He asked at least to be allowed to go north about, instead of east for the Cape... Pity there was no sunset tonight, Johnny," he added half-humourously. "I would have liked to see it."
"Yes, yes," Nicholls was impatient. "And the answer?"
"Eh!
Oh, the answer. Vallery expected it immediately."
Brooks shrugged. "It took four hours to come through." He smiled, but there was no laughter in the eyes.
"There's something big, something on a huge scale brewing up somewhere.
It can only be some major invasion-this under your hat, Johnny?"
"Of course, sir!"
"What it is I haven't a clue.
Maybe even the long-awaited Second Front.
Anyway, the support of the Home Fleet seems to be regarded as vital to success.
But the Home Fleet is tied up, by the Tirpitz, And so the orders have gone out, get the Tirpitz.
Get it at all costs." Brooks smiled, and his face was very cold. "We're big fish, Johnny, we're important people.
We're the biggest, juiciest bait ever offered up the biggest, juiciest prize in the world today-although I'm afraid the trap's a trifle rusty at the hinges... The signal came from the First Sea Lord-and Starr.
The decision was taken at Cabinet level.
We go on.
We go east."
"We are the 'all costs,'" said Nicholls flatly. "We are expendable."
"We are expendable," Brooks agreed.
The speaker above his head clicked on, and he groaned. "Hell's bells, here we go again!"
He waited until the clamour of the Dusk Action Stations' bugle had died away, stretched out a hand as Nicholls hurried for the door.
"Not you, Johnny.
Not yet.
I told you, the skipper wants you.
On the bridge, ten minutes after Stations begin."
"What?
On the bridge?
What the hell for?"
"Your language is unbecoming to a junior officer," said j Brooks solemnly. "How did the men strike you today?" he went on inconsequently. "You were working with them all morning.
Their usual selves?"
Nicholls blinked, then recovered.
"I suppose so." He hesitated. "Funny, they seemed a lot better a couple of days ago, but-well, now they're back to the Scapa stage.
Walking zombies.
Only more so-they can hardly walk now." He shook his head. "Five, six men to a stretcher.
Kept tripping and falling over things.
Asleep on their feet-eyes not focusing, too damned tired to look where they're going."
Brooks nodded. "I know, Johnny, I know. I've seen it myself."
"Nothing mutinous, nothing sullen about them any more." Nicholls was puzzled, seeking tiredly to reduce nebulous, scattered impressions to a homogeneous coherence. "They've neither the energy nor the initiative left for a mutiny now, anyway, I suppose, but it's not that.
Kept muttering to themselves in the F.D.R.:
'Lucky bastard.'
'He died easy', things like that.
Or
'Old Giles-off his bleedin' rocker.'
And you can imagine the shake of the head.
But no humour, none, not even the grisly variety you usually..." He shook his own head. "I just don't know, sir.
Apathetic, indifferent, hopeless, call 'em what you like.
I'd call 'em lost."
Brooks looked at him a long moment, then added gently:
"Would you now?" He mused. "And do you know, Johnny, I think you'd be right... Anyway," he continued briskly, "get up there.
Captain's going to make a tour of the ship."