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  “There ye are, Mr. Rankin,” said the mate. “They’ll live here wi’ the cargo.”

  Rankin turned to me. “Get your men settled in, Corporal,” he said. “A special cargo will be coming on board to-night. It will be stowed here. You and your men will act as guard.” Then to the mate: “Any idea what this cargo is, Mr. Hendrik?”

  The mate’s eyes flicked to Rankin’s face and he said, “No.” But it was said a little too emphatically.

  Rankin looked at the empty space of the room. “Can’t be a very big cargo if it’s to go in here,” he murmured. “What was the place used for, Mr. Hendrik?”

  “Mess-room for the after-deck,” Hendrik replied. “We shifted ’em oot this morning.”

  “Queer, having a mess-room right on deck,” said Rankin.

  “Aye. But it wasna designed for a mess-room. The Trikkala’s Clydeside built to Greek specifications. I fancy the Greeks used this as a handy place for stowing passenger’s baggage and odd bits of cargo that couldna be stowed away in the hold of her.”

  Rankin seemed to have lost interest. He turned to me and said, “Get your men settled in now, Corporal. Mr. Hendrik here will have blankets and hammocks sent up. I’ll let you have your guard orders as soon as the cargo arrives.”

  As I turned I heard him say to the mate, “The Captain mentioned that there was a spare cabin I could use.”

  “Aye,” Hendrik replied.

  “Well, chum, wot’s the griff?” Bert asked as I returned to the two figures standing forlornly by the gangway.

  “You’ll see,” I said, and took them aft to our new quarters.

  Even Sills, a little uncomplaining north countryman, said, “It’s goin’ ter be beastly cold laike oop ’ere.” Bert looked at me and said, “Wot’s the idea, Corp? I was speakin’ ter one of the seamen an’ ’e said there was bunks to spare da’n in the foc’stle. I s’ppose because we’re in the darned Army, they fink we’ll be ’appy ter kip da’n in a perishin’ spot like this.”

  I said, “We’re here because there’s some sort of a special cargo coming on board and we’re detailed for guard duties throughout the voyage.”

  “Guard dooties?” Bert flung his kit into one corner. “They would fink up somefink like that. Why can’t we be repatriated peaceful-like, same as if we was decent citizens. Where’s that Mr. Rankin? Don’t see his kit around. S’ppose ’e’ll be feedin’ wiv the officers da’n in a nice cosy mess-room while we’re freezin’ ter death up ’ere. I can just ’ear ’im saying to the capting, ’Hi’m a Warrant Officer of the Royal Navy. Hi’m not accustomed ter feedin’ wiv the men.’” He slipped his pack on to the floor and his tin hat clattered on the steel deck-plating. “Nice trip this is goin’ ter be! Didn’t you raise a squeal for better quarters, Corp?”

  “Couldn’t very well,” I said. “You saw the movement order. Detailed for special duties during the voyage.”

  “Gawd!” he said and sat himself down morosely on his kitbag.

  Half an hour later as I stood on deck watching the loading of the ship, four Russian lorries came lumbering along the dockside and stopped opposite the Trikkala. They were open trucks and they were loaded with big square packing cases. There were three Red Army guards on each truck.

  A British Naval Officer came on board and went up to the bridge. Shortly afterwards one of the derricks was swung out towards the leading truck and the work of swinging the packing cases on board began. It was our special cargo. The cases were marked “Hurricane Engines for Replacement.”

  “First time I ever heard of a special guard being placed on dud aero engines,” Bert grumbled. I’d never seen him in this sort of mood before. He was usually so cheerful.

  When all were stowed safely, the Naval Officer with Rankin and the skipper of the Trikkala and a Russian official of some sort came in and counted the cases. Then a sheaf of papers was produced and everybody signed. When that was done the Naval Officer turned to the Trikkala s skipper and said, “Well, it’s your responsibility now, Captain Halsey.” Then to Rankin, “See that you keep a strict guard, Mr. Rankin.” Then they went out, all but Rankin, who called me over and handed me a typewritten sheet. “Those are your guard orders, Corporal,” he said. “Two hours on, four hours off night and day. Guard on duty will be properly dressed and armed. Hell stand or march up and down outside this door.” He leaned closer to me and his breath reeked of drink as he added, “And if I find any slackness—the guard not on duty or not dressed correctly—you’ll be in trouble, Corporal, and so will the man on duty.”

  Bert stood up and came towards us. “Two on an’ four off,” he said. “Ain’t yer goin’ ter do guard dooty wiv us then, Mr. Rankin?”

  For a moment Rankin appeared too surprised to speak. He gave a little intake of breath and then said stiffly and with suave menace, “A Warrant Officer of the Royal Navy, Cook, doesn’t do guard duties.”

  “So we ’as ter do it for you, eh? That ain’t fair, yer know. We’re all in the same boat, in a manner o’ speakin’. If we ’ad a sergeant wiv us nah instead of a ruddy Warrant Officer, he’d muck in like any decent bloke would.”

  Rankin literally shook with anger. “A Warrant Officer is not a sergeant,” he said and his voice was pitched a shade higher than usual. “Any more lip from you, Cook, and I’ll have you up before the Captain.”

  Bert gave a toothless grin. “An’ do me guard dooty for me whilst I’m in irons—I don’t fink.”

  “I’m not as simple as that,” replied Rankin smoothly. “You’re expecting some leave when you get in, aren’t you?”

  “Gosh! I should ’ope so,” Bert answered. “Four munfs in Roosia—ain’t I earned it?”

  Rankin’s voice suddenly sharpened. “Whether you’ve earned it or not, my lad, you just watch your step. All of you,” he added, his eyes glancing quickly from one to the other of us, “or you won’t get any leave.” Then he turned to me with a little sneering smile. “I hear you’re going for a commission, Corporal?” And when I didn’t say anything, he said, “Well, are you or aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Good?” He smiled and turned to go. At the door he stopped. “You see this guard runs smoothly then, Corporal, or I’ll give you a report that’ll send you running back to your unit with your tail between your legs. Now get your sentry posted.”

  When he had gone, Bert turned to me. “Why don’t yer stand up to ’im?” he said. “It’s you wot’s got the stripes, not me.” And when I said nothing he turned away with a look of disgust and I heard him mutter to Sills, “Going for a commission—fine feeble awficer he’ll make.”

  I posted him as sentry and then went for’ard for a stroll round the ship. Loading appeared to have ceased. The derricks were still and the holds were just dark craters in the ship’s decks. The arc lights for our berth had been switched off. The Liberty boat behind us was still loading. The clatter of her donkey-engines split the nights like pneumatic drills. And across the river the arc lights blazed above the wharfs and the temporary wooden sheds where roofs were weighed down with snow. The sound of loading came loud and clear through the frozen night.

  But the Trikkala seemed to have settled to sleep in her little pool of shadow. Only the deck lights swung their dim yellow globes in the wind, casting dark moving shadows across the deck. On the bridge the muffled figure of the watch paced to and fro. The wind was from the east. It came roaring over the huddle of dockside sheds and made strange noises in the Trikkala’s superstructure. It was bitterly cold and already the snow had a crisp crust of ice that crunched beneath my feet. I got to windward of the bridge on the starboard side and leaned my back against the sheltering ironwork.

  The noise of the docks was now no more than a distant clatter. There were no arc lights to dazzle the night. I had a clear view down the black waters of the Tuloma River to Kola Bay. Distant buoy lights danced with their reflections like will-o’-the-wisps. Down the estuary, far, far to the north, the horizon showed as a black line against th
e cold, changing colours of the Northern Lights.

  I lit a cigarette. I felt depressed. I cursed Rankin for letting slip that I was going for a commission. And I was angry with Betty for forcing my hand. Instead of a month’s disembarkation leave, I was due to report immediately to Deepcut for pre-OCTU training. Besides, I wasn’t cut out for an Army Officer’s job. The Navy—yes. I’ve been sailing very nearly since I could walk. At sea I’ve plenty of confidence. But the Navy had turned me down on eyesight. And in the Army I’d always felt like a fish out of water.

  A light suddenly shone out from a porthole just to the left of where I was standing. The porthole was open. A voice said, “Come in, Mr. Hendrik, come in.” It was a soft, gentle voice with a strangely vibrant quality: A door closed and there was the sound of a cork being drawn out of a bottle. “Now, what about this guard?”

  Hendrik’s voice answered, “Well, it’s nae more than we expected.”

  “A guard—no. But we expected soldiers, not a Naval Warrant Officer. That might make it awkward. Know anything about this fellow Rankin, Mr. Hendrik?”

  “Aye. I met him in—weel, I met him the other nicht. I’ve an idea that if there’s any deeficulty wi’ him he could be made to see reason. He’s no short o’ cash. If ye like I’ll away and see Kalinsky in the mornin’. It’d be Kalinsky he’d be dealing wi’—they all do. As for the corporal and the other two soldiers, we’ll no have any trouble——”

  And that was all I heard of the conversation for the porthole suddenly closed and the little circle of light was blotted out as it was battened down from inside. I stood there for a moment, watching the glowing tip of my cigarette and trying to make sense out of the fragment of conversation I had heard. Hendrik had been speaking to the captain. I realised that. But just what the significance of it was I could not determine.

  Puzzled, I walked slowly back to our quarters. Bert was pacing up and down outside the door. He had his rifle slung on his shoulder and he swung his arms to keep himself warm. His face looked pinched and cold in the light that swung above the engine-room hatches. “Any luck, Corp?” he asked as I came up.

  “About what?” I asked.

  “Why the blankets and ’ammocks. Thort that was wot you’d gawn off ter see aba’t.”

  “Haven’t they been sent up?” I asked.

  “Not a sign of ’em,” he replied.

  “I’ll go down and see Rankin about them,” I said.

  “Good. An’ when yer see ’im, Corp, give ’im my love and tell ’im I’d like ter ring ’is stupid neck. I can just see ’im sticking it fer two long hours a’t in this beastly wind. Ask ’im why we can’t do our guard dooties inside.”

  “All right, Bert,” I said. There was a companionway in the after-deckhousing. I went down this and found myself in a long corridor. It was warm and smelt of engine oil and stale food grease. The only sound in that empty steel-lined corridor was the steady hum of the dynamos. I hesitated and at that moment a door opened and a man in gum-boots went aft. The sound of men’s voices drifted through the lighted doorway. I went down the corridor, knocked and entered. It was the crew’s mess room. Three men were seated at one of the scrubbed deal tables. They took no notice of me. One of them, a Welshman, was saying, “But I tell you, man, he’s not sane. This very morning, it was, up for’ard where the Russians were fixing that plate. The door of Number Two bulkhead was open and I went through to see what was going on. The Captain was there, with Mr. Hendrik. Watching the Russians, they were. And as soon as he sees me, he says, ‘Davies,’ he says, ‘what are you doing here?’ So I tells him I just stepped through to see what all the racket was about. ‘Well, get out, man,’ he says. And then ’Out, damned spot! Out, I say!’ And with that he starts roaring with laughter. ‘Go on, Davies,’ he says, ‘back to your work, man.’”

  The other two men laughed, and one of them said, “You don’t want to worry about that, mate. He’s always like that, Captain Halsey is. You’re new to the ship. But we bin with him four trips now, ain’t we, Ernie? Shakespeare, Shakespeare, Shakespeare. He’ll stand on the bridge and spout Shakespeare by the hour. And when you pass his cabin, you’ll often hear ’im ranting and raving inside. Ain’t that so, Ernie?”

  The man referred to as Ernie nodded and took his pipe out of his mouth. “Aye, that’s right,” he said. “An’ when you take a message to him up on the bridge you never know whether it’s the ghost of Banquo or one of King Richard’s bastards you’re talking to. Gave me the willies at first. But I got used to it now. And there’s some fine speeches he makes, too. You’ll find half the crew’ve got pocket editions of Shakespeare in their ditty boxes just for the fun of imitatin’ the Old Man.” He looked up then and saw me standing in the doorway. “Hullo, chum,” he said. “What do you want?”

  “Can you tell me which is Mr. Rankin’s cabin?” I asked.

  “The Navy feller, eh? Reck’n he’s got the one next door to Mr. Cousins. Here, I’ll show you.” He got to his feet and led me along the corridor. But when we found Rankin’s cabin, it was empty. “Does he drink?” the man called Ernie asked me in a whisper. I nodded. “Oh well, then he’ll be in the Chief’s cabin.” He knocked at the door of a cabin farther for’ard and a slurred voice mumbled “Come in!” He opened the door and peered in. “Okay, chum, there you are,” he said.

  I thanked him and went in. The Chief Engineer was lying on his bunk. Bloodshot little eyes peered at me above florrid cheeks. The naked electric light bulb beat down upon his bald head. Bottles of beer lay about the floor and on a chest of drawers stood two opened bottles of whisky. The room was thick with smoke and the stale smell of drink. Rankin sat on the foot of the Chief’s bunk. He was in his shirt sleeves and his collar was undone. They were playing cribbage. The cards were laid out on the blankets of the bed. “Wot d’you want?” asked Rankin.

  “We’ve no blankets and no hammocks,” I said.

  He gave a sneering laugh and turned to the Chief. “Did you hear him, Chief?” he said. “No blankets and no hammocks!” He belched and scratched his head. “You’re a corporal, aren’t you? Going to be an officer? Where’s your initiative, man? Go and find the ship’s storeman. He’s the man to give you blankets and hammocks, not me.” And then as I did not move, he said, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  “There’s another thing,” I said. But I stopped then. His little pale blue eyes, like baby oysters swimming in their own mucus, were watching me closely. He knew what I was going to say. He knew that it was unnecessary for the guard to be outside. And he was waiting for me to say it, so that he could sneer at my ability to carry out orders. This was the sort of man for whom the protection of rank meant the pleasures of despotism. “It doesn’t matter,” I said and closed the door.

  It was the sailors in the crew’s mess-room who produced blankets and hammocks for me. Bert met me at the top of the companionway and relieved me of some of my burden. “Did yer see Rankin?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Any chance of us doing the guards inside?”

  “No.”

  His little monkey face peered up at me from his balaclava. “Yer did ast ’im, didn’t yer?”

  “No,” I said. “He was drunk and he was just waiting for the opportunity to get at me. It wasn’t any use.”

  Bert slid the door of the storage room back with his shoulder and flung the handful of blankets he had taken from me on to the floor between the packing cases. “Blimey!” he said, “if you was a rooky yer couldn’t be more spineless And he turned away to continue his guard.

  I hesitated. But I only said, “I’ll relieve you at one.” Then I went inside and slid the door to. Sills and I slung the hammocks between the packing cases. It was past midnight before we’d got them fixed. I climbed into mine and tried to get some sleep before I went out to do my turn. But I couldn’t sleep. I felt angry with myself and depressed about the present and the future. Even the thought of being back in England didn’t cheer me. But for the fact that it w
ould be the end of things between Betty and myself. I knew I should have thrown up the idea of going for a commission.

  When I went out to relieve Bert an hour later, loading seemed to have stopped throughout the docks. The arc lights had all been switched off and a peace had descended on the place. The snow-covered roofs of the dock sheds glimmered faintly in the light from the deck lights. Beyond lay a vague huddle of ships and sheds. The Northern Lights lay right across the northern sky, pulsing coldly. In their light the snow-muffled town looked chill as ice. “Wind’s droppin’ a bit,” Bert said.

  I offered him a cigarette. There were only two left. He looked up at me quickly and then took one. We lit up and stood leaning against the rail for a while without speaking. Suddenly Bert said, “Sorry I lost me temper this evenin’, Corp. Must a’ bin the wevver. I felt fair bra’ned off, I did.”

  “It’s all right, Bert,” I said.

  We stood there in silence for a time and then he said, “Goodnight,” and left me alone to the cold and my thoughts.

  It was seven o’clock when I came out on deck for my second spell of duty and in the dull morning light there was an air of bustle about the ship. The hatches were being battened down over the holds, fore and aft, and billows of black smoke pouring out of the funnel showed that we were getting up steam. As the light strengthened, the port seemed to come to life. Tugs hurried back and forth across the river, hooting; and occasionally the deep note of a ship’s siren sounded. A destroyer lay farther down the estuary, a dirty white ensign just visible in the drifting smoke of her funnels. Shortly after Sills relieved me, two corvettes slipped down to join her and the three steamed slowly out of sight round a bend. “Think we’ll sail this morning, Corp?” Sills asked. There was a strange longing in his voice. He was not more than twenty. Probably this was the first time he’d been out of England.

  “Looks as though there’s a convoy forming,” I said. “There’s two boats over there being towed out from their moorings.”