A Dawn Like Thunder (6 page)

Ross waited, wondering if he could ever work with this man.

Pryce said evenly, ‘The Far East. Where the enemy rules by terror and a brutality unknown in modern warfare. International Law, the rights of sick and wounded, prisoners-of-war – they regard them as
our
weakness. Perhaps we have been slow to realize it.' His eyes flashed in the sunlight. ‘I want you to take charge of one such unit. A different war, one without rules.' He glanced down at the file. ‘You are not averse to killing the enemy. War cannot always be fought through the impartial distance of a gun or bomb-sight.' Again the smile. ‘As somebody once said, a German I think, “War demands that sooner or later we must dirty our hands a little.” I believe it.'

Ross looked at him, framed against the windows and the clear sky. Two barrage-balloons like tiny silver whales, probably somewhere towards dockland, appeared to be attached to Pryce's left shoulder.

‘If you have any doubts, this is the time to say so.' Pryce's tone had sharpened. Was that rehearsed, too?

He wondered what Pryce would say if he told him that his father had been killed well before the obsolete submarine, the floating bomb, had reached its objective. That a common, lower-deck stoker had in fact taken the wheel on
that unprotected conning tower, and had conned the boat directly to the target. Big Andy would never discuss those last moments. What powerful link had held him to his young skipper both before and after the attack? Ross could not imagine anything like that kind of loyalty, then the idea made him think of Tucker. He smiled faintly.
Tommy
Tucker.

‘I would like my leading hand to be advanced to petty officer. It would give him more authority for this sort of job.'

Pryce shook his head, momentarily off-balance. ‘You agree, then? I can put your appointment in orders?' He did not bother to hide his impatience, his eagerness to move on.

‘I'll just drop in and see Rear-Admiral Dyer, sir.'

Again, the sharp glance. ‘If you must. I am afraid he doesn't approve of my methods. Where strategy is concerned, we dwell in entirely different worlds.'

The telephone rang. Timed to the second.

Pryce snapped, ‘The Prime Minister. Yes, I'll call back in a few minutes.'

He held out his hand. Hard and dry, like the man.

Ross walked from the office and again the typewriters hesitated. By the end of the day every one of those girls would have heard what he had let himself in for.
Never volunteer.
God knew what Tucker would say, or even if he would agree to transfer to yet another section where he was even more likely to be killed.

A fresh start, new faces. He turned towards Dyer's door.

But not David, with all his jokes and youthful optimism.

It was over. Nothing could bring him back.

THE KHAKI STAFF
-
CAR
slowed at yet another bend and then, all at once, spread out and below them, was the glittering expanse of Portsmouth Harbour. After the green hedgerows of the Surrey countryside with its inviting hotels and pubs, and then the great patchwork of the Hampshire fields, the contrast was almost unexpected: the water, the countless grey shapes of every kind of warship, and the huddle of Portsmouth itself, still too far away to reveal the scars of a city under frequent attack from the air.

Captain Ralph Pryce was sitting in the front seat beside the Royal Marine driver, his cap with the bright gold oak leaves around the peak tilted at an unusually rakish angle. He twisted round to study the other two passengers.

‘Good old Pompey – still gives me that feeling, especially from up here on Portsdown Hill. Knocked about, most certainly, but still the same. Where I joined my first ship. Where I took over my first command.'

Lieutenant-Commander James Ross glanced at his companion, who had barely said a word since leaving London. He had been told as much about Lieutenant Charles Villiers as Pryce apparently thought prudent, but he hated the way he had thrown them together like this. An hour in one of
those quiet little pubs, just the two of them, might have made it easier. He knew about Villiers' parents and his sister who had been killed at Singapore, and the incredible detail Pryce had let slip about Villiers' return there on some secret mission under the noses of the Japanese Occupation Army. Had he been betrayed and captured, his fate would have been horrific. Old Ossie Dyer had also mentioned it when he had called on him at the Admiralty. He had been furious that any senior officer should ever allow such a terrible risk even to be contemplated, let alone taken.

‘Pull in here.' Pryce never said please. ‘I have a quick call to make.'

They stopped by a telephone booth, and Ross said quietly to Villiers, ‘Are you settling in all right?' He saw the immediate caution in the young lieutenant's eyes.
Probably thinks Pryce told me to vet him still further.
‘You're staying at a pretty posh hotel, I hear.'

Villiers smiled. ‘My uncle's idea. He lives in Sussex, but he has always handled the company's investments over here. Seemed a pity to turn it down.'

Ross watched some landgirls passing with rakes over their shoulders. A nation at war. Like the gunsites they had seen, concealed from the air by camouflage netting, and the tall poles in the fields, erected in the first year to prevent troops being landed by gliders. Things were very different now: Sicily had done that, as well as the Eighth Army's victory in North Africa, with the invincible Rommel driven back across the Mediterranean. They were hitting back, instead of lying down and taking it. Yes, it was very different.

Villiers turned suddenly, his elbow on the armrest that lay between them. ‘Shall we be going to the Far East soon?'

‘I expect so. Ceylon as a first step – after that, well, I'm
as much in the dark as you.' He watched the changing expressions on Villiers' face. ‘You miss it, don't you?'

‘Yes. Despite what's happened. Perhaps because of it. I grew up in Singapore and Malaya and, had I not come to England to finish my education, I'd still have been there when . . .' He did not go on.

Pryce came back and slammed the door. ‘Some people have got seaweed for brains!'

Ross glanced at his companion and smiled. Pryce had only been gone for a few minutes, and yet in that time he felt he had at least begun to make contact with Villiers. He hoped that he might feel the same.

Villiers turned to watch two low-flying fighters as the car lurched on to the Portsmouth road again.
Ours.
After all this time, he still found himself clenching his fists when he saw aircraft close by. For some men, it had been the last thing they had ever seen.

He had sensed Ross's scrutiny, his interest, which Villiers had thought genuine from their first meeting. Now he had discovered something else about this rather silent, reserved officer who wore the Victoria Cross: what he had taken to be a purposeful, distant, even aloof attitude he now recognized as a kind of shyness. Ross was an extremely courageous man, even if only half of what they had told him was true; there was no doubt about that. And, personally, he was not like any other regular officer Villiers had ever met. He gave a small, private smile. Especially those like Pryce. A
pretty posh hotel.
It made him seem like somebody else, unable to come to grips with his role and his rank, despite all that had happened.

Pryce said airily, ‘We shall drop off at the R.N. Hospital at Haslar. I have to see one of the cohort.'

The cohort. It was always that: something old-world, and vaguely patronizing.

Pryce was saying, ‘Captain Trevor Sinclair has performed several missions for Special Operations. First-rate chap.' He chuckled. ‘For a Royal Marine, that is.' He nudged the driver. ‘No offence intended, Brooker.'

The marine glared into the driving-mirror. ‘None taken, sir.'

‘Sinclair's worked in Burma, with Combined Operations and with our people. He was wounded, but I'm told he's raring to get back with us.'

Villiers thought of the hotel in St James's. She had left a message for him with the manager, as she had promised, telling him she had got home safely. She had asked the manager over the telephone to thank Lieutenant Villiers for his help. Very correctly, the manager had asked for her name.
Carol.
That was all. And what more was there, or could have been? From a hotel window, he had watched her come to the decision to leave her would-be employer. He did not know her or anything about her, and yet he had been pleased that she had gone away in the taxi alone. But suppose . . . He watched the hedges and trees giving way to houses, barbed-wire checkpoints and the usual drifting throng of sailors.

Could he have told her? Made it somehow different?

He shook his head, unaware that Ross had turned to look at him. No. He would never share it. It would always be there, as if he had actually been at the house where he had grown up when the Japs had burst in. His mind could explore no further than that moment, even though he knew what had happened afterwards.

During his first interview, Pryce had barely touched on that part of his past. Only at the end had he asked, almost casually, ‘And would you go back to Singapore again, if it was suggested to you?'

It had been like listening to somebody else to hear the
voice. So clipped and confident. ‘If I could do something – anything – yes, I would.'

The Royal Naval Hospital at Haslar might have seemed a strange location for a place of healing and peaceful recovery; one side faced the water where, daily and nightly, M.T.B.s and motor gunboats thundered noisily past from their nearby base at H.M.S.
Hornet
, on their way to the Channel and beyond to seek out the enemy in his own coastal waters. It was also only a short walk from
Dolphin
, the submarine base and instruction school where many of the Special Operations people had originally been trained. By comparison with
Hornet
,
Dolphin
was almost a silent, even sinister part of the harbour complex. Where Pryce had got his first command.

Pryce climbed down from the car and smoothed his jacket into place, not that it ever seemed to need it.

‘I have to see the P.M.O. More red tape, I expect.' He looked at Ross. ‘An orderly can take you. Go and see if Captain Sinclair is all packed and ready. I want a word with him, then he can be driven back to his quarters.' He shot the driver a searching glance. ‘Is that all fixed, Brooker?'

‘Yes, sir.' It sounded like
of course.

As Pryce strode away, Ross said to Villiers, ‘You keep with me. O.K. if I call you Charles?' He smiled, and looked about five years younger. ‘I'm James.' He paused, and again Villiers sensed the shyness. ‘Jamie to my friends.' They solemnly shook hands, watched patiently by a white-coated orderly who eventually said, ‘This way, gentlemen.'

Villiers remarked, ‘Odd place for a hospital.' Then he glanced out of a window and saw the water, so near that it appeared to be lapping the terrace.

Ross was watching him at that moment and realized that Villiers was not seeing Portsmouth as it was now, but another harbour which, like the hospital, had flourished in
the days of tall masts and pyramids of sails. It moved him, when he had almost believed he was beyond that kind of emotion.

The orderly turned, instantly alert as somebody called urgently, ‘Nurse, nurse!
Quickly
!'

He said, ‘Number Ten, sir.' Then he was gone.

Ross said harshly, ‘God, I hate these places.'

They looked at one another as, in the sudden silence after the brief commotion, a man's voice shouted, ‘For God's sake, you should
tell
me; I'm not a bloody mind-reader!' There was silence again as Ross tapped the door. ‘Come in. Don't be shy!'

The man was in khaki battledress, the rank of Captain, Royal Marines, on each shoulder.

Ross had the instant impression of energy and impatience, and charm. The face smiled warmly enough, his eyes flitting from one to the other with a kind of curious amusement. ‘Well, this
is
an honour! Two of you!'

Ross half turned to introduce his companion, and felt his mind click into place. Like those other times. When the timefuse on a mine was disturbed, the sudden tick as loud as Big Ben, when you only had twelve seconds more to live. Or the startled face of an enemy frogman rising beside you in icy water to grapple or to raise the alarm. The briefest second of all, when you know you will kill him. It was all there in Villiers' face. Disbelief, surprise? No, Ross thought, it was shock.

The captain named Sinclair peered towards an open suitcase on the bed and said, ‘This is my wife, by the way.'

Villiers held out his hand and felt her fingers close around his, saw the fear in her eyes change to gratitude as he said casually, ‘Charles Villiers. Pleased to meet you.'

A light flowered dress, but otherwise exactly as he
remembered her, had thought of her. Except that she was wearing a wedding ring. She said, ‘We're almost ready.'

Villiers tried not to watch her. Southsea, she had said. Of course. There was a big Royal Marines barracks there, at Eastney.

Ross said, ‘Captain Pryce wishes to see you before you leave.' He looked briefly at Villiers, and knew he had guessed correctly.

Sinclair touched his moustache as if to make certain it was as it should be. ‘
Captain
Pryce, eh? Well, well. He was a two-and-a-half ringer when we last met.' He felt the back of his head and added in a matter-of-fact way, ‘When I bought
this
!'

Ross opened the door. ‘I'll send an orderly for the luggage.' Then to Villiers: ‘You wait with Mrs Sinclair. There should be a car shortly.'

Then they were alone together. ‘I'm so
sorry
!' She did not resist as he took her hand again. ‘So terribly sorry. I didn't know it would happen like this. And – and you were so kind to me at the hotel . . .'