Sunset (16 page)

He heard Kipling chatting with the duty signalman. He seemed to feel more at ease with the ratings in the bridge team.

Kerr had ticked him off for expounding his own views on the situation in the Far East.

‘Like everywhere else! Old duffers who are still fighting Jutland – don't have a clue about real war!'

The fact that he was probably right made it worse.

He stooped over the chart again and adjusted the dividers against the pencilled calculations of the morning watch so far.

Time to alter course again very soon. His thoughts drifted to the captain, in his hutch beneath the upper bridge. Brooke had been like someone else since they had made their landfall. The telling strain was gone, and he looked years younger. The shift of responsibilities, maybe. And Kipling had blurted out some fantastic story about a smashing Chinese girl who had been seen talking to Brooke at the buffet reception on the Peak. Perhaps she had something to do with it.

Kerr jotted down some notes and glanced at the place-name to the north of Hong Kong: Taya Wan, and in brackets beside it,
Bias Bay
. Out there somewhere beyond the black arrowhead of
Serpent
's bows, with the endless mass of China sprawling beyond that. As a boy Kerr had enjoyed reading about the pirates of Bias Bay. He had never expected to be toiling up and down an invisible rectangle some thirty miles away from it.

It was hard to measure or visualise the internal war between the Chinese Nationalist Army and the invading Japanese. He had expected to find the people of Hong Kong nervous or apprehensive about it, but he had discovered nothing of the sort. The social round went on, and the only war that intruded was
our
war, somewhere else where men were dying for their country and ships went down with guns blazing in the tradition of Nelson.

He thought of Kipling again and smiled. Brooke had told him it was likely that Kipling would get his second stripe shortly, advanced with even more alacrity than usual by the Admiralty. He wondered why. Barrington-Purvis would not be pleased.

‘Char, sir?'

He took the hot mug and sipped it. He had hated the Atlantic. Was it possible to miss it now, in these untroubled seas?

He walked back and forth along the wooden gratings, which would soon be getting their morning scrub, and listened to the endless creaks and groans of the ship beneath him as she rolled along at her most economical rate of twelve knots. At speed she
was something else, one of the Grand Fleet's greyhounds, the envy of every would-be skipper. He smiled to himself.
Like me
. A quarter of a century of service. As the Chief had remarked with his usual defensive pride, ‘She's just getting older, like the rest of us!'

Kipling's pale shape moved out of the darkness.

Time to make peace again, Kerr decided. A sharp telling-off was one thing, but he never allowed grudges to build up.

‘Be dawn soon,' he said. ‘Best time of the day.'

Kipling turned to look at him, and then his eyes seemed to light up like lamps.

‘What the
hell
!' Kerr swung round and saw the light die in the black water, like blowing out a candle. Seconds later the thud, and it was little more than that, bounced off the hull like a hammer.

Kerr snatched up the handset, but before he could speak he heard Brooke snap, ‘I'm coming up!'

‘Anyone get a bearing?'

A boatswain's mate called, ‘Fine on the starboard bow, sir!'

Brooke strode from the gate, his unruly hair blowing in the breeze coming over the screen.

‘Starboard bow, sir. One flash and an explosion. Not very big.'

Kipling said flatly, ‘About six miles, sir. A grenade.'

Brooke glanced towards him but saw only his pale outline.

‘Sound off action stations, Number One. I'm not getting involved in their war.' He gestured towards the invisible mainland. ‘I'm not ignoring it either.' He slung his glasses round his neck even as the alarm bells tore through the ship. After weeks of empty ocean, and their safe arrival in Hong Kong, this rude awakening would bring some stark memories to those who heard it. Was it just a fool's paradise after all?

Kipling turned to leave the bridge but Brooke said, ‘No. You stay. I might need you.'

The voicepipes were chattering and being acknowledged while the bridge team changed round yet again.

‘Cox'n on the wheel, sir!'

The Gunner (T)'s rough voice: ‘Transmitting station closed up!'

‘Main and close-range weapons closed up!' Barrington-Purvis, still very cut-glass despite his obvious irritation.

Kerr said, ‘Ship at action stations, sir.'

Lieutenant Calvert was polishing his binoculars and speaking softly to his yeoman by the chart table. He seemed very calm.

Brooke picked up his bridge microphone and pressed down the button.

‘This is the Captain. Sorry to get you out of your hammocks so early. We are investigating some vessel or vessels.' He glanced towards Kipling and added, ‘A grenade was exploded.'

Kipling was so sure, when others less confident would have kept quiet. What kind of a war had he left to join
Serpent
?

He replaced the microphone and picked up the engine room handset.

‘Chief?'

‘Aye, sir.' It sounded as though he had been waiting.

‘Bring her up to one-one-zero revs, but be ready to give all you've got. We have plenty of depth hereabouts . . .'

He saw the salt-smeared glass of the screen light up with a brief flash, then felt the explosion.

The Chief said sharply, ‘Ready when you are!'

Brooke thought of the men he commanded. They had seen and done it all. Depth-charge attacks, dive-bombers, sinking merchantmen, sailors screaming in the water as they had cut through them to detect a lurking U-boat. Crying for help when there was none, waiting for the depth-charges to explode. Ordinary men, gutted like raw fish when the charges found their set depth. They would be thinking of it now.

He raised his glasses as the deck levelled to the increased speed, and saw the creaming bow-wave churning away from the straight stem when earlier they had barely raised a ripple.

The sea was already opening up. It was surprising how quickly the dawn came.

Calvert said, ‘I got a fix on that last one, sir!'

‘Good. Do it.'

Brooke heard Calvert speaking to the wheelhouse, Pike's muffled reply. Like the ship itself, each man was responding, an extension of his own ability, or lack of it.

‘Yeoman!' He stopped himself in time. He had been about to snap his fingers as the same old tension took charge of his senses. As first lieutenant of
Murray
in a hard-pressed escort group, he had often been forced to the limit. And yet he had never forgotten one small incident when he had nervously snapped his fingers at a seaman on the bridge and turned in time to see the resentment on his young features. Only a single brushstroke of war. But he had not allowed himself to forget it.

Onslow lowered his glasses. ‘Sir?'

‘Pass a signal to the W/T office.
To Commander-in-Chief repeated Admiralty. Our position is so-and-so
. . .' From one corner of his eye he saw Calvert scribble it on a signal pad. ‘
Am investigating surface explosions.
'

Kerr turned and saw Brooke's tanned features split into a grin. ‘But tell W/T not to send it until I say so.' He saw Kerr and added, ‘Otherwise they might interfere!'

Kerr watched the first milky daylight laying the ship bare and giving depth to the green water. A Chinese junk revealed herself, perched on her shadow, motionless, as if she were about to topple over as they surged past.

But Kerr was thinking of the captain's last remark. Did Brooke know about the rift between himself and the previous captain, and why Greenwood had never put him forward for a command of his own?

The convoy had been a bad one, harried all the way by submarines, and then as they got closer to home the big Focke-Wulf Condors had joined in the uneven battle.
Serpent
's lower decks, from stokers' mess to wardroom, had been crammed with survivors they had managed to drag from the sea. Burned, blinded, choking on oil; they had been even beyond gratitude. Greenwood had snapped, ‘Discontinue the action and rejoin convoy, Number One.'

There had been one last freighter, sinking so slowly that they could see the survivors trying to launch a small raft. All the boats had been destroyed by the fatal torpedo.

‘What about them, sir?'

The merchant sailors had been staring at the destroyer. Their only hope.

Greenwood had climbed into his tall chair, the same one Brooke was holding on to now while the ship pushed ahead from the retreating darkness.

Kerr could still hear his answer. ‘We've made our gesture. Now do as I say and resume position and course.'

When he had looked again, Kerr had seen the men still standing by the remaining raft. One of them had actually waved as
Serpent
's wash had rolled over them.

Kerr glanced inboard across the bridge and realised that Brooke was watching him. Crumpled shirt, hatless, and wearing the old plimsolls he usually kept in his hutch. But he could not have looked more like
Serpent
's captain if he had been in full dress.

His words were almost drowned by the fans and the rattle of loose gear as he said, ‘Take it off your back, Number One.' He gave a smile which afterwards Kerr remembered as being incredibly sad. ‘We've both been there, haven't we? It's not going to get any better.'

Barrington-Purvis's voice rang sharply over the bridge intercom.

‘Control – Forebridge! Two vessels stopped, side by side at Green one-zero! Eight thousand yards!'

Even as he snatched up the red handset they all heard the distant roar of powerful engines, more like an M.T.B. than a coaster.

‘There she goes! Off like a bloody rocket!'

Brooke called, ‘Full ahead together, Chief!' His mind only barely recorded Cusack's curt acknowledgement and the clang of telegraphs from the wheelhouse.

What was it? Instinct? Probably nothing, or perhaps some modern pirate had pounced on an unsuspecting prey.

Onslow was saying, ‘Large fishing vessel.' His voice was devoid of everything but professional interest. ‘I can just read her number.' He spoke to his leading signalman, Railton. ‘Got it, Harry?' Then he said, ‘Local boat, sir. Out of Hong Kong, Aberdeen most likely.'

The P.O. Steward, Bert Kingsmill, stepped carefully into the bridge, although his action station was in the sick bay. He was
obviously feeling out of place, but he walked stiffly to the forepart and held out Brooke's best cap with the new, gleaming badge.

‘They wouldn't let me through to your sea-cabin, sir, so I fetched this for you.'

Calvert and Kerr watched as Brooke tugged the gleaming cap down on his tangled hair.

Another small brushstroke. One that these men who shared his life would all remember.

As the hastily lowered motor-boat hit the water and veered away from the ship's side on the attached line, Kerr had to cling to the cockpit canopy in the heavy motion. The sea, which had looked so calm from the upper bridge, heaved and dipped around their small craft in deep, irregular troughs, and when he looked back at the destroyer he saw her frothing wash already mounting again as she appeared to begin another change of course.

The boat-rope was slipped and instantly the engine roared into full power, Macaskie, the boat's coxswain, riding easily to the motion despite his weight and size.

Kipling was also one of the small boarding-party, although Kerr was not sure why.

The captain had merely said, ‘Take him with you. I imagine he's done quite a lot of this sort of thing.' He had found time to touch Kerr's arm as he had scrambled from the bridge. ‘No risks, Number One. All right?'

The motor-boat was moving at her best speed, planing over the swell like a Cowes racer.

Kerr squinted through the spray and saw the big fishing boat drawing closer by the minute. Even she seemed much larger from down here.

Kipling released his grip with one hand to turn and stare at
Serpent
's lean grey shape. She seemed to shine in the first sunlight, her pendant number, H-50, more silver than white in the glare. He saw that her twenty-millimetre Oerlikons were being trained round towards them as if to sniff after their progress.

Kerr shouted above the noise, ‘The boat's been damaged! The
grenades probably!' He could smell burned wood and paint and see deep scars on her hull.

He had half expected Brooke to give chase after the powerful attacker, but even
Serpent
would not catch the boat in time to do anything. It might even have provoked an incident with the Japanese, if there were any of them nearby. The chart was marked as if the invading Japs had seized just about every piece of the coast near here, and Kerr realised for the first time how close they were to the New Territories and Hong Kong island itself.

Kipling said, ‘I suggest we board her from the opposite side.'

Kerr had to clear his thoughts to grapple with the comment.

‘What the hell for? We'll lose sight of the ship!'

Kipling poked one of his teeth with a forefinger. He might even have shrugged, as if the whole thing was a waste of time.

But his words said the opposite. ‘Our gun crews won't be able to fire with us in the middle. If they have to, of course.'

Kerr called to the coxswain, ‘Take her round, Macaskie!'

‘Aye aye, sir!' He was careful to keep his heavy features impassive. But it would make a good yarn in the mess, how the scruffy subbie told Jimmy the One what to do.

They were so near now they could smell the diesel oil, and the clinging stench of fish.

Kerr cupped his hands. ‘
Boat ahoy! This is the Royal Navy
!'

The boat's stoker nudged one of the armed seamen. ‘Better than a bloody film, eh, Teddy?'