Free A Prayer for the Ship by Douglas Reeman Page B

behind his back, like the guest conductor at a promenade concert. When he spoke, his voice was sharp and clear, but unexpectedly high, and he got straight down to business.
    â€œIn a few moments we’ll go over the plan of action for tomorrow night, but first I want to bring a few points, merely matters of personal discipline, to your notice.”
    He paused, and a twinge of uneasiness ran through his audience.
    â€œFirstly, some of you appear to imagine that uniform is unnecessary in Coastal Forces. Those of you who feel this way will most certainly be crossing swords with me in the near future. From now on, aboard the Depot Ship, and at any time in harbour, number fives will be worn, without the trimmings. No fancy scarves, or funny hats, and not battle dress. If you are personally neat and smart, you will set a good example to your men.”
    Emberson stood up quickly, his face half amused and half angry.
    â€œBut, sir, you can’t treat the men here as if it was barrack routine,” he drawled. “Why, it can be dangerous in this job, and a little laxity in some ways helps a lot.”
    For the first time a gust of laughter ran round the officers. Kirby was unmoved and quite expressionless.
    â€œMy orders stand,” he snapped, “and I’ll trouble you to keep your personal opinions to yourself.”
    Emberson cursed under his breath, and sank down to his seat.
    â€œThat scuttled you,” grinned Benjy. “First round to the Little Admiral!”
    Kirby then proceeded to list the orders and regulations which would in future be enforced in every boat of the flotilla, which seemed to cover every eventuality from the colour schemes of the hulls, to the lengths of beards worn by the crews.
    He finished up his offensive in the same unemotional, crisp tones, pausing only to flick a speck of dust from his sleeve.
    â€œRemember,” he ended, “you have not been outstanding in the past. I intend to see that this is the best flotilla on the East Coast, and if you all co-operate, my task will be easier. If not,” he shrugged, “some of you will have to be transferred.”
    Royce only vaguely heard the details of the patrol for the following night. His head was whirling with indignation; he felt hurt, not for himself, but for his friends, who now sat silently listening, while the clear, flat voice continued to rattle off the facts and figures, as if they were a crowd of backward schoolboys.
    â€œOne final point. I shall be taking over 1991, with Royce as my Number One, so all my personal orders will be passed through him. That is all, gentlemen, I trust you will see to your duties.”
    They rose and moved for the door, but the voice had not quite finished.
    â€œSub-Lieutenant Royce report to me.”
    Royce was left in the empty room facing his superior, and a feeling of resentment filled him, but he took the proffered hand, which was cold and soft.
    â€œWell, Number One,” said Kirby cheerfully. “Took it well, didn’t they?”
    â€œThey’re wonderful chaps, sir,” mumbled Royce hotly. “They’ve been through hell, and I wouldn’t wish to be with a finer lot.”
    Kirby’s face hardened.
    â€œLet’s hope you don’t have to. In the meantime, I want a list of all defects from the Engineer over the last six months, and the results of all practice gunnery shoots over the same period. On my desk tomorrow morning.”
    He turned on his heel and strode off. Royce felt as if the whole private, happy atmosphere of his little kingdom had been suddenly shattered by this interloper. When he reached the wardroom he found that the others were of the same opinion.
    â€œStrewth!” roared Benjy. “If I tell my boys to put number threes on, there’ll be a ruddy riot!”
    Emberson smiled quietly. “Not to worry. I think I can say without offending any greybeards present, that I am now the oldest inhabitant here,