Douglas Reeman - In Danger's Hour

He watched as the Leading Writer laid the various items on the desk. He was as before, self-contained, studious, quiet. It was hard to see him crouched on the field telephone as Bliss had described it to him, speaking to Sherwood, waiting to write it all down, to hear his final words if the mine sprung its fuse.

Wakeford did not look at Gregory as he said, ‘This one is about the first lieutenant, sir.’

It was the usual formal wording. ‘Upon receipt of these orders you will etc. etc.’

Ransome looked up at his friend. ‘Sherwood’s coming back tomorrow. As first lieutenant.’

Gregory was still contemplating his own change of direction. ‘That’s a shaft of light, anyway.’

The big sealed envelope had been signed for by the O.O.D., Tritton. Ransome read it quickly. ‘I think another enormous drink is in order.’ Then he said quietly, ‘We’re moving to Falmouth in three days, Jim. Hargrave will assume command there.’

‘Falmouth.’ Gregory watched him thoughtfully. ‘That’s where I’m to take over the flotilla of Mickey-Mouses. Does that mean—?’

Ransome poured the drinks and shook the bottle. His stock was almost finished.

He replied, ‘I think it does. It will be a work-up for the invasion. The big one.’

Gregory glanced at his watch. ‘I’d best get back. I’ll tell my lot in the wardroom. They’ll all be gathering there for lunch anyway.’

He stood up, momentarily lost. ‘I thought I’d end the bloody war in Ranger, does that sound potty? I know we have no say in these things, but I’m loathe to leave the old girl.’ He met Ransome’s questioning glance. ‘No, not because of Hargrave. He’ll probably do a good job. It’s just—’

‘I know.’ It was like Moncrieff’s last moments when he had relieved him. ‘I’d be the same.’

When Gregory had gone, he took the bulkhead telephone from its bracket and jabbed one of the buttons.

He heard Kellett’s chirpy voice reply, ‘Wardroom!’

‘Would you ask the first lieutenant to spare me a few minutes, please?’

He replaced the telephone and then straightened Tony’s picture. He had written to him twice. That was quite something. Tony had never been a great letter-writer.

He was feeling much better, mainly, Ransome suspected, because he had been appointed to a destroyer which was still on the stocks and only half-built. It would be many months before he got to sea again. Their mother would be pleased about that.

Tony had written, So I’m all right, big brother. To tell the truth I’d have taken the job running a NAAFI manager’s boat rather than be beached! He had ended by saying, Eve’s a lovely girl. You’re so right for each other. I envy you.

There was a knock on the door. It was Hargrave.

‘You waited me, sir?’

Ransome pushed the orders across the desk. ‘You’d better sit down before you read this.’

He saw Hargrave’s eyes moving slowly across the curt, unemotional wording. Even when he received his own for taking command they would lack any of the excitement they usually represented.

One thing was obvious, Hargrave did not know either. He was not that good an actor.

‘But – but, I don’t understand, sir.’ Hargrave stared at him. ‘ Ranger —she’s our sister-ship.’ He looked at his hands. Even that one word our was a thing of the past.

Ransome smiled grimly. ‘I’ll not tell you about the birds and the bees. You’ve learned well, considering it was not all that long since we were facing each other here for the first time. We are going to Falmouth again. Sail in Ranger and watch everything Gregory does. Ranger may be a twin, but her people are used to him and his ways. If we are going into Europe they’ll need all their confidence. It’s not time for the new broom syndrome.’ He spread his hands in apology. ‘Sorry. The birds and the bees win after all!’

Hargrave stood up. if I’m any good at it, sir, it will be your doing.’ Then he almost lurched from the cabin.

Ransome sat staring at the closed door. Into Europe. How easy it was to say.

It was not like losing poor David. He had been a true friend, the closest he had ever had before or since joining the navy. He often saw him still. Those chilling nights on the bridge, booted feet on the ladder. Or a shadowy oilskinned figure hurrying aft when the order to prepare the sween was piped. The women in black. The schoolgirl who had looked like Eve.

He picked up her letter again and thought of her writing it.

Dearest of Men – It feels so long since—

Ransome found that he could lean back and smile. He would telephone her this evening. Just to tell her he was coming. Without breaking the Official Secrets Act, of course.

He heard footsteps moving away and knew that Hargrave had been standing there, putting his thoughts in order, grappling with his change of fortune.

Hargrave was indeed thinking of nothing else. He walked right past the Buffer who was about to offer him a list of names, a rearrangement of the watch bill, his mouth already opened to speak.

As he strode aft the Buffer gaped after him. ‘Gawd, Jimmy’s like a whore at a christenin’ today!’

He saw the new S.B.A., a small, pimply youth, leaning on the guardrail and staring down at the trapped water between the two hulls.

‘Stand up straight! Never ’ang on them rails, sonny!’

‘I – I thought—’

The Buffer roared, ‘Leave thinkin’ to ’orses, they’ve got bigger ’eads than you ’ave!’

He bustled away, the first lieutenant’s behaviour forgotten. He usually felt better after he had offered someone a good bollocking.

Hargrave paused by the big winch and the Oropesa float, resting on its chocks like a faceless dolphin.

His mind kept returning to Ross Pearce, what she had said, the cool way she had outlined what she believed he needed. Like moving pawns on a board. Gregory’s promotion to all intents and purposes, and a ready opening in Ranger. It would probably mean a half-stripe, albeit lost again when the war ended. He stared round and up at the deserted bridge. What was the matter with him? Sherwood was right. The war might go on for years. Even if the invasion was a success it could drag out in stalemate. Then there was the Pacific and Burma. It seemed endless. None of the people he had seen today as requestmen or defaulters, working about the ship, or queueing impatiently for their rum issue, might be alive by then.

He was sure of one thing. He was completely infatuated with Ross Pearce. Without effort she had fenced with him, keeping him at a distance, giving no real hint of promise. He had met nobody like her. The more he had seen of her the less he could imagine his father having any more success than he had.

He looked across at Ranger. The sentry and quartermaster were watching him without apparently doing so. The buzz would be all thryugh the ship. Rob Roy’s Jimmy was getting the Old Man’s chair.

He thought of Ransome’s quiet advice. They’ll need all their confidence.

It was what he had been trained for. This was just the next step on the ladder. He might never know if his first command had been engineered, or influenced by his father. But it seemed likely. Ross’s father was a viscount, and had a deep interest in service matters and stood on a House of Lords committee. What was good for Hargrave might easily turn out to be even more advantageous for his father the vice-admiral.

Shall I miss Rob Roy? Only time would answer that.

The girl stood behind her mother and watched her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. She could hear the wind exploring the windows and sighing against the roof, but the rain had gone, and tomorrow was going to be a fine day, according to the postman.