Pirate - Duncan Falconer [99]
Stratton still felt tired despite the few hours’ sleep he had grabbed on the cargo ship. He expected it would take another day to recover fully.
‘I’m to ask you if you need the sickbay for anything.’
Stratton thought about having his bullet wounds looked at. But he hadn’t even thought about them since waking up on the Orion. The many hours he had spent in the sea should have cleaned them up but that didn’t necessarily mean they would not get infected. ‘I’m fine,’ he decided. He knew where the sick bay was and if they started to become painful again, he would pay the place a visit.
Stratton followed the young man through the ship, down a narrow set of stairs to a wider, well-lit corridor. Part of the way along it he saw a pair of swing doors. Stratton remembered it was the galley and pushed one of them open. The place had been crammed with more chairs and tables than it was designed for.
‘If you want a wet, you can ’elp yourself over there,’ the sailor said, pointing to a counter with an urn on it. ‘Your bunk room’s down the end of this corridor. Number fourteen. Last door on the left.’
‘Thanks,’ Stratton said, aware of the man’s eagerness to complete his duties.
‘OK. I’m off watch so I’m going to get my ’ead down.’
‘Have a good night,’ Stratton said with a smile. He walked over to the urn and made himself a cup of tea. He heard the sound of aluminium trays being stacked somewhere beyond. A cook walked out of the back and placed a tray of food in one of the slots behind the counter.
As he sipped his drink, the main door opened and Stratton turned around to see Winslow looking at him.
The officer walked over to the table. ‘Mind if I make a brew?’ he asked. His tone had changed to light and chatty.
‘Help yourself,’ Stratton said.
As he was about to walk away, Winslow said, ‘Do you live in Poole?’
Stratton didn’t particularly want to talk to the man about anything but saw no reason to be rude.
‘Just outside.’
‘I haven’t been there in several years,’ Winslow said. ‘I expect it’s changed quite a lot in that time. Quite a popular summer retreat for some.’
‘Most of the locals wish it wasn’t so popular,’ Stratton replied, waiting for an opportunity to end the little chat and leave.
‘Is there a Sergeant Downs still there?’ said Winslow.
‘Colour Sergeant Downs?’ said Stratton. ‘He might even be Warrant Officer by now. But I haven’t seen him in a while.’
‘He’s a right son of a bitch. I didn’t know him socially of course.’
Stratton wondered where the conversation was going with an introduction like that. ‘Downs is a good lad,’ he said. ‘I know him quite well.’ Stratton remained matter-of-fact. It didn’t offend him if someone didn’t like a friend of his.
‘You probably don’t know him the same way I do,’ said Winslow, giving Stratton a sideways look.
Stratton sipped his tea, barely interested in the man or his dislike of Downs. Winslow went on: ‘In fact he was a right bastard. He was in charge of the SBS phase of the selection.’
Stratton suddenly had a good idea where this was all going. It wasn’t the first time he’d been cornered by someone outside of the service who had failed the selection course and felt they needed to explain it to him.
‘He had it in for me from the start,’ Winslow said. ‘I think the moment he set eyes on me, he decided he was going to get me off the course. I’d done rather well during the combined SAS–SBS land phases. I’m a good map reader and was very fit. The map marches with the heavy packs were no problem for me. I passed all of that but when I got to Poole, Downs didn’t like me, that was for sure.’
‘He’s not that sort of bloke,’ Stratton said, not particularly wanting to get involved but deciding to stick up for his friend. He knew Downs to be not the kind to pick on someone for no reason.
‘As I said, you probably wouldn’t know him from my point of view. Let’s put it this way, if he had been running your selection and had taken a dislike to you, you wouldn’t have passed your course either.’
Stratton decided the officer