Free Ormerod's Landing by Leslie Thomas Page A

his tongue out at two pale young officers who had come to look at him. They retreated abruptly.
    A short, spongy sailor who had served the meal came in with a mug of tea and a smile. He was the naval counterpart of the grubby private at Ash Vale. 'Off to France then?' he said, conversationally. Ormerod choked over the last spoonful of rhubarb. 'How did you know?' he demanded. 'How the hell..?'
    'Don't get shirty,' said the sailor. 'Every bugger knows. But we promise we won't tell the Germans. God's honour.'
    I should bloody well hope not,' said Ormerod sourly, taking
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    the tea. 'I've got a short enough life expectancy as it is. Everybody knows do they? Anybody thought to ring the local Nazi spy and tell him?'
    The sailor hunched his shoulders. 'It's the submarine, see,' he explained, leaning confidingly. 'She's sailing tonight and she'll be back tomorrow. That much we know, see, because there's a football match and the crew have been promised faithfully they'll be back for that. Well, where can you go in less than twenty-four hours? Not far. So the guess is right?'
    'I'm not saying,' grunted Ormerod bitterly. I don't care. I'm only relieved they're getting back for their precious bloody football match, that's all. I wouldn't have liked them to be late for the kick-off.'
    The sailor laughed jovially. 'Don't you worry your head about that, mate,' he promised. "They'll be back all right. Even if it means dumping you anywhere convenient and making a dash for it. Oh, they'll be back.' He regarded the miserable face of Ormerod below him. 'And you'll get back all right too,' he said in a poor attempt at reassurance. 'Don't you fret. How did you get into this anyway?'
    Ignoring the question Ormerod said: 'Can you get seasick in a submarine?'
    'Ever so,' nodded the sailor. 'Oh blimey, sick! They reckon it can be worse under the hoggin than on top of the hoggin. I wouldn't know because I've never been on it or under it. I'm having my war right here.'
    'Convenient,' nodded Ormerod. 'Nice for you. I was hoping that the submarine, anyway, would be on the steady side.'
    'They roll,' the sailor said, demonstrating by moving the empty tea mug from side to side. 'Like my mum's mangle, I'm told. Never mind. It can't be for long, can it?'
    A naval lieutenant put his head around the door and whistled shrilly. I say old boy,' he called to Ormerod. 'You're the special chap, aren't you?'
    'So I'm told,' said Ormerod.
    'Right-ho. Just toddle across to the other side of the parade ground will you. Go through the door marked "No Admittance", down the corridor and into the last room on the left. Final briefing I think.'
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    'Christ, not another final briefing,' said Ormerod getting up heavily. 'Not another.'
    'I know,' nodded the young officer sympathetically. 'They will keep having them, won't they? We usually find they give you eight final briefings then cancel the whole show anyway. Probably forget what it was all about in the first place. Anyway, pop over there will you?'
    Ormerod sighed and walked out of the building. The September rain was flying enthusiastically across Portsmouth harbour driven by a growling wind. In the dock beyond the bleak barracks and the parade ground a submarine wallowed in the oily water. Ormerod closed his eyes and began to walk.
    He had gone twenty paces across the square towards a formation of marching marines when the sergeant drilling them turned and spotted him. The man shuddered, swung as if he were on some mechanically operated spring, and stumped towards Ormerod. 'You!' he bawled. 'You!'
    Ormerod stopped and looked up through the rain to his front. The marine sergeant was bristling, twenty-five yards away. 'You!' he bellowed again.
    Ormerod had now had enough. 'Me?' he bawled back. 'Me?'
    The marine NCO looked astounded. Disbelief burst on his face. He drew himself up on his toes like an ignited rocket just before taking off. 'You,' he howled hysterically.
    'Me?' Ormerod shouted back. 'Me?'
    'Yes - you! Come