Dark Full of Enemies(33)
Back outside after an hour or so in the wheelhouse, McKay rubbed his temples.
He needed to see the dam. They could only properly prepare with accurate intelligence, and while the files, photos, and discussions had been helpful as raw material, he had learned to trust nothing more than his own eyes. What were the new buildings at the dam barracks? Whom did they house? What kind of garrison? How and when did they patrol? They still had several hours to go before reaching Narvik, but as soon as they disembarked and had safely hidden to prepare for the raid, he would need to get to the dam.
He looked back out over the water. At least they were attacking a target on land. He wondered, idly, whether Norwegian had a word like landlubber.
He checked on Stallings again and talked a few minutes. Graves and Ollila sat asleep in chairs at the table. Stallings was awake and listless. He stared at the surface of the table or at his thumbs as he twiddled. He whistled tuneless songs. McKay had seen him like this before—hung over—and told him to get some sleep.
“It’s not that I cain’t sleep,” Stallings said, “I just don’t feel like it.”
McKay fished his copy of Thucydides out and put it on the table. “Read something.”
“Your solution to everything.”
“Well, if it don’t make up for your goofing off at Clemson, it should put you to sleep.”
Stallings laughed, but it had taken him a little too long to react. McKay glanced at the lump in Stallings’s hair and wondered.
“I figure I’ll sleep if I sleep. I don’t much like this boat, anyway. I couldn’t never sleep on the boat before Sicily, neither. Especially the night before.”
McKay watched him. “Didn’t y’all land at night?”
Stallings twiddled. “Yeah.”
“Had to be a long time to be up, and right before a landing, too.”
“Hell of a note, ain’t it? Yeah, we was all geared up and ready to go and standing on deck while the Navy shelled the beach. Looked just like fireworks. But—oh, you’ve done it, too. I don’t have to tell you.”
McKay waited. After a while, Stallings said, “Ya feel naked with all that lead in the air, coming and going. Then it don’t get any better once you’re on the beach. I didn’t feel safe not once the whole time we were there.”
“That just shows you’ve got common sense.”
Stallings smiled to himself and kept twiddling. McKay stood.
“I mean it—get some rest. You know what it’s like trying to fight without sleep. And if you’re worried about falling asleep and not waking up after hitting your head like that, forget it. That’s a crock.”
Stallings saluted without looking up, said, “Yes, sir,” and McKay laughed as he stepped out on deck.
He looked for Petersen, first in the wheelhouse and then on deck. J?rgen still stood at the wheel and grunted when McKay asked where his brother was. In the bow, a few of the crew sat busy with rope and nets. He did not bother asking them.
He found Petersen in the engine room. The door down to the machine stood open and light and the hollow hammer sound flooded out. McKay looked in. A short ladder slanted down to the low room, and there Petersen and one of his crew hunched together in the yellow glare of another bulb, watching the engine. McKay climbed down. The compartment was so cramped that McKay stayed half bunched on the ladder as he watched. Petersen glanced up at him and then returned to the engine. After a moment, the other man pointed into the machine and muttered in Norwegian. Petersen said something. McKay leaned forward to look and the man threw up a hand and shouted. McKay started.
Petersen glanced up again, started to speak, and stopped. He watched McKay a moment, said above the noise, “Stay out of the light, please,” and bent back to the work.
McKay blinked. He noticed first that his heart was racing, and then realized that he had a fist up and an arm cocked, and the other hand was at his pistol belt. He cleared his throat and loosened himself, unbunched his arm from the shoulder down, reshaped a hand from his fist, and settled himself against the ladder. He shook his head and thought of the Australian.
He had been reading in the pub and had not heard the Aussie speak to him. He had not heard, and the Aussie had taken offense. He wanted to know what kind of a uniform that was, and now he wanted to know what kind of a uniform that was and if all of you lot were so bloody rude. He had grabbed McKay’s shoulder. Thucydides slapped shut on the bar at the same moment that McKay punched the man in the temple. The pub fell silent instantly, quickly enough for the sound of the man cracking facefirst into the floor to have the air to itself.
McKay wondered if he were losing it.
He shook his head again and looked at Petersen, whom he caught giving him another glance. The two men stared on into the workings of the machine, and McKay climbed back up the ladder. He came back with his flashlight, stepped into the light, and handed it to Petersen when the men looked up.
“I’ll be on deck when you’re done with it,” he said.
Petersen came to him ten minutes later. McKay leaned against the cabin bulkhead, looking forward past the working crew and across the water into the dark. Petersen handed him the flashlight.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“We had a—there was a knock in the engine.”
McKay listened to the tonk-tonk-tonk of the boat again. It reminded him of a Disney cartoon he had seen, with industrious dwarfs dig-dig-digging in a mine. “You can hear an out-of-place knock in all of that?”