Alistair MacLean - HMS Ulysses

Marshall did not feel justified in detailing the duty L.T.O. for the job, especially as that rating was a middle-aged and very much overweight reservist, long past his climbing prime. He asked for volunteers. It was inevitable that he should have picked Ralston, for that was the kind of man Ralston was.

The task took half an hour, twenty minutes to climb the mast, edge out to the yardarm tip, fit the bosun's chair and lifeline, and ten minutes for the actual repair. Long before he was finished, a hundred, two hundred tired men, robbing themselves of sleep and supper, had come on deck and huddled there in the bitter wind, watching in fascination.

Ralston swung in a great arc across the darkening sky, the gale plucking viciously at his duffel and hood. Twice, wind and wave flung him out, still in his chair, parallel to the yard-arm, forcing him to wrap both arms around the yardarm and hang on for his life. On the second occasion he seemed to strike his face against the aerial, for he held his head for a few seconds afterwards, as if he were dazed. It was then that he lost his gauntlets-he must have had them in his lap, while making some delicate adjustment: they dropped down together, disappeared over the side.

A few minutes later, while Vallery and Turner were standing amidships examining the damage the motor boat had suffered in Scapa Flow, a short, stocky figure came hurriedly out of the after screen door, made for the fo'c'sle at an awkward stumbling run. He pulled up abruptly at the sight of the Captain and the Commander: they saw it was Hastings, the Master-at-Arms.

"What's the matter, Hastings?" Vallery asked curtly. He always found it difficult to conceal his dislike for the Master-at-Arms, his dislike for his harshness, his uncalled-for severity.

"Trouble on the bridge, sir" Hastings jerked out breathlessly. Vallery could have sworn to a gleam of satisfaction in his eye. "Don't know exactly what-could hardly hear a thing but the wind on the phone... I think you'd better come, sir."

They found only three people on the bridge: Etherton, the gunnery officer, one hand still clutching a phone, worried, unhappy: Ralston, his hands hanging loosely by his sides, the palms raw and torn, the face ghastly, the chin with the dead pallor of frostbite, the forehead masked in furrowed, frozen blood: and, lying in a corner, Sub-Lieutenant Carslake, moaning in agony, only the whites of his eyes showing, stupidly fingering his smashed mouth, the torn, bleeding gaps in his prominent upper teeth.

"Good God!" Vallery ejaculated. "Good God above!" He stood there, his hand on the gate, trying to grasp tRe significance of the scene before him. Then his mouth clamped shut and he swung round on the Gunnery Officer.

"What the devil's happened here, Etherton?" he demanded harshly. "What is all this? Has Carslake------"

"Ralston hit him, sir," Etherton broke in.

"Don't be so bloody silly, Guns!" Turner grunted.

"Exactly!" Vallery's voice was impatient. "We can see that. Why?"

"A W.T. messenger came up for the 'Safe-to-Transmit' boards. Carslake gave them to him, about ten minutes ago, I-I think."

"You think! Where were you, Etherton, and why did you permit it? You know very well..." Vallery broke off short, remembering the presence of Ralston and the MA.A.

Etherton muttered something. His words were inaudible in the gale.

Vallery bent forward. "What did you say, Etherton?"

"I was down below, sir." Etherton was looking at the deck. "Just-just for a moment, sir."

"I see. You were down below." Vallery's voice was controlled now, quiet and even; his eyes held an expression that promised ill for Etherton. He looked round at Turner. "Is he badly hurt, Commander?"

"He'll survive," said Turner briefly. He had Carslake on his feet now, still moaning, his hand covering his smashed mouth.

For the first time, the Captain seemed to notice Ralston. He looked at him for a few seconds, an eternity on that bitter, storm lashed bridge, then spoke, monosyllabic, ominous, thirty years of command behind the word.

"Well?"

Ralston's face was frozen, expressionless. His eyes never left Carslake.

"Yes, sir. I did it. I hit him, the treacherous, murdering bastard!"

"Ralston!" The MA.A.'s voice was a whiplash.

Suddenly Ralston's shoulders sagged. With an effort, he looked away from Carslake, looked wearily at Vallery.

"I'm sorry. I forgot. He's got a stripe on his arm, only ratings are bastards." Vallery winced at the bitterness. "But he------"

"You've got frostbite."

"Rub your chin, man!" Turner interrupted sharply.

Slowly, mechanically, Ralston did as he was told. He used the back of his hand. Vallery winced again as he saw the palm of the hand, raw and mutilated, skin and flesh hanging in strips. The agony of that bare-handed descent from the yardarm...

"He tried to murder me, sir. It was deliberate." Ralston sounded tired.

"Do you realise what you are saying?" Vallery's voice was as icy as the wind that swept over Langanes. But he felt the first, faint chill of fear.

"He tried to murder me, sir," Ralston repeated tonelessly. "He returned the boards five minutes before I left the yard-arm. W.T. must have started transmitting just as soon as I reached the mast, coming down."

"Nonsense, Ralston. How dare you------"

"He's right, sir." It was Etherton speaking. He was replacing the receiver carefully, his voice unhappy. "I've just checked."

The chill of fear settled deeper on Vallery's mind. Almost desperately he said:

"Anyone can make a mistake. Ignorance may be culpable, but------"

"Ignorance!" The weariness had vanished from Ralston as if it had never been. He took two quick steps forward. "Ignorance I I gave him these boards, sir, when I came to the bridge. I asked for the Officer of the Watch and he said he was, I didn't know the Gunnery Officer was on duty, sir. When I told him that the boards were to be returned only to me, he said:' I don't want any of your damned insolence, Ralston. I know my job, you stick to yours. Just you get up there and perform your heroics.' He knew, sir."

Carslake burst from the Commander's supporting arm, turned and appealed wildly to the Captain. The eyes were white and staring, the whole face working.

"That's a lie, sir! It's a damned, filthy lie!" He mouthed the words, slurred them through smashed lips. "I never said..."

The words crescendoed into a coughing, choking scream as Ralston's fist smashed viciously, terribly into the torn, bubbling mouth. He staggered drunkenly through the port gate, crashed into the chart house, slid down to lie on the deck, huddled and white and still. Both Turner and the M.AA. had at once leapt forward to pinion the L.T.O.'s arms, but he made no attempt to move.

Above and beyond the howl of the wind, the bridge seemed strangely silent. When Vallery spoke, his voice was quite expressionless.

"Commander, you might phone for a couple of our marines. Have Carslake taken down to his cabin and ask Brooks to have a look at him.

Master-at-Arms?"

"Sir?"

"Take this rating to the Sick Bay, let him have any necessary treatment. Then put him in cells. With an armed guard. Understand?"

"I understand, sir." There was no mistaking the satisfaction in Hastings's voice.

Vallery, Turner and the Gunnery Officer stood in silence as Ralston and the M.A.A. left, in silence as two burly marines carried Carslake, still senseless, off the bridge and below. Vallery moved after them, broke step at Etherton's voice behind him.

"Sir?"

Vallery did not even turn round. "I'll see you later, Etherton."

"No, sir. Please. This is important."

Something in the Gunnery Officer's voice held Vallery. He turned back, impatiently.

"I'm not concerned with excusing myself, sir. There's no excuse." The eyes were fixed steadily on Vallery. "I was standing at the Asdic door when Ralston handed the boards to Carslake. I overheard them, every word they said."