(1999) For Valour by Douglas Reeman

Author:Douglas Reeman [Reeman, Douglas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: War & Military, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9781590130490
Google: hHrLgCq7FDcC
Amazon: 1590130499
Publisher: McBooks Press
Published: 2005-05-31T23:00:00+00:00

10 | Hit and Run

Commander Graham Martineau leaned on one hand and peered at himself in the small mirror, the hot water helping to take the rawness out of shaving. All those hours, days, on the open bridge made him wonder why he bothered. Perhaps he should grow a beard like Kidd and some of the others in the ship.

He touched his skin and winced, his hand tightening on the metal wash basin as the ship dipped suddenly into a trough.

In his mind he could see it clearly. Like a giant chart, or a gull’s eye view.

They had been ordered to sea on New Year’s Day. He had heard one of the leading hands say, “Somebody sure loves us at the Admiralty, I don’t bloody think!”

Further north this time, to rendezvous with an important convoy on passage to Iceland, mostly American ships, loaded with aircraft parts and army personnel for the growing garrison there. An attack by U-boats had been forecast, signals had been intercepted. A job for the support group, then. The weather had been better than usual in the great expanse of sea between the Hebrides and Iceland, but bitterly cold, with off-watch hands kept busy clearing the decks and weapons of ice.

They had two destroyers in company, Inuit, another Tribal, and Harlech, one of the older ships built in the early Thirties, similar to those which had taken part in the first battle of Narvik, when Warburton-Lee, the Captain (D), had won his V.C. And had paid for it with his life. Older in appearance and performance than Hakka and her sister ship, Harlech had been a true Atlantic veteran long before she had joined the group, with two U-boats to her credit.

There had been an attempted attack, but the torpedoes must have been fired at extreme range, or the U-boats’ commander may have been discouraged by the size of the escort. So they were ordered back to base. It was a strange feeling to have this great, pitiless ocean quite empty but for their two companions. No ancient merchantmen trying to keep the pace, no ship falling slowly out of line, another victim. Nothing.

They had seen no land at all, although they had had a murky radar image of the nearest Faroe Islands when they had made their rendezvous.

Going home, or as close to home as it could be. A time for vigilance.

He dabbed his face with a towel and studied himself critically as he might a requestman or a defaulter at the table down aft.

He thought of Iceland, what he might have done if he had been able to get ashore. He had called there in the past . . . his mind shied away from it. A Danish possession which had been liberated, or invaded by the allies, occupied, the Icelanders termed it; it depended on your point of view. The stark fact was that Iceland boasted a fine new airfield, constructed by a German company just before the war. Very suitable for long-range bombers, which would now become a vital key in the Atlantic war.

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