MacDonnell, J E - 070 - The Unforgiving Sea

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J.E. MacDonnell - The Unforgiving Sea Page 2

James Edmond Macdonnell is one of the most

prolific writers in Australia today, His books

have been translated into many languages,

selling in the millions throughout the world. And

he is still writing...

He served in the Navy before, during and after

the War, climbing up through the hawsepipe

from ordinary seaman to officer in the gunnery

branch. This experience of both lowerdeck and

wardroom provided invaluable insight into his

fictional characters.

He lives with his wife, two daughters and a son

in the shorebound Sydney suburb of St. Ives,

but his main interest, apart from sports cars, lies

in swapping stories, of varying degrees of

truthfulness, with old shipmates

ISBN 0 7255 0351 3

The Unforgiving Sea

The constant menace of the Japanese enemy troubled captain

‘Dutchy’ Holland, and so did his mission.

But - towering above them all, the pursued and the pursuers -

were the turbulent waters in which they meshed . . .

the unforgiving sea

J.E. MacDonnell - The Unforgiving Sea Page 3

Index

CHAPTER ONE ....................................................................................6

CHAPTER TWO ................................................................................ 16

CHAPTER THREE ............................................................................ 36

CHAPTER FOUR ............................................................................... 46

CHAPTER FIVE................................................................................. 51

CHAPTER SIX ................................................................................... 59

CHAPTER SEVEN ............................................................................ 71

CHAPTER EIGHT ............................................................................. 81

CHAPTER NINE................................................................................ 87

CHAPTER TEN .................................................................................. 93

CHAPTER ELEVEN ......................................................................... 98

Characters: ....175859

Words: ......37571

Sentences:........3691

Paragraphs:........1224

The Unforgiving Sea

J.E. Macdonnell

HORWITZ PUBLICATIONS

J. E. MACDONNELL

CLASSIC #74

This story was meant to follow immediately after

WALL OF FIRE, but business with the United

States kept me otherwise engaged, and so kept old

Dutchy towing his superior officer toward Darwin.

A long haul. But now both Wind Rode and Jackal

are safely berthed off the end of Darwin’s

splintered pier, so let’s get aboard and hear the

dulcet Dutchy make a request.

J. E. MacDONNELL

Distributed by: Cap_One Productions © April 2002 (Ver1.0)

Find me on Undernet in channels: Rockwarez, 0-day-warez, mp3ftp

Bringing Australian Autors to the world.

Programs Used: Adobe Pagemaker 7, Acrobat Writer, Omnipage Pro 11, Coreldraw 10,

Adobe Photoshop 4, Windows Write.

This is a pre-release: the only checking has been by Omnipage & Pagemaker on any spelling

errors, when i find time i will read the book again and I will be checking it against the original

Typeset by Cap_One, Australia

Published in Australia by Adobe Pagemaker 7, Printed by Adobe Acrobat

Published 1977

by Horwitz Publications

a division of Horwitz Group Books Pty Limited

(Hong Kong Branch)

Prince’s Building, 8th Floor, Hong Kong, B.C.C.

a wholly Australian owned publishing company.

Australian address: 506 Miller Street, Cammeray, 2062

Distributed by: Horwitz Group Books Pty Ltd.,

506 Miller Street, Cammeray, 2062

and Gordon & Gotch (Asia) Ltd., Estates House,

114 William Street, Melbourne, Vic. 3000

Classic Edition 1977

National Library of Australia

Card No. and ISBN 0 7255 0351 3

Printed in Australia by

New Century Press Pty’ Limited

5 Cumberland Street, Sydney, 2000

J.E. MacDonnell - The Unforgiving Sea Page 6

CHAPTER ONE

“STEWARD!” said Lieutenant-commander John Benedict

Holland, and the reflection of Captain Bentley shivered a little in the

glass face of the book cupboard door. His ears tingled.

In the pantry which his bulk mostly filled, Samson heard the sound,

but instead of obedience his initial reaction was alarm. A torpedo

streaking for the ship, or dive bombers in sight?

Samson’s momentary confusion was understandable. In his time

in the ship he had been called many things, from bollard-headed oaf

to a blubber-gutted son of a barnacle; sometimes he was even called

Samson. But never in his memory had he been addressed as steward.

Then, peering through his little servery hatch, he sighted the glossy

shoes and straight-seamed khaki stockings of his captain’s guest, and

then Samson appreciated that his captain was putting on the dog for

his guest, and thus he came to the understanding that his presence

was required in the main cabin. He went into it.

“You called, sir?” he enquired politely.

“Ah, there you are, steward,” said Dutchy, and the glare of his

hair-cliffed eyes defied Samson to grin at the form of address. “We

will have coffee, if you please.”

The giant’s face retained its expression of diffident respect, which

took some effort, considering that the officer now asking for coffee

had once intimated, on its being handed to him on the first day of

Samson’s servitude,, that he placed coffee in a similar category to the

bilge water of a derelict Chinese scow. He would drink any sort of

liquor, Dutchy had further intimated, but otherwise there was to be

presented to him nothing but tea, on pain of keelhauling. All of which

presupposed Samson to the belief that Captain Bentley had asked for

coffee, thus snaring Dutchy in a hostly cleft stick. Behind his respectful

facade Samson was gloating with a pleasurable and disloyal

anticipation.

“Coffee, sir?” he rubbed in the salt. “Certainly, sir.” Polite and

enquiring his eyes trained to the guest. “Would you like it strong,

sir?”

With considerable, if veiled respect Bentley’s eyes had been

studying the frame of the man standing before him. This fellow was

J.E. MacDonnell - The Unforgiving Sea Page 7

bigger even than Hooky .Walker, which took him somewhat out of

the midget class.

“Strong,” he said, “and black, please “

“Yes, sir. As Commander Holland likes it,” Samson dead panned.

Just a little, the hairy fingers of Dutchy’s hand curled. Bentley

said, smiling:

“Ever done any boxing?’

“No, sir.” The stretch of Samson’s lips was just the .right degree

for the flotilla leader’s apparent friendliness. “I’m afraid coffee

making’s my forte.”

Never noted for its stability, Dutchy’s restraint broke. “He’s good

with ringbolts,” he growled.

“I beg your pardon?” Bentley queried.

“Ringbolts,” explained Dutchy. “Those strong iron things in the

deck for securing tackles to. Along this deck you’ll see a trail of bent

ringbolts, wherever this flatfooted oaf walks. Boxing? He couldn’t

fight his way out of a light fog.”

“Oh, I see,” said Bentley, and he did. Something the same

relationship obtained with Jarret, his own steward. Then, automatically

and analytically, his thoughts moved on to find the reason for Dutchy’s

ire; and because to lead five Fleet destroyers and a thousand men,

and to keep alive through years of war requires a needle-witted mind,

Bentley had not much trouble in locating the cause. There had been a

certain emphasis on a certain substance.

“A pity,” Bentley smiled up at Samson. “I can always use a sparring

partner.”

“I bet,” said Samson involuntarily; he knew, of course, that the

smartly-dressed officer happened to be the heavyweight champion of

the Fleet. Then he realised what he’d said. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean...”

His voice trailed, while Dutchy’s grin spread maliciously. But

Bentley had a Nelsonian eye, and knew when to shut it. His lips pursed

thoughtfully.

“I don’t doubt your proficiency with coffee, Samson, but come to

think of it I’ve drunk damn little else since we left Damar.” He turned

to Dutchy. “Would you mind, Commander, if I switched to tea

instead?”

Dutchy took the grin off his face but couldn’t hide the glint in his

J.E. MacDonnell - The Unforgiving Sea Page 8

eye. “Certainly, sir. Tea, please, steward. For two.

“Yes, sir,” said Samson, and defeated he withdrew. It had been a

friendly and insignificant exchange, except for one thing. Both captain

and steward, no fools themselves, had been given one further

indication of the flotilla-leader’s perspicacity. It is on such particles

that the base of a leader’s success is built.

They drank their tea. They talked professionally of what they had

done in Mystery Bay on Damar Island and of the possible enemy

reaction to that destructive night; of the damage to Wind Rode and of

certain seamanship aspects of the tow by Jackal back to Darwin. Yet

while they were on this last subject Bentley made no mention of the

signal he had made to Navy Office early this morning.

They talked companionably, for they had served and fought

together before, these two, and because of that, and other personal

things, there was between them mutual liking and respect. Then

Bentley laid down his second cup and said:

“Remember what I said, just before we closed down wireless

silence last night?”

Dutchy remembered it well, and with anticipation, but he was not

wholly graceless, and so he frowned and answered:

“Last night, sir? No, what, was that?”

“I mentioned our liquor supply was left intact. My first-lieutenant

insists on throwing a party tonight. He’d like you and your wardroom

to attend.”

They grinned at each other, reprobates both; Dutchy fully aware

where the insistence had come from. “That should be very pleasant,

sir,” Dutchy said. “In the wardroom...”

“Yes.” But a captain, especially a Captain (D), must appear to be

just, and wholly devoid of ulterior motives, and so Bentley made no

further mention of the pleasures of drinking the wardroom’s liquor.

He said:

“Shall we say about six-thirty, then? I’m afraid you’ll have to use

your own boat. My cutter stopped a five-inch shell. In fact, I’d be

most grateful if we could have the use of yours for an hour or so

today - mail and stores, y’know. Can do?”

“Of course, sir,” Dutchy answered the polite, ironclad “request.”

He took out his pipe, lit it and waited. Captain Bentley had a signalman

J.E. MacDonnell - The Unforgiving Sea Page 9

or two; flotilla-leaders don’t make a habit of personally bringing an

invitation to drinks on board. Then why had this cool hard-faced young

fellow come? So Dutchy waited to find out why, and puffed.’

In the next second or two he was not rewarded, but Samson in his

pantry was, deliciously. The cough started as a politely controlled

reaction, then extended quickly into an uncontrolled paroxysm of

laryngeal rejection.

“For ... God’s ... sake,” Samson heard, in a cough-punctuated,

choking voice. “What’ve you . . . got . . . in that thing? Rotten ...

cabbage?”

Inured to it - he could have poked his head into a funnel’s mouth

and breathed comfortably, everything being relative - Samson watched

with grinning satisfaction as the man who had deprived him of earlier

satisfaction stumbled to the nearest scuttle and got his breath back.

Dutchy was looking surprised.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“So . . . am L” “Better put it out, eh?”

“Please. And for the love of Mike leave it behind tonight.”

Dutchy looked hurt. “It’s not all that bad.”

Bentley turned from the scuttle. The smoke-screen was dissipating.

“Not bad? It’s rotten! Either you’re served by a bunch of craven

slaves, or else they’re extraordinarily disciplined.”

“Or keepers to windward,” Bentley thought he heard from the

pantry.

He chuckled, coughed, and poured himself half a cup of black

tea. Silently and pointedly, Samson came out, switched on a fan, and

retired again. After a minute or so Bentley was able to say:

“I suppose you’re wondering why I called on you this morning?”

Dutchy was somewhat of a blunt nature. “Yes,” he nodded.

Bentley squinted at him. “I think you mean that.” Two hairy

crescents came together above Dutchy’s nose. “Why wouldn’t I? We

don’t get a Captain (D) on board at nine o’clock every day, or every

bloody year for that matter. A man’d be a nitwit not to wonder why

you’re here. Seeing as you asked,” he ended politely. In his pantry

Samson was suddenly not smiling any more. The silly old goat. This

was a four-ringed captain . . . One of the bright young boys, with a

reputation to keep up.

J.E. MacDonnell - The Unforgiving Sea Page 10

Bentley’s face too was sombre. It had been a long time since he’d

been spoken to in that manner, and then there’d been only two rings.

He looked at Dutchy, but in the seamed granite face there was no

disrespect. The old reprobate was simply waiting for an explanation

of the visit. And then young Peter Bentley was remembering certain

things, and his face cleared. What was the opposite, he thought, the

absolute antithesis of “yes-man”? Whatever the word, the man was

here.

“I came to thank you,” Bentley said simply.

There it was, out as easily as that. While shaving this morning,

and all the way across in the whaler, he had been pondering on what

to say, and bow. Of necessity he was a hard man. To some extent his

sensibilities had been brutalised by the brutality of his present work.

There is nothing at all to thanking a man for a glass of beer or the

loan of a fiver; no real sincerity in the gesture, for next day or the

next week you return the favour. But thanking a man who has saved

your life, and your men, and your ship . . . that requires sincerity, and

sentiment. And for a long time now, under the stress of responsibility,

Peter Bentley had crushed down on sentiment. There was no place

for it in a torpedo attack, taking two hundred men in to possible

rupturing death, or in depth-charging a submarine into a pressure-

flattened coffin. So he had pondered on how he would thank this

man, and now, simply, he had done it.

“What?” said Dutchy. “What d’you have to thank me for?”

It was done, yet Bentley was still feeling the embarrassment of it.

And now this old fool had to come back with a damn stupid remark

like that! Bentley almost felt grateful for the anger which filled him -

which if course was defensive.

“Don’t act dumb with me,” he snapped. “You know bloody well

what I mean. Damn it all, you saved my ship. For that, thanks.”

Dutchy looked at him for a long moment. Then he turned his head.

“Samson,” he said.

This time he did not bellow. There was quiet, curt authority in his

tone. Samson obeyed it at once.

“Sir?”

“Go aft and find the first-lieutenant. Tell him the motor-cutter is

to be made available to Wind Rode on request.” Dutchy did not add,

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J.E.MacDonnell-TheUnforgivingSeaPage2JamesEdmondMacdonnellisoneofthemostprolificwritersinAustraliatoday,Hisbookshavebeentranslatedintomanylanguages,sellinginthemillionsthroughouttheworld.Andheisstillwriting...HeservedintheNavybefore,duringandaftertheWar,climbingupthroughthehawsepipefromordinaryseama...

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