Douglas Reeman - In Danger's Hour

‘That’s good news, sir. I hope it reflects on the defaulters’ table.’

Ransome wedged his pipe between his teeth and regarded him gravely. ‘There’s responsibility on both sides of that table, Number One.’ He changed his mood with the subject. ‘I might have guessed why the Boss is taking us out of Able Yoke. We’ll be nice and close to Chatham on this sweep.’

Hargrave tried to concentrate on what he was saying. Rob Roy and the others had been ordered to sweep another sector of the war channel, to the east of Shoeburyness. There had been no explanation, and Hargrave thought it was more likely because they were short of sweepers as usual, rather than caring about Rob Roy’s proximity to Chatham for a refit.

Ransome said, ‘I want to begin the first sweep at noon. Make a signal to that effect to the group.’

‘Something up, sir?’

‘A fast southbound convoy. The RAF are laying on a bit of hostility over the other side to keep their minds occupied. So it’s obviously important. Put the word about the ship, although I expect most of the lads knew of the leave before I did. It may not be a long break this time so make sure that the ones with the farthest to go leave first. The rest can have local leave, so take every case on its merit. But no defaulters’ grudges, Number One.’ He watched him, his eyes level. ‘All right?’

Hargrave nodded and climbed on to the compass platform to check the course which required to be steered in this powerful offshore current. He saw Morgan watching him, the way he dropped his eyes when he saw him.

Hargrave gestured to the signalman. ‘Write this down, Bunts. To Ranger, repeated to the rest of the group—’

He looked at the glassy swell as it tilted the hull more steeply in the path of the sunshine.

They dislike me for my ideas on discipline, do they? The sooner I’m off this damned ship the better!

In the wheelhouse beneath Hargrave’s feet, Ordinary Seaman Boyes was carefully polishing the glass of the automatic plot table. By day, the thick black-out curtains which separated it from the rest of the bridge were lashed up to the deckhead. It made the place seem larger, and with the windows and scuttles clipped open Boyes sensed a new atmosphere, relaxed and cheerful.

Reeves the chief quartermaster, a ruddy-faced leading seaman with two good conduct badges on his sleeve, watched the tape of the gyro-repeater as it ticked a fraction this way or that, to be corrected effortlessly by his hands on the wheel. On either side of him a telegraphsman stood by his engine-room and revolutions speed control, but they were chatting quietly, telling jokes but careful not to stand too close to the voicepipe’s big bell-mouth.

By the opposite door which opened on to a bridge wing, Topsy Turnham the Buffer was expertly splicing a signal halliard and muttering fiercely, ‘Bloody green ‘orns, they don’t teach ’em nothin’!’ But he obviously enjoyed showing off his skills.

The chief quartermaster asked casually, ‘Wot you doin’ when we gets leave, Buffer?’

Turnham’s eyes twinkled. ‘Nice little party up the line, I got.’ He did not see the others exchange winks. ‘Tender as a boiled owl, she is—’

Boyes listened while he concentrated on his polishing. Sharing it.

‘I shall come back a new man!’

‘Make sure she don’t give you summat else to bring back with you, Buffer!’ They al! joined in the laughter until Hargrave’s voice echoed down the pipe.

‘Less noise in the wheelhouse! Report to me, Reeves, when you’re relieved!’

Reeves lowered his head. ‘Christ Almighty!’

Turnham scowled and straighted his battered cap. ‘Leave Jimmy to me. I’ve just about ’ad a gutful of ’im!’

One of the telegraphsmen grinned. ‘Ain’t that the truth?’

Dead on noon the four fleet minesweepers hoisted their black balls and took station on the leader, like sheep responding to a familiar shepherd.

The sky remained clear, and apart from the deep unbroken swell, the sea was without malice.

Boyes went to the bridge to join Sub-Lieutenant Morgan by the chart-table, while Lieutenant Sherwood took several fixes from the gyro-compass to make certain Rob Roy was exactly on course. Boyes took it all in, from the clatter of Leading Signalman Mackay’s Aldis lamp, to the regular reports from the W/T Office, or from the quarterdeck as the sweep streamed away on the starboard quarter.

Most of all he watched the captain as he moved occasionally from side to side, or levelled his glasses on the next astern. Ranger had signalled that she had lost a dan buoy overboard and had requested time to recover it. Now she too had her sweep in the water, but was following astern of the two coal-burners. At this slow speed, that same black smoke would come gushing on to Rob Roy once they turned to sweep in the opposite direction.

Mackay had remarked to a boatswain’s mate, ‘Just about due for a bloody refit, the lot of us, me especially!’

Ransome had thrown off his duffle-coat and was sitting sideways on his chair. He saw Boyes watching him and said, ‘Settled in?’

Boyes nodded and blushed. ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ He grew redder as Morgan grinned and Sherwood exclaimed softly, ‘Another admiral, no less!’

Ransome smiled. ‘Ignore it.’

Boyes was stunned at being spoken to like this, and the fact that even Sherwood, a man who was said to be a bit ‘round the bend’, seemed able to accept his presence.

He replied, ‘Yes, sir. I – I’m still not quite sure what happens when the sweep goes out, but—’

The look-out yelled, ‘ Mine , sir! Green four-five!’

The others ran to the side, glasses trained, all humour gone.

‘Make a signal to the group, Bunts! Mine to starboard!’

He ignored the clatter of the lamp’s shutter, the bright stabbing light of the next ship’s acknowledgement. Flags soared up to the yard, and Boyes could feel the tension like a vice closing around his heart and lungs.

‘Clear the lower deck!’ Ransome raised his glasses again. ‘Tell the Gunner (T) to check all watertight doors.’

Sherwood said tightly, ‘Must have just broken adrift. There’s still some cable on it.’

A voice murmured in the pipe. ‘Cox’n on the wheel, sir.’

Ransome watched the mine; in the powerful lenses it was huge and obscene. It was within the scope of the sweep-wire, but might well pass over it somewhere in the middle. ‘Signal Dryaden to open fire as soon as the mine’s clear.’

He saw Boyes staring at him, his eyes filling his face.

‘Your question, Boyes. This is what happens.’

Boyes was to remember that for a long time to come.

Down aft with his sweeping party Hargrave hung over the guardrail and stared at the mine. It was imagination but it seemed to be swinging towards him.

Turnham said, ‘Stand by on the winch, Nobby!’ Then to Hargrave he added sharply, ‘Clear the quarterdeck, sir?’ It did not sound like a question.

Hargrave nodded and heard the leading hand telling the others to move into the shelter of the superstructure.

Turnham said, lFawn\\ put a few shots into the bloody thing. If not, the blood-boat’ll fix it.’

He shaded his eyes to look up at the signal halliards. No order to withdraw sweeps. With a drifting mine so close it could be fatal.

Hargrave felt his mouth go quite dry, like a coat of dust. He could not tear his eyes from the mine, half-submerged, turning slightly to reveal its pointed horns. Just a playful touch from one of those and —

The mine seemed to hesitate, then spiralled round in a complicated dance.