The Dardanelles Conspiracy Alan Bardos (reading a book txt) 📖

gag as the trawler caught a swell and lurched to port or starboard, he really didn’t care. Now Johnny knew what it was he happily gulped down the sweet molasses nectar, as the cheering reached a crescendo.

‘It’s actually rather good. In Flanders we only get “Service Rum Diluted”.’

The sailors stopped cheering and looked at him. Johnny hadn’t meant to say that, but the rum had woken up old memories.

‘Flanders, you say. You’re a long way from the front now, boy. How did you manage to find your way down to Bulgaria?’ Borden glared.

‘You run away, did you, now we're bringing you back to face the music or something?’ Dud put in.

Johnny didn't know if he should tell them or not. He didn’t suppose it mattered now what he said. ‘Well, if you really want to know. I was nearly court-martialled for fraternising with the enemy, but was sent on a fool’s errand to bribe a Turkish Pasha instead of being shot, but didn’t get further than his harem.’

That made Borden pause for breath, before roaring with laughter, his curiosity stifled. ‘That’s a good one, we nearly chucked you overboard, mate.’

A regulation measure of navy rum and banter were helping to quell Johnny’s sea sickness and reminded him of what he’d lost when Crassus took him away from his platoon.

‘So, if you're a soldier, you must be able to handle a rifle then?’ Broaden asked, stuffing the last of the bully beef into his mouth.

‘I prefer a bayonet, lot less fussy,’ Johnny said pompously. Borden ignored the joke and continued to stare at him, wanting an answer. Johnny expected it served him right for using one of Crassus’s lines. ‘I can shoot a rifle if that’s what you mean. Now how about another tot of rum?’

Broaden stuck a finger in Johnny’s face. ‘You’ve had your ration. Shouldn’t have had that this time of day, by rights.’

‘Come on, PO,’ Dud said. ‘This ain't one of his Majesty’s Ships.’

‘No, pretty bloody far from it,’ Broaden shouted. ‘I suppose it won't do no harm. There’s talk of another scrap so it’s no more than we’re entitled.’ Borden picked up a large wicker covered jug, neatly measured out three tots of rum, added a cloudy liquid from a brass jug and passed them round. The rum tasted a bit softer now with a slight acid tang. ‘What is that you’ve added? Lime?’

‘We wouldn’t want you getting scurvy now, would we?’ Broaden said and winked at Dud.

Johnny laughed, as much as he’d enjoyed drinking with Dolly and Kurt, it was good to be back with his own again. He wondered how Corporal Williams 19666 was, or if he was even alive.

The door swung open and a surly man came in. He wasn’t dressed in naval uniform and Johnny wondered if he might have been one of the original inhabitants of the boat. He swung his head at Johnny with a resentful glare. ‘His nibs wants ’im.’

Broaden looked appalled at the slovenly manner of address. ‘Sanders, I would remind you that you are officially in the navy, even if only as a reserve rating – so show a bit of respect for your commanding officer.’ He reached to take Johnny’s mug away. ‘You best do as you’re told.’

Johnny saw Borden’s great hand swing towards him and deftly moved the mug out of his reach, to finish the remainder of his grog.

‘Certainly, I’m ready to pay my compliments to the Captain.’ Johnny passed the mug to Broaden and stood up.

‘The “Captain”. I’ve heard it all now,’ Sanders scoffed and led Johnny out into brilliant sunlight. The boat bobbed violently to one side and Johnny grabbed hold of a long beam, with a winch attached to it.

‘Hey, watch it, break the sweep and we’ll be good for nothing,’ Sanders bellowed and trudged towards the front of the trawler.

Johnny followed him. He was relieved to see a rocky piece of land and a line of ships in the distance. He’d soon be off this glorified life raft and tucked up at HQ on Lemnos.

Sanders opened the door of a steel encased compartment and shouted inside. ‘Here he is then.’

He beckoned for Johnny to go in and slammed the door behind him. A fresh-faced midshipman turned around to greet him. He was standing next to a large man in his fifties, steering the boat.

‘Good morning, I’m Barringtons. I hope you enjoyed your breakfast.’ The midshipman cast an amused eye over Johnny and instantly knew he wasn’t quite the thing. ‘I’m sorry that we don’t run to gin and tonics in the wardroom, but you seem to have availed yourself of my men’s rum ration.’

‘Yes, thank you, snotty, your men have been quite hospitable,’ Johnny replied, prompting an amused muttering in some kind of country dialect from the old man.

‘I beg your pardon!’ Barringtons spat.

‘I’ve been made to feel welcome,’ Johnny said, ignoring Barringtons’ indignation.

‘I’m not talking about your affinity for the lower decks. No doubt that’s where you came from and where you belong! I’m referring to your term of address!’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, isn’t that how one addresses midshipmen?’ Johnny asked.

‘I am a Sub lieutenant!’ Barringtons pointed at the gold braid on his sleeve. ‘You will address me as “Sub” or “Sub lieutenant”.’

‘No offence intended.’ Johnny glanced at the approaching land through a slit in the steel plate. The wheelhouse dripped with condensation and the air was stifling. He had no idea what awaited him on Lemnos, but it would undoubtedly be better than being on this tub. ‘I assume that you will be putting me off presently.’

‘Putting you off, no, I’m afraid not.’

‘Isn’t that why you called me up here?’ Johnny asked. ‘To let me know that we’ve reached Lemnos?’

‘You’ve got completely the wrong end of the stick, old chap.’ Barringtons smiled mildly. ‘I’ve had you