The side of the gun deflected the wave away from us; it roared its way to the stern of the ship, smashing at the hatch covers, winches and air vents. The spray from each collision was atomized and whipped away by the wind so that the ship trailed a magnificent roostertail of white spume.
Johnny dropped my arm as if it was coated with slime. He hunched slightly down so that our eyes were level, and spoke with exaggerated patience, as if to a child. "What the bloody fuck you think you're doin', Candy-ass? Huh?"
My back was pressed against the steel bulkhead; all I could do was shrug.
"Speak when you're spoken to!" he roared.
"I was just . . ."
"You was just wanderin' around the upper deck with your thumb up yer arse with no life jacket on, that's what you was just doin'. What the fuck you tryin' to do, prove that you're an arsehole?"
"No, I was just . . ."
"No?" He roared in mock astonishment. Then he minced, rolled his eyes and demurely flapped a wrist. "Nooo." Then he roared again: "Whaddya mean, 'no'? If your useless fuckin' body gets washed over the side, it's me who hasta go find it. Me! And I don't wanna do that, see? Do you know why? Hey numbnuts, do you know why? 'Cause it's rough out there, that's why. See all those great big pointy things? They're called waves! Didja know that? Didja? Huh? You think just 'cause you're some pretty little white boy that those things won't kill ya? Huh? Whatsa matter, dontcha speak fuckin' English? Huh? Huh?"
"You're supposed to give me instructions about the exercise!" I roared back, instantly shocked at my burst of temper.
"What exercise?" his mouth was drawn into a snarl.
"Helicopter. They're going to pick . . ."
"I know what they're gonna do. What's it got to do with you?"
"I said I'd go. They said they needed a volunteer, so I said I'd do it."
He stared at me without changing expression.
"So here I am. Without a lifejacket."
"I'm supposed to go," he said. "I done it lots of times before. I'm supposed to go."
"But Petty Officer Boon . . ."
"Petty Officer shit!"
"He said you can't be spared from lifeguard duty, so someone else has to go."
"Yeah?" Then he chuckled, the sound seeming to come from the depths of his body. "Can't be spared eh? That what he said?"
"Why don't you ask him? He should be here any minute. I thought he was right behind me when I came up here."
"Well golly fuckin' jeepers, maybe he got washed over the side."
"Maybe I should go find him . . ."
There was a whoop of liquid coughing from inside the quartermaster's shelter. "Sonofabitch!" he roared, and flung himself through the doorway. I started to follow but was stopped by the stench of rum and vomit.
He stooped over a sprawled body rolling helplessly on the deck. From the brief glimpse of crew-cut grey hair I knew it was Richards, one of his cronies; a nasty piece if I ever met one.
"Get the fuck outta here!" Johnny roared at me. "This has fuck-all to do with you. Wait out there! Go-on! Fuck off!"
So I fucked off. I clutched a ladder on the Bofors gun, faced into the wind and watched the boiling horizon, ready to jump to safety when a big wave hit. I drew a deep breath and gagged on a lungful of sulphur fumes and cinders. I screamed and cursed in fury; couldn't I once do something right?
There was movement behind me; I turned, still choking. It was Johnny. I thought I saw a flicker of concern replace the hatred, but I must have been wrong. "You gonna puke too?" he roared. "You gonna fuckin' puke, then you puke over there, that way, not into the fuckin' wind, you arsehole!"
"No I'm not gonna fuckin' puke! How about you, Leading Seaman Running Wolf, are yooo gonna fuckin' puke?" My voice had risen to a shriek.
We both froze, probably for three full seconds. Then his face softened into a smile, the first I had ever seen on him. "Do that again, Candy-ass. I love it when you talk dirty."
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