Kleber's Convoy Read Online Free

result of the examination now. He’d probably blame him for having organised the visit to Bridge-of-Weir. The doctor was unsure of Redman. Sensed that the captain had not yet accepted him.
    The Maltese messman reported that lunch was ready. The first-lieutenant said, ‘Come on. Let’s get cracking. We haven’t much time.’
    The wardroom officers of HMS Vengeful sat down to what promised to be their last normal meal for many days.
    1 TBS – Talk Between Ships. A very high-frequency two-way radio telephone with limited range.
    1 Captain (D) was the title given to the officer commanding a destroyer flotilla or destroyer escort group. In the latter case he was usually based ashore.

CHAPTER TWO
    In his cabin Redman was preparing for what lay ahead. At least the next eight days would be spent on the bridge and in the tiny sea-cabin adjoining the wheelhouse. There would be little sleep, frequent alarms, appalling weather, almost continual darkness – the exception being a couple of hours of feeble twilight during the forenoon – no change of clothing, cold or at best lukewarm food, no comforting gins or whiskies – captains did not drink at sea in wartime – and few opportunities to ease his bowels. There would be explosions in the night and sudden disaster. And having got one convoy to Russia they would have to bring back another. The gauntlet had to be run twice. He’d done six: three outward , three homeward. Others in Vengeful had done more. He wondered how long the ship’s luck would last. With these thoughts he changed into the clothing he would wear until they reached the Kola Inlet. Thick, loosely-knitted grey wool underclothing provided by the Admiralty; then a flannel shirt,over it a heavy wool jersey; uniform trousers, well-worn; an old uniform reefer; woollen socks, seaboot stockings and felt liners to the leather seaboots which he pulled on last of all. Slowly and methodically he tied the Mae West – the inflatable life-belt – round his waist, secured the tapes, tested the survival light, slipped a rope picking-up harness over his shoulders and adjusted it. He hated the harness but wore it in accordance with Admiralty Fleet Orders to set an example to the ship’s company. There was another reason. He knew that if he’d paid more attention to these things in his last ship fewer lives would have been lost. He thought of that night – the agonising reality of icy water, the knowledge that one was weak from injury. Worst of all, Patterson’s cries for help. Cries to which he’d made such a feeble response. He tried to shut the picture from his mind.
    The clock on the bulkhead showed 1350. Ten minutes to go.
    He put away those things on the desk which would roll off. The last of these was the photo of the flaxen-haired girl. Before putting it in the drawer he looked at her face, trying to recall the sound of her voice, but failing. He picked up his duffel coal, uniform cap; mittens and night glasses and stood uncertainly, looking round the cabin wondering what would have happened by the time he next saw it – during those eight or nine days that must pass before they reached the Kola Inlet.
    Topcutt came from the sleeping-cabin with an anorak suit, fur cap, fur-lined gauntlets, spare jersey, steel helmet, handkerchiefs and a bag of shaving and washing gear. He said, ‘I’ll be taking these up to the sea-cabin, sir.’
    â€˜Thank you, Topcutt.’
    The able-seaman popped his head back through the door. ‘Be back shortly for the bedding, sir.’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Redman absent-mindedly.
    Topcutt hesitated. ‘The – the bronchitis. Better, sir?’
    Redman said an irritable ‘Yes.’ Topcutt took the hint and left.
    When he’d gone Redman looked through a navigating notebook, checking data he’d recorded before they left the Clyde. He was interrupted by a knock on the door. ‘Ready for sea,