Free Strike from the Sea (1978) by Douglas Reeman

the depot ship’s people had complained about the din spoiling the film shows in their canteen.
    Halliday and his French assistant, Lucas, had stripped the faulty hydroplanes and replaced them, and were eager to put them to a proper test. Lieutenant Ridgway, the torpedo officer, and his men had gone through the fore-ends and torpedo storage until they could operate the tubes and reloading tackle blindfolded. Even Farrant, stiff-backed and severe as the moment he had stepped aboard, had admitted a grudging satisfaction with his gun crews.
    But perhaps the most contented man of all was Lieutenant Jack Christie, RNVR, the naval pilot who had been chosen to operate the
Soufrière
’s neat little seaplane.
    Christie had been a stunt pilot before the war, reduced to doing five-shilling trips at seaside resorts when things had been bad. When things had been good, he had risked life and limb to give the spectators their money’s worth. He had been a misfit aboard a fleet carrier, and not much better ashore. He simply could not adapt to the Navy’s ways, and Ainslie suspected the
Soufrière
had been his last appointment merely to get him out of some senior officer’s hair.
    The seaplane was in excellent order, although it had not been launched from its catapult for many months. With his equally dedicated observer, Sub-Lieutenant Jones, also RNVR, Christie had taken the aircraft apart.
    Ainslie had heard Quinton telling him on one occasion, ‘God, Jack, if you bust that kite, remember it’s the only one we’ve got, right?’
    Christie had given him his lazy grin. ‘She’ll go like a bird. You see.’
    All in all, Ainslie was pleased with his company. It was certainly the largest he had yet commanded. Twelve officers, including himself, and one hundred and twenty ratings, many of whom had seen active service in other boats. The others, like the wretched Booth who had just lost his parents, would have to learn as they went along.
    It seemed likely they would have more time than most, Ainslie thought. For although Singapore, like the forces in Malaya to the north, had been put on a partial alert until the Japanese intentions in Indo-China were fully understood, it seemed slack after Europe.
    In the city lights blazed at all hours, and the shops gleamed with early stocks of gifts and goods for Christmas. The clubs were always full, and Ainslie had been dismayed to discover that there was still a rigid rule about which hotels and places of entertainment could be used by ‘other ranks’ and which were completely out of bounds to Indian and Malayan troops.
    The chief of staff waved them to two comfortable chairs and said, ‘Sorry I’ve not had time to see you before this.’
    Critchley said, ‘We’ve been busy too, sir.’
    The captain eyed him searchingly as if to seek out some small hint of sarcasm.
    He said, ‘The big ships have made quite an impression. Good thinking on someone’s part. Just the sort of gesture to make friends and enemies sit up and take notice. Pity about the carrier, though.’
    Critchley leaned forward. ‘Carrier, sir?’
    ‘Yes. The new one,
Indomitable,
should have been in company, but she ran aground off Jamaica while she was working up. She’ll be along later, no doubt.’ He saw Critchley’s uncertainty and said cheerfully, ‘God, Critchley, don’t look so glum! We have our own air support in fields from here to the Siamese border, y’know.’
    Critchley said calmly, ‘I know. Wildebeest torpedo bombers which make the Swordfish seem young by comparison.’ He watched his shots going home, cracking the other man’sconfidence. ‘There are some old American Hudsons, and for fighter cover I understand there are a few obsolescent Brewster Buffaloes.’ He reached out for a desk lighter and held it to the inevitable cigarette. ‘Hardly a force to rouse enthusiasm, I’d have thought?’
    The chief of staff turned to Ainslie. ‘Well, anyhow, that is not the point of this meeting, or your