Jermain smiled wparily. ‘When you put it like that, sir…’

  ‘I do put it like that. We can’t afford personal misunderstandings any more.’ He waved towards the map. ‘There’s one hell of a lot of people depending on us now.’

  McKelway held out his hand. ‘Believe me, Jermain, it’s best this way. An acceptable solution.’

  *  *  *

  Everything about the American shore base gave the impression of temporary occupation. Buildings and store sheds were either prefabricated or merely wooden sections bolted to metal frameworks, as if the whole base could be packed up overnight and set down elsewhere at an hour’s notice.

  A large portion of the Temeraire’s crew soon found itself comfortably ensconced in a vast, air-conditioned shad:, more like an aircraft hangar than a canteen, and had split into noisy groups amongst their American opposite numbers.

  Lightfoot sat quietly sipping a can of ice-cold beer, his eyes moving restlessly around the packed tables with their unfamiliar occupants. A giant jukebox blared jazz continuously so that everyone seemed to be shouting above the din, their faces sweating in spite of the refrigerated air. Chinese girls in PX uniforms ladled out beer and soft drinks, hamburgers and ice cream with stoical calm, apparently immune to the barrage of orders and demands from the waiting men.

  A gangling American gunner’s mate sat at Lightfoofs table, his jaw working busily on a wad of gum as he acted the part of host and general guide. On his shirt his name-tag read Smimer, but to all and sundry within earshot he was known as Jake.

  He said, ‘Yeah, we got a good deal here. It’s more of a rest camp between trips than a proper base. The ole depot ship deals with the repairs and so forth.’ He pushed another can across to Bruce whose face had changed to a mottled scarlet. ‘Get it down you, pal. There’s plenty more where that came from!’

  Leading Seaman Haley tamped down his pipe and sighed deeply. ‘You’re off the Polaris boats then?’

  Jake grinned. ‘Thank Gawd! Each boat’s got two crews. As she puts into the inlet one crew comes ashore for a coupl’a months and the relief boys take her out for the next patrol. Real sweet.’

  Bruce belched. ‘Trust the Yanks! We’ve been swanning about the bleedin’ ’oggin for ages without any bloody relief!’

  Jake stared. ‘What sort of goddamned accent is that, man?’

  Haley grinned. ‘Liverpool. Where the Beatles come from!’

  The American shook his head. ‘What d’you know!’

  The tannoy doused the jukebox with a metallic roar. ‘Now hear this! All enlisted men of the Blue Watch will muster at 1830! Local liberty will cease at 1800.’

  The music came back with a triumphant bellow of noise.: Jake shrugged. ‘That’s how it goes! That’s our crew. We go aboard this evening an’ take over.’

  Lightfoot felt the beer rasping in his empty stomach. It had taken less than he had imagined to affect him, but instead of numbing his troubled mind it seemed to bring each item alive with stark and outsize clarity. Through the haze of tobacco smoke Bruce’s face hung like a red balloon, his eyes and mouth, even the individual hairs which poked from beneath his tilted cap standing out from the crowded figures around him as if superimposed.

  Lightfoot remembered suddenly the nerve-wrenching explosion as the unseen torpedo had struck the freighter. The shock-wave had shaken the hull from stem to stem, like a madman tugging at a well-tuned instrument. He had tried to piece together what had occurred by listening to the staccato comments through the intercom, and gauge the danger from the tight faces around him.

  The boarding party had been hauled dripping and coughing down the control-room ladder along with a few Chinese seamen and a man so badly wounded that he looked already dead. There had been a girl, too, and one of the watching men had said, ‘Christ! This is more like it! The comforts of home!’ But no one had laughed.

  Then he had seen Colquhoun, white-faced and shaking as if from cold, his uniform torn and bloodstained, his eyes staring around the boat as if he had never seen it before.

  Later the boat had dived and increased speed away from the scene, and Lightfoot had found Bruce sitting wrapped in a grubby towel in the crew space, a cigarette in the centre of his mouth.

  Lightfoot had asked, ‘What happened to Archer?’

  He could still see Bruce as he had been then, less than half an hour after jumping from the capsizing freighter. Bruce had drawn deeply on the cigarette as if considering the matter.

  ‘’E’s kaput! Dead as a bleedin’ sardine!’ It seemed to amuse him. ‘So you see, wack, there’s no need to worry any more. We’re in the clear for once!’

  ‘How did it happen?’ His voice had been unsteady. Looking back, he knew it was because of the uncontrollable relief Bruce’s words had brought him. It made him feel unclean and guilty at the same time.

  Then Bruce had said coolly, ‘Your pal, Mister bloody Colquhoun, done for him!’ He had chuckled. ‘Cut’im fair in’alf with a full magazine!’

  Lightfoot had left the crew space, and Bruce had returned calmly to the business of completing his toilet. He had met Petty Officer Jeffers outside the galley, a mug of tea in his hands. But when he had tried to question him Jeffers had answered sharply, ‘It’s not for me to say, lad. Archer’s dead. That’s the one thing I do know!’ He had wiped his oil-smeared hands on his shirt. ‘Now leave me be. I’ve had a bellyful of questions for one day!’

  Rumours sped around the boat like fanned flames, each more positive than the one before. Colquhoun had lost his head and shot Archer by accident. He would be court-martialled. He had reported sighting a submarine on the surface, but Bruce had said it was unlikely, as he was with Colquhoun at the time, and the officer was too scared to see anything clearly!

  Even the captain did not escape. He had failed to save the freighter. He would be relieved of his command and so forth….

  Jake stood up and stared through the smoke. ‘Right, you blue-blooded Limeys! Let’s see how you make out at bowling. It’ll do me good to beat the hell out of you before I sail!’ The group broke up noisily and moved towards the end of the canteen.

  Bruce tried to follow but collapsed in his chair. His early humour rapidly giving way in a haze of beer.

  Lightfoot stood uncertainly beside the table. ‘Aren’t you going, too?’

  Bruce stared up at him morosely. ‘Nah. I’ll have a few more cans an’ then get my head down.’ He gave a lopsided grin. ‘You still mopin’ about Gipsy Archer?’ His eyes were red-rimmed and he seemed unable to focus them properly.

  Lightfoot watched him cautiously. Bruce was hiding something. His very manner showed that he was bursting apart with some new secret. He sat down and deliberately opened a fresh can and pushed it across.

  Bruce lifted it to his lips and allowed the beer to run down his thick chest. Then he started to laugh. There was no sound, but his whole body shook as if he was having some sort of fit.

  Between shakes he gasped, ‘Your face! Oh, my lovely Jesus, your face I’ Tears ran down his cheeks and mingled with the beer. ‘I wish you could’a been there! Poor old Gipsy. ’E never knew it was cornin’!’

  Lightfoot opened another can without taking his eyes from the other man. ‘What happened?’

  ‘’Appened? You may well ask, my old son!’ He was half sliding from his chair now. ‘I clobbered’im with the butt of my Stirling and then leaned’im against that bleedin’ door! Then all I’ad to do was tell Colquhoun that there was a bogeyman behind the door an’ that my own gun was empty!’ He rocked from side to side. ‘’E was so bloody scared by that time,’e’d’ave believed me if I said the’Oly Ghost was there!’ He crossed himself and chuckled again. ‘’E let rip and blasted Gipsy to bits! Gawd, I nearly peed meself laughin’ when I saw Colquhoun’s mush after’e’d done! I don’t know’ow I kept a straight face, I really don’t!’

  Lightfoot staggered away from the table, his face ashen. ‘You’re lying! You’re just saying that to…’

  Bruce stared at him glassily. ‘Like bloody’ell I am!’

  Lightfoot knew that Bruce was in deadly earnest. Any sort of cunning or restraint had gone with the empty beer cans which filled the table. His mind was a complete maelstrom of confusion and horror. He could remember Colquhoun’s stricken face, the way the other men had watched him in silence. They were destroying him because of what Bruce had done. What they had both done. He tried to speak but nothing came.

  Bruce propped himself on one elbow and muttered, ‘Don’t you worry about Mister Colquhoun, mate.’E can go to’ell fall I care.’ Some of his old manner returned momentarily. ‘’Course, if someone told’im what really’appened, it wouldn’t do no good. It would only drop you in the cart. Anyway, I should’ave to deny it.’ He tried to wink. ‘We wouldn’t want that now, would we?’

  Lightfoot walked blindly away from the table and blundered out into the waiting sunlight. Two American shore-patrolmen watched him pass, lazily swinging their sticks and chewing their gum, but he did not even see them.

  He walked fast but without direction, his breath gasping in his lungs as the furnace heat pressed down on his head and shoulders. He had to find a way to explain to Colquhoun. There had to be a way.

  Back in the canteen, Bruce slept amidst the chaos of beer cans, his head pillowed on his arm. His face was relaxed and smiling, as if he had not a care in the world.

  *  *  *

  The car jerked to a halt and the sailor behind the wheel turned in his seat to stare at Jermain through his dark glasses. ‘Here it is, Commander. Bungalow Number Thirty. There don’t seem to be much sign of life.’

  Jermain climbed out of the car and felt the late afternoon sun on his neck. ‘Thank you for the ride,’ he said.

  The American grinned. ‘A real pleasure.’ The car rolled away in a double-banked cloud of yellow dust, and Jermain was left alone on the road.

  The road was very new and as straight as a ruler, with neither tree nor any difference in construction in the neat bungalows to break the harsh, unfinished monotony. But here, during their rest spells ashore, the American officers lived their strange lives in something which seemed a pseudo representation of a piece of America.

  Jermain sighed and walked up the path towards the front of the wide bungalow. He pushed through a hanging screen which protected the deep veranda from the dust and flies and found himself in a spacious hallway beyond. Every door was open, and he could feel a stream of fanned air cooling the sweat on his face and hands.

  He moved uncertainly into a large living room which looked over the rear of the building and the green hills beyond. Peeping over a line of trees was the newly constructed wall of a canning factory with a brightly painted sign which read: ‘Presented by the people of Michigan, U.S.A., as a mark of friendship.’ Jermain turned away and found himself staring down at a canopied cot in which a small, round-faced baby was fast asleep. In spite of the surroundings everything was very normal, and very quiet.

  Somewhere on the other side of the building a door slammed and he heard a man’s voice speaking in a slow, unhurried drawl. ‘Now quit fussing, honey. I’ve packed everything I need for the trip, I’m not leaving you for good, you know!’

  A shadow fell across the doorway and Jermain said awkwardly, ‘The door was open. I just came in.’

  The American was about the same age as himself, and the collar pins in his neat khaki uniform showed him to be the same rank. Oddly enough, his hair was completely grey but cut very short, so that if anything it added to his general appearance of youthful vigour.

  ‘I was kinda expecting you.’ He seemed vaguely uncomfortable. ‘You must be David Jermain.’ His handclasp was firm. ‘Jill Conway is in our spare room.’ He walked to a table and touched a line of bottles. ‘She’s asleep right now. The doc gave her a couple of pills.’

  Jermain asked, ‘Is she all right?’

  The American shot him a quick glance. ‘It’s hard to say. I guess you’d know better than I would.’ He poured two large whiskies. ‘She came back from the airstrip about an hour ago after seeing her father flown out.’

  Jermain dropped his eyes. He still could not understand what had made the girl stay behind in Taiwan when her father was being flown back to England for further treatment. Nothing seemed to make sense any more. Even his journey up here had been in vain. And now this American was acting so strangely. He was obviously a very competent and self-assured officer, yet Jermain’s inner senses told him that he was unsure of himself, even rattled. Could it be because Jill had confided in him? Had told him that she did not in fact wish to see Jermain again?

  The American thrust a glass into his hand and said abruptly, ‘Look, I don’t have much time. I’m skipper of the Pyramus, and we’re due to sail in an hour.’

  Jermain watched him closely. ‘A Polaris boat. The one by the depot ship?’

  The man nodded. ‘That’s the one.’ He gulped down the drink in one swallow and refilled his glass. ‘I guess I owe you an apology, Commander. I wangled it so that Jill Conway could be sent here. I thought she would be company for my wife while I’m away.’ He bit his lip. ‘Also, I guessed you would come sooner or later.’

  Jermain sipped his drink and waited.

  The American banged down his glass. ‘Hell! I’m one of the guys who is supposed to be capable of handling the most deadly weapon ever invented and I can’t even speak my piece.’ He called out, ‘Come in, darling, I can’t cope with this situation!’

  The door opened again and he added, ‘Meet the wife, Commander.’

  Jermain stared, the American and the rest of the room fading into shadows around him. He said quietly, ‘Sarah! For God’s sake, it’s really you?’

  Then she was in his arms, her face pressed to his shoulder, the same dark hair hanging rebelliously across her neck.

  She stood back and studied him, her face tom between laughing and crying. ‘Oh, David! I hated to do this to you! But when I heard your boat had docked here I had to get you to come.’ She caught her husband’s hand and pulled him towards her. ‘This is John.’ She looked from one to the other. ‘I was so afraid you wouldn’t come if you had time to think about it. I did so want everything to be right again.’

  Jermain sat down heavily and then looked towards the cot.

  His sister nodded. ‘Yes, he belongs to us. He’s three months old.’

  Her husband said, ‘His name’s David, too.’ He grinned with sudden relief. ‘For obvious reasons, as I can now appreciate!’

  Jermain said dazedly, ‘I can’t get over it. And yet I knew we would meet again somewhere.’ He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.’

  Her husband looked at his watch. ‘Well, this is it. I have to go now.’

  Jermain saw the quick glance of private anguish pass between them.

  She replied steadily, ‘I know, John. Are you sure you’ve got everything?’

  He winked at Jermain and patted his pockets. ‘I guess so.’ He picked up his cap, and as if at a prearranged signal a car squealed to a halt outside the house. He said, ‘I’ll be back in about ten weeks, honey. Just routine stuff.’ He walked to the cot and touched his son. ‘Take care of your Mom while I’m away.’

  Then he kissed her, quickly and without emotion, much like an ordinary man on his way to the office or factory bench.

  Jermain guessed that it was part of a careful routine which they had built up to protect themselves from constant heartbreak.

  ‘Well, that’s it. I am now Commander John Hurtzig, United States Navy, again.’ He grinned and gripped Jermain’s hand. ‘Next time it’ll be longer, I hope. It’s good to have you here, and I mean that.’

  Then he was gone, and for several seconds they listened to the car’s engine speeding down that straight road towards the base.

  She poured another drink and said quickly, ‘Tell me everything, David. Did you get my letters?’ Her voice was husky, and Jermain knew she was still thinking of her husband.

  He smiled, ‘They haven’t caught up with me yet. I am waiting for fresh orders. I don’t really know what is going to happen.’

  She sat down beside him, her dark eyes pensive. ‘I was so worried about you. About what you might think. I knew how you felt about Ian marrying me, and what his friendship meant to you.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s hard to explain. It all seems so long ago’

  He said gently, ‘You did what you wanted to do. After all, it was your life.’

  She smiled sadly. ‘Yes, it was. Now, what about this girl, Jill?’ She smiled in spite of her inner anxiety. ‘She really is quite a girl. Not a bit what I might have expected for a stick-in-the-mud like you!’

  He bit his lip. ‘It’s nothing like that, Sarah. We met in Singapore. Her father was wounded when the Malange was sunk.’ The casual words brought it all back like an old pain, and for several seconds he could only stare at the floor like a man coming out of some sick dream.

  She said, ‘Her mother was killed, too. Mercifully, she died while she was still asleep.’ She smiled at Jermain’s startled expression. ‘Oh yes, she told me all about it.’

  ‘Does she know about you? About your being my sister?’

  She nodded. ‘The lot. We girls had our heads together for quite a spell. I sat with her until the pills put her to sleep.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘You can take a peep at her later, if you like.’

  Jermain said, ‘I shall have to get back to the Temeraire. But I can come back if there’s nothing fresh to attend to.’