Stannard bit his lip. Aikman was going ashore for observation. That was typical of Lindsay, he thought.
Most other skippers would have slapped him under arrest to await court-martial for negligence and God knows what else. But Lindsay seemed to realise Aikman could not be punished more than he was already. He would probably be kept in hospital and then quietly dropped. Kicked out. Forgotten.
He said impulsively, ‘Poor bastard.’
Dancy looked at him, recalling Stannard’s bitter anger on the bridge. His contempt for Aikman’s pathetic efforts to cover his mistake.
Stannard strode forward and asked, ‘You off then?’
Aikman stopped as if he had been struck. When he turned his face was very pale, his eyes shadowed by dark rings, like a man under drugs.
He said thickly, ‘Yes. I–I’m not sure quite what He could not go on.
Dancy watched Stannard, wondering what he would say next. Aikman looked terrible, far worse than immediately after” he had tried to kill himself. He had remained in his cabin, one of Boase’s S.B.A.‘s with him the whole time. Now he was slipping away, with not even a word from the other officers.
Stannard thrust out his hand and said quietly, ‘Good luck, mate. I’m sorry about what happened.’ He turned away as if to watch the ambulances on the jetty. ‘Could have been any one of us.’
Aikman seized his hand and said brokenly, ‘But it wasn’t. It was me.’
There were tears running down his cheeks, and the petty officer said cheerfully, ‘Come along, sir, we don’t want to keep ‘em all waiting, now do we?’
Dancy looked at Stannard. It was like hearing a teacher speaking to a backward child. He said quickly, ‘So long, sir.’ Then he saluted and watched Aikman being led down the gangway and into one of the ambulances.
Stannard said, ‘When you’re in a war you think sometimes you might get bloody killed or have a bit shot out of yourself.’ He shook his head as they turned back towards the wardroom. ‘You never think about this side of it.’
Lindsay’s cabin was filled with swirling tobacco smoke and the smell of whisky. The dockyard officials in their blue serge suits, some officers from the base engineering department, a lieutenant of the intelligence section, there seemed to bean endless array of alien faces.
He held a match to his pipe and watched the flame quivering above the bowl. It was shaking badly, and he had to force himself to hold it still. He saw Fraser talking with another engineer and knew from the slur in his voice he was halfway to being drunk. Lindsay had already had more drinks than he could remember yet felt ice-cold sober. He did not even feel tired any more, just numb. Empty of anything which he could recognise.
Lindsay had been down to see the survivors over the side and had spoken to most of them. A handshake here, a quick thumbs-up there. They. had all responded by playing their allotted roles. It was the unspoken word and unmade gesture which had moved him. The glances from some of the Wrens as they had looked down at the solid, unmoving jetty. The wounded sailor on a stretcher who had looked up at the grey sky and had stared at it with something like awe. And the girl with the bandaged face who had been carried by two S.B.A.‘s on a kind of chair over the gangway with all the others.
It was almost as if she had sensed Lindsay was there, and had reached out to hold his hand. Nothing more. Just a quick contact, not even a squeeze, but it had told him- so much.
Now they were all gone and the old ship was waiting patiently for the next phase to begin. Repairs and all the indignities of dry dock. Then back again. To the Atlantic.
If Goss had not been so determined to stay with the ship he knew he would have done so. He did not want to I go anywhere else. Not to spend his leave in some hotel with all its Christmas noise and urgent gaiety. He would have to go somewhere. He thought of Aikman’s face as he had explained what was arranged for him. But you never knew with men like Aikman. He might go under completely. He could just as easily grow a new outer covering and start all over again. Given time, he might even believe he had been blameless, that everyone else had caused the mistake. Lindsay hoped it would. be the latter. Aikman was too weak and insecure to carry the brand entirely for what had happened.
He realised with a start that the earnest young lieutenant from Intelligence was speaking to him.
‘I shall make a careful study of all your considerations, sir.’ He nodded gravely. ‘I feel sure that something very useful may come of them.’
Lindsay regarded him evenly. The lieutenant was a temporary officer with a beautifully cut uniform and perfect manners. Perhaps a journalist in peacetime who had found. his niche on the staff. He certainly appeared to be enjoying his role. He even spoke with a conspiratorial confidence, like some master-spy in a pre-war film..
Lindsay found himself wondering why he had bothered to compile such a lengthy report. Probably to retain his own sanity. He knew he needed some new purpose if he was to keep from cracking apart. And if hatred was a purpose then he might be halfway there.
He said, ‘I believe that if we can discover more about the German raider, the man who commands her, then we might learn something.’ He stopped. It was obvious from the lieutenant’s polite smile he was already thinking of something else. He added, ‘With the Japs in’ the war we won’t be able to rely too much on American protection on the other side of the Atlantic. They’ll need all their spare ships in the Pacific until they can get on their feet again.’
The lieutenant looked at his watch. ‘I am sure we can rely on’that very point being watched by the powers-thatbe, sir.’
‘I’m sure.’ Lindsay signalled to Jupp with his empty glass. ‘Like they watched the- Denmark Strait and the fjord where this bastard raider was anchored. Oh yes, I’m sure we can rely on them.’
Fraser said unsteadily, ‘What about some food? My guts feel like a rusty oil drum.’
The sudden silence which had followed Lindsay’s angry outburst broke up in laughter, and Lindsay saw Fraser watching him grimly.
The lieutenant stood up and said, ‘Well, I’ll be on my way, sir.’-He forced a smile. ‘I’m sure you’re sincere, sir, but-‘
Fraser took his elbow and pulled him away from the table. ‘Look, sonny, if you want to play games, that’s all right with me.’ He tried to focus the lieutenant with his geyes. ‘But don’t come aboard this ship and try it, see?’ He estured with his glass, whisky splashing across the carpet. ‘That man you were being so bloody patronising to has done more, seen more and cares more than you’ll ever know! While you sit on your bum, sticking pins in some out of date map, it’ll be men like him who get on with the job!’
The lieutenant looked down at him, aware that some of the civilian dockyard men were grinning at his confusion.. ‘Well, really! I don’t see there’s any occasion to speak like that.’
Fraser lurched away. ‘Piss off!’ He collapsed into a chair and added as an afterthought, ‘And stick, that on your bloody map!’
The others were leaving now. Most of them were used to dealing with men like Fraser. Western Approaches was unkind to those who served there. Death and constant danger had long since pared away the outward niceties and veneer of normal behaviour.
When they had all gone Lindsay said, ‘Chief, I think you are one of the most uncouth people I have ever met.’ -
Fraser grinned. ‘Could be.’ He was unrepentant.