Nevil Shute - On The Beach

"It’s quite a problem," he said thoughtfully. "It comes up all the time in the ship. I reckon a man has a right to do the things he wants to when he goes ashore, so long as he doesn’t go bothering other people. Some folks just have to have the liquor, times like these." He eyed a policeman on the corner. "That’s what the cops here seem to think, in this city, at any rate. I’ve never seen a drunk arrested yet, not just for being drunk."

At the station she paused to thank him and to wish him good night. "It’s been a beaut evening," she said. "The day, too. Thanks for everything, Dwight."

"I’ve enjoyed it, Moira," he said. "It’s years since I danced."

"You’re not too bad," she told him. And then she asked, "Do you know when you go off up north?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. A message came in just before we left telling me to report Monday morning in the First Naval Member’s offices, with Lieutenant Commander Holmes. I imagine we’ll get out final briefing then, and maybe get away on Monday afternoon."

She said, "Good luck. Will you give me a ring when you come back to Williamstown?"

"Why, sure," he said. "I’d like to do that. Maybe we could go sailing again someplace, or else do this again."

She said, "That’d be fun. I’ll have to go now, or I’ll miss this train. Good night again, and thanks for everything."

"It’s been a lot of fun," he said. "Good night." He stood and watched her go till she was lost in the crowd. From the back view, in that light summer dress, she was not unlike Sharon—or could it be that he was forgetting, muddling them up? No, she really was a bit like Sharon in the way she walked. Not in any other way. Perhaps that was why he liked her, that she was just a little like his wife.

He turned away, and went to catch his train to Williamstown.

He went to church next morning in Williamstown, as was his habit on a Sunday when circumstances made it possible. At ten o’clock on Monday morning he was with Peter Holmes in the Navy Department, waiting in the outer office to see the First Naval Member, Sir David Hartman. The secretary said, "He won’t be a minute, sir. I understand he’s taking you both over to the Commonwealth Government Offices."

"He is?"

The lieutenant nodded. "He ordered a car." A buzzer sounded and the young man went into the inner office. He reappeared in a moment. "Will you both go in now."

They went into the inner office. The vice admiral got up to meet them. "Morning, Commander Towers. Morning, Holmes. The Prime Minister wants to have a word with you before you go, so we’ll go over to his office in a minute. Before we do that, I want to give you this." He turned, and lifted a fairly bulky typescript from his desk. "This is the report of the commanding officer of USS. Swordfish on his cruise from Rio de Janeiro up into the North Atlantic." He handed it to Dwight. "I’m sorry that it’s been so long in coming, but the pressure on the radio to South America is very great, and there’s a good deal of it. You can take it with you and look it over at your leisure."

The American took it, and turned it over with interest. "It’s going to be very valuable to us, sir. Is there anything in it to affect this operation?"

"I don’t think there is. He found a high level of radioactivity—atmospheric radioactivity—over the whole area, greater in the north than in the south, as you’d expect. He submerged—let’s see—" lie took the typescript back and turned the pages quickly "—he submerged in latitude two south, off Parnaiba, and stayed submerged for the whole cruise, surfacing again in latitude five south off Cape Sao Roque."

"How long was he submerged, sir?"

"Thirty-two days."

"That might be a record."

The admiral nodded. "I think it is. I think he says so, somewhere." He handed back the typescript. "Well, take it with you and study it. It gives an indication of conditions in the north. By the way, if you should want to get in touch with him, he’s moved his ship down into Uruguay. He’s at Montevideo now."

Peter asked, "Are things getting hot in Rio, sir?"

"It’s getting a bit close."

They left the office in the Navy Department, went down into the yard, and got into an electric truck. It took them silently through the empty streets of the city, up tree-lined Collins Street to the Commonwealth Offices. In a few minutes they found themselves seated with Mr. Donald Ritchie, the Prime Minister, around a table.

He said, "I wanted to see you before you sailed, Captain, to tell you a little bit about the purpose of this cruise, and to wish you luck. I’ve read your operation order, and I have very little to add to that. You are to proceed to Cairns, to Port Moresby, and to Darwin for the purpose of reporting on conditions in those places. Any signs of life would be particularly interesting, of course, whether human or animal. Vegetation, too. And sea birds, if you can gather any information about those."

"I think that’s going to be difficult, sir," Dwight said. "Yes, I suppose so. Anyway, I understand you’re taking a member of the C.S.I.R.O. with you."

"Yes, sir. Mr. Osborne."

The Prime Minister passed his hand across his face, an habitual gesture. "Well. I don’t expect you to take risks. In fact, I forbid it. We want you back here with your ship intact and your crew in good health. You will use your own discretion whether you expose yourself on deck, whether you expose your ship upon the surface, guided by your scientific officer. Within the limits of that instruction, we want all the information we can get. If the radiation level makes it possible, you should land and inspect the towns. But I don’t think it will."

The First Naval Member shook his head. "I very much doubt it. I think you may find it necessary to submerge by the time you get to twenty-two south."

The American thought rapidly. "That’s south of Townsville."

The Prime Minister said heavily, "Yes. There are still people alive in Townsville. You are expressly forbidden to go there, unless your operation order should be modified by a signal from the Navy Department." He raised his head, and looked at the American. "That may seem hard to you, Commander. But you can’t help them, and it’s better not to raise false hopes by showing them your ship. And after all, we know what the conditions are in Townsville. We still have telegraphic contact with them there."

"I understand that, sir."

"That leads me to the last point that I have to make," the Prime Minister said. "You are expressly forbidden to take anybody on board your ship during this cruise, except with the prior permission of the Navy Department obtained by radio. I know that you will understand the obvious necessity that neither you or any member of your crew should be exposed to contact with a radioactive person. Is that quite clear?"

"Quite clear, sir."

The Prime Minister rose to his feet. "Well, good luck to all of you. I shall look forward to talking to you again, Commander Towers, in a fortnight’s time."

Nine days later USS Scorpion surfaced at dawn. In the grey light, as the stars faded, the periscopes emerged from a calm sea off Sandy Cape near Bundaberg in Queensland, in latitude twenty-four degrees south. She stayed below the surface for a quarter of an hour while the captain checked his position by the lighthouse on the distant shore and by echo soundings, and while John Osborne checked the atmospheric and sea radiation levels, with fingers fumbling irritably upon his instruments. Then she slid up out of the depths, a long grey hull, low in the water, heading south at twenty knots. On the bridge deck a hatch clanged open and the officer of the deck emerged, followed by the captain and by many others. In the calm weather the forward and aft torpedo hatches were opened and clean air began to circulate throughout the boat. A lifeline was rigged from the bow to the bridge structure and another to the stern, and all the men off duty clambered up on deck into the fresh morning air, white faced, rejoicing to be out of it, to see the rising sun. They had been submerged for over a week.