Douglas Reeman - In Danger's Hour

Ransome sat. ‘I came immediately, sir. I have all the reports you asked—’

Bliss waved a sunburned arm. ‘Hell, that can wait. We’re on the move right now. Can’t you feel it in the air?’

Moncrieff exclaimed angrily, ‘I think it stinks!’

Ransome noticed for the first time that Moncrieff held a large tumbler in his good hand; it was almost empty.

Ransome looked away. God, what was the matter with him? It was only nine in the morning!

Bliss saw his glance and beamed. ‘What about a Horse’s Neck, eh?’

Ransome forced a smile. ‘Not for me, sir. The sun isn’t over my yard-arm at this hour, I’m afraid.’

Bliss nodded, his eyes amused. ‘Good show.’

Ransome tried to stay calm. Bliss had no glass, nor had he any intention of joining Moncrieff or anyone else for a drink. What was the point? A little test to see if the new boy was up to it?

Ransome tried again. His nerves were worse than he had imagined.

He said, ‘My people have been working hard together, sir. By August we shall have it off to a fine art.’

Moncrieff opened his mouth but Bliss snapped, ‘My turn, I think!’

To Ransome he continued, ‘There’s been an advance of plans. The invasion of Sicily, Operation Husky as it is codenamed, will begin on July 10th.’ The smile expanded into a confident grin, it will succeed.’

Ransome said, ‘Two weeks’ time?’ He watched the grin and recalled when he had read to Tony about the Cheshire Cat in Alice.

Bliss nodded. ‘This flotilla, and all other inshore forces involved, must ensure that the heavy supporting squadrons are on station to offer covering fire before the first landing-craft drops its ramp!’

A hundred details seemed to scramble through Ransome’s mind. He sensed that Moncrieff had been protesting on their behalf; he also had the strong feeling that this was the original date as planned. The high command may have thought that security and the shortest notice possible to risk the news leaking out, was of more value than preparing the ships for what lay ahead.

Ransome said, ‘We’ll just have to manage.’

Bliss regarded him with some amusement. ‘I like it, Ian. May I call you that?’ He hurried on, ‘Just two days on dry land, and we’ll have the Krauts by the short and curlies!’

Ransome relaxed slightly. He had noticed that Bliss rarely appeared to wait for, even to expect an answer. But he was a live wire, right enough. He was disturbed to find that his sadness for Moncrieff was changing to pity. Where would his Phoenix fit in now?

There was a tap at the door and a sub-lieutenant glanced in at them. Like the O.O.D., he was an RNVR officer, so Bliss had no prejudice there at least.

‘I beg your pardon, sir, but the commander’s boat is already alongside.’

Bliss nodded. ‘Very well.’ He thrust out his hand to Moncrieff. ‘I do hope we meet again, old chap.’

Ransome stared. Quite apart from the obvious insincerity he could scarcely believe what he had heard.

‘You’re not leaving now, sir?’

Bliss explained smoothly, ‘There is apparently a shortage of places in available aircraft. Their lordships are keen for Commander Moncrieff to take over his new appointment without any delay.’

Moncrieff lumbered to his feet. ‘ New appointment , Ian. It’s a supply dump in Orkney!’ He dropped his eyes and stared blindly at his maimed hand. ‘A bloody stores clerk!’

Bliss had turned away to peer through a gleaming scuttle.

Ransome said quietly, ‘I’d hoped to lay something on for you, sir. After all this time. To leave like this—’

Moncrieff gripped his hand. It was like a vice. ‘No more, Ian – I can’t take it, y’see.’ He groped for his cap with its cherished peak of oak leaves. ‘Just tell the others—’ He seemed to regain some of his old power and added fiercely, ‘Tell ’em I’m proud of them!’ The power faded; Ransome saw it dying in his eyes as he added huskily, ‘Look after the ship, eh? My old Rob Roy .’ They walked to the door and Bliss and Ransome saluted as he clambered down into a harbour-launch alongside.

While the boat surged away towards the white buildings ashore Moncrieff looked back only once. But he was staring at Rob Roy.

Bliss said absently, ‘Last of his kind, I shouldn’t wonder.’

Was it meant with contempt, Ransome thought?

He replied calmly, ‘No better way to be remembered, I’d say, sir.’

Bliss made no comment until the ‘skimming-dish’ sputtered back to the accommodation ladder. He stood with his feet wide apart, his strong fingers interlaced behind his back as he stared gravely at the mass of assembled ships.

‘You will meet the new vice-admiral tomorrow, Ian. He will want to speak with you, and your other C.O.s of course.’ He turned suddenly and fixed him with a blue stare. ‘But I command the group now and my head will be on the block if just one captain screws this up. Am I making myself clear?’ Again, he did not wait. ‘I am, how do you say, unused to failure.’

He saluted as Ransome climbed back into the motor boat. He had disappeared before the bowman had even cast off.

All the way back to Rob Roy Ransome tried to accept Bliss for what he appeared to be. A man of courage and ability; his record said all that and more. He knew that it was like to fight the enemy at close quarters and it was obvious that that experience plus his training as a regular officer made him a perfect choice for this task.

He was ruthless too; his attitude to Moncrieff and the hint of his displeasure if anyone else screwed things up left little to the imagination. But then you could not fight this kind of war with a book of naval etiquette.

It was something else. Ransome watched the ships passing on either side, guns being swivelled round in their turrets, seamen and marines working on deck and in the various superstructures. Like some vast iron hornet’s nest waiting to be unleashed.

He nodded to himself. That was it. Bliss made it all sound so personal, as if nothing and nobody would be spared to make his part of the operation a success.

Ransome smiled inwardly. In the navy, that was not unique.

Later, as he was sitting in his cabin, Hargrave came to see him. Ransome glanced up and nodded to the other chair. He felt different now in his clean shirt and shorts. Like someone playing a part. As for Hargrave, he looked almost a stranger in white, although he was obviously quite used to it.

Ransome said, ‘I should like you to organise a party for tomorrow, Number One. If you’re short of anything, I’ll sign a couple of magic chits for you to take to the Base Supply Officer!’

Hargrave watched him curiously. It was not just a change of uniform, he thought. He could picture Ransome’s face right here in the cabin as he had read out the signal about his brother’s death, and again when the three bodies had been tipped over the side.

If it was an act, it was very convincing. Or was he really able to put things like that to the back of his mind in the name of duty? Hargrave had had all that rammed into him from early boyhood as a cadet in the Royal Naval College at Dartmouth. He had actually believed it, just as his father had insisted he would, given time. But never once, from midshipman to lieutenant, had he ever expected to see it as a physical presence. He was seeing it now, and from a man who had been a civilian until the outbreak of war.

Ransome saw the look and thought he could guess what he was thinking.

He touched a sheet of notepaper on the desk. ‘This was waiting for me.’

Hargrave nodded. ‘The guardboat brought it shortly after you’d left, sir.’