Killing Ground (44 page)

Howard looked at the girl beside him. “Ready, Celia? Can you stand it?”

She smiled and replied nervously, “I am my father's daughter. We've shared everything since we came together.”

Howard caught Treherne's eye and the bearded lieutenant banged loudly on the pantry counter with a pewter tankard.

Eventually there was silence and Treherne said, “I'm not one for speeches.” He looked across at them. “But as Number One
of this ship …”

Someone called, “Couldn't they do any better, Gordon?”

Treherne ignored him. “In a day or so we shall be at sea again, so in a fashion this is our way of welcoming 1944 and the hopes which will come with it. In the last twelve months we've lost a lot of good friends, and seen many a fine ship torn to ribbons out there on the Western Ocean.” He had their full attention now, and Howard saw a young Wren wiping her eyes with her handkerchief.
Part of the team.

“I've been at sea all my life, and I'm a hell of a lot older than most of you here. I've seen a lot of places, done a lot of things, some of which I'm not too proud of now.” He reached behind his back and took Joyce's hand in his. “But I'd never been afraid, you see, not really
afraid
until I came to the Atlantic. With respect to senior officers present, never mind what
they
tell us, I think we've turned the corner, and next year the enemy will be on the run!”

He waited for some cheering to die down and added soberly, “For my part, I owe my sanity and survival to one man, and he's right here with us now.” He raised a big hand. “I think our captain wishes to say something, for he's the one I referred to. Escort duty is the worst there is, and the Atlantic is a sewer where war is stealth, survival and murder.” He raised a glass steadily and stared at Howard across the others. “You happen to be the bravest, most decent man I have ever met.” He turned away, unable to continue.

Celia gripped Howard's arm. “Oh, David, I'm so glad to be here.”

There were claps and cheers as Howard stepped up on to the fireplace.

“Thank you, Number One. I could have made almost the same speech about you.” They raised their glasses to one another and he continued, “We all know what we have done, what we might be required to do in 1944. Having a command is often, necessarily, a lonely job, so you learn to share your emotions when the pressure is temporarily removed.” He took her hand
and helped her up beside him. “So please share this particular miracle with us. What better place to announce our engagement, what better company too …” The rest was drowned by a wave of cheering and stamping feet. It was so loud, in fact, that not even Vallance saw Rooke, who was OOD, signalling frantically from the doorway.

Captain Vickers turned as the din of cheering faded away and saw his friend Captain Naish looking at him with quiet satisfaction.

He was ushered to the fireplace and after shaking hands with Howard and his girl he turned and faced the others; rather like a judge about to make a summing-up, Howard thought.

Naish said, “Needless to say I add my congratulations to our young captain and his lovely Wren. I'm a bit late, but I didn't want to interrupt what I heard from the passageway.” His eyes settled on Treherne. “I think you expressed it better than any politician,” he gave a dry cough, “or
senior officer
for that matter!”

He looked around at their faces, young but old, tired but somehow elated by what they had seen and shared.

“I have to tell you, gentlemen, we have received a signal from Admiral Eraser's flagship
Duke of York,
which reports that yesterday he met with, and after a fierce engagement, destroyed the German battle-cruiser
Scharnhorst
off North Cape.” In the stunned silence he sought out Treherne again and said, “We have indeed ‘turned the corner'!”

Vickers remarked, “North Cape, in winter. The poor devils.”

Naish said coldly, “Only three were picked up from the
Hood,
remember?”

Howard heard the exchange and wondered. Vickers, the fighting destroyer captain who had been in the thick of it for four years and yet could still find compassion for a brave and determined enemy. Naish, on the other hand, saw nothing but the impossible prize which this victory at sea might offer. Was it because it was harder to send others to fight than to face the immediate brutality of war? He knew he might never understand,
and for a moment longer, would not care too much.

There was so much noise now as the stewards and messmen were struggling to lay out great trays of sausage rolls, sandwiches and other goodies. Howard doubted if anyone saw them leave; and together they walked along the deserted iron deck, with the noise of the wardroom party still ringing in their ears.

There was a moon of sorts, playing a will-o'-the-wisp game as it floated from one fast cloud to another. The ship's fittings stood out stark and black against the sky; the whaler's davits, and the rolled scrambling nets where men had clung to be rescued or had drowned within seconds of safety. The guns, covered to hide their smoke-stained muzzles, still reminders of Finlay's action against the last U-Boat.

There was more noise coming aft from the forecastle where they were trying to celebrate Christmas and the New Year all at once.

A gangway sentry straightened his back as he saw them.

Howard paused. “They looking after you all right, Glossop?” He need not have asked; he could smell the rum at four paces.

The sentry bobbed his head. “Er, congratulations, sir, an' miss. Just 'eard!”

She touched his arm. “Thank you.”

They moved on and knew the sentry was staring after them.

They paused again by the guardrails, at the place where Treherne had suggested the midshipman had thrown himself over. Even that no longer seemed real, or relevant. That was his other world.

She was staring at him, her face very pale in the eerie light.

“It's hard to imagine what it's like when …” She looked at the motionless guns, the empty mountings. “So still. At peace.” She faced him again and he could imagine her expression even though the moonlight had gone again.

“Up there.” She looked towards the square, uncompromising shape of the bridge. “Where you are at sea.” Her voice faltered just once. “Next time, I'd like to
know.
So that I can be there with
you when you reach out for me.”

Together they climbed the icy rungs to the bridge, pausing to look into the gleaming, empty wheelhouse, where men had fought, hated and known fear. The only sound came from the W/T office where a solitary telegraphist was reading a magazine and eating a bun. He did not even see them.

She gripped his shoulders and said, “All the way. Please?”

It was bitterly cold on the upper bridge, everything damp to the touch. They were lying outboard of two other destroyers, but they could have been deserted as they lay in the silent shadows.

He guided her to the high bridge chair and wiped it with a cloth before lifting her on to it.

She kissed him then, and they clung together for a long time.

Then she allowed him to help her down again and stood for a few more moments looking around at the distorted shapes and reflections, so that she would remember.

She said quietly, “I shall be here. When you need me. Now that I know.”

They made their way down to the main deck again and she said, “You'll never be alone again.”

A blacked-out tug surged past and
Gladiator
swayed very slightly against the other vessels.

She put her hand on the guardrail. It was as if the ship was stirring herself. Eager to leave and get back to the only life she knew.

Not yet. Not yet. I've only just found him.

Another year was just over the horizon; nobody could foretell what it might bring, what pain it could offer.

But for the two figures merged together by the guardrail, this was reward enough.

H
OWARD
lay quite stiff and unmoving on the top of his small bunk as the telephone shattered his dream like an explosion.

It was Finlay, who was OOW. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but Captain Vickers would like to talk on the intercom.”

“I'll come up.” How many hundreds of times had he said that? He swung his legs from the bunk and stared for a few seconds at the new cap with its bright oak leaves around the peak, which waited to remind him of what had happened. When he caught sight of himself in reflection or a mirror he barely recognised himself. A young face, with a commander's cap. Although he wore his old sea-going jacket the bright new stripes on that, too, seemed to accentuate a complete change. He stared around the tiny sea cabin. Even that thrust at his heart like a knife.

Vickers had been firm about it. “Things have changed, David. New ships, fresh equipment and still not enough experienced officers to take command. The Navy's your career, and this accelerated promotion can do you nothing but good. You'll be an asset to your next assignment.”

He could still hear his own voice, protesting. “What about
Gladiator,
sir?”

Just for a moment Vickers's tone had softened. “With
Garnet,
she's to be cut down to a long-range escort. You know the idea; it's been very useful with some of the older destroyers, the V and Ws for instance.
Gladiator
has a lot of good service to offer, but as a destroyer, with a commander on the bridge—well, I'm afraid that's over, or will be after the next convoy.”

Howard made his way to the upper bridge and looked across at
Kinsale's
hazy outline. It was strange weather, cold up here, but the air was almost humid when you stood out of the Atlantic wind. It was nearly August, but the ocean was as grey as ever, the
great unbroken troughs stretching away into the late afternoon sunlight like moving glass. Where had the last months gone? He thought of the wardroom party; Celia, with his ring on her hand; the moments of peace and happiness.

Then on to more troop convoys, from Canada and the United States, the final build-up which had exploded across the world's headlines on a bitter cold day in June, when the Allied armies had landed in Normandy, the shores of Hitler's West Wall, and were even now fanning across France towards the Low Countries, and south towards the Cherbourg Peninsula. The German High Command would have no choice but to evacuate their Biscay submarine bases, and return once more to their homeland. Otherwise the bases and pens would be cut off by the advancing armies and overwhelmed.

It would be a bitter pill for the U-Boat men to swallow. After all their successes, their near-victory in the Atlantic, they would have to withdraw to the old bases in Germany, with the dreaded Rosegarden to face once again.

Howard picked up the handset and heard Vickers say, “Did I get you out of bed, David?”

Howard smiled. It was not Vickers's fault. It was nobody's. He glanced around the familiar bridge. So many hours; filthy nights, burning ships, dying sailors.

“What can I do, sir?”

“I've had a top-secret signal from the Admiralty. Two convoys are passing one another tonight, as you know; we shall be standing by to offer extra support. The fortieth escort group and a carrier are doing the same to the north.”

Howard waited. He knew all this. After tomorrow they would be heading back for Liverpool. He felt the catch in his throat.
Gladiator
's final passage as a true destroyer, and his own last days in command.

Vickers continued, “You read the reports about the
Burmese Princess—
well, something's gone wrong apparently. She's had a complete power-failure.”

Howard signalled quickly to Finlay for a pad and pulled a pencil from his pocket as Vickers gave him the ship's reported position. He saw that Treherne had arrived on the bridge as if he had sensed something unusual.

Vickers said, “I hate to send you, but I'm needed here. It'll give them a bit of a boost if you're standing by. Air cover
will
be provided.”

“I'm on my way, sir.” He handed the intercom to Finlay as Treherne asked, “Trouble, sir?” His eyes were on Howard's new cap as if he did not accept the change either.

“Put this position on the chart. About a hundred miles west of the Irish coast. We're going to offer support.”

Treherne's eyes sharpened as he studied the pad.
“Burmese Princess.
I remember her well. She used to be on the Far East run from Southampton. A cargo liner—I never liked the mixture!”

“Well, she's not any more, Number One.” He watched him steadily. “She's a hospital ship now.” She was packed with wounded soldiers, some from the Normandy landings in June, others, more badly injured, from the invasions of Sicily and Italy last year. Her power defect had slowed her passage considerably, and whereas hospital ships were usually left alone by U-Boats, unless escorted, this change of timing might lay her wide open to attack.

Treherne bent over the chart table. “We should make contact around dawn, sir. No U-Boats reported in that area. All after the two convoys, I expect.”

“Very well, Number One. Course to intercept. Make to
Kinsale, Hate to leave you.”

The reply winked back across the heaving, shining swell.
“Parting is such sweet sorrow. Good luck.”

Treherne said, “At least we might be back in the Pool before the others!”

Howard climbed into his chair and imagined her sitting on it. Holding her in his arms in this place which must have brought home to her his world; the daily acceptance of danger.

They had set the date for their marriage in October, when, Vickers had hinted, there would be some leave going. After that? He touched the rough grey steel. Not back to
Gladiator
again. Not ever.

He thought of the Normandy invasion. Did it mean that this would be the last summer at war? Was that just possible?