old. It had not been much of a life for him.
Lieutenant Christopher Wyke leaned over the guardrails and stared impatiently at the swaying mass of boats alongside. He reached out and seized the arm of his second-in-command. ‘Hurry them up, Charles! They’re like a lot of old women!’ The second lieutenantscrambled down one of the dangling ladders, probably remembering the Australians who had done this very thing only a few nights ago. The colonel’s revelation, too, that casualties of battalion strength had fallen during the same period.
Wyke saw Jonathan in the darkness and said, ‘
Impulsive
’s detachment have been off-loaded, sir. I’m just disembarking the H.Q. Platoon. We’ve got some horse-boats apparently.’ He sounded disdainful, as if horse-boats were hardly fit for Royal Marines.
Jonathan joined him by the rail and looked at the strange oblong craft. They would carry more than cutters or whalers, but it was just as well that the sea was almost flat. The noise seemed incredibly loud. Voices that urged or controlled the scrambling marines like horse trainers; clinking equipment and the occasional gasp of pain as somebody’s heavy boot crushed the fingers of the next man down the ladder. But he knew from experience that at this distance from land the sounds would be lost in the sigh of the sea, especially along this rocky coast.
Lieutenant-Colonel Waring was everywhere at once, striding up and down amongst the waiting sections and squads of men, his voice demanding and irritable. Always close by, his M.O.A., loaded down with pack and extra equipment, was finding it hard to keep up with him.
‘Ah, so here you are, Blackwood!’ It sounded vaguely accusing. ‘Are our H.Q. people in the boats yet?’ He saw Wyke and snapped, ‘You should be with your men!’
The battle-cruiser’s vast stretch of pale planking was emptying more quickly, and Waring muttered to nobodyin particular, ‘That’s more like it. Swank and swagger, not a horde of bloody moaners!’
One of the ship’s lieutenants found them by the guardrails.
‘The Captain’s compliments, sir, and he wishes you luck.’
Waring dismissed him with a curt nod. ‘
Luck!
’ He sniffed. ‘Hardly that, believe me!’
Another tall figure loomed from the darkness. It was the Australian colonel.
‘I won’t be seeing you until your men are in position. The admiral’s sending me ashore in his own barge so that I can prepare for your arrival.’ He glanced at the faint stars. ‘Seems quiet enough.’
Jonathan heard a marine murmur, ‘The admiral’s barge, eh, Tom? Doesn’t want it filled with the likes of us!’ And others, invisible, chuckled.
Jonathan saw the Reverend Simon Meheux standing by some empty davits, his surplice flapping in the breeze. All his other darker clothing merged with the night, so that he appeared to be hovering above the deck. Jonathan had always thought him a rather ineffectual sort of man, who was slow to offer an opinion in the wardroom. Apart from religious matters, he occupied himself more with writing long letters to his superiors about the need for better instruction and education concerning the Church in general, than with the sailors he was supposed to serve.
Another small drama happened even as he watched the next file of marines clambering down the nearest ladder. A man removed his sun-helmet and stepped out of the ranks as the chaplain was passing.
‘Would you bless me, Father?’
Meheux seemed startled. ‘I am not a Catholic, my son. But be assured, God will be with you when you need him!’ He hurried away as if afraid of becoming involved.
Sergeant McCann, a massively built man with square hands like a pair of spades, rapped out, ‘You’ll need more than God to ’elp you if you breaks ranks again,
my son
!’
Colonel Ede said, ‘Sorry we didn’t have time to speak together, Captain Blackwood. I know your family’s history. We could certainly use a few more officers like
Lieutenant Christopher Wyke leaned over the guardrails and stared impatiently at the swaying mass of boats alongside. He reached out and seized the arm of his second-in-command. ‘Hurry them up, Charles! They’re like a lot of old women!’ The second lieutenantscrambled down one of the dangling ladders, probably remembering the Australians who had done this very thing only a few nights ago. The colonel’s revelation, too, that casualties of battalion strength had fallen during the same period.
Wyke saw Jonathan in the darkness and said, ‘
Impulsive
’s detachment have been off-loaded, sir. I’m just disembarking the H.Q. Platoon. We’ve got some horse-boats apparently.’ He sounded disdainful, as if horse-boats were hardly fit for Royal Marines.
Jonathan joined him by the rail and looked at the strange oblong craft. They would carry more than cutters or whalers, but it was just as well that the sea was almost flat. The noise seemed incredibly loud. Voices that urged or controlled the scrambling marines like horse trainers; clinking equipment and the occasional gasp of pain as somebody’s heavy boot crushed the fingers of the next man down the ladder. But he knew from experience that at this distance from land the sounds would be lost in the sigh of the sea, especially along this rocky coast.
Lieutenant-Colonel Waring was everywhere at once, striding up and down amongst the waiting sections and squads of men, his voice demanding and irritable. Always close by, his M.O.A., loaded down with pack and extra equipment, was finding it hard to keep up with him.
‘Ah, so here you are, Blackwood!’ It sounded vaguely accusing. ‘Are our H.Q. people in the boats yet?’ He saw Wyke and snapped, ‘You should be with your men!’
The battle-cruiser’s vast stretch of pale planking was emptying more quickly, and Waring muttered to nobodyin particular, ‘That’s more like it. Swank and swagger, not a horde of bloody moaners!’
One of the ship’s lieutenants found them by the guardrails.
‘The Captain’s compliments, sir, and he wishes you luck.’
Waring dismissed him with a curt nod. ‘
Luck!
’ He sniffed. ‘Hardly that, believe me!’
Another tall figure loomed from the darkness. It was the Australian colonel.
‘I won’t be seeing you until your men are in position. The admiral’s sending me ashore in his own barge so that I can prepare for your arrival.’ He glanced at the faint stars. ‘Seems quiet enough.’
Jonathan heard a marine murmur, ‘The admiral’s barge, eh, Tom? Doesn’t want it filled with the likes of us!’ And others, invisible, chuckled.
Jonathan saw the Reverend Simon Meheux standing by some empty davits, his surplice flapping in the breeze. All his other darker clothing merged with the night, so that he appeared to be hovering above the deck. Jonathan had always thought him a rather ineffectual sort of man, who was slow to offer an opinion in the wardroom. Apart from religious matters, he occupied himself more with writing long letters to his superiors about the need for better instruction and education concerning the Church in general, than with the sailors he was supposed to serve.
Another small drama happened even as he watched the next file of marines clambering down the nearest ladder. A man removed his sun-helmet and stepped out of the ranks as the chaplain was passing.
‘Would you bless me, Father?’
Meheux seemed startled. ‘I am not a Catholic, my son. But be assured, God will be with you when you need him!’ He hurried away as if afraid of becoming involved.
Sergeant McCann, a massively built man with square hands like a pair of spades, rapped out, ‘You’ll need more than God to ’elp you if you breaks ranks again,
my son
!’
Colonel Ede said, ‘Sorry we didn’t have time to speak together, Captain Blackwood. I know your family’s history. We could certainly use a few more officers like
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