The White Guns (1989) Read Online Free PDF Page A

replaced. You'd better get used to the idea of managing on your own.'
     
There was a babble of protest and he smiled, the effort wiping aside the years and the strain.
     
'We have won a victory here, but in the Pacific the fight goes on. I have to work up some new boats and their crews, prepare them for that war, a different ocean, a far cry from the Channel or the North Sea.' He hurried on, 'Because of the terrible state of the harbour and communications here, you'll all have your work cut out helping to put things in order. It will mean changes.' He looked at their faces, feeling their resentment at something different from what they had known, about to take over and disrupt their lives even before the dust of victory had settled.
     
He gave a tired smile, one they had seen so often over the months. 'I don't like to insist, but you must try to spruce up a bit before your new commander comes to visit you.' He shook his head as Cuff made to speak. 'I know from long experience, Lieutenant Glazebrook, that I have left it a bit late to discuss with you the matter of tact. However, you must accept that our roles here have changed, so too have the methods which will be used to re-open this port, and join with the other services in co-operation with our allies to get things working again.'
     
Cuff muttered, 'I suppose we'll be giving the Krauts a pound or two out of the poor-box next!' He sounded angry.
     
Macnair looked past him at another lieutenant. 'James, your boat will be sailing with mine tomorrow morning. You'll get your orders presently.'
     
The others stared at the lieutenant. One or two slapped him on the shoulder, or pumped his hand.
     
'Jammy bastard, who do you know in Whitehall?'
     
But they were already missing him, another survivor, a call-sign on the R/T, a show of a towering bow-wave as his command had dashed in to cover their flanks in a pitched battle. Also, some of them were seeing their world shrinking even as they stood here. Coastal Forces were a bit like submariners, a navy within a navy, a family.
     
Macnair continued calmly, 'Cuff, you will take over as S.O. but, like most of the other miscellaneous craft here, you will accept your instructions from the new commander.'
     
Tommy Updike, Cuff's Number One, also a Yorkshireman and not by coincidence, gave a loud groan. 'What's happened to the Glory Boys, sir? Miscellaneous now, are we?'
     
Macnair said, 'Get into your Number Fives.'
     
They stared at each other. Battledress, or working-dress as the navy chose to call it, was their stock-in-trade. You stood your watches in it, usually with grey flannel trousers rather than scratchy regulation ones, you slept in it, and too often you died in it.
     
Number Fives were for that other navy, Divisions, eating ashore, walking the quarterdeck of some sedate cruiser or destroyer.
     
Macnair added quietly, 'This is a different ball-game, my friends. The Germans have to see you as the victors, not find cause to believe that it was the mistakes of their leaders which lost them the war.' His tone sharpened. 'So jump about. Spruce up, no matter what you may think, and I shall bring the new commander aboard at the end of the afternoon watch.'
     
Marriott saw him to the side and watched a squad of khaki-clad soldiers marching along the dockside.
     
Was it just this morning he had stood with Fairfax and Evans to confront that silent mass of German sailors? It seemed that the whole area had been swamped by British soldiers just moments later, while tanks had rattled and swayed over the rubble, guns swivelling with silent menace, their crests with the all-seeing eye showing them to be of the Guards Armoured Division. It was comforting to know they were on hand if there was still a suspicion of trouble.
     
They had had it ingrained into them before they had left England. Talk of Werewolves, as the youngsters of the Nazi Youth were called, going to ground to wait their chance to sabotage, to delay, and to kill.