Alistair McLean Fullscreen Cruiser Ulysses (1955)

You can thank your stars you're here and not in that sub."

No one else had spoken.

Nicholls, watching them, saw their eyes flickering back from Vallery's face to the forbidden cigarettes, understood their discomfort, their embarrassment at being caught red-handed by the Captain.

"Any reports from the main tower, Brierley?" he asked the officer in charge. He seemed unaware of the strain.

"No, sir.

Nothing at all.

All quiet above."

"Fine!" Vallery sounded positively cheerful. "No news is good news."

He brought his hand out from his pocket, proffered his cigarette case to Brierley.

"Smoke?

And you, Nicholls?"

He took one himself, replaced the case, absently picked up a box of matches lying in front of the nearest gunner and if he noticed the gunner's startled disbelief, the slow beginnings of a smile, the tired shoulders slumping fractionally in a long, soundless sigh of relief, he gave no sign.

The thunderous clanging of more depth-charges drowned the rasping of the hatch, drowned Vallery's harsh, convulsive coughing as the smoke reached his lungs.

Only the reddening of the sodden hand-towel betrayed him.

As the last vibration died away, he looked up, concern in his eyes.

"Good God!

Does it always sound like that down here?"

Brierley smiled faintly. "More or less, sir. Usually more."

Vallery looked slowly round the men in the T.S., nodded for'ard.

'B' magazine there, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"And nice big fuel tanks all around you?"

Brierley nodded.

Every eye was on the captain.

"I see.

Frankly, I'd rather have my own job-wouldn't have yours for a pension... Nicholls, I think we'll spend a few minutes down here, have our smoke in peace.

Besides,", he grinned, "think of the increased fervour with which we'll count our blessings when we get out of here!"

He stayed five minutes, talking quietly to Brierley and his men.

Finally, he stubbed out his cigarette, took his leave and started for the door.

"Sir." The voice stopped him on the threshold, the voice of the thin dark gunner whose matches he had borrowed.

"Yes, what is it?"

"I thought you might like this." He held out a clean, white towel. "That one you've got is, well, sir, I mean

"Thank you." Vallery took the towel without any hesitation. "Thank you very much."

Despite Petersen's assistance, the long climb up to the upper deck left Vallery very weak.

His feet were dragging heavily.

"Look, sir, this is madness!" Nicholls was desperately anxious. "Sorry, sir, I didn't mean that, but-wdl, come and see Commander Brooks.

Please!"

"Certainly." The reply was a husky whisper. "Our next port of call anyway."

Half a dozen paces took them to the door of the Sick Bay.

Vallery insisted on seeing Brooks alone.

When he came out of the surgery after some time, he seemed curiously refreshed, his step lighter.

He was smiling, and so was Brooks.

Nicholls lagged behind as the Captain left.

"Give him anything, sir?" he asked. "Honest to God, he's killing himself!"

"He took something, not much." Brooks smiled softly. "I know he's killing himself, so does he.

But he knows why, and I know why, and he knows I know why.

Anyway, he feels better.

Not to worry, Johnny I"

Nicholls waited at the top of the ladder outside the Sick Bay, waited for the Captain and others to come up from the telephone exchange and No. 1 Low Power Room. He stood aside as they climbed the coaming, but Vallery took his arm, walked him slowly for'ard past the Torpedo Office, nodding curtly to Carslake, in nominal charge of a Damage Control party.

Carslake, face still swathed in white, looked back with eyes wild and staring and strange, his gaze almost devoid of recognition.