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down there, sir.”
    Ayres tore his eyes from the horrific lifeboat, and knew Marrack meant him.
    â€œI—I’ll go, sir!”
    Howard looked at him. “Stay with the Buffer and his men. If you feel faint or sick, keep out of sight.” He added gently, “But Number One is right. You’ve got to show them.”
    Ayres almost fell as he lowered himself down the first ladders, past a grim-faced Oerlikon gunner and then to the main deck itself. A few off watch onlookers stood at the break of the fo’c’sle; others leaned out from their defence stations, sharing the moment.
    Petty Officer Knocker White climbed from the boat and saw Ayres staring at him. Good lad, he thought, surprised that he should be there. He heard someone retching helplessly. It was the new doctor.
God help us if we runs into the fucking
Tirpitz, he thought savagely.
    â€œI got the details, sir.” He pulled something leather from his oilskin; it was covered in mildew. He held it out for Ayres to see and said quietly, “Poor bugger was ’anging on to the picture of ’is girl, sir. Probably the last thing ’e ever saw.” He waved up to the bridge and barked, “Cast ’er off, Jim!”
    The deck began to tremble again and white froth surged away from the great propellers. The boat seemed to hesitate against the side, as if reluctant to leave now that they had reached help.
    Ayres asked huskily, “What will become—”
    The Buffer eyed him for a few moments while he watched the forlorn boat rocking as it passed over the destroyer’s churning wake.
    â€œThe skipper’ll signal for an RML as it’s so close inshore. They can deal with them things better than us.”
    Ayres stared until his eyes were raw, oblivious to the biting air, everything but the lifeboat and its ragged occupants. It was as if he still expected to see the officer at the helm wake up and stare after them, to curse them, maybe, for leaving them.
    He said aloud, “I’ll never forget.” He shook his head so that his schoolboy haircut ruffled in the wind.
“Never!”
    White, “the buffer” as he was known in all ships, said, “At the end o’ the forenoon, sir, drop into our mess. ’Ave a tot with some of the
real
sailors.” He strode away to muster his men again, unable to watch Ayres’s gratitude.
    When he reached the bridge again to continue his watch Ayres saw the navigating officer studying him.
    â€œAll right, Sub?”
    Howard turned in his chair. “You did well, Sub. It gets easier in time. It has to, you see?”
    Ayres moved to a corner of the bridge and tried to make himself small. He kept seeing them. Who had been the last one left alive? The girl in the photograph; did she know, did anybody at home realise just what it was like?
    By the time the watch had run its course they were turning around the last headland with the bay opening up; beyond that lay a great fjord with snow and high ground beyond it.
    â€œHands to stations for entering harbour. Starboard watch fall in, first part forrard, second part aft!” The orders seemed endless. Lights winked and flashed from all directions and the yeoman was kept busy replying with his hand-lamp.
    â€œSignal from ACIC, sir.
Anchor off Videy Island.”
    Howard looked at Treherne and saw him grimace. That meant that the other anchorage was already filled.
The convoy.
“Bring her round, Pilot.” He looked down at the forecastle andsaw Marrack at the head of his men, the chief stoker groping around the starboard capstan, his breath like steam in the cold air. In England they would be hoping for a good spring in a matter of a few weeks, to give an illusion that the war was not too bad. Howard glanced aft and at the men around him. Spring would be a long time coming up here, with plenty of ice at the end of the journey. He saw Ayres’s pale face, a youthful determination which had