Thunder at Dawn Read Online Free Page B

of huddling behind the car while Luis exposed himself to send the signal, risked his life until they tore it from him. Of crouching and firing and sobbing with fear as the bullets smashed into the car. She had done enough; she was finished. She had been through a very bad time and she craved comfort and affection but Smith stood remote and stiff-faced.
    Memory stirred. She said, “Smith. David — David C. Smith?”
    Smith blinked. “That’s right. How —”
    But then she crumpled and Albrecht caught her and she clung to him.
    The pinnace tossed in the shadow of the steel wall of Thunder’s side until the big boat derrick swung out, the winch hammered and she was whipped up from the sea and swayed inboard. Sarah Benson, covered in blankets, was passed down to the deck and hurriedly aft to the Captain’s cabin in the stem. There were already two men in the sick-bay and Smith had not moved into the Captain’s cabin that was in fact a suite. The main cabin stretched the width of the ship with its long highly-polished table but a twelve-pounder crouched at each side as a grim reminder that this was a ship of war. The sleeping cabin lay to one side, further aft still was the day-cabin and this gave access to a stern walk that curved around the stern of the ship. A Captain — the Captain — could cut himself off from the rest of the ship and live in isolation. And so could Sarah Benson. Smith did not know what to do with her but she would not stay aboard his ship a moment longer than necessary.
    He paced the bridge restlessly in the slanting rain that came in on the wind, swaying as Thunder rolled in the swell, acting the old bitch she always was in any bad weather. On the main-deck, where the crews of the guns lived and slept in the casemates, the sea would be coming in and swilling across the deck and the men would be cursing. Smith went over the girl’s story but it boiled down to that one phrase: They’re watching you.
    Why? Why ?
    It was important, Smith knew it. He paused in his pacing to stare back along Thunders length, at her funnels that poured out smoke and soot and the big ventilator cowls that sprouted from her deck and marked her age like a woman’s grey hairs. He was uneasy.
    *
    They hove to again off Castillo and Knight came to him. “Any further orders, sir?”
    But Smith shook his head. Behind him Garrick glanced at Aitkyne, concerned. The story was all over the ship that there had been shooting ashore and men killed. So Smith should make a report to the authorities here.
    He knew it. But there was the girl and her story. He was fishing in strange waters. He would take her back to her master — Cherry? That was it — at Guaya. After he’d talked to Cherry he would decide on his report and to whom to make it.
    The pinnace crashed out of the night in bursting spray and Knight reported to the bridge. “Telegram sent, sir. An’ there was one for us, in code.”
    Smith nodded. “Get on with it.”
    Knight went off to decode the telegram and Smith ordered a course for Guaya and went to his sea-cabin below the bridge. As he dragged off his jacket he caught the whiff of cordite that still clung from Sarah Benson’s shot and he saw it all again, the man kicked back, the spattering blood and her face and he shivered.
    *
    Sarah Benson lay awake. Exhaustion claimed her but memory hinted then eluded her. Purkiss, the sick-berth attendant, brought her a cup of tea. He was twenty years old, nearly three years out from home and soft-hearted. He looked at her and was smitten. It was obvious and too good a chance to waste and she did not waste chances even when her eyelids dragged and her stomach rebelled. She pumped him. He talked to her about Gabriel, the sick-berth P.O., Albrecht the ’orrible ’un, Garrick and the others. And Smith. “Real mystery man. They shipped him out in a hurry — practically shanghaied him. There’s talk of a lady, a real Lady. They say he’s a reglar divil with —”
    Albrecht