'I thought you might like this.' He held out a clean, white towel.
'That one you've got is, well, sir, I mean 'Thank you.' Vallery took the towel without any hesitation. 'Thank you very much.'
Despite Petersen's assistance, the long climb up to the upper deck left Vallery very weak. His feet were dragging heavily.
'Look, sir, this is madness!' Nicholls was desperately anxious. 'Sorry, sir, I didn't mean that, but-wdl, come and see Commander Brooks. Please!'
'Certainly.' The reply was a husky whisper. 'Our next port of call anyway.'
Half a dozen paces took them to the door of the Sick Bay. Vallery insisted on seeing Brooks alone. When he came out of the surgery after some time, he seemed curiously refreshed, his step lighter. He was smiling, and so was Brooks. Nicholls lagged behind as the Captain left.
'Give him anything, sir?' he asked. 'Honest to God, he's killing himself!'
'He took something, not much.' Brooks smiled softly. 'I know he's killing himself, so does he. But he knows why, and I know why, and he knows I know why. Anyway, he feels better. Not to worry, Johnny I'
Nicholls waited at the top of the ladder outside the Sick Bay, waited for the Captain and others to come up from the telephone exchange and No. 1 Low Power Room. He stood aside as they climbed the coaming, but Vallery took his arm, walked him slowly for'ard past the Torpedo Office, nodding curtly to Carslake, in nominal charge of a Damage Control party.
Carslake, face still swathed in white, looked back with eyes wild and staring and strange, his gaze almost devoid of recognition. Vallery hesitated, shook his head, then turned to Nicholls, smiling.
'B.M.A. in secret session, eh?' he queried. 'Never mind, Nicholls, and don't worry. I'm the one who should be worrying.'
'Indeed, sir? Why?'
Vallery shook his head again. 'Rum in the gun turrets, cigarettes in the T.S., and now a fine old whisky in a 'Lysol' bottle. Thought Commander Brooks was going to poison me, and what a glorious death! Excellent stuff, and the Surgeon Commander's apologies to you for broaching your private supplies.'
Nicholls flushed darkly, began to stammer an apology but Vallery cut him off.
'Forget it, boy, forget it. What does it matter? But it makes me wonder what we're going to find next. An opium den in the Capstan Flat, perhaps, or dancing girls in 'B' turret?'
But they found nothing in these or any other places, except cold, misery and hunger-haunted exhaustion. As ever, Nicholls saw, they-or rather, Vallery-left the men the better of their coming. But they themselves were now in a pretty bad state, Nicholls realised. His own legs were made of rubber, he was exhausted by continuous shivering: where Vallery found the strength to carry on, he couldn't even begin to imagine. Even Petersen's great strength was flagging, not so much from half-carrying Vallery as from the ceaseless hammering of clips frozen solid on doors and hatches.
Leaning against a bulkhead, breathing heavily after the ascent from 'A'magazine, Nicholls looked hopefully at the Captain. Vallery saw the look, interpreted it correctly, and shook his head, smiling.
'Might as well finish it, boy. Only the Capstan Flat. Nobody there anyway, I expect, but we might as well have a look.'
They walked slowly round the heavy machinery in the middle of the Capstan Flat, for'ard past the Battery Room and Sailmaker's Shop, past the Electrical Workshop and cells to the locked door of the Painter's Shop, the most for'ard compartment in the ship.
Vallery reached his hand forward, touched the door symbolically, smiled tiredly and turned away. Passing the cell door, he casually flicked open the inspection port, glanced in perfunctorily and moved on. Then he stopped dead, wheeled round and flung open the inspection port again.
'What in the name of-Ralston! What on earth are you doing here?' he shouted.
Ralston smiled. Even through the thick plate glass it wasn't a pleasant smile and it never touched the blue eyes. He gestured to the barred grille, indicating that he could not hear.
Impatiently, Vallery twisted the grille handle.
'What are you doing here, Ralston?' he demanded. The brows were drawn down heavily over blazing eyes. 'In the cells-and at this time! Speak up, man! Tell me!' Nicholls looked at Vallery in slow surprise. The old man- angry! It was unheard of! Shrewdly, Nicholls decided that he'd rather not be the object of Vallery's fury.
'I was locked up here, sir.' The words were innocuous enough, but their tone said, 'What a damned silly question.' Vallery flushed faintly.
'When?'
'At 1030 this morning, sir.'
'And by whom, may I inquire?'
'By the Master-At-Arms, sir.'
'On what authority?' Vallery demanded furiously.
Ralston looked at him a long moment without speaking. His face was expressionless. 'On yours, sir.'
'Mine!' Vallery was incredulous. 'I didn't tell him to lock you up!'
'You never told him not to,' said Ralston evenly. Vallery winced: the oversight, the lack of consideration was his, and that hurt badly.
'Where's your night Action Station?' he asked sharply.
'Port tubes, sir.' That, Vallery realised, explained why only the starboard crew had been closed up.
'And why-why have you been left here during Action Stations? Don't you know it's forbidden, against all regulations?'
'Yes, sir.' Again the hint of the wintry smile. 'I know. But does the Master-At-Arms know?' He paused a second, smiled again. 'Or maybe he just forgot,' he suggested.
'Hartley!' Vallery was on balance again, his tone level and grim. 'The Master-At-Arms here, immediately: see that he brings his keys!' He broke into a harsh bout of coughing, spat some blood into the towel, looked at Ralston again.
'I'm sorry about this, my boy,' he said slowly. 'Genuinely sorry.'
'How's the tanker?' Ralston asked softly.
'What? What did you say?' Vallery was unprepared for the sudden switch.
'What tanker?'
'The one that was damaged this morning, sir.'
'Still with us.' Vallery was puzzled. 'Still with us, but low in the water. Any special reason for asking?'
'Just interested, sir.' The smile was wry, but this time it was a smile. 'You see------'
He stopped abruptly as a deep, muffled roar crashed through the silent night, the pressure blast listing the Ulysses sharply to starboard.
Vallery lurched, staggered and would have fallen but for Petersen's sudden arm. He braced himself against the righting roll, looked at Nicholls in sudden dismay. The sound was all too familiar.
Nicholls gazed back at him, sorry to his heart for this fresh burden for a dying man, and nodded slowly, in reluctant agreement with the unspoken thought in Vallery's eyes.
'Afraid you're right, sir. Torpedo. Somebody's stopped a packet.'
'Do you hear there!' The capstan flat speaker was hurried, intense, unnaturally loud in the aftermath of silence. 'Do you hear there!
Captain on the bridge: urgent. Captain on the bridge: urgent. Captain on the bridge: urgent.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FRIDAY EVENING
BENT ALMOST double, Captain Vallery clutched the handrail of the port ladder leading up to the fo'c'sle deck. Desperately, he tried to look out over the darkened water, but he could see nothing. A mist, a dark and swirling and roaring mist flecked with blood, a mist shot through with dazzling light swam before his eyes and he was blind. His breath came in great whoopings gasps that racked his tortured lungs: his lower ribs were clamped
