Nevil Shute - On The Beach

The Australian Grand Prix was run today at Tooradin and was won by Mr. John Osborne, driving a Ferrari. The second place...

The girl exclaimed, "Oh Dwight, he did it!" They sat forward to listen.

The race was marred by the large number of accidents and casualties. Of the eighteen starters only three finished the race of eighty laps, six of the drivers being killed outright in accidents and many more removed to hospital with more or less severe injuries. The winner, Mr. John Osborne, drove cautiously for the first half of the race and at the fortieth lap was three laps behind the leading car, driven by Mr. Sam Bailey. Shortly afterwards Mr. Bailey crashed at the corner known as The Slide, and from that point onwards the Ferrari put on speed. At the sixtieth lap the Ferrari was in the lead, the field by that time being reduced to five cars, and thereafter Mr. Osborne was never seriously challenged. On the sixty-fifth lap he put up a record for course, lapping at 97.83 miles an hour, a remarkable achievement for this circuit. Thereafter Mr. Osborne reduced speed in response to signals from his pit, and finished the race at an average speed of 89.61 miles an hour. Mr. Osborne is an official of the C.S.I.R.O.; he has no connection with the motor industry and races as an amateur.

Later they stood on the verandah of the hotel for a few minutes before bed, looking out at the black line of the hills, the starry night. "I’m glad John got what he wanted," the girl said. "I mean, he wanted it so much. It must kind of round things off for him."

The American beside her nodded. "I’d say things are rounding off for all of us right now."

"I know. There’s not much time. Dwight, I think I’d like to go home tomorrow. We’ve had a lovely day up here and caught some fish. But there’s so much to do, and now so little time to do it in."

"Sure, honey," he said. "I was thinking that myself. You glad we came, though?"

She nodded. "I’ve been very happy, Dwight, all day. I don’t know why—not just catching fish. I feel like John must feel—as if I’ve won a victory over something. But I don’t know what."

He smiled. "Don’t try and analyze it," he said. "Just take it, and be thankful. I’ve been happy, too. But I’d agree with you, we should get home tomorrow. Things will be happening down there."

"Bad things?" she asked.

He nodded in the darkness by her side. "I didn’t want to spoil the trip for you," he said. "But John Osborne told me yesterday before we came away they got several cases of this radiation sickness in Melbourne, as of Thursday night. I’d say there’d be a good many more by now."

On the Tuesday morning Peter Holmes went to Melbourne in his little car. Dwight Towers had telephoned to him to meet him at ten forty-five in the anteroom to the office of the First Naval Member. The radio that morning announced for the first time the incidence of radiation sickness in the city, and Mary Holmes had been concerned about him going there. "Do be careful, Peter," she said. "I mean, about all this infection. Do you think you ought to go?"

He could not bring himself to tell her again that the infection was there around them, in their pleasant little flat; either she did not or she would not understand. "I’ll have to go," he said. "I won’t stay longer than I’ve absolutely got to."

"Don’t stay up to lunch," she said. "I’m sure it’s healthier down here."

"I’ll come straight home," he said.

A thought struck her. "I know," she said. "Take those formalin lozenges with you that we got for my cough, and suck one now and then. They’re awfully good for all kinds of infection. They’re so antiseptic."

It would set her mind at ease if he did so. "That’s not a bad idea," he said.

He drove up to the city deep in thought. It was no longer a matter of days now; it was coming down to hours. He did not know what this conference with the First Naval Member was to be about, but it was very evident that it would be one of the last naval duties of his career. When he drove back again that afternoon his service life would probably be over, as his physical life soon would be.

He parked his car and went into the Navy Department. There was practically no one in the building; he walked up to the anteroom and there he found Dwight Towers in uniform, and alone. His captain said cheerfully, "Hi, fella."

Peter said, "Good morning, sir." He glanced around; the secretary’s desk was locked, the room empty. "Hasn’t Lieutenant Commander Torrens shown up?"

"Not that I know of. I’d say he’s taking the day off."

The door into the admiral’s office opened, and Sir David Hartman stood there. The smiling, rubicund face was more serious and drawn than Peter had remembered. He said, "Come in, gentlemen. My secretary isn’t here today."

They went in, and were given seats before the desk. The American said, "I don’t know if what I have to say concerns Lieutenant Commander Holmes or not. It may involve a few liaison duties with the dockyard. Would you prefer he wait outside, sir?"

"I shouldn’t think so," said the admiral. "If it will shorten our business, let him stay. What is it you want, Commander?"

Dwight hesitated for a moment, choosing his words. "It seems that I’m the senior executive officer of the U.S. Navy now," he said. "I never thought I’d rise so high as that, but that’s the way it is. You’ll excuse me if I don’t put this in the right form or language, sir. But I have to tell you that I’m taking my ship out of your command."

The admiral nodded slowly. "Very good, Commander. Do you wish to leave Australian territorial waters, or to stay here as our guest?"

"I’ll be taking my ship outside territorial waters," the commander said. "I can’t just say when I’ll be leaving, but probably before the weekend."

The admiral nodded. He turned to Peter. "Give any necessary instructions in regard to victualling and towage to the dockyard," he said. "Commander Towers is to be given every facility."

"Very good, sir."

The American said, "I don’t just know what to suggest about payments, sir. You must forgive me, but I have no training in these matters."

The admiral smiled thinly. "I don’t know that it would do us much good if you had, Commander. I think we can leave those to the usual routine. All countersigned indents and requisitions are costed here and are presented to the Naval Attaché at your embassy in Canberra, and forwarded by him to Washington for eventual settlement. I don’t think you need worry over that side of it."

Dwight said, "I can just cast off and go?"

"That’s right. Do you expect to be returning to Australian waters?"

The American shook his head. "No, sir. I’m taking my ship out in Bass Strait to sink her."

Peter had expected that, but the imminence and the practical negotiation of the matter came with a shock; somehow this was the sort of thing that did not happen. He wanted for a moment to ask if Dwight required a tug to go out with the submarine to bring back the crew, and then abandoned the question. If the Americans wanted a tug to give them a day or two more life they would ask for it, but he did not think they would. Better the sea than death by sickness and diarrhoea homeless in a strange land.

The admiral said, "I should probably do the same, in your shoes... Well, it only remains to thank you for your cooperation, Commander. And to wish you luck. If there’s anything you need before you go don’t hesitate to ask for it—or just take it." A sudden spasm of pain twisted his face and he gripped a pencil on the desk before him. Then he relaxed a little, and got up from the desk. "Excuse me," he said. "I’ll have to leave you for a minute."

He left them hurriedly, and the door closed behind him. The captain and the liaison officer had stood up at his sudden departure; they remained standing, and glanced at each other. "This is it," said the American.