Free Sunset by Douglas Reeman Page A

from bow to bow. Leading Signalman Railton was splicing a broken halliard, while the look-outs on either side swept their arcs of vigilance with slow care, probably very aware that their captain was on his tall chair on the port side, his head cradled on his arms below the screen, his tousled hair rippling in the breeze.
    Kerr turned and said, ‘Nice and early, Pilot! That’s how I like it. What’s for breakfast?’
    Calvert grimaced. ‘Bangers.’
    Kerr watched some gulls swooping after the ship. Where did they nest, he wondered?
    Throughout the ship gun-crews were exchanging places, anddown in the wheelhouse a new helmsman had just reported that he was taking over the helm.
    Together they opened the weatherproof screen over the chart table, and bent to examine the pencilled courses and positions of the previous watch.
    Kerr said in his usual business-like fashion, ‘Course to steer is two-one-zero, one-one-oh revolutions.’ He glanced over the screen and Calvert saw the dark stubble on his chin. When he next appeared the first lieutenant would be freshly shaved, smart as paint.
    He said, ‘Cape Finisterre is about two hundred miles to port. Weather report good.’ He frowned and Calvert saw the returning strain, but it was quickly past. ‘There were some signals around dawn. Convoy in trouble to the south of us. But nothing else yet.’
    A boatswain’s mate, a silver call dangling from a chain around his sweater, called, ‘Port watch closed up at defence stations, sir. Able Seaman Monk at the wheel.’
    Kerr turned away from the voicepipes. ‘Better watch that one. Dozes off if you don’t chase him.’
    Calvert waited, knowing there was more. A criticism, perhaps? Instead, Kerr said, ‘What do you make of it, Pilot? Fifteen hundred miles, from Scapa to the sun. You’ve really settled in, right?’
    Calvert climbed onto the compass platform and checked the magnetic compass. The casual inquiry was not the real reason why Kerr was hanging around.
    He replied cautiously, ‘I’m still finding out where everything is.’
    Kerr glanced towards the captain. One of Brooke’s arms had slipped from its perch and was swinging slowly in time to the ship’s easy roll.
    â€˜When did you take up flying?’
    Calvert made himself relax, muscle by muscle. It was not the question he had been expecting.
    â€˜A long time ago. It was all I ever wanted to do.’ He found himself measuring every word before he released it. ‘Eventually I became an instructor at a flying club and organised trips over the Channel during the summer holidays.’ He sighed. ‘Hard tobelieve now, isn’t it?’ He realised that Kerr was waiting and went on, ‘I joined the local R.N.V.R. unit and persuaded them to attach me to the Fleet Air Arm. I was a civvy instructor, so it was like learning from scratch, a part-time Richthofen!’ Kerr saw the smile, the cost of talking so freely. ‘So when the balloon went up, I was one of the first to be called. Just as well – I couldn’t
do
anything else.’
    Kerr said, ‘We all think like that sometimes.’
    â€˜Yes, I expect so. The regulars I meet . . .’
    â€˜People like me, you mean?’
    Calvert searched for sarcasm but there was none. ‘Yes, if you like. Everything mapped out, from the training college to a brass-hat if you’re lucky. I’ve known several like that, bent on personal advancement and totally unprepared for the untimely interruption of war in their ordered world. I’ve often found that the hostilities-only chaps are better able to take it. They joined up to fight, not to make a career of it.’
    â€˜You’re not married?’
    Calvert smiled. ‘Nearly. I was too young. Now I’m too bloody old, or feel like it!’
    Kerr thought of what he had heard about the captain. How his girl had married his brother