Tiny Rowbotham looked at Ned Clarke with some concern.

'You don't look quite the thing, mate.  You all right?'

Cheese sandwiches were the last thing on the mind of the corporal as ML 951 sailed out of the harbour into the blackness of the moonless night.  The days in harbour had taken away his hard-won sealegs, and a long low swell, the remains of a gale on the far away North African coast, was rolling the boat from side to side like Rock-a-Bye-Baby's cradle.

The corporal nodded.  He didn't trust himself to speak.  The mess-deck seemed abominably stuffy, and a strong reminder of the crew's recent meal hung in the air.  In accordance with age-old naval practice, they were going into possible action with full stomachs - on this occasion, full of fish pie - all except Corporal Ned Clarke.  Even before they'd left harbour, the gentle motion of the ship had rendered eating a non-option for him.

He'd rather have been in the fresh air, but he'd been ordered to keep out of the way until they got clear of Corfu.  None of the crew was below save Tiny.  As the cook was a 'dayman' (one who doesn't keep a watch), his place at action stations would normally be on the bridge, as a messenger, but George had decreed that he would be more useful standing by to dish out kye - the navy's sweet cocoa enriched with Bird's custard powder - and other sustaining beverages (George's own favourite in the middle watch being Bovril with a large dash of sherry).

'Don't worry,' said Tiny.  'I had a shufty at the chart.  It's only about five miles across.  We'll be there in a couple of shakes.'

The corporal shook his head.  'No.  We're heading up through the strait.  Landing to the north.'

'Ah.  And then doubling back to suss out their guns.'

'How'd you know that?  It's supposed to be top secret.'

'Well, that's the buzz.  I'm not wrong, are I?'

Ned shook his head.  An extra large swing had lifted his bunk, and dropped it as violently, leaving him temporarily hovering in mid-air.  As he landed, he gulped and swallowed in an attempt to keep his innards in place.

What was he doing here anyway?  This was one of the reasons he'd volunteered for the army, instead of waiting to be called up.

'You don't half look chocker, mate.  Anything I can do to help?'

'Chocker?'

'Chock-a-block.  Two blocks.  Fed-up!'

'You could say that.'

Tiny nodded wisely.  'I know what the trouble is.  You got an empty stomach.  Not a good idea.  Tell you what,' he said, brightening,  'I'll make you a nice thick bacon butty.  That'll fix you!'

Ned's eyes opened very wide.  He clapped a hand to his mouth and took off for the upper deck.  There were some orders made to be ignored.


'Shall I stand down the watch below, sir?'

Spawton didn't answer at once.  He was scanning the darkness to starboard through his powerful naval binoculars, which had large objective lenses to pierce the blackness of night by taking in more light than the naked eye.

Alistair, quite out of his element, kept to the back of the bridge.

'Have a look, Bill.'

The first lieutenant lifted his own glasses.  'I can't see anything at all - except the shoreline.  Just.'

'Want to have a go?' said George holding his glasses out to Alistair.