Atlantic Fury by Hammond; Innes Page B

shrug. ‘Well, I took a chance and it worked out.’
    But looking at the deep-etched lines of his face, I wondered. He looked as though he’d been living on his nerves for a long time. There were lines running underneath the cheek-bones and down from the sides of the mouth, others puckering the scar on the forehead, radiating from the corners of the eyes; some of them so deep they might have been scored by a knife. Those lines and the harsh, almost leathery skin could simply be the marks of a hard life, but I had an uneasy feeling they were something more than that.
    Through Northton he began to talk – about the Army and the life he’d led and where he’d been. It seemed to help, for he began to relax then and become more at ease; in no time at all the years had fallen away and we were on our old, easy footing, with him talking and myself listening. It had always been like that. And then suddenly he said, ‘You married Mavis, did you?’
    â€˜For my sins,’ I said. ‘It didn’t work out.’
    â€˜And the child?’
    â€˜It died.’
    I thought he didn’t care, for he made no comment, driving in silence, again. But as we came down the hill into Leverburgh, he said, ‘What was it – a boy?’
    â€˜Yes.’ And I added, ‘I had him christened Alasdair.’
    He nodded as though he’d expected that. We were passing ugly blocks of Swedish pre-fabs and as we turned right past the loch, he murmured, ‘I’m sorry.’ But whether he was sorry for what he’d done to us or because the child had died I couldn’t be sure. We were on a track now that led out to the quay. ‘I just want to check that they’re moving the stuff fast enough,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll drive you on to Rodil to collect your gear.’
    The quay looked a mess, the whole length of it littered with material brought from Laerg – piled-up sections of wooden huts, double-ended dories, trailers still loaded with stoves, radios, refrigerators, a deepfreeze, clothing, and crates full of foodstuffs, sacks of potatoes, fruit, coal; all the paraphernalia of an isolated unit being withdrawn in a hurry, and all of it soaked by the rain. One Scammell was trying to inch a trailer through the debris. Two three-ton trucks were being loaded, the men moving slowly, lethargically as though they had been doing this a long time. A single mobile crane swung its gantry lazily against the leaden dullness of the sky, and beyond the quay skerries barred the way into the Sound of Harris with here and there a light mounted on iron legs to mark the channel through the rocks.
    It was a depressing sight. I wandered along the concrete edge of the quay whilst Braddock spoke to the officer in charge. ‘A fine mess you’d be in,’ I heard him say, ‘if Four-four-Double-o had come in on schedule instead of being sent back to Laerg fully loaded.’ His voice, harsh now, had a whip-lash quality.
    â€˜We’re shifting it as fast as we can,’ the youngster answered. ‘But the men are tired. They’ve been at it since early this morning, and we’re short of vehicles.’
    â€˜They’re tired, are they? Then just think how Captain Pinney’s men must be, working round the clock, crammed into only two huts, soaked to the skin. Now get moving, boy, and have this quay cleared to receive Kelvedon’s ship when it comes in.’
    â€˜When will that be?’
    â€˜Dawn I should think, or a little after.’ I saw him grip the young man’s shoulder. ‘Between now and the end of the operation this may be our one chance to catch up. See the men understand that. If Stratton’s crew hadn’t been dead beat you’d have had Eight-six-one-o here by now. Make the most of this opportunity, Phipps.’
    â€˜I’ll do the best I can, sir.’
    â€˜Better than the best; I want miracles.’ The hard face cracked