On The Beach

The young officer sat in thought for a moment revolving in his mind the shopping, the ailments of the baby, the milk supply. It was summer weather; there would be no firewood to be cut. If the second cruise began about the middle of February he would be home by the middle of April, before the weather got cold enough for fires. Perhaps the farmer would see Mary right for firewood if he was away longer than that, now that he had got him the wheels for his trailer. It should be all right for him to go, so long as nothing further went wrong. But if the electricity supply failed, or the radioactivity spread south more quickly than the wise men estimated… Put away that thought.

Mary would be furious if he turned down this job and sacrificed his career. She was a naval officer's daughter born and brought up at Southsea in the south of England; he had first met her at a dance in Indefatigable when he was doing his sea time in England with the Royal Navy. She would want him to take this appointment…

He raised his head. "I should be all right for those two cruises, sir," he said. "Would it be possible to review the situation after that? I mean, it's not so easy to make plans ahead-at home-with all this going on."

The admiral thought for a moment. In the circumstances it was a reasonable request for a man to make, especially a newly married man with a young baby. The case was a new one, for postings were now so few, but he could hardly expect this officer to accept sea duty outside Australian waters in the last few months. He nodded. "I can do that, Holmes," he said. “I’ll make this posting for five months, till the thirty-first of May. Report to me again when you get back from the second cruise."

"Very good, sir."

"You'll report in Scorpion on Tuesday, New Year's Day. If you wait outside a quarter of an hour you can have your letter to the captain. The vessel is at Williamstown, lying alongside Sydney as her mother ship."

"I know, sir."

The admiral rose to his feet. "All right, Lieutenant Commander." He held out his hand. "Good luck in the appointment."

Peter Holmes shook hands. "Thank you for considering me, sir." He paused before leaving the room. "Do you happen to know if Commander Towers is on board today?" he asked. "As I'm here, I might slip down and make my number with him, and perhaps see the ship. I'd rather like to do that before joining."

"So far as I know he is on board," the admiral said. "You can put a call through to Sydney-ask my secretary." He glanced at his watch. "There's a transport leaving from the main gate at eleven-thirty. You'll be able to catch that."

Twenty minutes later Peter Holmes was seated by the driver in the electric truck that ran the ferry service down to Williamstown, bowling along in silence through the deserted streets. In former days the truck had been a delivery van for a great Melbourne store; it had been requisitioned at the conclusion of the war and painted naval grey. It moved along at a steady twenty miles an hour unimpeded by any other traffic on the roads. It got to the dockyard at noon, and Peter Holmes walked down to the berth occupied by H.M.A.S. Sydney, an aircraft carrier immobilized at the quay side. He went on board, and went down to the wardroom.

There were only about a dozen officers in the great wardroom, six of them in the khaki gabardine working uniform of the U.S. Navy. The captain of Scorpion was among them; he came forward smiling to meet Peter. "Say, Lieutenant Commander, I'm glad you could come down."

Peter Holmes said, "I hoped you wouldn't mind, sir. I'm not due to join till Tuesday. But as I was at the Navy Department I hoped you wouldn't mind if I came down for lunch, and perhaps had a look through the ship."

"Why, sure," said the captain. "I was glad when Admiral Grimwade told me he was posting you to join us. I'd like you to meet some of my officers." He turned to the others. "This is my executive officer, Mr. Farrell and my engineering officer, Mr. Lundgren." He smiled. "It takes a pretty high-grade engineering staff to run our motors. This is Mr. Benson, Mr. O'Doherty, and Mr. Hirsch." The young men bowed, a little awkwardly. The captain turned to Peter. "How about a drink before lunch, Commander?"

The Australian said, "Well-thank you very much. I'll have a pink gin." The captain pressed the bell upon the bulkhead. "How many officers have you in Scorpion, sir?"

"Eleven, all told. She's quite a submarine, of course, and we carry four engineer officers."

"You must have a big wardroom."

"It's a bit cramped when we're all sitting down together but that doesn't happen very often in a submarine. But we've got a cot for you, Commander."

Peter smiled. "All to myself, or is it Box and Cox?"

The captain was a little shocked at the suggestion. "Why, no. Every officer and every enlisted man has an individual berth in Scorpion."

The wardroom steward came in answer to the bell. The captain said, "Will you bring one pink gin and six orangeades?"