The Waiting Game

2-2

A BICYCLE SWERVED DANGEROUSLY round the corner and onto the jetty, bringing with it the bulky figure of Commander Grierson, DSO and bar, DSC, Royal Navy. This was Olsen’s C.O.; his full title was Senior Submarine Officer, Lerwick. He jammed his bicycle against the wall of the shed, and glanced casually at the parked ambulance; its presence didn’t seem to surprise him.

Olsen clicked his heels: as far as it was possible to do so in sea boots: and saluted. A similar sound close by told him that the Gunner was doing the same thing. Grierson flicked his hand up in acknowledgement.

‘Morning, Olsen. Morning ... Who is it that’s sick, and what with?’ He jerked his head at the ambulance. ‘Eh?’

‘Don’t know yet, sir.’ Andrews turned away, and snarled at the Leading Seaman of the berthing party: ‘Well, what y’ waiting for? Get a line across her bloody bow!’ But he’d only shouted because Grierson was there; the sailor had already drawn back his arm, poised himself to send the heaving-line flying out across the gap of water. Setter had turned in her own length and was moving in slowly, grouped-down on her motors, at an angle of about thirty degrees to the jetty.

The line streaked out and the weight in its end flipped over the submarine’s jumping-wire. One of her casing party grabbed it, and here on the jetty they’d already bent the other end of it to the eye of the wire back-spring. On Setter’s casing they hauled it in smartly until the steel-wire rope reached them: they pushed the eye over the bollard which was there to receive it. Now Setter had the spring made fast from her bow to back on the jetty, level with where her stern lay: she’d only to give a touch ahead on one screw, and she’d warp in, alongside. More heaving-lines went out, fore and aft, for the heavy manila ropes which would secure her bow and stern.

Setter slid gently alongside, her saddle-tanks hardly bumping the floating wooden catamarans which were there to keep her off the granite walls of the basin. Andrews told his Leading Seaman, ‘Get the plank over, Parkin.’ Parkin, who’d already started doing exactly that, allowed himself to glance back, over his shoulder, at the Gunner: then he grinned, tossed the line across, and a moment later they had the narrow plank across the gap from shore to ship; on the submarine’s casing a man was busy roping it down.

Grierson advanced to the edge of the jetty and shouted upwards at Setter’s bridge. ‘MacGregor!’

The submarine’s captain was at that moment talking into the voicepipe which connected him with the helmsman down below in the control room. He was saying, quietly, ‘Finished with main engines and steering. Fall out Harbor Stations. Open fore-hatch only. Nobody’s to go ashore and we’ll be sailing in four hours’ time.’ The orders were being repeated back to him out of the brass tube, in the helmsman’s voice, as he straightened up and stepped over to the side of the bridge to answer Grierson’s hail. Saluting, Lieutenant MacGregor grinned down at the bulky commander on the jetty.

‘Morning, Sir. Nice of you to come down at this shocking hour.’ Grierson frowned. ‘What’s this about a man sick, MacGregor?’ ‘Sub-Lieutenant Henning, sir. My Torpedo Officer. Looks like his appendix. Luckily it only started late last night.’ Grierson saw the other man’s eyes shift to look beyond him, behind him on the jetty; he turned, and saw young Braine, the Base Medical Officer, and two Sick Berth Attendants, advancing from the ambulance. Braine had been asleep in the back of it; he’d told the S.B.A.’s to wake him when Setter got alongside. Now he told Grierson, ‘We’ll get him ashore right away, Sir.’

Grierson spoke quietly. ‘Yes ... Braine, you know - ’

‘I know, sir.’ The doctor passed him and went over the plank quickly; he vanished into the fore hatch, followed closely by his two men with their folded stretcher.

Lieutenant MacGregor asked Grierson, loudly. ‘Have you got a spare officer for me, Sir?’ The commander nodded, and pointed at Olsen, who was standing close to the end of the plank.

‘Olsen. Get your gear and report aboard Setter inside of thirty minutes ... ’ Olsen started to move, but Grierson added, ‘Wait Come here ... MacGregor, this is Sub-Lieutenant Olsen, Royal Norwegian Navy.’ He told Olsen, ‘Lieutenant MacGregor. Royal Naval Reserve.’

Olsen saluted his new C.O. He couldn’t keep the happy grin off his face, and MacGregor smiled back. ‘Glad to have you, Sub.... Look slippy, will you?’