Dive in the Sun Read Online Free PDF Page B

shrilly and Taylor deftly busied himself with the tea.
    He had never quite got used to the process of preparing food or drink on board. He always wanted to laugh at his own antics as he crawled and ducked about the tiny stove, going through the ritual which his mother had called, “Wettin’ the bed!”
    Poor old Mum. It couldn’t be much fun for her, with the old man away at the docks most of the time, or bending his elbow in the Bricklayer’s Arms, and spending most of her nights in the shelter at the end of the road. He remembered the shock he had received on his last leave, when he had turned the familiar corner and stood stock-still to gape at the savage gaps in the shabby terraced houses. He had never really thought much about the air raids before. When it had been mentioned in the petty officers’ mess the others had groused and grumbled about the “bleedin’ civvies”, or had pointed out that the Jerries were getting a bit in repayment. But standing there on the corner, where he had grown up, had played about with the girls, and cheeked the coppers who came running and puffing after the street bookmakers, it had suddenly seemed very real, and very personal.
    After that he had given his soul to the midget submarine’s engines, and moulded himself into the framework of her small company. He smiled as he thought of Jervis’s expression when he had first been introduced. Poor little bugger, he didn’t seem to know whether to shake his hand or to put him in the rattle for not saluting!
    He handed a mug of tea to Duncan, and for a second their eyes met. Good old Steve. Maybe I’ll go out to his country after this lot’s over. Mum’d probably kick up a fuss about leaving “the street”, but it’d do her good. It’d be a new chance for all of them.
    He refilled the kettle methodically. We’re all stark, bleedin’ mad, he thought—drinkin’ tea on the bottom of the bloody ocean, an’ me dreamin’ of home!
    Duncan raised his mug. It looked like an egg-cup in his huge fist. ‘Here’s to yer! What a life!’
    Taylor smiled his secret smile. ‘Shouldn’t ’ave joined if you can’t take a joke,’ he answered automatically.
    Curtis took his mug of tea and lowered himself carefully into his metal seat, and cursed softly as a trickle of condensation found his neck. He sipped the tea slowly, and noticed that already it had attained the bitter taste which seemed to pervade the whole boat after it had been submerged for any time at all. He stared bleakly at the curved steel side and the quivering depth gauges. Somewhere beyond the toughened metal and the silent water lay the quiet, sleeping coastline, and he wondered vaguely what sort of a life the Italians would lead once the invasion had started, and which way their loyalties would lie. It was unlikely that their German masters would allow them much choice in the matter, he decided.
    If only we could get on with the attack, and get it over, one way or the other. The waiting, and the probing, the constant watch over depth and speed, course and distance, only added to the constant worry and the twisting agony of fear.
    He attempted to remember his reactions before his last operation, but he only succeeded in obtaining a few distorted images of the past. Like a flashback in an old film. He found he was squeezing the mug savagely, so he carefully stood it on the corticene deck covering, where it vibrated in mocking defiance to the tune of the motor.
    It was with something like relief that he saw the hands of the brass bulkhead clock creep round, and he began to shift about in his seat in anticipation of doing something. Anything was better than listening to the others talking, and watching the instruments ticking and winking at him from each direction that he turned his sleep-starved eyes.
    No orders were given, but each man moved quietly to his allotted place and sat waiting.
    Curtis ran his hand slowly across the coarse material of his battledress, and felt