Ride Out The Storm by John Harris Page A

later. Then he found a cow that was bellowing with pain and, realising it was in need of milking, he swung towards it and with difficulty managed to get the milk flowing.
    He extracted more than he needed to make the cow comfortable, then, putting his kit on again, clapped his steel helmet on his head and set off once more with a sense of having done his duty.

    When Lieutenant-Commander Hough returned to where Hatton was waiting, his mouth was tight and his face was serious. He wasn’t a great deal older than Hatton but he’d been in the war from the first days of September and had already been torpedoed and bombed in the Norwegian campaign.
    ‘Are we going across, sir?’ Hatton asked as they fell into step. ‘Yes.’ Hough didn’t seem in a mood to talk and Hatton wondered if he were worried about the bombing. The thought helped him feel more able to handle his own fears.
    They picked up the navigating officer and found a taxi back to the harbour. The streets seemed to be full of soldiers. Some of them were heading for the railway station in marching groups, but a few seemed to have escaped and were hanging about outside the pubs. They didn’t look like first-class troops.
    The harbour was still full of ships as the tender headed out to Vital, and along the wall smaller vessels were beginning to gather – hoppers, trawlers, harbour launches and fishing boats. Daisy was among them and in her forepeak Kenny Pepper was still waiting patiently. He’d been there all night. During the hours of darkness, he’d sneaked out, desperate for food, and made his way to the galley. Brundrett had been sleeping in his bunk alongside, a fat white shape under the blankets, one fleshy arm hanging to the deck. He was snoring heavily, and Kenny had had no difficulty in extracting half a loaf of bread, a pot of jam, half a pound of butter, a tin of corned beef and a candle. Brundrett’s ability to sleep was well known and Kenny, who was still growing and needed more food than Brundrett was inclined to allow him, had often taken advantage of it.
    As Vital ’stender bumped alongside and its occupants scrambled aboard the ship, Hough called a quick conference to discuss what they were to do. ‘It seems we still hold a strip of coast about twenty-five miles long,’ he announced. ‘From Gravelines to Nieuport. Know it, Pilot?’
    The navigating officer nodded. ‘Flat, featureless and level, sir. Just a few seaside towns. No piers. No harbour facilities. Sand shelves very slowly to deep water. And all exposed to northerly winds.’
    ‘How about Dunkirk? Anybody know anything about it?’
    ‘A little, sir,’ Hatton offered. ‘I don’t suppose it’s much use.’
    ‘Let’s hear it, all the same.’
    ‘It’s pretty ancient. Grew out of a fishing village. It was a fortress and I think some of it still stands. It’s the third port in France and it’s got a good modern harbour with seven dock basins.’
    ‘You’re better than you think, Hatton. Go on.’
    Hatton flushed with pleasure at the praise. ‘It has four dry docks, five miles of quays, and three of the canals from the Low Countries feed into it.’
    ‘Good God!’ Hough looked startled. ‘Where did you get all this lot?’
    ‘I looked it up, sir, while I was waiting for you.’
    Hough grinned. ‘God be praised for the education and enterprise of the RNVR,’ he said. ‘Go on.’
    Hatton glanced at his notebook. ‘Docks go deep into the town and there’s a dredged channel to the sea. It’s protected from the tides by long piers and there’s a mole that comes out from the oil storage area. There’s another from the old fortifications that’s over a thousand yards long. If we could have used it, the army could have got away with everything it possesses, but I gather it’s not that kind of mole.’
    ‘Charming!’ Hough’s eyebrows rose. ‘Right, Doc, prepare your sick bay for casualties. Purser, we’ll need constant hot soup and tea, as well as sandwiches.