Ship of Force (20 page)

Sanders was leaning out from the bridge. “Is that the lot, sir?” Smith lifted a hand and Sanders bellowed, “Cast off!” He vanished and a moment later
Sparrow
throbbed to the beat of her engines and she pulled away from the coaster. As she did so a squall came in from the north-west, rolling
Sparrow
’s smoke down to coil around the listing coaster like a winding-sheet. With it came the rain, and the coast and Ostende were lost as its grey curtain came down. The shore-batteries fired no more.

Smith went to the bridge, pausing for only seconds to stare at what was left of the wireless shack; a buckled frame, splintered planks and the wireless a chunk of scrap. He moved on, found Sanders on the bridge and said, “We’re very glad to see you. What happened?”

Sanders looked tired, drawn and pale. He spoke slowly, a sentence at a time as he remembered the incidents, getting his thoughts in order as he went. “We were patrolling, sir. Heading north. These two German boats came up on us from astern. We saw each other together, I think. The captain made a run for it and got away that time, but they hunted us, found us again when we tried to cut back. They fired at us and hit us, but we got away again. They still hunted us. Drove us right off station. When it was getting light and we could see they’d given up — probably thought we’d got round them somehow and gone home — the captain said we’d come back to look for you.”

“He was taking a risk.”

“Yes, sir. He said we had to. Couldn’t leave you and scoot off home.”

Smith thought they owed their freedom if not their lives to Dunbar. Nobody would have blamed him if he had refused to hazard his ship on the thin chance of finding Smith’s party. Sanders might prove a good officer in time but a decision like that…

He asked, “Where is the captain?”

Sanders looked at Gow where he hung over the wheel, long arms hanging to grip the spokes. Gow’s face was expressionless. Sanders said, “When they hit us they killed the two Sparks and wounded the captain but he stayed on the bridge. Shortly before we sighted you he collapsed and we took him below. He died about ten minutes ago. Brodie says it was shock and loss of blood.”

Smith looked at them, at the misery in Sanders’s face and the mask clamped on Gow’s. He said to them, “I’m very sorry. He — was a fine officer.”

He could find nothing more to say. He had got away with it, but not Dunbar. The man had said he owed Smith a lot. He had paid in full; far too much. And the two wireless operators. He thought of Dunbar’s private misery, never shown, never spoken of, but he knew it had been there. He did not believe this rubbish about dying of a broken heart. Men died for reasons like — loss of blood. Not a broken heart. Still…

He turned away from them to face forward. Eleanor Hurst was in the captain’s cabin and Dunbar and the dead wireless operators in the wardroom. There was nowhere Smith could go. The bridge was crowded as always with its staff and the crew of the twelve-pounder. There was barely room for him to take a pace either way. He stood with legs braced against the motion of the ship and wrapped his hands around the mug of tea that came up from the galley and sipped at it and hunched wearily under the rain, the never-ending rain.

Dunbar. The appalling, bloody waste of a good man.

Sparrow
slipped into the harbour of Dunkerque in the forenoon. As she passed through the Roads, Smith saw
Marshall Marmont
was still at anchor. Her pinnace was in the water with steam up and an officer descending the ladder.
Sparrow
slid on past the lighthouse and the bastion where a French
poilu
, disconsolate in a dripping cape, stood guard with rifle and bayonet by the field gun that pointed at the sky. She tied up at her berth in the Port d’Echouage and on the quay a solitary figure awaited them, an Army officer in a trench-coat, cane tapping against his booted leg. The officer looked up at the bridge and saw Smith, lifted the cane in a wave. He was tall, handsome, but with a toughness about his good looks and Smith remembered him from the party at the Savoy a world away. And from three days later. He was the Lieutenant-Colonel on somebody’s staff who had been a Doctor of Philosophy and now was something on movements in Dunkerque — Hacker. He called up at Smith, “Permission to come aboard, sir?”

Smith nodded slowly, putting two and two together. He turned his head and threw a reminder at Sanders: “Coal ship!” He started down from the bridge.

Sanders’s “Aye, aye, sir!” followed him.

As he walked towards Hacker where he waited in the waist, Smith saw Brodie at the hatch that led down to the wardroom and the captain’s cabin, holding down a hand. Another hand took his and he helped Eleanor Hurst up to the deck as Smith reached Hacker. The Colonel stared at the girl and let out a sigh of relief “Thank God for that!” He took off his cap and thrust his fingers through thick, black hair. He was freshly shaved but Smith suspected he had been up all night. He looked tired.

Smith was seeing some things very clearly now. He said, “You are a Lieutenant-Colonel in Intelligence and you sent that girl into Belgium.”

Hacker did not hesitate, admitted it immediately, “Yes.” He did not offer explanations, excuses or apologies.

Smith said, “I think we’d better talk.”

Eleanor Hurst was close now. Garrick’s voice spoke up behind Smith, “Welcome home, sir. We were starting to worry.”

Hacker muttered, “Not as much as I was.”

Smith turned to meet the grinning and obviously relieved Garrick and asked, “What news of the engines?”

“She’s to be towed into the dockyard tonight or early tomorrow, sir.”

Smith thought that was his ‘ship of force’: two big guns and no engines. And that his deck was getting crowded and the hands at work were having to climb around them. He said, “I think we’d better compare notes.” He looked from Hacker to the girl. “Shall we go below? The men are making ready to coal ship and we’re in the way.”

They went down to the cabin and Smith crowded them in, Hacker and the girl sitting on the bunk, Garrick standing by the bulkhead. Brodie appeared before they were settled, carrying a tray with glasses, a bottle and a jug of water. “Thought you might fancy a drop o’ something, sir.”

“Did you?” Smith took the tray from him. “It’s a bit early but the circumstances are unusual. Thank you.”

Brodie left and Smith charged the glasses.

Hacker said, “
Sparrow
’s been knocked about a bit.” When Smith nodded, Hacker went on, “Curtis told me when he got back here in the middle of the night that you’d gone to do the job. Then when you didn’t show up at first light —” He shook his head, his cap now hooked on one knee, and smiled at Eleanor. “I was very worried, my dear. Oh, I know it was a job that had to be done and you had volunteered. But
I’d
let you go and — well, I’m damned glad to see you safe.” He paused, then asked, “Josef?”

Smith answered, “We lost him.” He explained briefly.

Hacker said nothing for a moment then he lifted his glass to Smith where he stood at the door. “Congratulations to you, anyway. And — ‘absent friends’.”

Smith lifted his. “Absent friends.” This was Dunbar’s cabin. There would be a stretcher party coming soon to take Dunbar and the wireless operators from the wardroom. He gulped at the whisky and felt it burn down into him. “There’s no cause for congratulations. Josef and Miss Hurst found nothing. Just as the reconnaissance flights you asked for found nothing. Except that whatever is in those woods, the enemy are determined to keep it secret.”

Hacker said, “You seem to know a great deal.”

“I know about
Schwertträger
. I know you’re trying everything you can to find out what’s behind it.” And Smith told him about the U-boat commander, and how it had been reported to Naval Intelligence and to Trist. He finished, “Now I find you’re on the same trail. Does Trist know? Did
you
know what I’d told Trist?”

Hacker shook his head uncomfortably. “There’s very little liaison of that kind. We’re improving, but so far — no, there’s no machinery for exchanging information.’ He added wryly, “I’m having difficulty in persuading my people that this thing could be important. They authorised reconnaissance flights, and this landing of Josef and Miss Hurst but only because of the reports from Belgium. And because I persuaded them there was something going on that we should know about.”

Smith was silent for a moment, aware that Garrick was listening to all this with amazement. Smith looked at him, open-faced and honest and thought wearily, Thank God for Garrick in a mad world. He said quietly, “I believe that, because of the way they are guarded, the woods south of De Haan hold a secret that is a threat to us. Because of the connection with a U-boat commander and the mention of a spring tide that threat must be coming directly from the sea.” He paused.

Hacker said, “That sounds sense.”

Smith emptied his glass and looked from Hacker to the girl.

“I’m going to the Commodore to ask him to let me make a reconnaissance of that stretch of coast. Will you come with me?”

The two of them sitting on the bunk exchanged glances. Hacker said, “Well, I know Trist — but I think you’re right. I’ll come.”

Eleanor Hurst stood up wearily. “Very well.”

Garrick offered, “I’ll come along if you like, sir.” He said it unhappily, scenting trouble.

Smith turned him down. “But if you’d care to wait aboard I’ll go with you in the picket-boat later.”

He had no cap so he took Dunbar’s. They walked up through the port, along the quays. As they crossed the fish-market where there was a new crater filled with rubble, the flag climbed up the staff on the Belfroi tower and the fog-horns sounded. The crews of the French destroyers lying alongside ran to their guns and the barrels lifted to point at the sky.

Eleanor Hurst asked, “What’s going on?”

Smith answered shortly, “Air-raid,” and kept up the fast pace he had set from the beginning.

At the house in the Parc de la Marine they found a line of Staff cars, the drivers in a lounging group that stiffened into cracking attention as a corporal among them bawled, “Heyes front!” And snapped up a salute. Smith returned it. The outer office was empty, the Lieutenant missing from his desk by the double-doors leading to Trist’s room and those doors were halfopen. Smith and his little party could hear a murmur of voices, deep-toned laughter and he pushed the doors wide and walked in. He saw the Lieutenant who should have been guarding the doors hurrying down the room towards them, a startled look on his face. Beyond him there was a crowd of officers, Army and Royal Navy intermingled blue and khaki, gold braid and red tabs, glittering boots and buttons and silky-shining Sam Browne belts. They stood around the big map in little groups. Two stewards in dazzling white jackets were moving among them with trays of drinks and a long table was laid for lunch by the windows. Smith saw one tall figure in the uniform of a Brigadier-General in conversation with another tall, immaculate figure who smiled widely. Smith thought of Dunbar who had bled to death while he refused to leave his bridge, refused to abandon Smith and risked his little ship under the enemy guns. But Dunbar was at peace. Smith wanted something of Trist, had to have it. Then Trist saw Smith and his smile vanished.

The Lieutenant intercepted Smith. “Sir, if you would care to wait —”

“The door was open. I need to see the Commodore.” Smith passed him and met Trist who was walking with rapid, long strides down the room.

Trist said softly, savagely, “What the devil do you want?”

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting, sir, but there was no one around outside and the door was open. I have to see you.”

Trist looked him up and down, at the salt-stained uniform, crumpled as it had dried on him, the hollow eyes in the unshaven face.

Smith guessed how he must look and was sorry, but: “It is urgent, sir —”

“This is a conference,” Trist started, but Smith’s eyes flicked past him to the group at the end of the room, the stewards and the drinks. Trist followed the direction of that gaze and saw curious glances turned towards himself and Smith. Gunfire sounded beyond the tall windows of the long room, some of it distant and some of it close. A shudder ran through the floor and the windows trembled making a soft rattling in the frames and then there came the far-off muffled
crump
! of the bomb. Hacker and Eleanor stood a yard inside the room, the Lieutenant hovering uncertainly. They watched the slight, bedraggled but straight figure of Smith standing under Trist’s glare, refusing to be moved.

The Commodore smiled easily at the General across the room but muttered an obscenity under his breath. He said, “Very well. Outside.”

And when they stood in the hallway, “What is it?”

“We’ve talked before about —” Smith hesitated. What to call it? “
Schwertträger
, whatever it may be.”

Trist raised his eyes to heaven. “Not
again
!”

Smith said, “This gentleman is Lieutenant-Colonel Hacker of Army Intelligence. This lady is Miss Eleanor Hurst. If you would hear them, sir.”

Hacker looked real, the soldier he was, but Eleanor Hurst still wore the blouse and skirt in which she had been captured and in which she had swum. She had dried them aboard
Sparrow
but they had not seen an iron. She looked a scarecrow figure and knew it, was aware of Trist’s eyes running over her, amused and patronising.

Hacker told his tale, and Eleanor Hurst went stiff-faced and curtly through hers as Trist watched her with a cynical half-smile.

When they had finished he looked at Smith. “And I suppose you believe this lends weight to your arguments? That two wrongs make a right?” He glanced at the doors behind him and looked at his watch.

Smith said, “Before we only knew the Germans planned something called
Schwertträger
. We still don’t know what it is or when it will be but we know
where
and that it is connected with the woods by De Haan.”

“That may be,” Trist admitted grudgingly. “But if Colonel Hacker had sent a more appropriate agent than an untried girl —”

“
I
was there only as — as part of a disguise!” Eleanor Hurst snapped it at him. “There was an expert with me, he tried all he knew and now he’s dead. He did
not
die with his bottom stuck in a chair and a drink in his hand!”

Trist glared past her at Hacker. “Are you unable to discipline your assistants?”

The door opened behind Trist as the girl answered him. “He can’t and neither can you! I’m a civilian! Thank God for that and that I don’t have to take orders from a pompous windbag!”

The General and his aides stood in the door, and with them a Royal Navy Captain. Trist spun on his heel, saw them and snapped round again.

Hacker said, “Sir, I’m sorry. Miss Hurst has been under considerable strain and doesn’t know what she’s —”

“I know very well what I’m saying!” She was pale but she spoke very clearly.

Smith said savagely under his breath, “For God’s sake,
shut up
!”

Her head jerked as if struck and she turned away.

Smith spoke to Trist, tried to retrieve the situation. “I think the Germans have something in those woods, sir. The aircraft patrolling over De Haan, the way they are very secretive about the area, how it is isolated, guarded and now this report that actually links
Schwertträger
with those woods — they all fit together now. I suggest that we try to reconnoitre that stretch of coast by making a landing, and the fact that Miss Hurst and myself have both landed there shows it can be done. I think we’ve got to make a reconnaissance backed by force and prepared to —”

“No!”

Smith thought he could not have made himself clear. He must try again. “If I could explain, sir —”

“
No
!” Trist almost shouted it. “You’ve already exceeded your authority in engaging in operations outside the orders I gave you. You’re demanding a reconnaissance while one ship of your force is immobilised and now the other is damaged because of your actions!”

Dunbar. All the time came the sound and shudder of the bombs falling in the port and the constant racketing gunfire. Dunbar.

Smith heard himself saying, “With respect, my actions were dictated by circumstances and in the same circumstances I would act the same. The ship was knocked about and three good men killed, one of them a fine officer, because the orders from this headquarters sent her out alone into waters where she had no right to be and on a task she was unfit to undertake!” He shouted it at Trist.

The other man’s mouth was open. The Army officers stood staring. Smith looked at them all and told himself his temper had wrecked everything.

Finally Trist said, “You — are — insubordinate!”

He was going to relieve Smith of his command. Smith knew it. It would be the first mistake Trist made because it would mean a court martial and though he had engineered matters so that he was covered, nevertheless some mud would stick.

But then the Captain stepped in and the four gold rings around his sleeve were interspersed with scarlet. He was the Fleet Surgeon. He said easily, “I really think, Commodore, that both this officer and the young lady are suffering from overstrain. I see a great deal of it and the signs are there if you know what to look for. I suggest release from all duties for a few days.” He glanced meaningly at Trist. “I’ll authorise that with your permission, sir.” He was breaking it up, getting rid of the troublemakers.