Send a Gunboat (1960) by Douglas Reeman Page B

Otherwise he’d have him shipped out a bit sharpish!”
    Laker glared at his assistant. “Forget ’em! They don’t exist! If I had my way I’d—”
    “Horsewhip them?”
    They turned at the sudden interruption and then Laker’s face dissolved into an affectionate beam.
    “Oh, Captain, I almost forgot me own daughter! Ursula, this is Commander Rolfe.”
    Rolfe took her hand and felt a growing uneasiness. Ursula Laker was tall for a girl, and at thirty-three had reached thefullness of her perfections. Her steady green eyes and short blonde hair, bleached almost white by the sun, clashed dazzlingly with her smooth tanned skin. If her mouth was a trifle wide, it was generous. And if her body, tantalizing beneath her light frock, was inclined to fullness, Rolfe had a feeling that it might be generous, too.
    “I hope you like what you see, Captain?” Her voice was a soft drawl, with a throatiness that was vaguely exciting.
    Rolfe grinned uncomfortably, and Laker, his eyes glinting watchfully, patted his arm. “Eyeful, eh? Just like her mother used to be!”
    Rolfe found it hard to picture Mrs. Laker as the voluptuous creature confronting him.
    A gong chimed discreetly in the background and as the servants quietly folded away some giant screens, Rolfe saw a vast, laden table glittering with food and drink.
    “In yer honour!” announced Laker solemnly.
    This must surely be the climax of my varied career, thought Rolfe, as with Laker at one side and Ursula on the other, he seated himself at the table. Perhaps it would be better to approach all of them on the matter of evacuation now; the idea seemed to blind him with its dreadful possibilities, Laker on his own might be too crafty an opponent. He ran his eye carefully along the happy, flushed faces. It would be worth a try.
    He felt the heat rise in his body as the girl’s knee pressed against his own under the table. The pain of his old memories came flooding back, and almost without noticing, he downed the tall glass of pale liquid by his plate.
    “By jove!” Grant exploded admiringly. “Our very special home brew, and he takes it like water!”
    Laker grunted at his side. “Damn strong stuff that, Captain! Should have warned you. Still, you navy chaps know a thing or two, what!”
    The pressure on his knee increased, and he turned to the green eyes, which were regarding him with lazy interest.
    “Silly old fool, isn’t he?” she whispered, and the corners of her mouth twitched. She was so close to him that he could feel the hard pressure of her breast against the sleeve of his tunic. The wine flowed in his veins like fire, and for the first time inmany months he felt a glimmer of his old self. He smiled back at her, immune to the babble of conversation and the stares of his officers.
    It would be so very easy, he pondered, just to let everything else drop, let the others go to hell. What did anything matter any more, what did these people mean to him, anyway?
    “You’re pretty fed up, aren’t you?” she kept her voice low, and Rolfe’s eyes widened slightly.
    “Does it show?”
    “When you’ve been stuck on this place as long as I have you get to notice even the smallest bit of emotion.” She wriggled her shoulders and pouted, “I’m sick to death of it!”
    “Pretty lonely for you, I expect?”
    “Lonely? That, my dear Captain, is the understatement of the year! I go for the odd trip each year, but what the hell! People who matter treat you like a hick when they know you live on this god-forsaken spot!” She glanced across Rolfe at her father. “Of course, you’ve noticed Daddy thinks it’s heaven here. That’s because he’s the local tin god!” She eyed him dreamily. “I expect you get a bit lonely, too?”
    “At the moment I feel completely alone!” admitted Rolfe grimly, although his mind was working along a different track.
    “Perhaps we can do something about that?” she breathed, her lip quivering. “You’ll have to let me show