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hoarse voice calling along the corridor,
‘Inverness! Inverness!’
    There was the usual tension amongst some of the servicemen who did not have the right travel documents or tickets, who were stealing some leave to see a loved one, who were ‘on the run’. Out there the enemy would be waiting, the military police in their red caps, the R.A.F., and the naval patrols in white belts and gaiters. There would be some on board the train who were simply too afraid to go back.
    He said abruptly, ‘I’ll get you a porter –’
    She stood up and held on to the luggage rack as the train jerked to a violent halt. Doors were already banging open, people were running and shouting; the bitter air filled the compartment like an icy wind.
    He heard her say, ‘Thank you, but no.’ She watched him pull her case down. ‘I’ve someone meeting me.’
    Whatever was happening on the platform it had become quiet. The corridors were deserted, the sprawling gunners were gone as if they had been imaginary.
    She was staring at him. In the grey light she looked uncertain, troubled. Wanting to go and yet unwilling to leave.
    â€˜Thank you for talking to me.’ She held out one hand andwaited for him to take it. ‘And good luck, Lieutenant Calvert.’ She said it so seriously that it made her seem suddenly vulnerable.
    Calvert reached for his cap. Good luck? That had run out on that terrible day off Narvik. Ten months ago. Was that really all it was?
    He said, ‘I shall try and . . .’ But the compartment was empty.
    He smiled and reached for his cases. She had not even told him her name.
    Then he stepped down on to the wet platform, very aware of the cold in his bones. He seemed to feel it more than ever now.
    A petty officer in a white webbing belt sauntered out of the gloom and offered what might have been a salute.
    â€˜Mr Calvert, sir?’ As he turned over a docket in his hands he added, ‘The Rail Transport Officer has fixed up breakfast for you. I’ll take you across.’ He squinted at the printed travel warrant. ‘Then on the next train to Thurso, right?’
    Calvert nodded. ‘Scapa.’
    The P.O.’s weathered face split into a grin. ‘Says it all, dunnit, sir?’
    Calvert gripped the man’s arm without knowing it. The sudden companionship had reached out to him like a forgotten friend.
    He was back.

2
Scars
    Richard Kerr,
Serpent
’s first lieutenant, watched curiously while the new commanding officer struggled out of the suit of white overalls he had borrowed for his engine room tour.
    It was a Sunday, just over a week since Brooke had made his unorthodox arrival in the NAAFI boat, and during that time he seemed to have explored more parts of the ship, weapons and equipment, as well as going through all the books and watch bills, than the previous captain had ever done. To Kerr it appeared to be more than a sense of duty or an attempt to impress. It was like a need which drove Brooke forward without respite.
    Brooke reached for his jacket and grinned. ‘Bit chilly after the Chief’s engine and boiler rooms.’ He shook his head admiringly. ‘He keeps his department on top line. You could almost eat off the cat-walk!’
    Like a boy again, Kerr thought, the tension suddenly gone from his face. He was curious about the captain’s limp, which became obvious whenever Brooke was thinking about something else and made no effort to conceal it. But he was still no closer to him as a man; and he wondered if it was because Brooke was aware of his disappointment at not being offered a command. Many others had been given ships of their own, ranging from old destroyers to armed yachts; even reservists were being put on their own bridges. Disappointment? Or was it a resentment which the previous captain’s sudden departure had sharpened into something worse?
    Brooke could feel the intensity of the other man’s