To Risks Unknown Read Online Free Page B

quiet of his cabin.
    The gangway sentry said, ‘Must be nice, sir. Bein’ an’ admiral an’ that?’
    Wemyss smiled faintly. ‘War is like the cinema, Pim. The best seats are high up and at the back!’
    Then he turned on his heel and walked forward towards the forecastle. He too had a lot to think about.

2. A Mixed Bunch
    TUESDAY DAWNED CLEAR and surprisingly cold, but by the time the ship’s company had completed a hasty breakfast there was some hazy sunlight which, if nothing else, gave a hint of spring.
    Crespin stood on the deserted bridge and stared down at his command. It was hard to realize that she was the same rust-streaked vessel he had first seen in dry dock. The previous evening had been a mad whirl of activity, with the
Thistle
being warped from the dock to lie alongside a portion of reserved jetty to await her supplies and the rest of her fittings.
    Now she was ready. Her crowded upper deck was clean and neat with guardrails in position and lines flaked down as per instruction book. Crespin guessed that Wemyss had checked each item himself so that his captain’s eye would find no outward offence at least. And the great mountain of stores which had been waiting on the jetty had vanished as if the ship had gobbled up every item herself. Food, supplies, ammunition, liferafts and all the small ship clutter of war were now out of sight, jammed, coaxed or lashed throughout the hull until needed.
    They had taken on a full load of fuel, and there was still a tang of oil in the crisp air to mingle with that of new paint, the last of which had been slapped on in almost complete darkness.
    The tannoy speaker squeaked and then a voice called, ‘Clear lower deck! All hands lay aft!’
    Crespin stood back a little to watch as his new company appeared as if by magic. They flowed down either side to congregate in a packed mass around and above the tiny quarterdeck, while petty officers and leading hands made a quick check to ensure that nobody but the essential watchkeepers were absent.
    The final men had come aboard the previous morning. Most were strangers to one another. They had yet to be welded into a useful company. They were in working rig, blue overalls and regulation caps, but nevertheless it was possible to see that individuals were already visible amongst the jostling, chattering press of figures.
    The seasoned seamen wore dangerous-looking knives in hand-made leather sheaths and chatted very little. They knew it was far too early to make assessments. The ‘Jolly Jacks’, a breed found in all ships, were clad in overalls scrubbed and bleached until they were almost white, to give the outward impression of ‘old hands’. Here and there were small companionable groups, friends made at the barracks where the draft had been assembled. There were also other men, isolated and alone in spite of the crush around them. The men with personal and secret reasons for leaving the land. They must be watched, Crespin thought.
    Heads turned curiously as the two new sub-lieutenants appeared on deck and walked aft together. To look at they could not have been more unalike. Shannon, the senior of the two, who was to be the gunnery officer, was dark, tense-looking, and would, Crespin thought, be very attractive to women. Sub-Lieutenant Porteous, on the other hand, was fair, pink and overweight. He was appointed depth-charge control officer, but aboard this corvette his duties could be anything which was thrown his way. Crespin knew that before joining the Navy Porteous had been a new and junior barrister. He could well imagine it. Surprisingly, he had failed to get a commission on two occasions, and had spent eighteen months in an East Coast escort vessel. Both were temporary officers. Hostilities only.
    There was a clatter of feet on the ladder and Petty Officer Joicey, the coxswain, appeared at the bridge wing and saluted.
    Joicey was a regular. He was stocky, almost square,