Jojo Moyes - Ship of Brides

Emmett was pulling at his jacket with one hand, while the other rubbed his temple. ‘What the hell are you doing, Nicol? You’ve got to get upstairs,’ he was saying. ‘To the muster stations. Got to get the brides into the boats. Jesus Christ, man! Look at the state of you.’

It was then that he became aware of the alarm, and was surprised he had not noticed it before. Perhaps the ringing in his ears had drowned it.

‘It’s centre engine, Tims,’ the young stoker was shouting. ‘Shit, we’re in trouble.’

The fight was forgotten.

‘What happened?’ Tims was on his feet now, leaning over the younger man. A long cut ran down his cheek. Nicol, struggling to his feet, wondered whether he had bestowed it.

‘I don’t know.’

‘What have you done?’ Tims’s huge, bloodied hand shot out and gripped the boy’s shoulder.

‘I – I don’t know. I took five minutes to go and see the girls. Then I went back down and the whole bloody passage was filled with smoke.’

‘Did you shut it off? Did you close the hatch?’

‘I don’t know – there was too much smoke. I couldn’t even get past the bomb room.’

‘Shit!’ Tims looked at Nicol. ‘I’ll head down there.’

‘Anyone else in centre engine?’

Tims shook his head, wincing. ‘No. The Artificer had gone off. It was just the damn fool boy.’ The first wisp of smoke found its way into the men’s nostrils, prompting a short, loaded silence.

‘It’s the captain,’ said Tims. ‘He’s jinxed, that Highfield. He’ll do for us all.’

21

A is for ARMY of which we are fond,

B is for BRIDES both brunette and blonde,

C is for COURAGE they had lots,

D is for DISTANCE we covered by knots,

E is for ENDEAVOUR to give of our best,

F is for FORTITUDE put to the test . . .

Ida Faulkner, war bride, quoted in Forces Sweethearts,

Wartime Romance from the First World War

to the Gulf , Joanna Lumley

The stoker firefighter emerged from the black smoke with the faltering steps of a blind man, one hand still clutching his hose, the other outstretched, waiting for the grasp that would pull him to safety. His smoke helmet was blackened, and the hands that reached forward to pull it off his head discovered, with burned fingers, how hot it was.

Green coughed and wiped soot from his eyes, then straightened and faced his captain. ‘Beaten back, sir. We’ve closed all the hatches we can, but it’s spread to the starboard engine room. Drenching system hasn’t worked.’ He coughed black phlegm on to the floor, then looked up again, eyes white in his sooty face. ‘I don’t think it’s reached the main feed tank, because it would have blown out the machine control room.’

‘Foamite?’ said the captain.

‘Too late for that, sir. It’s no longer just a fuel fire.’

Around him the team of marines and stokers, the naval firefighters, stood ready, clutching hoses and fire extinguishers, waiting for the orders that would send them in.

It had often been said of Highfield, on Indomitable , that he knew the location of every room, every compartment, every hold in his floating city without ever having to examine a map. Now he mentally traced the possible route of the fire through her sister ship. ‘Do we know which way it’s headed?’

‘We can only hope it spreads to starboard. That way we might lose the starboard engine, sir, but it will hit the air space. Above it we’ve got the lub oil tank and turbo-generator.’

‘So the worst that could happen is we’re immobilised.’ Around him, the fire siren continued to wail in the cramped passageway. In the distance, he could hear the women being mustered.

‘Sir.’

‘But?’

‘But I can’t guarantee it’s spreading in that direction, sir.’

Caught early enough, an engine-room fire could have been put out with extinguishers and, at worst, a hose. Even caught late, it could usually be contained with boundary hosing – spraying water on the outside walls to keep the temperature of the room down. But this fire – God only knew how – had already gone too far. Where were the men? he wanted to shout. Where were the extinguishers? The bloody drenchers? But it was too late for any of that. ‘You think it might be heading towards the machine control room?’

The man nodded.

‘If it blows out the machine control room, it will reach the warhead and bomb rooms.’

‘Sir.’

That plane. That face. Highfield forced himself to push away the image.

‘Get the women off the ship.’

‘What?’

‘Lower the lifeboats.’

Dobson glanced out of the bridge at the rough seas. ‘Sir, I—’

‘I’m not taking any chances. Lower the lifeboats. Take a bloody order, man. Green, grab your men and equipment. Dobson, I need at least ten men. We’re going to empty the bomb rooms as far as possible, then flood the bloody thing. Tennant, I want you and a couple of others to see if you can get to the passage below the mast pump room. Get the hatches open on the lub oil store and flood it. Flood as many of the compartments around both engine rooms as you can.’

‘But it’s above water level, sir.’

‘Look at the waves, man. We’ll make the bloody seas work for us for a change.’

On the boat deck, Nicol was trying to persuade a weeping girl, her arms wrapped round her lifejacket, to climb into the lifeboat. ‘I can’t,’ she shrieked, pointing at the churning black seas below. ‘Look at it! Just look at it!’

Around them, the marines struggled to keep order and calm, despite the sirens and piped instructions emanating from other parts of the ship. Occasionally a woman would cry out that she could see or smell smoke, and a ripple of fear would travel through the others. Despite this, the weeping girl was not the only one unwilling to climb into the boats, which, after the solidity of Victoria , bobbed precariously like corks in the foaming waters below.

‘You’ve got to get in,’ he yelled, his tone becoming firmer.

‘But all my things! What will happen to them?’

‘They’ll be fine. Fire will be out in no time and then you can re-embark. Come on, now. There’s a queue building up behind you.’

With a sob of reluctance, the girl allowed herself to be handed into the boat and the queue shuffled forward a few inches. Behind him the crowd of several hundred women waited, having been marshalled out of the hangar deck towards the lifeboats, most still in their evening dresses. The wind whistled around them, goosepimpling the girls’ arms; they clutched themselves and shivered. Some wept, others wore bright, nervous smiles as if trying to persuade themselves that this was all some jolly adventure. One in three refused point-blank to get in and had to be ordered or even manhandled. He didn’t blame them – he didn’t want to get into a lifeboat either.

In the floodlit dark, he could see men who remembered Indomitable ; they eyed each other while trying not to reveal it in their expressions, kept their attention focused on getting the women down into the relative safety of the waters below.

The next female hand was in his. It was Margaret, her moon face pale. ‘I can’t leave Maudie,’ she said.

It took him several seconds to understand what she was saying. ‘Frances is down there,’ he said. ‘She’ll bring her. Come on, you can’t wait.’

‘But how do you know?’

‘Margaret, you have to get into the boat.’ He could see the anxious faces of those swaying in the suspended cutter. ‘C’mon, now. Don’t make everyone else wait.’

Her grip was surprisingly strong. ‘You’ve got to tell her to get Maudie.’