Douglas Reeman - In Danger's Hour

The ships in convoy were all big ones, including two troopers, ex-liners, and several fast freighters, their decks and hulls crammed with tanks, crated aircraft, and other vehicles. No wonder they had taken such precautions. Far out into the Atlantic, zigzagging ponderously in response to irate signals from the commodore, then around Biscay and south into warmer waters. Some of the sailors, especially those on the open bridge, were already sporting healthy-looking tans.

Boyes glanced at his companions. Lieutenant Sherwood was the O.O.W., with the new sub, Tritton, assisting him. Leading Signalman Mackay was studying the Ranger, which was steering a parallel course some four miles away, the rest of the minesweepers divided between them in two lines.

It was strange to see the ocean so deserted, Boyes thought. Just yesterday the convoy had increased speed and had gone on ahead. Each ship had been capable of much greater haste than the sweepers, but they had all kept together until the worst part of the passage was astern.

By glancing at the vibrating chart Boyes knew that neutral Portugal lay some two hundred miles across the port beam; they should be passing the invisible Lisbon about now. It was the furthest he had ever been in his life.

He looked at the empty chair again. Everyone knew about the captain’s brother. Occasionally Boyes had watched him, had found himself searching for some sign of grief or anxiety. He had discovered nothing but a remoteness, something respected by the other officers.

He thought about the radar plot beneath his feet in the wheelhouse. The chief quartermaster, Reeves, was on the wheel, while Beckett was down below somewhere dealing with some requestmen. It never seemed to stop. Midshipman Davenport always managed to avoid him. It was as if they belonged to a separate society. Difficult at any time in the two-hundred-and-thirty foot hull.

He found himself thinking back to his leave again. His mother saying how she had seen young Davenport in his officer’s uniform. So smart, so dashing. She could have had no conception just how much it had hurt.

And then, out of the blue, had come the great adventure. One evening when he had been having tea with his parents the telephone had rung.

Boyes’s mother had bustled away, and his father had murmured, if it’s another bridge-party I shall really do some extra fire-watching to get out of it!’

But she had returned, her eyes questioning, even suspicious, it’s for you , Gerry.’ It had sounded like an accusation. ‘A girl!’

Boyes had hurried to the door. Over his shoulder he had heard his father ask mildly, ‘Who was it, dear?’

‘Someone who met our son. Sounded rather common—’

Boyes had not even noticed.

The girl named Connie had sounded very easy and matter-of-fact over the phone. Boyes had had virtually no experience of girls apart from the school dance once a year. His arrival on the lower deck of a fighting ship had made him flush with embarrassment, even if half what the others said was true.

She had said, ‘You’re not doing anything then?’

‘N – no—’ he had imagined his mother listening through the closed door. ‘I’d been hoping, actually—’

She had laughed. ‘You naughty boy!’

He had felt himself flushing all over again.

‘What about the pictures? There’s a good one on at the Regal—’

When he had remained tongue-tied she had added, ‘But if you’ve something better—’

‘No. I’d love to.’

‘In an hour then.’ The adventure had begun.

The cinema had been packed, mostly with servicemen and their girls, so that when a cracked, much-used slide was thrust across the screen to announce that an air-raid warning had been sounded, there had been a great bellow of protest. ‘Get it off!’ Plus whistles and derisive laughter. She had leaned against him in the cinema, until halfway through the main film when he had put his arm around her shoulder.

As the light blazed from the screen, he had seen her looking at him. Surprised? Curious? But then Boyes knew nothing about women.

Afterwards they had walked to the square in Kingston where the army had thoughtfully sent a truck for its army girls, a sort of liberty boat to get them back to camp safely.

They had stood in a shop doorway, and to hurrying passers-by it was just another sailor on leave with a girl in khaki. To Boyes it was something else. But he had had a sense of disappointment, not in her but in himself.

He had asked desperately, ‘May I see you again, Connie? Please?’

She had watched him, her eyes bright despite the black-out.

She had expected the usual wrestling-match in the cinema, a groping hand, the sense of shock when it touched her. Boyes was different. God, he was so different.

‘You’ve never had your own girl, have you?’

He had hesitated. ‘Not before.’

She had wanted to hug him. To weep for his innocence, his old-world sense of honour.

‘I’m free tomorrow, if you like.’

They had met in the warm afternoon, and had gone into a pub by the river for a drink. He had told her about the navy, about the ship, and all the while she had watched him, her bright lips around the straws in her port-and-lemon, her other hand close to his across the table. She had taken him to another cinema, a smaller one than the Regal, one which had been known as a flea-pit in his schooldays. It had been practically empty, and she had led him to the back row of seats. They were in pairs.

She had whispered, ‘Must have been a right lot of lovers in your neck of the woods, Gerry!’

During an interval he had blurted out, ‘I’m off tomorrow, Connie.’

She had straightened up, her eyes suddenly anxious.

‘Already? I thought—’

He had said, ‘I’ve loved being with you so much. I can’t tell you.’

She had waited for the lights to dim. ‘Kiss me.’

He had tried, but had pressed his face into her hair. ‘Sorry.’

She had stood up. ‘Keep my seat warm. I’m going to the Ladies.’ She had reached out and touched his mouth. ‘It was sweet. Just need a bit of practice.’ But she was not making fun of him.

For a time Boyes had imagined she had left by one of the fire-exit doors, but then he saw her hurrying up the aisle and felt her sink down beside him. He put his arm round her and kissed her again. She had her hand behind his neck and had pulled him against her, so that their mouths were locked until she opened hers and touched his tongue with hers. She had taken his hand and moulded it to her body. Her tunic had been unbuttoned, and he had felt the fullness of her breast through the shirt, her heart thumping as if to break free.

She had spoken into his ear. i got rid of the army-issue in the Ladies.’

He slipped one of the shirt buttons open and touched the bare skin beneath. Then another button until he had held her breast in his hand, the nipple hard between his fingers.

She had been gasping. ‘Don’t stop, Gerry! Oh, for God’s sake!’

He had felt her reaching for him in the same wild desperation, finding and gripping him until he could barely control himself.

When they had finally left the cinema and made their way to the same square where the army lorry was waiting, he had hugged her again.

She had pushed him away, her voice breathless. ‘Not here! Not like those others! Next time She had kissed him hard on the mouth, then had run through the night to the throbbing lorry.

Afterwards he had realised that he could not remember the name of the film or anything about it.

Sometimes now he would touch himself as she had done, and relive the moment when he had slipped his hand into her open shirt.

‘Ranger’s calling us up, sir.’