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    The Recommend (A Word War 2 Naval Adventure)
    The Recommend (A Word War 2 Naval Adventure)
    The Recommend (A Word War 2 Naval Adventure)
    Ebook171 pages2 hours

    The Recommend (A Word War 2 Naval Adventure)

    By J.E. Macdonnell

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    “Stand-by depth charge attack!”
    Termagant’s men had seen action before. They knew how her quarterdeck could spew out the crushing canisters of high-explosive amatol, and they felt a rising certainty that this particular Japanese submarine was due shortly for a violent and conclusive death.
    The order from the bridge was all they needed to relax their vigilance a little and to savour in its place the grim and pleasurable certainty that the ship was about to kill.
    So that none of them was prepared for the next startling evidence of the progress of the hunt.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPiccadilly
    Release dateApr 1, 2024
    ISBN9798215074442
    The Recommend (A Word War 2 Naval Adventure)
    Author

    J.E. Macdonnell

    JAMES EDMOND MACDONNELL was born in 1917 in Mackay, Queensland and became one of Australia’s most prolific writers. As a boy, he became determined to go to sea and read every seafaring book he could find. At age 13, while his family was still asleep, he took his brother’s bike and rode eighty miles from his home town to Brisbane in an attempt to see ships and the sea. Fortunately, he was found and returned to his family. He attended the Toowoomba Grammar School from 1931 to 1932. He served in the Royal Australian Navy for fourteen years, joining at age 17, advancing through all lower deck ranks and reaching the rank of commissioned gunnery officer. He began writing books while still in active service.Macdonnell wrote stories for The Bulletin under the pseudonym “Macnell” and from 1948 to 1956 he was a member of The Bulletin staff. His first book, Fleet Destroyer – a collection of stories about life on the small ships – was published by The Book Depot, Melbourne, in 1945. Macdonnell began writing full-time for Horwitz in 1956, writing an average of a dozen books a year.After leaving the navy, Macdonnell lived in St. Ives, Sydney and pursued his writing career. In 1988, he retired to Buderim on the Sunshine Coast in Queensland. He died peacefully in his sleep at a Buderim hospital in 2002. He is survived by his children Beth, Jane and Peter.Macdonnell’s naval stories feature several recurring characters – Captain “Dutchy” Holland, D.S.O., Captain Peter Bentley, V.C., Captain Bruce Sainsbury, V.C., Jim Brady, and Lieutenant Commander Robert Randall.

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      Book preview

      The Recommend (A Word War 2 Naval Adventure) - J.E. Macdonnell

      The Home of Great

      War Fiction!

      "Stand-by depth charge attack!"

      Termagant’s men had seen action before. They knew how her quarterdeck could spew out the crushing canisters of high-explosive amatol, and they felt a rising certainty that this particular Japanese submarine was due shortly for a violent and conclusive death.

      The order from the bridge was all they needed to relax their vigilance a little and to savour in its place the grim and pleasurable certainty that the ship was about to kill.

      So that none of them was prepared for the next startling evidence of the progress of the hunt.

      J E MACDONNELL 21: THE RECOMMEND

      By J E Macdonnell

      First published by Horwitz Publications in 1960

      ©1960, 2023 by J E Macdonnell

      First electronic edition: April 2024

      Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

      You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by means (electronic, digital, optical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

      This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

      Published by Arrangement with the Author’s Estate

      Series Editor: Janet Whitehead

      Text © Piccadilly Publishing

      Visit www.piccadillypublishing.org to read more about our books.

      Chapter One

      THERE WILL BE, Splinter Mann decided morosely, blood for breakfast if The Bloke gets to hear of this.

      The others nodded, their faces on this South Pacific morning reflecting nothing of the overall brightness of their surroundings—warm blue sky, smiling turquoise sea, eye-hurting white of the beach yonder fringed by languid palms.

      Splinter Mann leaned back against the destroyer’s torpedo-tubes and rolled the makings. Not to smoke now, for all watches would be falling-in any minute, but so that he would be ready to out fag the instant the bosun’s mate piped stand-easy at ten-thirty: Splinter wore the two good conduct badges of eight years undetected crime and experience on his upper sleeve.

      Naval soubriquets are not always relevant, but always they are apt. Splinter was built like a walking-stick. He was different to his messmates in several other directions. He was rarely guilty of smiling—even his most paradisical moments were betrayed by nothing more than a slight Humphrey Bogart lift of his starb’d lip. And he never referred to a man as mate, or cobs, or townie or any other of the score or so Service synonyms for friend. To Splinter another human being was invariably fellow. But he did not pronounce the word with such purity of diction as that.

      Last night that fulla rolls back on board bonkers. That’s all right, Splinter conceded gloomily, and licked the edge of the paper. Then he carefully placed the readied cylinder of solace in his tobacco tin. But then the nong-nong has to think of them grenades. You oughta seen him on the messdeck—bottle of plonk in one hand, grenade in the other. And him weavin’ round as handy as a cow in a spit-kid.

      Lips were pursed and heads nodded sagely in quiet shock at their messmate’s inexplicable and dangerous behaviour.

      But what made him go for a grenade? He ain’t normally wet, or belligerent.

      Splinter glanced aft at the bosun’s mate. He saw him look at his watch, then stroll to the quarterdeck guard-rail. They had still a minute or two before the morning’s work began.

      Look, fulla, I dunno what goes on in the head of an intell ... intellec ... of a fulla with brains. All I know is I get a shake in the old banana bedstead and wake up to see this face grinnin’ at me over the side. I smell the jungle-juice, then I see the bottle—and then I see the grenade. How can I help seein’ it? He’s wavin’ it under me snots. He’s in the gunner’s party, ain’t he? He’s been detailed off for the landing party if ever we has to land one, and yesterday they went to drill with forty-fives and bayonets and grenades. He gets bonkers ashore last night ... maybe what he’s learnt during the day sticks in his nut. So back he comes and what does he think of? Grenades, that’s what! I tell you, Splinter ended sombrely, there’s funny things go on in the head of a fulla with brains.

      Yeah, they nodded collectively. Pudden McCabe, whose simian cast of countenance was complemented by a thick sprouting of black hair on his back and chest, asked:

      Where is the galah now? I don’t see him on deck.

      He ain’t broke surface yet, Splinter told them. After I got the pineapple away from him—thank Gawd the pin wasn’t out—I stashed him away at the bottom of the hammock bin. And this mornin’ I couldn’t wake him.

      Hell’s bells! ejaculated Thunderguts Cleary, and in the shock of revelation forgot to belch, I thought I heard a sort of noise when I stowed my hammock. Sort of half-strangled ... I musta dropped it smack on his kisser.

      See what I mean, fulla? Not even that woke him up.

      We gotta organise somethin’ here, decided Pudden loyally. If The Bloke finds he’s adrift from all watches he’ll dip his recommend.

      Like I said, Splinter nodded in gloomy confirmation of his earlier diagnosis. If The Baron dips out on his recommend it’ll just about kill ’im. Here comes Bellet now. I’ll see what I can do.

      Casually—for who knew what baleful authoritative eyes might not be watching—Splinter walked his skinny length forrard, towards Petty-Officer Bellet, the captain of the iron-deck division. He met him abreast the funnel, from which radiated a haze of heat—anchored in newly-recaptured Manus harbour you kept steam in your boilers.

      Mornin’, Clarry, Splinter greeted his chief—he was a taut hand, and he had known the big petty-officer a long time. He fell into step with him, and then slowed his pace until Bellet, watching him shrewdly, came to a halt.

      It’s no good biting me, Bellet said, I’m flat till next pay-day.

      Then, said Splinter, maybe you could use a coupla quid?

      What, said Bellet, in instant wariness, the hell do you want? You haven’t had a couple of quid to spare since Noah shipped out.

      Look, fulla, it’s like this—I ain’t got much time. The right-hand side of his mouth lifted, revealing a predatory pointed eye-tooth. Bellet watched him with something the same ready-to-jump caution as a pigmy faced by a rogue elephant.

      Yes ...?

      It ain’t nothin’ for meself, Splinter assured him—which frank disavowal made Bellet even more wary.

      That, he returned with cruel candour, will be the bloody day!

      No, fair dinks. Y’see, you might be one man adrift when all watches fall in. Splinter spoke hurriedly; the bosun’s mate was taking out his pipe. It’s that fulla Meredith—y’know, The Baron. Larst night he got a skinful—he don’t touch it much ordinary times. I reckon he’s been studyin’ too much for the old commission. The lip lifted, an ingratiating call to understanding between two men used to the idiosyncrasies of an eccentric. Well ... he’s still flaked-out in the hammock bin. And you know what’ll happen if Simon Legree gets to hear about it.

      The first-lieutenant, Bellet agreed, might be annoyed.

      He’ll be ropeable, Splinter enlarged, so how about a little favour, huh? You want the ship’s side painted by four o’clock. You play it our way, you get your side done by two o’clock. How about that?

      I’m very interested—very interested indeed. There was an appreciative gleam in the petty-officer’s eye which Splinter did not like. So the side can be finished in two hours less, eh?

      Now wait a minute! Splinter said quickly, warned. That’s only in special circumstances, you might say. The bosun’s mate started walking towards them.

      I report the top correct, the side gets finished by two?

      It’s a deal, Clarry.

      It’d better be!

      Sure, sure. The lip lifted.

      All watches fall-in, piped the bosun’s mate. Splinter?

      Yeah?

      Meredith sent word to me a minute ago about not being able to fall-in. I said—this time—I’d cover for him.

      Splinter stopped in his quick walk towards the men falling-in. The lifted lip lowered itself to form its customary morose line.

      You seen me orf! he accused. His tone was hurt.

      Yeah, Bellet nodded, for the first time in eight years. They walked on together.

      Y’know, Splinter said, his face solemn—he had done enough smiling that morning to last him a month, you can never tell with fullas with brains. They know how to look after theirselves.

      You look after that bloody side! Bellet warned him in low adjuration.

      Orl right, orl right, a deal’s a deal. And Splinter, sad and tricked and loyal, slipped into the double ranks.

      How’d she go? Pudden whispered.

      She’s apples. We gotta finish the side by two o’clock.

      We gotta what?

      You heard.

      Pudden swore with muted but expressive vehemence. Pipe down, Splinter warned him, here comes old brute force and bloody ignorance.

      Lieutenant Wouk, the officer whose appearance on deck was thus heralded, did not precisely fit Splinter’s disparaging description—he was not ignorant.

      He stood before his assembled seamen with his thick muscled legs straddled like a pair of dividers and his brow-cliffed eyes grabbing at them with caustic belligerence.

      I know what you’re thinking, those eyes told them—you hate my guts and you think you can put anything over on me. That will be the day! I’ve forgotten more about sailors’ lurks than you know. Just try me on, that’s all ... just give it a go, and we’ll see who cracks the whip round here!

      All correct, Buffer, Bellet said to the chief bosun’s mate. His voice was easy—he had not told a lie. He was an experienced petty-officer, and if he covered for an absentee then he had a damned good reason for so doing. And he knew that Meredith worked hard enough when he was on deck to allow him a week off.

      The Buffer got his reports from the two other captains of tops and bellowed:

      All watches ... choun!

      Splinter and Co. shuffled their feet together in what to a tolerant eye might be construed as the attitude of attention—a destroyer’s crew just in from a month-long convoy escort is not to be confused with a regiment of Guards.

      Lieutenant Wouk returned the Buffer’s salute and growled:

      Stand ’em at ease.

      On a parade ground—and sailors can really drill if they want to—that order requires the recipient to move his left foot smartly fifteen inches out to the left at the same time as his hands whip behind his back, the back of the right hand clasped firmly in the palm of the left—head up, chest in, eyes straight ahead.

      The torpedo-tube space of Fleet destroyer Termagant was no parade-ground. Thunderguts thoughtfully rubbed his belly, Pudden picked at his ear, and Splinter stared reproachfully at Bellet’s uncaring face, at the same time as he thought of how he would tell his workmates what he had let them in for. He had no doubt they would finish the side two hours early—he also had no doubt of the acid recriminations which would accompany their added effort.

      Lieutenant Wouk stepped a pace forward, his big red hands on his hips.

      Here she comes, Splinter slid the words out of the side of his mouth like a long-term con, old bull-dust hisself. What d’you reckon ...? The war effort, the honour of the flag, or what we gotta do for the sake of the country among them Yanks here?

      It’ll be work, Pudden hissed definitely, I’ll bet me deferrers he ...

      Now, you men, Wouk started, and cleared his throat ominously; he rocked a little on his toes, his big body a challenge which did not need the authority of the two gold rings on the shoulders of his khaki shirt. Today we paint ship’s side. We haven’t much time to do it in. As you know, we’re surrounded here by American ships. They’ll be watching us to see how we work.

      ... the Yanks! Splinter snarled, and

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