Torpedo Run (1981) (23 page)

Devane looked away.
I told him I was having an affair
, she had said.

That last night as they had laid entwined and breathless in each other’s arms he had asked her about it.

She had answered without hesitation. ‘
You
were the affair. I invented it. Maybe I made it happen. Wishful thinking. But you were the only friend I ever heard Don praise. That meant one thing, he’d taught me that well in the past. He envied you . . .’

Devane said slowly, ‘I saw her after the inquiry.’ Why had he said that? ‘She took it very well.’

‘Lovely girl.’ Dundas could not drop it. ‘He must have been mad.’

Devane remembered that Dundas had admitted his feelings for Claudia.

He said, ‘We’d best check the boat. Then I’ll go round the flotilla and end up with Hector Buckhurst in the Jerry.’

Dundas followed him down on to the MTB’s deck. If they could just get through this operation and return to the Med, anywhere but here, he would try and see her again. With Richie out of the way, she might welcome a friendly face. Dundas had never forgotten. The way she moved. Her laugh, her refusal to let her husband talk down to one of his subordinates in her presence.

Lieutenant Seymour hurried after them. ‘What about this stupid numbering of the boats, sir?’

Dundas grinned. ‘It’s so the enemy will know the men from the boys, David!’

Devane turned swiftly. ‘Don’t you ever let me hear you
say that again, Number One! Now get on with your jobs, both of you!’

When Devane had gone below Seymour grimaced awkwardly. ‘Sorry, Roddy. Should know when to keep my trap shut.’

Dundas touched his arm. ‘Forget it, chum. I’ll be a bastard when I’m in command too! He didn’t mean anything by it. In one ear and out the other, that’s my motto in this crazy regiment!’ He watched the lieutenant walk away, his face clouded in gloom.

But Devane
did
mean something by his sudden anger. Was it the last mission which had shaken him so badly? The wound perhaps, the brutal reminder that death was always close by? God, they hardly needed reminding in MTBs.

A voice from the jetty made him start. He saw Barker peering down at him, his head jutting forward as he snapped, ‘You’ve a rating aft without his cap on! You
are
the first lieutenant, I believe? Then see to it!’

Dundas saluted and kept his face expressionless. ‘Aye, aye, sir!

Inwardly he was fuming. First one telling off, then another. It was simply not his day.

Lieutenant-Commander Ralph Beresford leaned on the E-boat’s chart table and looked directly at Devane. The hull was throbbing around them, the sound controlled and contained but adding to the illusion of a great beast about to be slipped from a leash. It was dusk outside. No more waiting.

‘Well, how do you feel, John? Now that it’s time to go?’

Devane scribbled another note on his pad and then sat back in the chair. He had been almost continuously in the German boat for two days, trying to get her measure, to thrust aside the sense of hostility. But she still felt unfamiliar, just as Barker’s final plan lacked a sense of reality.

He shrugged. ‘It’ll be better when we get there.’

He tried to sound convincing for Beresford’s sake. They had done a lot in the Mediterranean, but usually Beresford had been there with him, taking the risks, sharing the
victories. Now he was being left behind at Tuapse. It would not suit him at all, especially as Barker seemed more eager to consult his superiors in far-off London than discuss his strategy with Beresford.

Devane added, ‘It should be a quiet passage to the enemy coast. If we’re spotted we’ll have to break off the mission anyway. No sense in stirring up the hornets in advance.’

They both smiled, remembering all the other times. The wild excitement, the despair at seeing friends fall and die, and vessels burn.

The captured E-boat, code named
Trojan
, was to enter the enemy-occupied port of Mandra and carry out a single-handed attack on a large supply ship which had been moored there for several months. She was the headquarters of the local German admiral, as well as the repair and mother ship for the E-boat flotillas. She had probably serviced this very craft on arrival in the Black Sea, which helped to add to the strangeness of it all.

It was just the kind of operation which if properly executed would put
Parthian
right in the headlines, no matter what the security boys tried to do, and the effect on local enemy shipping would resound from one end of the Black Sea to the other.

Barker had said crisply, ‘The spirit of Drake. None of this heavy-handed tactical nonsense. Straight in and fast away. Jerry will think twice before allowing his bases to become so scattered, eh?’

Only one MTB, Lieutenant Horne’s
Buzzard
, now with a crimson number 4 painted on her hull, would accompany the E-boat as escort, and provide covering fire in the withdrawal from Mandra. It sounded dangerous, but no more so than some they had carried out before.

What Devane disliked and mistrusted more than anything was Barker’s insistence that the E-boat should be crewed by selected officers and ratings from the rest of the flotilla. Home,
Buzzard
’s CO, would be acting as Devane’s second-in-command. He was very competent and experienced, and Devane guessed he had been picked specially just in case he himself should be killed. The third hand was a Canadian
named Bill Durston, Mackay’s first lieutenant.
To share the honour fairly
, as Barker had commented.

Pellegrine was to be Devane’s coxswain, and likewise Petty Officer Ackland had charge of the E-boat’s engine room. The remainder of the British ratings were mostly engine-room hands, while Barker had reluctantly conceded that the gunnery should be handled by a Russian contingent from the naval base. A total company of thirty-six officers and ratings, whereas the E-boat’s normal complement was twenty-three.

Devane said, ‘Provided we can get in without too much bother, we should be out again before daylight. Ivan can provide air cover for the home run to base.’

Perhaps Barker was right about urgency, but they needed more time to test the E-boat’s reactions under all conditions. She was equipped with her own powerful forty-millimetre and twenty-millimetre cannons, but the replaced torpedoes, with hasty modifications, were Russian. Her full cargo of mines for the last part of the attack were also from the local armaments dump. What with that and her mixed crew she was one of the freaks of naval warfare, Devane thought.

Beresford gathered up his papers and prepared to leave. He said suddenly, ‘Take care, old son. Do it your way. In the past few days I’ve come to believe that Churchill, Stalin and Hitler don’t count for anything. This is Barker’s war, and we’re not allowed to forget it! So keep your head down.’

Devane guessed that Home would be waiting impatiently to report that they were ready to get under way.

But he said, ‘
Parthian
, what will the rest of the lads be doing?’

Beresford swept his hair back and jammed on his cap. ‘Oh, some sort of mock attack along the coast, I think. Captain Sorokin’s got over his row with Barker, it seems. He had it planned as a Russian-led venture, not one managed and directed by our own gallant captain!’

Devane nodded, still troubled. ‘Keep an eye on them, all the same. I’d trust Red Mackay with my life, but even he has to obey orders.’

Beresford grinned. ‘Don’t we all, chum. Leave it to me. You just take care of yourself.’ He glanced round the brightly
lit cabin. ‘
Trojan
indeed. Only
he
could dream up something so bloody obvious!’

Beresford held out his hand. ‘I’m off then.’

Devane took an envelope from his pocket. He felt awkward without knowing why. But it was suddenly important.

He said, ‘If anything goes wrong, would you send this letter for me?’

Beresford’s eyes flickered down to it very briefly.

‘Sure. I’ll see that she gets it.’

Then with a nod he turned and clattered up the ladder.

Horne and Durston entered immediately. Home banged his hands together and said, ‘My own boat is loaded to the deck beams with extra fuel. But with me aboard here with you, sir, my Number One’ll not dare to lose contact!’

He gave a great guffaw. In spite of all his active service Horne still looked like a fishing skipper.

Durston grinned. ‘Red sent me because he’s glad to see the back of me!’

They looked at each other liks conspirators.

Then Devane said, ‘Make the signal.’

He glanced at the cabin and pictured the previous occupants. Maybe they had written their letters to their loved ones.
Just in case
.

He heard the Russian lieutenant mustering his gun crews and decided to leave him to it. Sorokin had picked him himself, and as he spoke very little English there seemed no point in useless translations. They all knew what to do. If they didn’t, it was too bloody late now.

Devane thought of Orel and wondered how he felt about playing another support role.

Pellegrine touched his cap. ‘All engines standin’ by, sir.’ He seemed smaller on the E-boat’s bridge.

Devane smiled at him. ‘They sound fine.’

The great Daimler-Benz diesels were throbbing more freely now. Soon to be moving again. New masters, a different flag, she would be indifferent to them all.

The signalman called, ‘Signal acknowledged, sir.
Proceed when ready
.’

It seemed odd that the man was a stranger and not the
familiar Carroll. Devane smiled. The ex-baker’s roundsman.

Horne swore. ‘God, there’s some idiot coming inboard!’ He sounded edgy, which was not like him at all.

It was Dundas, as somehow Devane knew it would be.

‘Just wanted to wish you luck, sir.’ He peered around the bridge as the shutters were slammed shut and the engine-room hatch swung down with a metallic clang.

‘Thanks, Number One. Have the drinks set up. See you on Thursday.’

They shook hands and Dundas returned to the gloom of the concrete bunker.

‘Tell
Buzzard
to start up.’

Devane walked to the rear of the bridge and watched their solitary escort vanish momentarily into a cloud of high-octane gas as she roared into life and thrashed clear of the jetty. Mooring lines snaked aboard, and vaguely through the din Devane heard the crews of the other MTBs cheering their friends.

He saw Home waving to his own boat as she continued to turn towards the bunker’s mouth, and guessed he was probably more worried about handing over command to his number one than he was about a raid on some enemy port.

Lieutenant Durston had already gone forward and could be heard yelling at the seamen fore and aft as they prepared to cast off the final mooring ropes. His warm Canadian voice sounded strangely reassuring, Devane thought.

He thought he saw Barker and the lieutenant from Intelligence watching from the rear of the jetty, but forgot them as he ordered, ‘Let go aft.’ He craned over the side of the bridge. ‘Slow astern starboard outer.’

The bridge began to shake, and somewhere a man said, ‘You behave yourself, Jerry.’

‘Let go forrard! Fend off aft!’

The jetty was sliding past very slowly, and Devane saw the seamen waving their caps from the MTBs as they moved towards the wider part of the dock.

‘Stop starboard.’

Devane glanced around the bridge; the tense figures, the little pieces of fluttering bunting which were tied to
unfamiliar voicepipes and switches to act as reminders. Barker would certainly not approve of those.

‘Half astern port, half ahead starboard, wheel amidships.’

Big and powerful she might be, but she turned her one hundred and fifteen feet like a London taxi.

Pellegrine murmured, ‘I can see the markers, sir.’ He sounded slightly breathless, as if he had been running.

Devane patted his arm. ‘She’s all yours. Slow ahead, port and starboard outer.’

Around him men started to relax and move in their new surroundings. Wires and ropes were stowed away and the guardrails stripped to the minimum to give every gun a full arc of fire. Down in his engine room Petty Officer Tim Ackland was already busy amongst the glistening machinery, oblivious to everything but his job and the care of the three great diesels, which to him at least were beautiful.

Horne crossed the bridge, his broad figure muffled against the evening air in a duffle coat.

‘We’ll be clear of the dockyard and harbour limits in twenty-five minutes, sir.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t want to end up here on a wrecked Russian, eh?’ His eyes lit up briefly as a lamp blinked across from the MTB which was beating round to take station astern.

The signalman said, ‘From
Buzzard
, sir.
We are following father
.’

Devane moved away as Home replied, ‘Make to them.
Stay close and learn how it’s done
.’

Devane looked abeam, the town and the bomb damage were already masked in shadow, the worst scars hidden until tomorrow.

He removed his cap and let the breeze ruffle his hair. What was she doing now? Perhaps he had been wrong to leave that letter with Beresford. If he bought it, she would be made to suffer all over again.

‘Starboard fifteen, Swain.’ Home sounded easier now. ‘Follow the guardboat.’

Devane left them to it. They were all professionals here. They only needed him when the attack was begun.

Oh, Claudia, I love you so much
.

‘Sorry, sir, did you say something?’

Devane swung away from the screen. ‘No. I’m going below for a moment. Take the con.’ He had to fight to keep his voice level.

Horne watched him climb down from the bridge and waited for Durston to join him on the gratings.

‘He seems cool.’ The Canadian levelled his glasses on a half-submerged wreck as it slid past, a bell-buoy tolling mournfully like a dirge.

Horne grunted. ‘Yes. He’ll do me. The best.’

Durston persisted, ‘This place we’re going. D’you reckon we’ll pull it off?’

Horne glared. ‘For God’s sake, go and rustle up something hot to drink. I’ll
tell
you about bloody Mandra when we’re back here again!’