Free Cowl by Neal Asher Page B

that this particular delivery was unscheduled.
    â€˜Likes his malt whisky, does Lieutenant Pearce,’ commented Frank as the other two returned to the cabin and they got under way again.
    Conversation thereafter became muted and Polly felt herself fading into the background as the three men discussed a war that was not even a memory to her. She learnt that both Dave and Toby were still in basic training and anxious to join the fighting, and recognized Frank’s tired look when he heard this enthusiasm. And she wondered at such naivety.
    In the next hour Dave pointed out another fort far to their left and announced, ‘Shivering Sands.’
    Later, Frank said, ‘Knob Sand,’ gesturing to some half-seen marker buoys while swinging the boat to the port. ‘And there’s Knock John.’
    Polly was impressed. The naval fort loomed like an old-style battleship raised up on two thick pillars. No lights were visible on it, but in silhouette against the star-studded sky she could discern guns and radio antennae.
    â€˜Frank here. Coming in from the south,’ Frank spoke into his transceiver.
    They drew into Knock John’s shadow and slowed by a wooden jetty being hinged down from a scaffold running up the side of the nearest pillar. Only then did Polly get a true impression of the size of the fort. Dave and Toby cast ropes to the men who came out onto the jetty when it was in position, before unclipping the deck hatches to access the cargo below. Above them a crane was swung across and it lowered a cargo net straight into the open hold.
    â€˜Best you come with me. Feel up to climbing that ladder?’ Frank asked her. Polly stared at the ladder, now made visible by the lights that had just been turned on within the scaffold, and wondered if she could manage it. She suddenly
felt weak, slightly sick and incredibly hungry—more hungry than she had felt in years.
    â€˜Brownlow should have the stew pot on by now and some tea brewing, and his tea is better for some additive.’ Frank patted the shoulder bag he had just picked up.
    â€˜I can handle it,’ said Polly firmly, then something lurched inside her and she found herself closing her mouth on a welling up of saliva. What surprised her most was that it wasn’t a drink she wanted so much as the food. Following him down onto the jetty, then along to the iron ladder, she rolled up her dropping coat sleeves and cursed her lack of footwear … abandoned somewhere in this same sea. Someone at the head of the ladder rushed over to help her as soon as he realized she was a woman.
    â€˜My daughter,’ explained Frank to those who had stopped to stare, then led her across, under the shadow of the crane, to an open doorway. Polly glanced up and noted the barrels of an anti-aircraft gun before following him inside. They negotiated further stairs and ladders, and Polly received a blurred impression of somewhere crammed with men and equipment and fogged by cigarette smoke, until eventually she found herself in a canteen, where she could concentrate on nothing but the smell of cooking.
    Soon all her attention was focused on a mess tin filled with unidentifiable lumps, which was thrust in front of her, and the hunk of bread plonked down beside it. Everything else faded into insignificance as she picked up a fork and began to eat. It seemed only moments later that the tin was empty and she was mopping up the gravy.
    â€˜I take it you could do with some more?’ said Frank.
    Polly nodded dumbly.
    Three mess tins later, Polly glanced up into Frank’s amused regard. Huge fatigue then trammelled her, and she had time only to push the mess tin aside before her forehead hit the table and sleep dropped on her like a black eiderdown. Then, seemingly with no transition, someone was shaking her.
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    THE SEA OF BLACKNESS turned to white and the sky took on a more familiar aspect of grey cloud split against cerulean blue, and gravity took