H.M.S. Ulysses Part 42

"How-how many of you are left?"

"Just Barker, Williamson and masel', sir. Naebody else, just us."

"And-and they're all right, McQuater?"

"Ach, they're fine. But Barker thinks he's deein'. He's in a gey bad wey. Ah think he's gone clean aff his trolley, 'sir."

"He's what!"

"Loony, sir," McQuater explained patiently. "Daft. Some bluidy nonsense aboot goin' to meet his Maker, and him wi' naething behind him but a lifetime o' swindlin' his fellow-man." Vallery heard Turner's sudden chuckle, remembered that Barker was the canteen manager.

"Williamson's busy shovin' cartridges back into the racks-floor's littered with the bluidy things."

"McQuater!" Vallery's voice was sharp, automatic in reproof.

"Aye, Ah'm sorry, sir. Ah clean forgot... Whit's to be done, sir?"

"Done about what?" Vallery demanded impatiently.

"This place, sir. 'Y' magazine. Is the boat on fire oot-side? It's bilin' in here-hotter than the hinges o' h.e.l.l!"

"What! What did you say?" Vallery shouted. This time he forgot to reprimand McQuater. "Hot, did you say? How hot? Quickly, boy!"

"Ah canna touch the after bulkheid, sir," McQuater answered simply. "It 'ud tak 'the fingers aff me."

"But the sprinklers-what's the matter with them?" Vallery shouted.

"Aren't they working? Good G.o.d, boy, the magazine will go up any minute!"

"Aye." McQuater's voice was noncommittal. "Aye, Ah kinna thought that might be the wey o' it. No, sir, the sprinklers arena workin'-and it's akeady 20 degrees above the operatin' temperature, sir."

"Don't just stand there," Vallery said desperately. "Turn them on by hand! The water in the sprinklers can't possibly be frozen if it's as hot as you say it is. Hurry, man, hurry. If the mag. goes up, the Ulysses is finished. For G.o.d's sake, hurry!"

"Ah've tried them, sir," McQuater said softly. "It's nae bluidy use.

They're solid!"

"Then break them open! There must be a tommy bar lying about somewhere. Smash them open, man! Hurry!"

"Aye, richt ye are, sir. But-but if Ah do that, sir, how am Ah to shut the valves aff again?" There was a note almost of quiet desperation in the boy's voice, some trick of reproduction in the amplifier, Vallery guessed.

"You can't! It's impossible! But never mind that!" Vallery said impatiently, his voice ragged with anxiety. "We'll pump it all out later. Hurry, McQuater, hurry!"

There was a brief silence followed by a m.u.f.fled shout and a soft thud, then they heard a thin metallic clanging echoing through the amplifier, a rapid, staccato succession of strokes. McQuater must have been raining a veritable hail of blows on the valve handles. Abruptly, the noise ceased.

Vallery waited until he heard the phone being picked up, called anxiously: "Well, how is it? Sprinklers all right?"

"Goin' like the clappers, sir." There was a new note in his voice, a note of pride and satisfaction. "Ah've just crowned Barker wi' the tommy bar," he added cheerfully. "You've wharf"

"Laid oot old Barker," said McQuater distinctly. "He tried to stop me. Windy auld b.a.s.t.a.r.d.... Ach, he's no' worth mentionin'... My they sprinklers are grand things, sir. Ah've never seen them workin' before.

Place is ankle deep a'ready. And the steam's fair sizzlin' aff the bulkheid!"

"That's enough!" Vallery's voice was sharp. "Get out at once, and make sure that you take Barker with you."

"Ah saw a picture once. In the Paramount in Glasgow, Ah think. Ah must've been flush." The tone was almost conversational, pleasurably reminiscent. Vallery exchanged glances with Turner, saw that he too, was fighting off the feeling of unreality. "Rain, it was cried. But it wasnae hauf as bad as this. There certainly wisnae hauf as much bluidy steam! Talk aboot the hothouse in the Botanic Gardens!" "McQuater!"

Vallery roared. "Did you hear me? Leave at once, I say! At once, do you hear?"

"Up to ma knees a'ready!" McQuater said admiringly. "It's gey cauld.... Did you say somethin' sir?"

"I said, 'Leave at once!'" Vallery ground out. "Get out!"

"Aye, Ah see.' Get oot.' Aye. Ah thought that was what ye said. Get oot. Well, it's no that easy. As a matter o' fact, we canna. Hatchway's buckled and the hatch cover, too, jammed deid solid, sir."

The echo from the speaker boomed softly over the shattered bridge, died away in frozen silence. Unconsciously, Vallery lowered the telephone, his eyes wandering dazedly over the bridge. Turner, Carrington, the Kapok Kid, Bentley, Chrysler and the others-they were all looking at him, all with the same curiously blank intensity blurring imperceptibly into the horror of understanding-and he knew that their eyes and faces only mirrored his own. Just for a second, as if to clear his mind, he screwed his eyes tightly shut, then lifted the phone again.

"McQuater! McQuater! Are you still there?" "Of course Ah'm here!" Even through the speaker, the voice was peevish, the asperity unmistakable.

"Where the h.e.l.l------?"

"Are you sure it's jammed, boy?" Vallery cut in desperately. "Maybe if you took a tommy-bar to the clips------"

"Ah could take a stick o' dynamite to the bluidy thing and it 'ud make no difference," McQuater said matter-of-factly. "Onywey, it's just aboot red-hot a'ready-the hatch, Ah mean. There must be a bluidy great fire directly ootside it."

"Hold on a minute," Vallery called. He turned round. "Commander, have Dodson send a stoker to the main magazine flooding valve aft: stand by to shut off."

He crossed over to the nearest communication number.

"Are you on to the p.o.o.p phone just now? Good! Give it to me...

Hallo, Captain here. Is-ah, it's you, Hartley. Look, give me a report on the state of the mess-deck fires. It's desperately urgent. There are ratings trapped in' Y' magazine, the sprinklers are on and the hatch cover's jammed... Yes, yes, I'll hold on."

He waited impatiently for the reply, gloved hand tapping mechanically on top of the phone box. His eyes swept slowly over the convoy, saw the freighters steaming in to take up position again. Suddenly he stiffened, eyes unseeing.

"Yes, Captain speaking... Yes... Yes. Half an hour, maybe an hour... Oh, Gd, no! You're quite certain?... No, that's all."

He handed the receiver back, looked up slowly, his face drained of expression.

"Fire in the seamen's mess is under control," he said dully. "The marines' mess is an inferno-directly on top of 'Y' magazine. Hartley says there isn't a chance of putting it out for an hour at least.... I think you'd better get down there, Number One."

A whole minute pa.s.sed, a minute during which there was only the pinging of the Asdic, the regular crash of the sea as the Ulysses rolled in the heavy troughs.

"Maybe the magazine's cool enough now," the Kapok Kid suggested at length. "Perhaps we could shut off the water long enough..." His voice trailed away uncertainly.

"Cool enough?" Turner cleared his throat noisily. "How do we know? Only McQuater could tell us..." He stopped abruptly, as he realised the implications of what he was saying.

"We'll ask him," Vallery said heavily. He picked up the phone again.