hand.

‘No, Ralph.’ He spoke quietly. ‘Not this way!’

Curtis looked at him momentarily, and then crossed to the bunk. Duncan couldn’t see whether or not he was touching
or
speaking to her, but he saw the stooped shoulders shake violently.

Curtis stood up and walked from the cabin. This time he did not look back, nor did he remember how he came to be with the others on the conning-tower.

The schooner seemed to grow very small as the other vessel drew away, and as if in a dream he watched her slowly heeling on to her torn side.

The submarine commander spoke briskly into the voice-pipe. ‘Diving stations! Stand by to take her down, Number One!’

He watched the four figures at the rear of the bridge, staring back at the sinking ship.

Duncan and Taylor stood side by side behind Curtis, and Jervis was gripping the steel plates with obvious emotion.

Duncan stepped forward just as the
Ametisa
dipped her bow under the caressing water and slipped his hand through Curtis’s arm.

‘You did well, Ralph,’ he murmured.

Curtis smiled sadly and craned his head to watch as the white hull began to slide under the waves.

The lonely gull was still circling over the tall masts, and the Italian ensign made a small patch of colour against the torn sails.

He continued to smile, because he was still looking down at her face on the bunk, but as the masts vanished in a small flurry of foam, his flood-gate burst.

For Ralph Curtis the single moment of peace was past.

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Epub ISBN 9781448106073
Version 1.0

Published by Arrow Books in 1973

15 17 19 20 18 16 14

Douglas Reeman has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

First published in Great Britain in 1961 by Hutchinson

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