‘Did the captain actually say all this?’ Colquhoun tried to gauge Wolfe’s reaction to each word. ‘I mean, what did he have to gain?’

  ‘I told you! Are you deaf?’ Wolfe stood up and pressed his hands on the wheel. ‘He was jealous! Even after smashing my marriage he was not satisfied. Do you know he actually tried to ruin my chances of getting a command?’ He stared at Colquhoun’s shocked face and added grimly, ‘You may well look surprised, my lad! But after this little lot is over I think we shall see a change for the better!’

  ‘I still don’t see what you mean. What made you think the captain could act like that?’

  Wolfe seized him by the front of his jacket. ‘Who the hell cares what you see? And what the devil do you mean by asking all these questions?’ He shook him slowly in time with his Words. ‘Just you keep a civil tongue in your head in future!’ He released his grip and added vaguely, ‘Call the hands and prepare to get under way!’

  Colquhoun staggered back against the door. ‘The rendezvous, Number One! Have you worked it out yet?’

  Surprisingly, Wolfe remained unprovoked by his question. ‘Oh, that, well, as a matter of fact, I’ve made other arrangements.’ He picked up his pistol and clicked the safety catch back and forth in deep concentration. ‘Jermain has no intention of coming back for us. No intention at all. He thinks he can sneak back to base and get all the glory. Oh yes, I’ve got his measure all right!’

  Colquhoun felt the wheelhouse spinning round, and said desperately, ‘He will come back! You’re wrong!’

  ‘Wrong, am I?’ Wolfe watched him pityingly. ‘I’ve been thinking about it all night. He wants to get rid of me, you see.’ He grinned widely. ‘Don’t look so shocked, Sub. He wants to do the same for you, too! He knows the admiral is against him, so this is one clear way to get even with him, too!’ He frowned. ‘But we’re wasting time. We must get under way immediately. I have no intention of letting that bastard get away with it!’ He bent down, and Colquhoun heard the clink of glass. Over his shoulder he said sharply, ‘Now attend to your duties. I’ve had just about a bellyful of you!’

  Colquhoun climbed blindly down to the deck, his mind awhirl. Wolfe’s outburst was all the more terrible because he had tried to make it sound so reasonable. But drunk or mad, it made little difference to the immediate outcome. It was plain that he had no intention of making any rendezvous, just as it was equally obvious that Jermain would not leave them to fend for themselves.

  Once during the night he had heard the distant rumble of explosions rolling across the calm water like thunder, and he guessed it was the Temeraire under attack as she led the enemy away from the channel. But soon the searching ships would be reinforced, and every extra hour in these waters would bring new danger to the submarine. Jermain would return, but the fishing boat would have gone. He might go on searching until it was too late, and be caught in the shallows like the Pyramus had so nearly been.

  Haley greeted him eagerly. ‘We going now, sir? Are we off to meet the Pig?’

  Colquhoun screwed up his mind in an effort to think clearly. ‘Soon, Haley. Right now you’d better tell Nettle to start the engine. I’ll go forrard and help winch up the anchor.’ He was only putting it off. Shelving what had to be done.

  A shaft of watery sunlight reflected against the wheelhouse windows, and even as he looked round Colquhoun realised that the little ship had regained her personality and seemed suddenly vulnerable.

  The engine coughed twice and then grumbled into life. Fumes lifted above the stem and the deck began to vibrate impatiently.

  Cowley, the signalman, spat on his hands and leaned on the winch handle. ‘Right!’Ere we go then!’

  Lightfoot watched Colquhoun’s worried face and asked quietly, ‘Anything wrong, sir?’

  Colquhoun looked away. ‘Of course not! What the hell should be wrong?’ He knew then that he had decided to do nothing. He was already a failure, there was no point in adding to it. If he clashed again with Wolfe everyone would say it was for personal reasons. Because of what had happened before, because of Lightfoot, because of … He gritted his teeth and threw his own weight on the winch.

  Anyway, he told himself desperately, he was only guessing. Maybe Wolfe was right about the submarine not returning. He was the senior officer, it was his responsibility.

  But when he looked quickly at Lightfoot and saw the hurt in his eyes, he felt nothing but shame.

  There was a flurry of foam beneath the boat’s counter, and as the anchor broke surface Colquhoun saw the water parting across the blunt bows as the small vessel gathered way. Immediately, there was a protesting chorus of shouts and wails from the sealed cabin, which brought an instant response from the wheelhouse.

  Wolfe yelled hoarsely, ‘Keep those bastards quiet, Sub! One more peep out of them and I’ll lob a grenade amongst’em!’

  The wheelhouse window slammed shut, and Haley said, ‘That’s laying it on a bit thick, isn’t it?’

  Cowley grinned. ‘Serve’em right!’ He glanced nervously over the bow. ‘They’ll have somethin’ to cag about after this!’

  The boat settled down to a steady speed, and as the sun lifted above the sharp horizon line the dampened decks gave off a curtain of steam as a warning of the heat to come.

  Haley was the first to notice that something was wrong. He touched Colquhoun’s arm and beckoned him away from the others.

  ‘Look, sir, I’m not one to question my officers, but I’m not blind!’ In the growing light his face looked crumpled and tired. ‘I’ve been watching the shadows along the deck.’ He dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘The sun’s over the port quarter.’ He watched Colquhoun’s expression anxiously and then added urgently, ‘Well, is it or not, sir?’

  ‘What if it is?’ Colquhoun could not meet his stare.

  ‘Hell, sir, that means we’re running level with the coast, to the south west!’ He glanced nervously at the other men. ‘That’s away from the channel!’

  Colquhoun stared across the bulwark. Just faintly, like a darker patch of low cloud, he could see the line of the coast. Wolfe was keeping his word. Quickly he looked up at the wheelhouse and saw Wolfe’s head and shoulders framed in the centre of the window behind the spokes.

  Cowley interrupted his thoughts with a wild shout. ‘Look, sir! I can see some boats on the starboard bow!’

  Colquhoun replied flatly, ‘There’s a small inlet over there. It’ll be the usual coastal traffic!’

  Haley stared at him with sudden anger. ‘Don’t you see what’s happening, sir? We’re going in the wrong bloody direction! The skipper’ll never find us if we stay on this course!’

  His words carried to the others, and Nettle, the stoker, who had just emerged from the engine hatch, muttered, ‘What’s it all mean, Ted?’ He tried to laugh. ‘’As Number One got himself lost?’

  ‘Listen to me, lads!’ Haley’s voice shook with emotion. ‘I think we’re going the wrong way!’ He pointed accusingly at Colquhoun. ‘If you don’t believe it, ask him!’

  Colquhoun saw their faces changing to tight hostility. ‘What’s the good of acting like this?’ He looked around him helplessly. ‘I’m not in charge! There’s nothing I can do!’

  Haley exploded, ‘For God’s sake, sir! Are you going to let this happen? We’ll be captured or killed if we keep like this!’

  The window above their heads jerked back, and Wolfe snapped, ‘I heard that, Leading Hand! I shan’t forget this insubordination!’ He glared at Colquhoun. ‘So you’re still trying to make trouble, are you?’ He spun the wheel angrily. ‘Well, just you listen to me! This boat does what I want it to!’

  Haley fell back a pace, his eyes shocked. ‘My God, he’s off his head!’

  Wolfe continued calmly, ‘Just for the record, I have all your weapons up here, so don’t try to do anything foolish!’ He closed the window and resumed his study of the horizon.

  Haley removed his cap and wiped his forehead. ‘For God’s sake, what’ll we do?’ He stared at the others.

  Cowley said quietly, ‘’E’s an officer. What can we do?’ He looked accusingly at Colquhoun. ‘It’s not just us, is it, sir? The lads aboard the Temeraire’ll catch it too if they ’ang around lookin’ for us.’ He tore his eyes away. ‘You do what you like. I’m goin’ to force me way into the wheelhouse!’

  Lightfoot put up his hand. ‘Don’t do that, Bert! We’ll think of something.’ He looked imploringly at Colquhoun. ‘You’ll get us out of it, won’t you, sir?’

  Haley snarled, ‘Him? He couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding!’ Then he stared wretchedly over the bows towards the distant, slow-moving shapes of two junks. ‘It can’t happen! Not out here like this!’

  Cowley said, ‘What about you, Stokes? Could you bust up the engine or somethin’?’

  Nettle shook his head. ‘No. ’E told me to put the thing full ahead and then clear out.’

  Wolfe suddenly yelled, ‘Get down behind the bulwark! We’ll be passing near these junks soon, and I don’t want your stupid faces all over the place!’ He brandished his pistol. ‘And stay up forrard where I can see you!’

  Haley slumped down beside the worn woodwork. ‘Jesus! He’s grinning! He’s actually enjoying himself!’

  Lightfoot sat on the deck with his knees drawn up to his chin. He was staring very hard at the wheelhouse, his brow creased in a frown.

  ‘You’ll have to help us, sir.’ His voice was pitched so low that Colquhoun could hardly hear it. ‘Maybe if you speak to the first lieutenant?’

  ‘It’s no use!’ Colquhoun stared fixedly at a slow moving shadow as it glided across the wheelhouse. The junk’s tall sail must be less than twenty yards dear. He added, ‘He’s mad. He’ll do anything now!’

  Cowley muttered, ‘If the Reds catch us, you know what they’ll do to us?’ He shuddered. ‘I ’ope they kill the officers first, so I can bloody cheer!’

  Colquhoun looked round startled as Haley rasped, ‘Get down, you young fool!’ Then he saw Lightfoot walking very slowly aft towards the wheelhouse, his hands in his pockets, his head sunk forward as if in deep thought.

  Wolfe opened the window and called, ‘Get back! Keep under cover, you idiot!’ When the boy continued to advance he lifted his pistol above the sill. ‘Go back, or I’ll shoot!’

  Lightfoot halted and stared up at Wolfe’s livid face. The others, crouching like statues in the bows, heard his voice, clear and steady. ‘We want to go back, sir! It’s only fair you should think about the rest of us!’

  He put his hands behind his back and twined his fingers into a tight knot. Colquhoun could see his wrists shaking with suppressed fear, but somehow he was keeping his voice under control.

  Wolfe snarled, ‘How dare you speak to me like that? I’m telling you just once more. Get back!’

  Lightfoot shrugged and then began to advance.

  The noise of die shot was like a thunderclap, and for one split second no one really understood what had happened.

  Lightfoot seemed to swing round in his stride, as if he had at last decided to obey Wolfe’s order. Then, very slowly, he buckled on to his knees, his fingers interlaced across his stomach. Without a sound he pitched forward on to his face and lay quite still.

  Colquhoun staggered to his feet, his mind collapsing with shock and sudden madness. Before he realised what he was doing he found himself at the wheelhouse door, tugging at the handle and screaming like a maniac.

  He tore it open, his body braced for the bullet’s impact, his mind blank to everything but the sight of Lightfoot’s form on the sunlit deck.

  Wolfe still stood behind the wheel, the gun grasped in one hand. He turned and stared at Colquhoun, his eyes entirely devoid of recognition or knowledge. He said vaguely, ‘I didn’t want to shoot him. I had to make him understand!’

  Blindly Colquhoun wrenched the pistol from his grip, feeling the metal warm against his fingers. He stepped back and raised the gun level with Wolfe’s face.

  ‘You bastard! You rotten, lousy bastard!’ He was sobbing with each word, so that Wolfe’s face was misty above the shaking foresight.

  Wolfe opened his eyes very wide. ‘My God, Sub, I can’t think what’s got into you these days!’ Then he giggled, a long-drawn, inhuman sound. ‘Still, if you must carry on like this, I suppose we’ll just have to tolerate it, eh?’

  Cowley pushed into the small space and snatched up a Stirling from the deck.

  Colquhoun lowered the pistol and stared at it with sick horror. ‘I nearly killed him!’ He saw Cowley watching him like an unwinking bird. ‘Another second and I would have blown his head off!’

  Nettle was waiting below the ladder, and Colquhoun said thickly, ‘Tie the first lieutenant’s hands, Nettle. Then help Cowley to bring the helm round to the south-east.’ He did not wait for a reply, but hurried across the deck and dropped to his knees beside Lightfoot’s body.

  Haley had opened the boy’s shirt and was trying to control the stream of blood which seemed to be pouring continuously across the deck planks in a living flood.

  Colquhoun lifted Lightfoot’s head on to his knees and said, ‘Why did you do it, John? For God’s sake, why? It was my job. I should have been the one!’

  Lightfoot opened his eyes and stared straight up at the empty sky. His face was deathly pale, and there were bright flecks of blood on his lips. He said, ‘I had to. Had to!’ His breathing was very slow. ‘You were good to me. You understood me I couldn’t let you go on thinking you was no use.’

  Haley said tightly, ‘Hold on, lad! Just lie quiet!’

  But Lightfoot lifted himself on his elbows, his voice desperate. ‘You never killed Archer, sir! He was already dead when he was put behind the door! It was nothing to do with you!’

  Haley gasped and looked across at Colquhoun. ‘So that was how it happened!’

  Colquhoun whispered, ‘Never mind that! It doesn’t matter any more!’

  Lightfoot’s head fell back on his lap. ‘No, it don’t matter any more.’ He was smiling, but his eyes did not seem to focus properly. ‘You’ll be all right now, sir! You see!’

  He coughed, and this time the blood did not stop.

  Colquhoun wiped the boy’s face with his handkerchief and leaned forward to keep the sun from his eyes.

  Haley said gently, ‘It’s no use, sir. He’s gone.’ Then he stood up and walked slowly to the bulwark.

  Colquhoun stayed where he was, quite motionless. Only his shadow moved, as the boat turned and swung on to her new course.

  18

  Someone Should Talk About It!

  ‘Down periscope! Dive to two hundred feet!’ Jermain stepped back and said sharply, ‘There is a seaplane of some sort bearing green one three five,’

  He waited until the deck steadied at the new depth and added, ‘the sea’s empty. Like a sheet of bloody glass!’

  Mayo watched him worriedly. ‘What do you think, sir?’

  ‘We’ll try another sweep, Pilot. Bring her round two points to port, and tell Oxley to keep a sharp watch. The fishing boat is very small. She might even have some sort of engine trouble.’

  He swung on his heel and strode to the chart-room. It gave him the delusion of privacy. A place where he could be alone with his thoughts.

  But how much longer could he go on searching? There was no sign of the fishing boat, and every passing minute added to the submarine’s own danger. At each furtive search through the periscope there had been some new hint or sign that more ships were coming into the area. Twice he had seen smoke on the burnished horizon. Low, fast-moving smoke, like that of warships. Now there was an aircraft. The enemy had been fooled by the deception, but was still taking no chances.

  He swung round as a foot grated on the deck. ‘What do you want?’ Then he saw that it was the imperturbable Baldwin with a fresh mug of black coffee. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry if I sounded rough!’

  Baldwin put the mug carefully on the chart table and wiped his hands across his white jacket. ‘ ’S’all right, sir. Reckon you’ve quite a bit on yer mind just now!’

  Jermain watched him leave with something like affection. Baldwin, whose duties were so unwarlike, yet were essential to all of them. His world was confined to wardroom cutlery, the proper routine of meals and the collection of mess bills. In all his service he had learned little of the ships which carried him from one end of the world to the other. He had to rely on trust.

  The coffee was hot and bitter. Jermain leaned his arms on the table and stared moodily at the straggling outline of the Korean coast.

  It was all unreal and fantastic. They had been attacked and had suffered sudden death, yet to the outside world the crisis hardly existed. He thought back to the day they had left the Gareloch, and knew he had felt the same way. The Korean War had ended nearly twenty years ago. Surely nothing more could happen there?

  In the control room he heard two ratings removing the last of the broken glass, the sound scraping at his ears like a drill on the nerve of a bad tooth.

  From the moment the Temeraire had made her stealthy escape from the searching ships overhead the work of putting right the damage had continued without a pause. The men seemed almost glad to do it, if only to keep their minds occupied and away from the unknown dangers.

  They had planed up to periscope depth, and Jermain had taken his first look around. After the threatening darkness the blinding daylight came with the shock of an iced shower. The sim so bright that the sea’s burnished glare was almost unbearable, and he imagined he could feel its heat through the periscope. And as he stared and searched the empty horizons he was at the same time conscious of the noises inside the hull. The staccato beat of the power pumps, the clatter of feet on the deck below as hatches were thrown open and men waited for the worst job of all.