Atlantic Fury by Hammond; Innes Page B

that Braddock’s here …’
    He left it at that. ‘What about Braddock?’ I asked.
    â€˜Oh, he’s all right, whatever anybody else may say. By God he’s woken this place up since he arrived. Yes indeed, and he’ll have a drink with you, which is more than Standing will.’
    The bar was deserted when we reached the Mess. But as we stood there drinking our gin-and-tonic, the officers drifted in one by one. Major Rafferty, the Quartermaster, a big beefy man with a florid face and a Scots accent; the Movements Officer, Fred Flint – short and round with a button nose and the face of a pug, all bulging eyes and a way of dropping his aitches and watching with a glint of humour to see if it startled you; the Doc, also a captain, but younger, with the air of a man nothing can surprise any more; several lieutenants, much younger still; and finally Field – Lieutenant Field who was old enough to be their father. He had a strange hatchet face, grey hair and a mouth that drooped at the corners. His eyes were deep-socketed, tired – blue eyes that had a nervous blink and didn’t look straight at you, but beyond, as though searching for some lost horizon. ‘… our Education Officer,’ the ebullient Captain Flint added as he introduced us. ‘Now what y’aving, Professor?’
    â€˜Oh, that’s very thoughtful of you, Flinty. Let me see now. The usual, I think – a gin-and-tonic without the gin.’ He smiled and the smile lit up his whole face so that it suddenly had a quality of great warmth. It was a striking face; moreover, it was a face that seemed vaguely familiar. But not in battledress; in some other rig. ‘I take it the LCTs are all at sea since Movements can take time off for a lunchtime drink.’
    â€˜All at sea is just about right, Professor. Stratton’s missed his tide and dropped his hook under the lee outside Loch Carnan. It’ll be five hours at least before he can get her into the beaching position in the Ford, another three before the boys can start off-loading. Major B will like that – I don’t think.’
    â€˜Braddock won’t know anything about it. He’s flown to Laerg.’
    â€˜Oh yes he will. I just met the Colonel. He’s cancelled the flight. And he’s turned Four-four-Double-o round fully loaded and sent her steaming back to Laerg to pick up a casualty. Proper box-up if you ask me.’
    â€˜Well, why not switch Stratton’s ship to Leverburgh?’ Major Rafferty suggested. ‘Damn it, man, with Kelvedon turned back, the quay will be empty.’
    â€˜Tim, my boy, you’re a genius. I never thought of that.’ The quick grin faded. ‘I did mention it, but Stratton told me to go to hell. His men needed sleep, and so does he. If Major B wants Eight-six-one-o at Leverburgh, then he’ll have to give the order himself. I bet he gets the same answer, too. Those boys are just about out on their feet, and Stratton’s his own master. He’s not at the beck and call of anybody here – the Colonel or anybody else. I only hope,’ he added, ‘that Kelvedon gets there in time.’ He looked down at his glass and then at Field. ‘Did you know this bloke McGregor?’ And when the other nodded, he said, ‘Poor beggar. First blood to the new drive.’ His voice sounded angry. ‘And if you ask me it won’t be the last. When they’re tired they get careless. I told Command it needed more time when they were planning this flipping operation. But they wouldn’t listen. I’m only the bloke that loads the ships. I wouldn’t know.’ Ferguson came in then, the freckles on his face showing up like spots in the electric light, a strained look about the eyes. ‘You look shagged, my boy. I prescribe a night out with the fattest trollop you can find between the Butt of Lewis and Barra Head.’
    â€˜Aye, that’d do me