Twelve Seconds to Live by Douglas Reeman

Author:Douglas Reeman [Reeman, Douglas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, War & Military, Historical
ISBN: 9781407010175
Google: co1HVbOzWJIC
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2008-09-03T14:00:00+00:00

The small van with Royal Navy painted on the side stopped at the top of a steep slope and stood rattling tinnily while Sub-Lieutenant Michael Lincoln and his assistant climbed out. The driver said, ‘I’ll try and chase up your transport when I get back to base, sir.’

Lincoln shaded his eyes and stared down the slope, which appeared to lead directly to the sea. The Channel had many faces, he thought. This morning it was flat calm, hardly a ripple, the horizon touched with a faint silver thread. There was a three-ton Bedford lorry parked by a pile of crates, where a gap had been opened in the rusting barbed wire barrier, and some Royal Marines in their camouflaged denims were sitting or standing around them. One was throwing a piece of driftwood for a rough-haired terrier to fetch and recover with unending energy.

An officer was standing apart from his marines and looked up when he saw Lincoln. He made a point of peering at his watch. The car which was to have brought them to this desolate-looking beach had broken down minutes after leaving the inlet. Lincoln felt a growing resentment. It was not an emergency, anyway.

‘Got all we need?’ It was something to say. Downie never needed to be reminded.

Most of the Royal Marines had turned to watch, and someone gave an ironic cheer. Their captain waited for Lincoln to reach him, and snapped, ‘You took your time! If we have to wait for the next low water we’ll lose a whole day!’

Lincoln attempted to tell him about the breakdown but knew he was wasting his time. It was a bad beginning.

‘Let’s get started!’ The captain gestured to a launch which was being fended away from scattered rocks by some of his men. ‘Muster the others, Corporal!’

They climbed into the launch and Lincoln hoped that it, too, would break down. It did not.

He looked around at the others. The marines were from one of the units based at Portland, highly professional, and employed mostly on demolition or clearing away wreckage after an exercise or training programme.

He shaded his eyes again and peered ahead past the bowman. At first you might think it was an isolated spur of rock. At low water you could see all that was left of the old freighter Latchmere. She had hit a stray mine along this coast and her master had tried to beach her where she would cause the least harm to other shipping: a hazard or an aid to navigation, it depended on the circumstances. Today the remains of the old Latchmere were to be destroyed.

The captain of marines was also studying the approaching wreck. Like many of her kind, most of the freighter’s superstructure and cabin space was right aft. She had been carrying scrap iron when the mine had found her, and her cargo had broken open the hull and scattered where it would never be salvaged. He consulted his watch again. Just what he might have expected: a

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