A Prayer for the Ship Read Online Free PDF Page A

shooting,” he called. “You can secure now and get rid of the empties; Jerry has broken off the action. Come on to the bridge, Number One.”
    As Royce clambered over the glittering shell cases to the ladder, he forced himself to think straight, and to try to piece together the violent events of this unreal and nightmarish encounter with the enemy, and immediately his mind was assailed with fresh doubts as to his competence in such a terrible situation.
    Making a great effort to keep his voice steady, he nodded in the direction of the convoy, “What happens now, sir? Do we stick with them, or press on after the E-boats?”
    Harston was studying him keenly. “Well, I’m happy to say, neither. They’ll be quite safe now, and Jerry got a bloody nose. One E-boat sunk by that lucky old lawyer, Artie, and the destroyer mauled another. Pity about those two ships,” he added, “but at least they were empty, except for their crews, and God only knows where they are now, poor devils. There are a couple of trawlers looking for them.”
    He glanced up at a pinpoint of light ahead, and focussed his glasses. After a moment he turned, his face suddenly tired. “Make a signal with the lamp to the next astern: Resume formation. We’re returning to base.”
    Royce forced a smile. “Bunts still seasick?”
    Harston stared at him for several seconds before replying, then waved vaguely to the darkened corner of the bridge. “Afraid he’s bought it,” he said harshly.
    Royce lurched over to the small figure sitting awkwardly against the signal locker, and knelt down at his side. The young signalman’s legs were sticking straight out in front of him, his hands still clutching his Aldis lamp against the oversized duffle coat. His face was thrown back, and the fair, curly hair rippled gently in the cold breeze, as the glazing blue eyes stared up at the scudding clouds, as if amazed at what he saw. Through the thin plating at his back was a small, round hole.
    Royce, suddenly ice-cold, choked back the lump in his throat, very gently prized the lamp from the stiff, chilled hands, and blindly triggered the signal to the dark shape astern.
    As the flotilla reformed into line, Harston swore softly out to sea. “Damn them to hell! He was just telling me that he wasn’t afraid!”
    He pounded his fist on the rail, then seemed to go limp. “You did well, Number One, but don’t ever worry about being afraid. The man who says he isn’t is either a liar, or a bloody lunatic!”
    The Coxswain stepped out of the darkness and touched his cap. “Everything’s secure below, no damage,” he reported. “I’ll get a couple of the lads to give me a hand with young Mead here.” He fumbled under his oilskin, and produced a bottle and two enamel mugs. “I brought you a couple of tots of neaters, sir. I reckon you can do with it up here.”
    Harston downed his rum with one gulp, and walked stiffly to the compass. “I’m going below to write my report, Number One. It saves a bit of time when we get in. Do you think you can handle her now?”
    Royce nodded.
    â€œCall me when you sight Outer Spit buoy. That’ll be about 0500.”
    He paused as he passed to the bridge ladder. “It’s all so bloody futile, isn’t it?” and then he was gone.
    Royce checked the course, and leaned against the screen, his chin pillowed on his hands, suddenly desperately tired and cold, his face stiff with salt spray, and the towel wrapped around his neck soggy and raw against the skin. On and on thundered the boats, and still he stood as if in a trance, only once stiffening when he heard the Coxswain supervising the removal of Mead’s body, his watch- keeping companion of how long ago? Only four hours; it seemed like a lifetime.
    Far ahead he saw the steely grey fingers of the dawn creeping almost cautiously across the horizon, and