Battlecruiser (1997) Read Online Free PDF

white. The face could be cheerful or angry as the occasion dictated but it was not one to cross at any time. The engine room department in any warship was separate from all the rest; exclusive, some might say; bloody-minded, others would describe it. In
Reliant
’s massive engine and boiler rooms, with their teams of stokers, artificers and mechanics, the Chief was like a god, and his word was law. Not only was he the most senior member of the mess, but he was the oldest man in
Reliant
’s company. He was quietly proud that he had, he said, come up the hard way.
    He glanced around at the crowded wardroom, and wondered briefly what their new orders would be. A vital convoy to protect, a bombardment somewhere, or perhaps another spell in Arctic waters in case
Scharnhorst
came out of her lair. He saw the commander, The Bloke, standing characteristically with feet apart, one hand in his reefer pocket, a drink in the other, while he listened to the ship’s chaplain, Beveridge, going on about something or other.
    The Chief signalled to a steward for a refill, andfrowned. This was their third consecutive Sunday in harbour. It was too much, especially for the chaplain. It had gone completely to his head.
    This morning at Divisions, for instance. The lines and lines of seamen and Royal Marines, the stokers and the supply branch, gathered together to hear the Word. He wondered cynically if Beveridge really thought it did any good. Did he still not know that when the air rang to the well-known hymn,
What a friend we have in Jesus
, the old sweats, who were careful not to sing too loudly and alert their divisional officers, used their own version?
    ‘When this bloody war is over,
    Oh, how happy I shall be . . .
    No more queuing in the N.A.A.F.I.,
    No more waiting for my tea . . .’
    And then there had been that bit about Cavendish.
The sad tragedy of it.
Had Beveridge forgotten that many of
Reliant
’s people had lost relatives and friends, wives and girlfriends? Some had lost everything.
    He had studied the new captain, Sherbrooke, his features calm, and betraying nothing while he had stood before his ship’s company for the first time. They said he had been a friend of Cavendish’s, and in this ship, too. Onslow’s eyes moved to a framed photo of the battlecruiser as she had looked before the clutter of new weaponry, signals equipment, and the secret, invisible eye of radar with all its additional fittings. She was a beautiful ship, and still unspoiled by the modern box-like bridges they had built on other old veterans: she had even retained the original tripod mast, and the slightly raked line of her unmatched funnels.
    Everybody aboard above a certain rank had heard ofCaptain Guy Sherbrooke, but who really knew him? He had an introspective, attentive face, and when they had met, only briefly, Onslow had noticed the eyes. Blue, but not hard like some, and not cold. Eyes that did not forget. Or did not want to forget . . .
    The steward said, ‘Gin, sir.’
    He grunted. A good lunch shortly, but no nap afterwards. His department was on top line, and his staff knew what was expected of them. All the same, like other heads of department, he would probably go round and check a few items before
the great man
returned on board sometime this afternoon.
    He thought of Sherbrooke’s impassive features while Beveridge had been droning on, and wondered how he felt about Stagg.
Reliant
had always been a very pusser ship, even in peacetime, and without an admiral’s flag.
    He looked across at the commander. His glass was empty, but his position and expression were unchanged.
    He knew that Frazier had been offered a command of his own. He was good; for one so young, better than most. He would make a competent skipper anywhere. But he had stayed. His jowls moved into a grin.
Like me.
    Frazier would be weighing up the new captain as well. As second-in-command, his main purpose was to present his captain with an efficient, reliable,