Sea Thrillers 4-Book Collection by Alistair MacLean Read Free Book Online Page B

so.’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’ The Bo’sun looked at what was left of the superstructure. ‘Perhaps a fire-control party. Lots of blankets, mattresses, clothes, papers in there – God only knows what’s smouldering away already.’
    â€˜Do you think there will be any survivors in there?’
    â€˜I wouldn’t even guess, sir. If there are, thank heavens we’re a hospital ship.’
    Patterson turned to Dr Sinclair and shook him gently. ‘Doctor, we need your help.’ He noddedtowards the superstructure. ‘You and Dr Singh – and the ward orderlies. I’ll send some men with sledges and crowbars.’
    â€˜An oxy-acetylene torch?’ said the Bo’sun.
    â€˜Of course.’
    â€˜We’ve got enough medical equipment and stores aboard to equip a small town hospital,’ Sinclair said. ‘If there are any survivors all we’ll require is a few hypodermic syringes.’ He seemed back on balance again. ‘We don’t take in the nurses?’
    â€˜Good God, no.’ Patterson shook his head vehemently. ‘I tell you, I wouldn’t like to go in there. If there are any survivors they’ll have their share of horrors later.’
    McKinnon said: ‘Permission to take away the lifeboat, sir?’
    â€˜Whatever for?’
    â€˜There could be survivors from the Andover .’
    â€˜Survivors! She went down in thirty seconds.’
    â€˜The Hood blew apart in one second. There were three survivors.’
    â€˜Of course, of course. I’m not a seaman, Bo’sun. You don’t need permission from me.’
    â€˜Yes, I do, sir.’ The Bo’sun gestured towards the superstructure. ‘All the deck officers are there. You’re in command.’
    â€˜Good God!’ The thought, the realization had never struck Patterson. ‘What a way to assume command!’
    â€˜And speaking of command, sir, the San Andreas is no longer under command. She’s slewing rapidlyto port. Steering mechanism on the bridge must have been wrecked.’
    â€˜Steering can wait. I’ll stop the engines.’
    Three minutes later the Bo’sun eased the throttle and edged the lifeboat towards an inflatable life raft which was roller-coasting heavily near the spot where the now vanished Condor had been. There were only two men in the raft – the rest of the aircrew, the Bo’sun assumed, had gone to the bottom with the Focke-Wulf. They had probably been dead anyway. One of the men, no more than a youngster, very seasick and looking highly apprehensive – he had every right, the Bo’sun thought, to be apprehensive – was sitting upright and clinging to a lifeline. The other lay on his back in the bottom of the raft: in the regions of his left upper chest, left upper arm and right thigh his flying overalls were saturated with blood. His eyes were closed.
    â€˜Jesus’ sake!’ Able Seaman Ferguson, who had a powerful Liverpool accent and whose scarred face spoke eloquently of battles lost and won, mainly in bar-rooms, looked at the Bo’sun with a mixture of disbelief and outrage. ‘Jesus, Bo’sun, you’re not going to pick those bastards up? They just tried to send us to the bottom. Us! A hospital ship!’
    â€˜Wouldn’t you like to know why they bombed a hospital ship?’
    â€˜There’s that, there’s that.’ Ferguson reached out with a boathook and brought the raft alongside.
    â€˜Either of you speak English?’
    The wounded man opened his eyes: they, too, seemed to be filled with blood. ‘I do.’
    â€˜You look badly hurt. I want to know where before we try to bring you aboard.’
    â€˜Left arm, left shoulder, I think, right thigh. And I believe there’s something wrong with my right foot.’ His English was completely fluent and if there was any accent at all it was a hint of southern standard English, not German.
    â€˜You’re