To Risks Unknown by Douglas Reeman Page B

himself, who had deliberately murdered helpless fishermen with no more thought than if he had been crushing a beetle.
    There was a step beside him and Petty Officer Joicey’s stocky shadow moved on to the grating.
    â€˜I’ve been relieved on the wheel, sir.’ He looked over the screen. ‘I thought you might like a wet?’ He held up a large mug.
    Crespin took it with both hands and felt the hot metal shaking uncontrollably against his teeth. It was thick cocoa laced with neat rum. He felt it searing his stomach, holding him together.
    â€˜Well, ’Swain, what did you think of that?’
    Joicey shrugged. ‘I didn’t see much from down there, sir. But what I ’eard suited me very well!’ Then he took the empty mug and walked back to his wheelhouse. Crespin could hear him whistling.
    When he looked over the screen again Pantelleria had vanished.

5. Run Ashore
    LIEUTENANT DOUGLAS WEMYSS pushed open the sagging door of the building labelled ‘Officers’ Club’ and strode purposefully through the noisy mass of uniformed figures who crammed the main room from wall to wall. Three air force officers staggered to their feet, and before anyone else could make a move Wemyss wedged himself at the small table and gestured to Porteous who was staring round the place with a mixture of surprise and awe.
    Sousse had taken such a battering in the desert fighting that it was, Wemyss supposed, fortunate to have any building left in one piece. But this place was pretty bad, and even the bright tablecloths and red-fezzed waiters could not mask the dinginess and mauling of battle. Union Jacks and giant pictures of Churchill hung everywhere, but served more to cover up splinter holes and cracks left by the bombing than with any sense of patriotism. It was strange to think that such a short time ago officers of the Afrika Korps were probably sitting at this very table below pictures of their own leader.
    Porteous laid his cap beside him and said, ‘God, it’s
hot
in here!’
    It was, too. The air was thick with tobacco smoke and a dozen aromas of cooking, and with every window and bomb hole sealed against possible air attack the atmosphere was overpowering.
    Above the roar of voices and the clatter of glasses Wemyss realized that someone was singing, and when he stared over the heads at the next table he saw a girl standing on a small dais, the words of her song all but lost in the din. She was dark-skinned, but looked more Greek than Arab, and she was singing in French. As her mouth moved to the accompaniment of a three-piece orchestra her eyes wandered around the crowded room and were, he thought, incredibly sad.
    He turned his back and signalled to a harassed waiter. To Porteous he said, ‘I’ve a flask of brandy in my hip pocket. We’ll just use the local hooch for washing it down. I don’t fancy falling dead from drinking meths, or whatever they use here.’
    Porteous nodded absently. ‘If you say so.’
    Wemyss studied him thoughtfully. Ever since the action with the E-boat he had hardly said a word. For a whole day after returning to Sousse the
Thistle
had laid alongside the old freighter replenishing ammunition, covering the new collection of scars and arranging for the burial of their first real casualty.
    Now most of the ship’s company were ashore, free from the crowded life between decks for the first time since leaving England.
    Wemyss felt the raw alcohol burning his stomach and said, ‘Aren’t you glad you’re ashore and not O.O.D. like Shannon?’
    Porteous came out of his trance. ‘I keep thinking about those people in the water.’ He looked at his glass. ‘I’ve never seen a dead man before. Just relatives, and they were in their beds.’
    â€˜I know.’ Wemyss wondered what he was doing here with Porteous. At the same time he knew he was glad he had brought him instead of Shannon. Maybe it was