The Benbecula’s people had watched them pass. Had waved and, laughed at the usual exchange of crude or witty signals. Inwardly they had thought of that other ocean which still lay awaiting those convoys. Which they had endured and somehow survived to get this far.
Lindsay had watched Stannard going about his duties with growing concern. And he was not the only one with Singapore on his mind. Several men had brothers and friends there. Some even had fathers and uncles on the island, so great were the demands of war.
Then, just a week ago, while Benbecula had been passing within visual distance of the Seychelles, the news had broken. Singapore had fallen. The Gibraltar of the Far East, as it had been so often described by the press, had surrendered. And with it, every man who had been unable to escape on the few vessels left afloat by Japanese bombers.
Commodore Kemp’s fast convoy, or the remains of it, still lay in Trincomalee with many other ships which had been expecting to go to Singapore’s aid. Many a soldier would be thanking God right now that they had not arrived in time to be sacrificed for nothing.
Stannard came out to the wing and saluted. He was wearing sun-glasses- and it was impossible to read his expression.
‘All secure, sir. Permission to clear the bridge?’
‘Carry on.’ He hesitated and then said quietly, ‘Look, Pilot, it may not mean your brother is still out there. He might have been one of the lucky ones.’
Stannard looked down at the milling figures which were struggling to assist Archer’s seamen with securing the brow.
‘I don’t know whether I wish him dead or a prisoner. You’ve heard what the Japs have been doing to prisoners.’ He added with sudden bitterness, ‘And it seems to me the chance of our ever retaking Singapore, or any other bloody place for that matter, is pretty remote.’
‘I know how you must feel.’
Stannard turned. ‘Yes. I know how I feel, too. It’s Jason I’m thinking about. Never been out of Aussie in his life. He’s not like us. He’s just a kid.’ He saluted. ‘I’ll carry on then, sir.’ Then he swung round and hurried into the wheelhouse.
Goss had appeared on the wing, his red face running. with sweat. ‘What’s up with him then?’
‘His brother.’
Goss nodded. ‘Yes. I forgot.’ He sighed. ‘I reckon the dockyard people will be aboard to see about the damage, sir.’ He glared at the crowded jetty below. ‘We’ll have to screw everything down to stop those bloody wogs from stealing it!’
‘You deal with it.’
Lindsay watched him wearily. Goss had’withdrawn into his old shell. Or partly. But there was a difference now. An unspoken understanding. One which had been sealed with a handshake. Lindsay knew he did not have to ask. It was unbreakable. Like the man.
‘Aye.’ Goss jerked his thumb vaguely. ‘What’ll they do with all these troopships and the squaddies?’
Lindsay watched some uniformed figures starting towards the brow. The first visitors. Questions and reports. Assessments and promises.
‘Who knows? India maybe. South to Australia if the Japs look like getting that far.’
Goss scowled. ‘It’s all getting too big for me.’ He too was watching the white figures at the brow.
‘I’ll go an’ see ‘em aboard, sir.’ He showed his teeth. It was almost a grin. Then he pointed to the tall funnel where a grey submarine had been painted with a swastika below it. ‘Reckon that’ll take some of the starch out of their breeches!’
Maxwell climbed to the bridge and saluted. In his shorts and gleaming white shirt he looked- as thin as a stick. A ramrod.
‘I’m O.O.D., sir. The, ambulances are arriving for our wounded. And an escort for the Jerries.’ ‘Good.’
Lindsay watched him march away. He had changed, too. He still made a lot of noise but was withdrawn and seemed to avoid the other officers whenever possible.
He had expected to hear of Maxwell’s boasting about the accuracy of his guns and the sinking of a U-boat. Also that for once, the marines had been left out of it.
When he had congratulated Maxwell he had replied curtly, ‘What I was trained for, sir. Given time, you can even teach a block of wood to shoot straight.’ And that was all he had said.
Lindsay looked up at the painted U-boat and wondered why he had kept the prisoners aboard. He could have dropped them at Simonstown or passed them to the destroyers which had came to search for him and the Demodocus. He had seen them once or twice as they were exercised on the after well deck. A dozen in all, including the lieutenant who took his walks alone but for an escort He had even used his binoculars to study them without knowing why. What had he expected to see? Some sign of a; master race? Superior beings which in captivity could still display their arrogance? For the most part they had looked very ordinary.
So perhaps-he was getting like Goss and his submarine painted on the funnel. He wanted to show the.Germans off like trophies. Heads taken in battle. Scalps.
He ran his hand over his neck and shuddered. The sun must be hotter than he had realised.
He glanced briefly at the wheelhouse, deserted now and strangely peaceful. Then he ran lightly down the bridge ladder and then another to A deck where an entry port had been opened to receive the heavy wooden brow from the jetty. He passed groups of ratings who had been dismissed from duty, already on their way below to prepare for shore leave. They seemed cheerful, even jubilant, and he could guess that they were still reliving their small victory. But once ashore they might find it even smaller, he thought. Other events had already outweighed and outreached one sunken U-boat, no matter what the circumstances had been.
Further aft some marines were busy polishing boots, apparently determined to retain their usual smartness in spite of having their messdeck blasted to blackened fragments.
He paused and looked at the. smoke-grimed paintwork, the bright scars of deflected splinters, and was suddenly moved. After a destroyer, he had seen this ship as the end of the line. A limbo from which there was no return, and in which he could find no future.
Now he knew differently. And when the U-boat’s last shell had shaken the bridge beneath his feet he had felt something more than anxiety. Affection, love, there was no proper word for it. But it was there all the same.
Maybe most of his officers had been appointed to her because they were not much use for anything better. The majority of the ratings had been untrained to the ways of war, so they too had been sent to make up the required numbers. His own appointment he understood well enough and had accepted it.
But somehow, back there over the hundreds of miles from the Arctic Circle to Ceylon, they had come together, and that was more than could be said for many ships.
Like Goss, Benbecula was all he had. Now, he needed her to go on living.
Goss was waiting by the entry port, an elegant lieutenant in white drill at his side.
The latter saluted smartly and announced, ‘Commodore Kemp sends his compliments, sir, and would you join him at his residence for dinner?’
Lindsay nodded. ‘Very well.’
‘The admiral would like to see you too, of course, sir. But he sends his regrets and is unable to do so until tomorrow. You will be informed of the time, of course, sir.’
Of course. ‘Thank you.’
The lieutenant gazed around at, the nearby splinter holes. ‘The wires were fairly humming about your Uboat, sir.’ He sighed. ‘But we are rather involved with this other unhappy affair at present.’
Boots clumped on the planking as the German prisoners marched towards the entry port, some military policemen bringing up the rear. Lastly, their lieutenant, who had miraculously retained his cap after jumping from the sinking submarine and being hauled. into the motor boat, walked alone towards the sunlight.