The Gunner (WW2 Naval Adventure) by J.E. Macdonnell

Author:J.E. Macdonnell [Macdonnell, J.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Warfare
Publisher: Piccadilly
Published: 2024-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Lasenby’s drilling of X-gun was delayed somewhat. He had no worries about being allowed to drill them. Each gun would certainly go to drill sometime during the day, and after what he had told Stapleton about the captain’s order to attend to his new guns he expected no blocking from the first-lieutenant.

He had finished his breakfast, and was smoking the first cigarette of the day in his mess, when he heard the pipe:

“X-gun will close up for drill at 0900.”

That was in a few minutes’ time. He got what he could from the last inch of butt and ground it out in the ashtray. The bosun’s mate poked his head in.

“Petty-Officer Lasenby? Captain—in his sea-cabin.”

Durham and Milton looked at him quickly. It was unusual for a captain to send for a rating. Lasenby had certainly handled his guns well, but in that he had done only what he was trained to do. It certainly would not rate a special session with the captain.

He pushed up from the table and he saw Moreton-Lane looking at him. On the big coarse face was a mixture of guilt and concern. You’ve learnt your lesson all right, Lasenby thought. Abruptly, he felt sorry for the man.

He turned his body so that his back was to the others as he squeezed out along the bench, and he shook his head slightly in a “Don’t worry,” gesture to Moreton-Lane.

On the way up to the sea-cabin he forgot Moreton-Lane. His mind was wholly occupied with the reason whyhe had been sent for. And he could think of nothing but that the Old Man wanted to say a few nice words about B-gun’s shooting: he certainly would know nothing about the state of X-gun.

He knocked on the door, and at the captain’s “Come,” stepped in over the coaming, his cap under his left arm.

“You sent for me, sir?” he said, and waited, standing before the bolted-down desk.

“Yes, Petty-Officer Lasenby,” the captain answered briefly, “sit down.”

Lasenby sat on the edge of the chair. If this was going to be a pat-on-the-back session, it hadn’t started any too brightly. Morrisset’s face was set in a mask of natural sternness.

He turned his head slightly, and his eyes lifted to Lasenby’s face. The gunner felt the impact of their penetrating keenness like a blow.

“Why did B-gun open fire?” Morrisset asked abruptly.

The question was so different to anything he had expected it left Lasenby floundering.

“Why ... I ... er ...”

“The order was passed to X-gun to engage,” Morrisset pressed him, “X-gun did not open, B-gun did. Why?”

“I ... I don’t know, sir.”

His earlier pity for Moreton-Lane was submerged in a revulsion of distaste that he was the cause of his lying to this officer. The captain got to his feet.

“Petty-Officer Lasenby,” he said quietly, and his added height seemed to increase the effect of his authority, “I have been at sea a long time—most of it in destroyers.”

“Yes, sir,” Lasenby said, wondering, trying to gather his wits.

“Many times in my career I have come up against loyalty—and a good deal of misguided loyalty.

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