A Slender Thread: A Novel of World War II (Breaking Point Series Book 3) by John Rhodes

Author:John Rhodes [Rhodes, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Roundel House
Published: 2022-03-15T06:00:00+00:00

Eighteen

Shaux rearranged his limbs in search of comfort, yet again in vain. His bunk was too narrow. There was something about Nonsuch’s ponderous motion that prevented him from slipping away into sleep. Shaux was in the upper bunk and could not entirely escape the idea that Nonsuch might suddenly heave to some unusually steep wave and dump him down onto the deck several feet below. His tiny cabin was dank and airless, and his cabinmate, Sublieutenant Lingard, was an aggressive snorer. The cabin was no more than a small metal box below the waterline into which the Mediterranean might pour at any moment.

Lingard’s snoring, emanating from the bunk below him, interrupted itself, paused, and then restarted at a deeper, more resonant pitch.

Shaux was used to the comforts of his double bed with Eleanor’s naked body sprawled beside him. There had been a time when he could sleep anywhere under any conditions, he thought, but apparently no more; perhaps he was growing older. He was already twenty-four. Soon, perhaps, his waistline would expand, and his temples would turn gray. He’d become crotchety and spend his postwar days teaching algebra to dull boys who would be counting the minutes until the bell rang, releasing them from class. Eleanor would grow impatient with his declining vigor and cast about for a younger, more energetic companion. None of those things would really happen, of course, because they all assumed he’d survive the war—the “cumulative stress” of war, as that doctor had put it—which he was certain he would not.

Just when he finally managed to disregard Lingard’s snoring, it interrupted itself again and, after a pause, commenced a different rhythm.

Shaux resettled himself and stared into the darkness. Was there some way he could quiet Lingard without actually suffocating him? This was getting ridiculous. Shaux would be flying at dawn and needed to sleep . . .

But, as he reluctantly admitted to himself, he didn’t really want to sleep because he had begun to have dreams, for the first time in his life, and he didn’t like his dreams one little bit.

* * *

Shaux opened the throttle wide. As the revs spun up and the engine rose to a roar, his Martlet began to quiver. The Twin Wasp’s exhaust ports spat out acrid smoke and angry flame. The propeller was a pale gray transparent circle. Now the quiver accelerated to a faster, more urgent, thrumming vibration. Something loose in the instrument panel rattled insistently. The roar of the engine sharpened to a snarl. Torque pushed the nose down and to the right. Surely the brakes would yield? If the Martlet were a beast of prey, it would be gathering its muscles, coiling itself to spring.

The trembling rev counter shook up to 2,500, and Shaux released the brakes.

The Martlet bounded forward. Torque tried to yaw it wildly to the right so that, if Shaux hadn’t been waiting to catch it, he was certain the aircraft would have careened off the deck and crashed into the sea below.

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