Voices on the Wind - Assault

Not long afterwards, the three junior engineering officers joined Colin and Stevie in the saloon. It was now six o’clock and although — or because — they were sailing on the tide, the men were in the mood for a drink. Dinner was at six-thirty, the Captain was due back at eight, they sailed shortly after ten — and they still had no Third Officer.

Stevie was starting to fret. If a Third Officer did not show up soon, they might be forced to sail without. If they did that, they would have to institute a two-watch system: four hours on and four hours off. In wartime conditions, the strain of such a watch system was almost unendurable.

Then just after 7.30 pm another officer crossed the gangway. He came directly to the saloon where most of others were again gathered. He scanned the crowd and rapidly identified Stevie as the most senior officer present. Leaving his seabag by the door, he came across the room to him and announced, “William Goff, sir. Reporting as Third Officer.”

By the wear and tear on his seabag and the tarnish on his buttons, Goff had sea time behind him, and Stevie welcomed him with relief. Conversationally, he asked, “Have you been with the company long?”

“Five years. I’ve spent the last twenty-two months aboard the Clan MacDonald.” That was one of the company’s largest ships, almost 10,000 tonnes, built as a passenger liner for the Cape Town - Southampton run.

Colin had wandered over and he spoke up at once, “Fast ship, isn’t she? Motorship, if I remember rightly.” Colin knew the company’s ships the way other men knew their families.

“Twenty-four knots,” Goff confirmed.

“Sails independently then, I take it?” Stevie continued the friendly interrogation of their new shipmate.

“She’s been converted into a troop carrier. We just took a lot out to Singapore. You can imagine what a shock it was to hear Singapore had surrendered! We must have brought the last shipload of reinforcements in, and now they’re all prisoners of the Japanese! Makes me sick to think of it. At least we got hundreds of women, children and injured out on our return trip.”

Stevie liked the earnestness and empathy he detected in Goff’s comments. It made him warm to the new Third Officer. Nevertheless, independent sailing in troop ships was a different kind of sailing from what Clan Sinclair was likely to face. “What made you want to change ships?”

“The chance for a Third Officer’s berth, sir; I’ve been Fourth Officer for almost two years on the MacDonald.”

Stevie could sympathise with that; it was the same reason he’d changed from fast, luxurious liners to general cargo ships before the start of the war. Stevie would have liked to ask more, but just then Derry poked his head into the saloon to warn, “Heads up! Captain’s on board!”

A moment later, Sommers walked into the saloon shaking rain off his cap, and the others got to their feet.

“Cargo secured and everyone aboard, Number One?” Sommers asked.

“Yes, sir,” Stevie answered with a glance at Goff.

“I was informed we have a cadet with us this trip, is that right?”

“Yes, sir. That’s Mr Babbitt, here.” Stevie indicated the cadet who stood beside Derry.

The youngster grinned and saluted.

The captain nodded to him and turned to Colin, “Hull repairs complete, winch running properly, fuel and water on board, and engine room crew closed up, Chief?”

“If you can call a couple of jailbirds firemen, yes,” Colin grumbled.

“Some men are fine once they get their sea legs,” Sommers reminded him. “Give them a chance, Chief.”

“Don’t have any choice, do I?”

Sommers’ eyes smiled, but he said nothing. “I met the Second Officer coming aboard. Seems sound. Certainly, knows what we’re up against. He’s had two ships sunk under him already. What about the assistant cook?”

“He’s made a good start. He’s also recommended a fellow West African as ship’s boy. Apparently the boy’s father has been lost at sea for months.”

Adebayo, who had been listening, put his head in to declare, “He big boy. Strong and hard-working. You no gonna regret giving Wale chance.”

“We’ll see about that. If he can be aboard in the next hour, I’ll take a look at him. Otherwise, it will be too late. We cast off at 10.45.”

“Can you tell us where we’re bound?” Colin asked.

Sommers frowned, looked at his watch and could have followed the rules strictly. Instead, practicality won over policy. A partial cargo of whisky was hardly a state secret in need of top security. “We’re bound for New York.”

The officers around him broke into a spontaneous cheer, and even Stevie felt a little better. New York offered a serious escape from the war: no black out, no air raid, no rationing. But they had to get there first — across 3,000 nautical miles of U-boat infested waters.