Atlantic Fury by Hammond; Innes Page A

produced the same feeling of being at one with the elements, so that I found myself recapturing that sense of responsibility, of being a protagonist. The phone ringing cut across my thoughts. Sykes answered it. ‘Yes, he’s here.’ He glanced at me. ‘Okay, I’ll tell him.’ He put the phone down. ‘Major Braddock. He’ll drive you down to Rodil to pick up your things.’
    â€˜Now?’
    â€˜He’ll be waiting for you outside the Admin. block.’
    I had known this moment would come, but I’d have been glad to postpone it. What did you say to a man who’d spent twenty years masquerading as somebody else, and that man your brother? ‘All right,’ I said, and went out into the wind, wishing at that moment I’d never come north to the Hebrides. Even Laerg couldn’t compensate for this.
    He was sitting at the wheel of a Land-Rover, waiting for me. ‘Jump in.’ He didn’t say anything more and we drove out through the main gate and down the sand-blown road to Northton. Neither of us spoke and yet oddly enough there was nothing awkward about the silence. It helped to bridge the years, both of us accepting the situation and adjusting ourselves to it. Side-face his true identity was more obvious – a question chiefly of the shape of the head and the way it sat on the shoulders. The profile, too; he couldn’t change that. And the hair and the short, straight forehead, the shape of his hands gripping the wheel. ‘Why didn’t you contact me?’ I said.
    â€˜You were away at sea.’ He hunched his shoulders, an old, remembered gesture. ‘Anyway, what was the point? When you take another man’s identity – well, you’d better damn well stick to it.’
    â€˜Did you have to do that?’
    â€˜Do what?’
    â€˜Take Braddock’s name?’
    â€˜I didn’t have to, no. But I did.’ A muscle was moving at the corner of his mouth and his voice was taut as he added, ‘What would you have done? Given yourself up, I suppose. Well, I wasn’t going to stand trial for busting the jaw of a man who hadn’t the guts to lead his own men.’
    â€˜What happened?’ I asked. ‘What exactly happened out there in North Africa?’
    â€˜You really want to know?’ He hesitated, frowning. ‘Well … It was after we’d landed. The French had us pinned down. They’d got a machine-gun nest in one of those walled villas. We were all right. We were in a dried-up wadi. But it was murder for the lads on our right. They were caught in the open, a whole company of them lying out there on the bare rocks, and we had the shelter of that gully right up to the villa’s walls. Instead of attacking, Moore ordered the platoon to stay put and keep their heads down. He was frightened to death. In the end I knocked him out and took command myself. It was the only way. But by then the French had got a gun in position to cover the wadi and they opened up on us when we were halfway up it. That’s when I got this.’ He pointed to the scar on his forehead. ‘I lost eighteen men, but we took the villa. And when it was all over, I was under arrest. If I hadn’t hit the little sod I’d have been all right, but that fixed me, so I got the hell out of it and back to the beach. Wasn’t difficult; everything a bit chaotic. The fact that I was wounded made it dead easy. I was taken off to a troopship that was just leaving. She’d been damaged and when we were clear of the Straits she was ordered to proceed to Montreal for repairs. That was how I landed up in Canada.’ He glanced at me. ‘They didn’t tell you that?’
    â€˜Some of it – not all.’
    â€˜I had just over a year in Canada before they picked me up. It was conscription that fixed me. I hadn’t any papers, you see. And then, when the Duart Castle went down …’ He gave a quick