Red Clouds, Grey Rain

By Chris Collyer

Dirk Carter, formerly Lieutenant Carter, R.A.N, arrives in England from Australia where he and his girl-friend Rommi Hartmann hope to gain some experience in the Yacht Charter business prior to launching their own boat back home. They are invited to join Sir Hugh and Lady Helen Weatherham on their 65' ketch 'Sonnet' about to leave for the Mediterranean. Dirk has met his old sailing friend Duffy McGuire who also joins the crew.
Three days out from Chichester Harbour brilliant flashes in the Eastern sky paint the clouds red. Sketchy radio reports tell them that the Middle-East troubles have erupted into a full scale Nuclear War involving the Super-powers.
They return to Portsmouth and on the way make contact with H.M.Submarine 'Archer' which takes Sir Hugh and Lady Helen on ahead leaving Dirk to follow with the yacht.
Portsmouth, like the rest of Britain is a scene of total devastation, the result of large numbers of Nuclear warheads. Sir Hugh, now in complete authority orders the Submarine to Thorney Island, the site of Britain's biggest Emergency Supply Depot, which is housed in an underground complex. Sir Hugh's task is to set up the depot as a self-sufficient community.
Dirk having moored 'Sonnet' alongside the Submarine is asked by Sir Hugh to find his two sons who were attending a school in Surrey. This is the first of a number of adventures which includes an expedition to rescue the staff of another Supply Depot at Newhaven which is being attacked by survivors in an attempt to get at the supplies. These attacks are growing in number and ferocity each day as the survivors get weapons from derelict army bases, and culminate in a full scale attack on the Thorney Island Depot in which Sir Hugh is killed. His dying words ask Dirk to take Lady Helen and their son Barry to Australia. The third and final part of the novel is devoted to the voyage to Australia, in a world threatened by the huge clouds of fall-out travelling the globe and depositing their deadly 'Grey Rain' at will.

'Red Clouds, Grey Rain' is fast moving, has been extensively researched, and should, God forbid, the ultimate holocaust ever take place, the events described in this powerful novel will be all too familiar.
There are no more 'Rich or Poor,' no 'Military or Civilian,' there are no 'Friends', no 'Enemies.' There are merely the LIVING and the DEAD.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Collyer
• Release date: Sep 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476018096

Chris Collyer

Tony Hollins is a published author, most notably 'Sailing for Dummies' (Australian/New Zealand edition) John Wiley. He also designed and markets 'Coastal Navigation - it's Easy!' the world's first fully interactive coastal navigation training program

Book preview

Chapter One

`Welcome aboard Malaysian Airlines System Flight MH 2 to London, we'll be leaving Kuala Lumpur in a few minutes and calling at Kuwait and Frankfurt en route.'

Dirk Carter settled in his seat and watched the terminal buildings slide from view as the air craft taxied toward the runway. `These chicks must be chosen for their voice as much as their looks,' he mused as the dulcet tones of the hostess continued, describing life-jackets, emergency exits, and the mostly unheeded paraphernalia of her pre-flight speech. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and recalled the last few moments with Rommi, somehow she had never, in the seven years he had known her, looked lovelier or more desirable. He had felt like rushing her back to their Sydney hotel where, last night, their lovemaking had reached heights neither had imagined possible.

`Just go sweetheart', Rommi had said, `don't look back, - go and find just what we're looking for, - as soon as you do, call me and I'll be on the next plane.'

`Would you like a drink Sir?' Dirk opened his eyes and found he was staring into the most beautiful almond eyes he'd ever seen. He took a glass of champagne and orange juice from the tray she was holding, `I reckon this is going to be a great flight!' he smiled.

`All part of service' she said, tilting her doll-like head to one side, and with a smile that seemed to belong in a painting. He watched as she worked her unlimited charm on each passenger, pausing only to sit in a crew seat as the Airbus 380 thundered down the runway and into the air. He looked down at the groups of rush covered huts that formed the typical Malay village, and watched as they disappeared into the veil of cloud. The sun, having put in a long hard day hung just outside his window, her golden rays slipping into a more comfortable blood red robe. As the `seat-belt' light was turned off, Dirk unfastened his and reclined the seat. He thought, for the hundredth time it seemed, of the risk he was taking, and it was a risk, not only for him, but for everyone close to him.

Dirk Carter had left the Royal Australian Navy a Lieutenant, after five years at sea and, in his late twenties, he wasn't about to become one of the `nine-to-fivers'. He spent a season as second skipper on a prawn trawler out of Cairns, and the following summer in command of a new boat up in the Gulf of Carpenteria, but somehow dragging two nets up and down the Gulf in four hour stints all night, wasn't really his scene, particularly when it meant twelve weeks at a stretch, transferring catches and refuelling from factory ships. So, it was hardly surprising that an `ad' in the Sydney Morning Herald for a Yacht Delivery Skipper had him on the phone within minutes. `Yes,' he told them, quite truthfully at the interview, `I've sailed around the Australian coast for years.'

Dirk and the job were made for each other. He never knew from one day to the next where he would be going or on what type of boat. The company made all kinds of craft from a thirty-foot work boat to a ninety-foot cruising ketch. Dirk's job was to deliver them. It was on one such trip taking `Mambini', a sixty-foot yawl, to her new owner in Dirk's old port of Cairns, that he put into a Moreton Bay yacht club for provisions and fuel, and met Rommi.

Rommi Hartmann wasn't the most beautiful girl on two legs, that depended on who was looking, but the small amount she lacked in looks was amply compensated by her effervescent personality. Her parents migrated from Germany after the war and Rommi was introduced to a warm sunny world in general, and Brisbane in particular, some years later. Since arriving in Australia the family had always lived close by the beautiful Moreton Bay, and with her father and two brothers all `mad keen yachties', it was inevitable that she would be tarred with the same brush. So, maybe it wasn't so much `chemistry', as `pure salt' that sparked off a relationship that, to this day, has Dirk blessing the day he needed diesel oil near Moreton Bay.

If there were time between deliveries Dirk would head for Brisbane, and a number of trips found Rommi taken on as crew, but this proved too stifling for them, and when Dirk heard that a millionaire property developer was building a large charter yacht, he applied for and got the job as Captain, with Rommi as Hostess.

Dirk took out his mobile phone and texted Rommi Missing you already!

Those same almond eyes of the flight attendant broke into his thoughts, this time with Dinner. Dirk always enjoyed his food, especially when it was presented with traditional Malay hospitality, `Virgin Airlines were good,' he smiled to himself, `but never like this.' He glanced out of the window surprised to see that it was almost dark. Through the gaps in the clouds he could see the Indian Ocean, a silver jewel lit by a full moon, it brought memories of similar nights with Rommi sailing on a different ocean. He remembered the miles they had logged all round the Pacific, to Tasmania, New Zealand, The Cook Islands and even up to Fiji.

`Seven years', he smiled again, `Seven years, Jeez,- a man would have to be stark raving mad to give all that up.'

His mobile bleeped Aaaaaah!

Almond eyes, or `Koh-Neh', as he had discovered her name to be, saw his smile and was at his side in a flash. `Oh!, - No, Sorry love, I didn't call, - I - I was just talking to myself,' he stammered.

`Ah, not very good thing to do!' she beamed. He loved the way she put an `r' into `good', anyone else doing that would have seemed like a `send-up', but from her it was sheer poetry.

`Christ,' he thought as his eyes took her in, from the creamy smooth face, down the richly embroidered `cheong-sam' to her tiny feet, ` - what I couldn't do with that!' But `No', he told himself, picking up his train of thought, he wasn't giving it up, he was breaking new ground. He and Rommi had discussed this move for a long time and they had agreed that they wanted a boat of their own to charter, but to do that he needed more experience and money, and a good way to get both, he felt, was in the south of France. After they quit the developer’s yacht Dirk had wanted Rommi to come with him, but being far the more practical half of the partnership, she convinced him that he would be better able to chase the good jobs as a free agent, and besides, her secretarial background and connections in Brisbane meant that she could earn more if she stayed. So, there was Rommi on her way back to an office in Queensland, and he on board a plane to London eyeing off the Hostess.

A watery sun tried desperately to welcome Dirk as he walked through the airbridge to Immigration Control. He felt pretty pleased with himself having talked Koh-Neh into giving him the phone number of the hotel they always used when in London, he didn't really intend to use it, `But you never know' he thought.

He joined the long queue marked `Other Countries' that threaded its way round the barriers and eventually found himself at the desk. `How long are you wishing to stay?' asked the coloured official in his Pakistani accent.

`Just a couple of weeks' answered Dirk, `I'm on my way to the south of France.' The official slowly leafed through Dirk's passport and, after what seemed an eternity, stamped one of the few blank pages. `You are getting a month!' he said.

`Bloody hell!' thought Dirk as he left, ` - Wellcum to ower wunderful coundree.' He rescued his case from the carousel and toyed with the idea of booking in to the same hotel as `Koh-Neh. `No! - let's not get carried away,' he told himself and boarded a bus for the Victoria Coach Terminal, where he got a cab to an address he had been given of an inexpensive bed and breakfast in Chelsea, just off the Kings Road. Not having the phone number he took a chance on there being a vacancy. He was in luck, and before he knew much about anything, was dead to the world in a bed that felt the best he had ever known.

Chapter Two

It was a typical end of February morning, cold, damp and misty. Dirk opened his eyes and studied the unfamiliar patterns on the ceiling and with a great deal of effort, sat up and put his feet on the floor. He picked up his watch from the bedside table.

`Eleven-fifteen, Good God! Twenty-four hours!, - nobody sleeps that long!' He staggered to the window and pulling the net curtains aside, looked down onto an unfamiliar street packed tight with cars, buses, lorries and vans, all fighting to get nowhere. `Yeuugh!' He let the curtain drop and groped his way back to the bed.

He just couldn't work it out! Suddenly it was dark and his watch said `ten to six.' He rubbed his eyes, stretched, and after a short stare at the wall climbed into his jeans. `Nothing,- but nothing, beats a good hot shower and shave!' he said to himself as he later examined his face in the mirror. The years, thirty-five in all had been not unkind, he was in good shape. Slightly over six feet tall, he carried his hundred and eighty pounds with the ease of an athlete, he had nothing protruding that wasn't meant to and his face, although weathered from the years at sea, was still unlined apart from the few that crinkled his smiling blue eyes. He finished dressing, combed his sun-streaked hair and tried to remember when he had last eaten, he couldn't, so, with a shirt under a thick pullover and the jacket length sheepskin coat that Rommi had insisted he bring, he felt reasonably able to confront the slings and arrows of outrageous `Pommie' weather.

`Hello Mister Carter, we were starting to worry about you!' Mrs Robertson the landlady called from behind the small counter at the foot of the stairs. She, a widow, owned the house and as such was Mother, Nurse, Confessor and Supervisor, though not necessarily in that order, to the many, mostly antepodeans who enjoyed this colonial home from home.

`Hi Mrs Robertson, I guess the trip got to me.'

`Don't worry about it dear, you'll be just fine now.' She was in her early sixties but liked to think she wasn't. She still had a good figure though, and was a firm believer in the old adage, `If you've got it, flaunt it' which she proceeded to do with verve. 'So, - welcome to London' she continued, `you'll find a lot of folk from down under around here, in fact they're starting to call it Wallaby Way.'

Dirk laughed, `I thought it was Kangaroo Alley.'

`Good heavens, No!, that was Earls Court before the Arabs moved in.' She leaned toward Dirk and pointed her ample bosom at him `We try and make it nice and comfy here, - know what I mean dear?, - come and go just as you please, Breakfast is from seven to nine, and - ' she leaned even closer, `if you fancy anything, or need any help just let me know' she beamed.

`Fine', said Dirk copying her lean, `you can help right now.'

`Oh!, how's that?', she brightened.

`Point me in the direction of a good meal’.

She giggled, looked at her watch, recommended a little French restaurant near Sloane Square and told him how to get there.

Dirk leaned back in his chair, finished the carafe of wine, and made a mental note to compliment Mrs Robertson on her choice. He sat for a while, undecided whether to go back to his room or somewhere for a drink, the latter won. He paid his bill, went out to a drizzling, uninviting, Sloane Square and turned left into Kings Road which, in spite of the weather, was thronged with late shoppers. He couldn't resist staring at the variety of styles, colours of hair and clothes, and frequently found difficulty telling male from female. He saw the brightly lit entrance to a bar, was about to enter but changed his mind, he wasn't in the right mood for the boisterous crowd inside and walked further along finding a quieter, typically English Pub just off the main road.`Evening love, what'll it be?'

Dirk looked along the bar, at the bewildering array of pumps and taps fighting for attention with their gaudy illuminated boxes. `I'll try some of that' he said, pointing to the Fosters pump, `I forgot you could get it over here.'

`Oh!, from Aussie then are we?' Dirk smiled an affirmation as she placed the lager on the bar-towel in front of him.

He took a pull from the glass and winced as the chilled liquid hit the back of his throat. Taking his beer he walked through the bar found an empty table and got his phone out again ‘No signal - blast! - I forgot to charge it up’.

‘Do you have a phone I can use?’ he asked the barmaid.

‘Through there - on the left,’ she pointed.

He managed to find some coins then searched through his pockets and found the serviette on which he'd written Koh-Neh's number. He dialled and waited.

`Good Evening, Strathmore Hotel,' the pleasant voice said.

`Strathmore Hotel, can I help you?'

`Sorry!' said Dirk at last, ` - wrong number!' He replaced the phone, stared at it for a long moment, then picking it up again, called the overseas operator and gave her Rommi’s number.

`Just a moment.' Dirk listened to the symphony of buzzes, clicks and beeps, and finally heard the operator asking Rommi if she would accept the call. `You're through, go ahead caller.'

`Thank you, - Hi sweetheart' he said, much louder than he needed, `sorry about the charges, I'm calling from a pay-phone, my mobile ran out of puff.’'

`No problem Darling, just so as I hear from you, - how was the flight?'

Rommi's voice had a strange effect on him, it seemed weeks since he had last heard it, in fact it was a mere three days ago. `Oh, as good as they could make it,' he answered, `I've just slept for thirty hours.'

`Do you good' laughed Rommi, `I'm missing you already too, finding it very hard to settle into this office work. By the way, how's that war going?

`What war?'

`Oh, we keep hearing reports of big trouble in the Eastern Mediterranean.

`I haven't caught up with the news yet, but I wouldn't worry too much about it, it's not the first time.'

`Just as long as you don't take a job down that way' she laughed. They talked of nothing in particular for a while, neither of them used to being quite this far apart. 'Oh yes' said Rommi, ` - before I forget, I bumped into Mavis, Duffy's sister yesterday and when I told her you were in London she asked if you would do her a favour.'

`Sure, if I can, what is it?' His mind flashed back two years, to the last time he and Duffy had sailed together. Duffy had been his crewman/mechanic on a number of charters out of Moreton Bay but he had lost touch when Duffy had suddenly decided to try his luck in Europe. He realised with a start that Rommi was still speaking. ` -- well, she had fairly regular letters until about six months ago, then zilch. Mavis asked if it's not too far out of your way could you see if he was still at the last address?'

`Of course' said Dirk, `I'd love to see him anyway.'

Rommi gave him an address in Paddington and after a few slightly embarrassed sweet nothings, they said goodbye. He collected his drink, sat at the bar sipping the beer and thought of Duffy McGuire. Always ready with the smart answer, he had learnt his trade thoroughly as a stoker in the R.A.N, and, when he sailed with Dirk, was never at a loss to fix anything mechanical, the only problem was drink, he just could not get enough of it, in fact it got to the stage where Dirk refused to let him ashore alone. `Hell' thought Dirk, `I'll bet it's the old problem.'

He had planned to get down to the south coast tomorrow so, after a glance at his watch decided to give Duffy a try tonight. `Excuse me,' he called to the passing barmaid, `I'll have one of those please,' pointing to the familiar blue and silver can on the cold-shelf behind her, ` - the beer's okay, but there's nothing like the real thing!' he laughed and taking his change, indicated the address he'd written, `Do you know where that is?'

She looked at the paper. `Oh yes,' she smiled, `just off Edgware Road, - your best bet is to jump in a cab, it's not too far.'

`Thanks' said Dirk finishing his beer. He walked back up to Kings Road and within seconds was sitting in the back of a serviceable, if austere, black London taxi marvelling at the sights as the cab threaded its way through the traffic, around Hyde Park Corner and at Marble Arch, fought its way into the left lane before turning into Edgware Road and eventually to the address Dirk had given.

'There yer go Guv'nor.'

As the cab rattled noisily away Dirk stood on the pavement and stared at the dingy three storey house, one of dozens huddled together as though keeping out the cold. In the unfriendly glare of the street lamp he checked the number on the wall, went up the steps and pressed the door bell. He pulled up the collar of his coat as he waited, pushed his hands deep into the large pockets and wondered what possessed people to live in this sort of place. He turned and looked at the depressing scene, the wet road glistening in the drizzle, the white Police Car with it's iridescent yellow and blue stripe emblazoned on it's side cruising slowly past, the driver staring at Dirk as though making a mental note of him. Finally, the porch light came on and he turned as the door opened to the limit of a tough looking safety chain. Through the gap he saw an old woman, the wizened, pointed face peered at him, `Yes' she rasped, `what d'yer want?'

`I'm sorry to disturb you but I'm looking for Duffy McGuire.’

`What are you, the Old Bill?' she croaked.

`Old Bill?`

`The law you fool, - oh I suppose not, else you'd know what I mean.'

Dirk smiled and tried to put the old woman at her ease, `Duffy's an old friend of mine, - from Australia. I've been asked to look him up.'

`Well you wont find 'im `ere' she whined, `more'n likely up the pub drinking the rent money `e owes me.' She was about to close the door. Dirk stopped it with his hand.

`Which pub?'

`The Bunch 'O Grapes,' she said nodding her head to the left, `just up the road.'

Dirk looked around the so called Saloon Bar, at the stained upholstery, scratched tables and smoke-ridden wallpaper that looked as though it had not been touched since Victoria was Queen. Overhead the grimy lamps cast a triangle of misty light. Through the gloom he could see figures sitting at the tables, staring into their glasses, they looked as though they had been there as long as the wallpaper. He was about to leave when loud voices attracted his attention and only then realised that there was another bar. Through the opening in the frosted glass partition he saw two young men, both in black leather jackets covered with studs almost matching the amount of metal in their nose and ears and wearing tight black jeans and heavy boots.

`Nah, leave it out Joe, - not in 'ere!' the taller of the two pleaded.

`No way' stormed Joe, ` - 'e knocked me bleedin' beer over, he'll bloody-well buy me anuvver or I'll fuckin’ nut `im.'

`Look Joe, we don't wanna get barred, we'll get `im outside.' He took Joe's arm, pulling him away.

`Piss off Frank' said Joe snatching his arm away, `and leave this Aussie twit to me.' At that, Dirk moved toward the opening in an effort to see the Aussie Twit. He saw the rounded back of a man sitting on a bar stool wearing a grease stained boiler suit. Dirk lifted his eyes to the mirror behind the bar and saw the man staring morosely into his beer, he recognised Duffy McGuire.

Joe headed for Duffy, `All right you bastard, I'll have a pint of Bitter, or else.'

Dirk stepped out of the gloom, into the mans path. `Maybe he doesn't want to buy you one' he said quietly, his hands loosely by his side.

`Wot the `ells it got to do wi' you?' he leered into Dirk's face.

`Not a lot really, it's just that I`m another of these Aussie twits.'

`Well go play with yer bleedin’ surfboard or som-fing!' He tried to push Dirk aside. Dirk leaned on the shove and didn't move. Joe swung a punch at Dirk's head. It was all too easy really, he saw the punch coming a mile away, stepped inside it, grabbed the arm, turned his hip into the advancing Joe and bent forward. Joe literally flew over Dirk's head and landed in heap against a table. Through his legs, Dirk, still bending, saw the other mans ankles, the trousers were high up his legs suggesting that the man was reaching up and about to hit him. Dirk reacted instinctively, he reached through his legs to the mans ankles and pulled sharply, at which Frank fell back winded as Dirk fell back on top of him. He glanced up in time to see Joe, having got to his feet, coming towards them with a heavy wooden bar stool above his head. He waited a second or two until Joe was committed to the down-swing then nimbly rolled to one side uncovering the man beneath him who's groin was just about where Dirk's head would have been had he stayed.There was a sickening scream as the stool ended its journey, Frank thrashed about in utter agony and Joe looked on in horror.

`Frank' he shrieked, `Frank, - I'm sorry, - Oh! bloody `ell, wot a mess.' He moved forward and bent over Frank whilst Dirk, never one to miss an opportunity, gave Joe a neat chop to the side of the head, just enough to stretch him out alongside his mate.

Dirk stepped over the two bodies and held out his hand to Duffy, `Remember me Duffy, --Dirk Carter!'

The landlord, well over six feet tall, smartly dressed and had to bend as he came through the door from the living quarters to the rear of the Pub. `What happened?' he demanded of Dirk, the first face he saw.

Dirk looked over his shoulder at the two men on the floor `Oh them!' he smiled at the land lord, `Dunno, one of them just hit the other with a bar stool.'

The landlord lifted the flap and came out to Frank who was still rolling around holding his groin and moaning, whilst Joe was just coming round. He grasped them both by the collar and with no apparent effort hoisted them to their feet bringing their heads together with a resounding thump.

`I've warned you two before,' he sprayed into their faces, ` - now, beat it!,- and don't let me see your ugly heads around here again.' With that he pushed them through the door where they sprawled on the wet pavement.

Dirk got little reaction from Duffy who just sat swaying on his stool and yet managed to drink from his pint glass without spilling a drop. The landlord returned behind the bar and smiled at Dirk. `The barmaid just told me what really happened' he said, `Thanks, they've been asking for that for while. Looks like I owe you a drink, what'll you have?'

Dirk asked for a can of Fosters and indicated Duffy. `Do you know this bloke?' he asked.

`Who him!,' countered the landlord smiling at Duffy, `Yeah, he's no trouble, just sits there and wipes himself out every time he's got a bit of cash, he works in the Taxi garage across the road, - friend of yours?'

`From way back,' said Dirk.

`Oh! - you're Australian as well eh? - How long have you been over here?'

`Just a couple of days.'

`Are you looking for work, I could just do with someone who can look after himself.'

`Thanks, but no thanks,' smiled Dirk, `I'm on my way south and back to sea I hope.'

`Well, Good luck, - but if you come unstuck anytime, come back and see me.' He grinned toward Duffy as he walked away, 'Look after him!'

Dirk went to the pay-phone and found Mrs Robertson's number.

`Hello, is that Mrs Robertson?'

`Yes it is.'

`It's Dirk Carter here, - arrived a couple of days ago, remember?'

`Of course Dirk,' she cooed, `what's your problem?'

`That spare bed in my room, I'm bringing someone to use it, is that okay?'

`Well, Well, - it didn't take you long did it dear?' sarcasm creeping into her voice, ` - we have a ten pounds emergency booking fee for that sort of thing.'

`No! You don't understand' laughed Dirk, `he's male and he's an old friend I was asked to look up in London. - I found him, but he's not too well I'm afraid.'

`Oh!' she brightened, `that's all right darlin’, just so as he doesn't mess up the room.'

`Thanks - I'll take care of him, see you later' and hung up. He dialled the cab number displayed above the phone. Duffy was still staring into his beer when Dirk sat down again, he tried talking to him but the only response was a silly grin, he gave up and drank his own beer.

He acknowledged the call of `Taxi' from the driver, finished his drink and coaxed Duffy from his stool. 'Come on old Son, we're going home.'

The landlord watched their slow and uncertain progress and nodded to Dirk. `Nice to have met you, - come see us again.' he said. In spite of the fact that Duffy's legs wanted to go to the left, and his body to the right, Dirk and the driver managed to get him into the cab which was straight ahead.

`Thanks' said Dirk when Duffy was finally draped on the back seat, `Er Chelsea please, - Oakley Street.'

The cab trundled its way through the unceasing traffic and deposited them outside the boarding house, the fresh air from the window Dirk had opened seemed to have revived Duffy a little, he could now walk. Well almost.

They made it to Dirk's room and within seconds, Duffy was flaked out on the spare bed, snoring his head off, Dirk smiled as he undressed Duffy and eased him under the blankets. `Have a good sleep mate, - see you in the morning.'

Dirk was whistling as made his way along the corridor from the bathroom, the best he'd felt since leaving home, he looked at the inert form of Duffy. `Come on old Buddy.' He shook him but got no response.

`Hey, - time to get up!' He shook again and this time managed to elicit a subdued grunt. Dirk stood to attention and bellowed, `Petty Officer McGuire, - ON YOUR FEET – NOW!!'

The response was immediate. `Sir!' cried Duffy as he leapt up and sat with his feet on the floor. The effort reminded him that his head was in no condition for any such violent movement. He groaned and rubbed his eyes as the room slowly came to a standstill and Dirk's face swam into focus. `Dirk Carter!' he managed, `How the bloody hell did you get here?'

`Don't worry about it, first let's get you back to the land of the living, we can talk later.'

He helped Duffy to his feet, wrapped a towel around his waist and led him down the passage to the bathroom where he pushed him under the shower. The hot water did its work and Duffy started to take an interest in life once more. `Aaah, - that's great!' he said.

`Good,' said Dirk, ` - Try this!' and reached in and turned the shower to `Cold'.

The resulting scream could be heard for miles. `You bastard!' yelled Duffy, `I'll get you for that.'

Dirk laughed, `You'll have to be a hell of a lot fitter than you are right now,' he said.

Duffy stepped out of the shower the same rosy pink as the day he was born and took the towel from Dirk. He laughed, not that he saw anything particularly funny, more a release of tension. Dirk laughed in return and very soon both were staggering about with tears streaming down their faces.

At a table in the Dining Room, Duffy watched in horror as Dirk demolished a large helping of bacon and eggs with all the trimmings. Duffy, to be fair, did manage two cups of strong black coffee. `How did you find me?' he asked.

`Mavis was worried when you didn't write,' answered Dirk, ` - why didn't you?'

Duffy looked down and fiddled with his cup. `I didn't want to until I had something good to write about.'

`What happened?' prompted Dirk.

`Oh! the old story, - I came here hoping to set the world on fire, but it all went wrong, - I got a job, sure, - but got made redundant last year. I mucked along with a few odd jobs and finally dropped onto this Taxi job.' he leapt to his feet, `Christ, what time is it!'

`Relax, it's ten o'clock, I'll ring them in a minute, sit down.'

Duffy, looking very worried slid back onto his chair.

`How long's the drinking been going on this time?' asked Dirk.

Duffy looked down again and took a while to answer. `Quite a while,' he said eventually, `I've tried to knock it off but, - I -I keep trying to save my fare home, but every time I get a bit of cash together I hit the slops again.` he looked pleadingly at Dirk.

`Don't look to me for sympathy,' said Dirk with annoyance, `you've only yourself to blame. You are, or were, a bloody good mechanic, probably the best I know, especially on marine stuff, there' no reason in this world why you couldn't get a good job, and hold it, if you really wanted to.'

Duffy looked crestfallen.`Come on, mate, - get a grip on yourself. Look, if you really want to go home I'll lend you the fare.'

`Thanks Dirk, I really appreciate that and I might just take you up on it later, - but what about you, what are you doing here anyway, when did you get in, - and where's Rommi?'

`Hey, slow down' said Dirk and went on to explain. ` - - - so, I'm off down to Southampton as soon as I can, to see what's around. - I want to get down to the 'Med' if I can,' he finished.

Duffy took a sip of his stone cold coffee, put the cup down and turned it slowly in its saucer, ` - I, er, I - d-don't suppose you'd want a good mechanic by any chance, would you?' he said without looking up.

There was no answer and, wondering why, Duffy looked up to see Dirk smiling at him.

`If you hadn't asked, - I would have.' Dirk said. The tears of emotion welled up as the bond between them was re-established, `But, - ' Dirk continued, `there's just one proviso, the only drink that you have is on MY say so, `kay?'

Duffy's face slowly expanded into a huge smile as he held out a podgy hand to Dirk. `Kay Skipper.' he beamed.

Chapter Three

The sun gave promise of better things to come as the train pulled into Southampton Station and ground to a halt with a deafening screech of metal. The Public Address announcer was pouring out her welcome in the traditionally indecipherable style of British Rail as the commuters streamed out of the carriages, their morning dash to their offices timed to the second. Dirk and Duffy gathered their belongings, stepped onto the platform and made their way to the exit.

`Well here goes nothing,' said Duffy as he struggled to keep up with Dirk. He certainly looked a whole lot more human than he had of late and although three years younger than Dirk, his excess weight and lack of fitness gave him an older air. He was born `on the wrong side of the tracks' but, to give him credit, had tried to cross over. His record after four years in the Royal Australian Navy was exemplary and he had attained the dizzy heights of Petty Officer but unfortunately, there are those whose destiny suffers from acute vertigo and, had he served thirty years he would, in all probability, have remained in the P.O's mess. Not so his engineering abilities though, any new item of marine equipment was not acceptable until it had been dismantled, scrutinised, reassembled and subjected to rigorous testing by Duffy and, once passed muster, would be ever held in high regard as a `triumph of British ingenuity' in spite of the often seen `Made in China' label.

Born in Queensland of Irish stock he had no particular ties with his parents or, for that matter, Ireland itself. He had yet to go there, although if one listened carefully, one could just detect a soft Irish brogue which seemed to intensify in direct proportion to his alcoholic intake. Right now though, he was viewing the world in a completely new light and was happily convinced that all would be well in the immediate years ahead.

Later that day, having found suitable accommodation, they were sitting in a dockside Pub. The flickering log fire and a pint of the one tie Duffy DID have with Ireland set him at peace with the world. He looked over the brim of his glass to Dirk who was studying the local paper. `Anything exciting?' he asked as Dirk threw the paper aside.

`Yeah plenty, if you want to run coal around the coast in a rustbucket, or take tourists to the Isle of Wight.'

`No thanks,' quipped Duffy, `I've carried all the Prawns I want to for a while.' They both laughed and sipped their drinks.

`Looking for a berth then?' The question came from one of two men at the next table.

`That obvious eh? - as a matter of fact we are, - are you locals?' asked Dirk looking from one to the other.

`Been beached for months.' said the second man, `Nothing round 'ere, - Southampton's finished as a port where you could pick your own berth. The Containers have gone, - the freighters, the ferries, - all bloody-well gone!'

Dirk and Duffy quizzed them on the small boat scene and they were advised to head east along the coast trying places like Portsmouth, Chichester Harbour, and Brighton Marina. Dirk thanked them and, finishing their drinks he and Duffy went in search of some food.

`I think we'll give it a big miss around here and follow their advice, what d'you reckon?' asked Dirk.

Portsmouth was no more promising, and days of tramping around Chichester Harbour although giving promise of work to come yielded nothing. `There'll be nothing till Easter,or the weather gets better, which ever comes first,' they were told repeatedly.

`Two weeks tomorrow,' reflected Dirk, `and not a bite.'

`Well they can't say we didn't try,' argued Duffy, `what's next?'

They were sitting in the lounge of their quiet, off-season boarding house just off the Brighton Promenade, the weather lashing the windows did little to alleviate their despondence, nor did the Television News with little else but the ever rapidly escalating conflict between Middle Eastern countries with other Gulf States looking as though