The White Guns (1989) (29 page)

Meikle looked at him searchingly. 'A lieutenant, even an
acting-temporary
lieutenant, must expect all kinds of duties to come his way, especially in territory newly taken from the enemy.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Some of the tasks are hard, some more difficult than others. But they have to be fairly and equally shared by the occupying forces, and
seen
to be shared without fear or favour.'

'I see, sir.' How inadequate it sounded.

'Two displaced persons, Poles to be exact, were arrested and charged with looting and attempted murder.'

Fairfax watched as one of Meikle's hands moved away to flip over some loose papers, as if it was acting apart from its owner. Where was this all leading?

'They were found guilty by a military court at Lübeck and sentenced to death.' His eyes never wavered. 'The executions will be by firing-squad next week. You will be in charge of one of them.'

Fairfax found that he was on his feet, his skin suddenly chilled despite the warm night.

'Is that an order, sir?'

'You may request to be excused. That is all I can tell you. Your name was selected in secret. But I fear your refusal to carry out this unpleasant duty would
not
remain secret for long.'

'I understand, sir.' He felt sick, and wanted to leave the room.

'I doubt that, Fairfax. But nothing can be achieved here without maintaining law and order. The fact that the victim was a German, and her attackers people from an oppressed country, must matter not one jot if we are to succeed.'

'A
woman,
sir?'

Meikle gave a cold smile. 'It touches your sense of honour, does it?'

He rang a bell and the same messenger appeared as if on a wire.

'Off you go, Fairfax. Just be ready.'

Outside the room Fairfax walked slowly into the deep shadows. What difference should it make? He had seen men die in battle, bravely, or screaming with terror until death offered its release. Thousands they said had died in Hiroshima, with many more to follow if all the rest of it was true.

So why should one man count? He was guilty.

He tried to think of Marriott's summing-up when he had spoken about a regular commission.
All for it.

It was what he wanted more than anything. Was it enough?

The Staff Operations Officer stood with his arms folded and stared up at his huge wall chart, which showed in detail the Schleswig-Holstein Command. Wrecks considered safe enough for general navigation, wrecks awaiting salvage or destruction, a few remaining minefields; the endless litter of war.

Marriott had not been in the main operations room before and was struck by its quiet efficiency. He sensed that Meikle's hand was behind it although it gave the impression it had been here for years.

The commander said, 'You'll go up to Flensburg by road; there you can contact the local operations section who will take care of you. There's a ship to be towed into the Baltic for scuttling. Probably the first of many, but because it's a towing job we can't wait for the weather to change against us.' He glanced at the sunlight streaming through the windows. 'You know the Baltic – nice as pie one minute, but as the summer passes on it can get really ugly.' He eyed him keenly. 'You're a good navigator, I hear. Small-ship chaps usually are.'

Marriott smiled. 'Have to be, sir.' He added, 'Can I ask why it has to be scuttled so far out, sir?'

'You can now, but it's still officially secret. The army have discovered several great storage dumps of poison gas, a last resort probably, but never used, thank God. My father was a soldier in the last lot. He was gassed in Flanders. Never got over it. Coughed out his life while I was still at school.'

Marriott pictured the silent and deserted ships he had seen at Flensburg. He had thought they had looked sinister then; now that he knew their contents it did not surprise him.

The commander said, 'It's properly stowed. Nothing for you to worry about. Lieutenant Kidd is up there now, supervising the job. A friend of yours, I gather?'

Marriott did not get a chance to answer as a signalman sitting at one of the telephones covered the mouthpiece and called, 'For you, sir!'

The commander frowned. 'I said not to be disturbed until –'

it's the N.O.I.C, sir.'

He shot Marriott a quick grin. in that case.' He took the phone, but apart from announcing himself he did not appear to say anything further. He replaced the telephone and said to the signalman, 'Send a messenger around Ops. I want everyone here. Right now.'

He moved out of earshot and looked at Marriott, his face suddenly very tired.

'What is it, sir? Bad news?'

He did not answer directly but walked over to fling open a window. Later, Marriott was to remember it very clearly. Like Meikle when he had drawn those deep breaths outside the wardroom.

'Apparently they decided that one was not enough. They dropped the second atom bomb on the town of Nagasaki. Exactly the same result. Everything and everyone wiped out by a single blast.' He clenched his fists. it's obscene! Are we no better than the ones who have been guilty before us?' He seemed to recover his self-control and added, 'You can shove off, Marriott.' He tried to smile. 'The job goes on. Like the Windmill, we never close.'

Marriott walked along one of the freshly painted corridors, so bright it was like a hall of mirrors.

A few Germans, still wearing their naval uniforms, were working on some wiring, but their hands were barely moving, and they watched him pass as if they were afraid.

They knew.
How could anyone expect to keep something like Hiroshima and a place called Nagasaki a secret for long?

He could feel it as he passed open office doors. Inside he saw a Petty Officer Yeoman of Signals sitting with his hands folded and staring at a flowering plant which somebody had put on his desk. He might have been praying for all the notice he was taking of those around him. Past another door marked S.D.O. where as if to a silent signal all the typewriters and teleprinters stopped as one.
Now they all knew.

A door at the far end near Meikle's office opened and she stepped outside, frowning as a file slid from the pile she was carrying. Marriott reached down and scooped it up, seeing her sudden surprise and recognition.

'I – I am sorry, Herr Leutnant.'

At the end of the corridor was a division like a large letter T. He would take the left passage, she the right one to her new office.

He tucked the file under his arm and said, 'I'll carry it for you.' They walked together and he realised how clumsy she made him feel. They would part. It was, after all, only a dream.

But she said quietly, 'I was sorry to hear about your ship. I am beginning to understand such things. Before –' She shrugged. 'It is different, you see?'

He did not understand what she meant. 'You were there?'

She met his gaze, her eyes very bright. 'I was. It was sad, I think.'

'I am going up to Flensburg.'

She looked away, suddenly embarrassed. 'I know, Herr Leutnant. I had to translate some of the details.'

They both stopped and she watched him over the pile of cardboard files.

He asked, 'Did the child enjoy the chocolate?'

She nodded. 'She did.' Again that shrug which seemed to tug at Marriott's heart. 'She has not known such luxuries.'

'I'm glad.' He had to say something. 'I wondered if we could talk sometimes. I know I upset you before. I didn't think –'

She did not reply directly. 'You will be going home soon, to England, yes?'

'Perhaps. Nothing is tied up yet.'

She smiled, her teeth very white in her tanned face. 'You use expressions I do not understand!'

'You speak perfect English.'

'Thank you. I try. I need the work now.'

'The family, you mean?'

She looked past him, her brown eyes in shadow. 'My father is missing, somewhere in Russia they say. Also my brother. There has been no news. He has never seen his little girl. Never.'

Marriott wanted to touch her arm, to try and help.

It was not her child after all. Even if it had been ... His mind was in a spin.

He said, 'When I return, perhaps we could meet?'

She faced him again. 'I am not sure, Herr Leutnant.'

Lieutenant Commander Durham, his glasses perched on the top of his bald head, walked past them. He was about to speak, but decided against it. They had not even seen him. Maybe she was the girl Marriott had not told him about on passage to Swinemünde?

She said softly, 'When you are gone from here they would say things, think things –'

'It mustn't be like that.' So close he could feel her warmth, taste the scent of her coiled hair. And all the while she was slipping away from him.

A door opened and Meikle's voice cut across them. 'Some of us have work to do, Marriott, even if you do not! I thought you were supposed to be on your way to Flensburg.' His glance flickered just briefly between them. 'I suppose you heard the news?'

Marriott placed the extra file on the others and watched as she walked down the opposite corridor.

'Yes, I heard, sir.'

'Well I just hope they know what they're doing by unleashing all this on the world!'

He looked round as a door slammed shut.

'Very useful girl, that one. English student before she was called up. The best interpreter I've got at the moment.'

'She was telling me about her family, sir.'

'I suppose that loosely ranks with
in the line of duty,
eh?'

He watched Marriott's eyes and added, 'Her people run some sort of inn, a
Gasthaus
over in Eutin. Pretty little town from what I've seen of it.'

He consulted his watch. 'Conference time.' He looked at Marriott and said, 'Cut along to Flensburg. Put everything else on the shelf and forget it.' As he walked away he called, 'I see that you chose Knecht as your driver. Knew you would. Just your style.'

Marriott walked down the steps and looked at the sky. Perhaps Meikle was right.
Just forget it.

He found Heinz Knecht waiting for him beside their authorised vehicle. It had begun life as a
Wehrmacht
scout car, neat enough from the outside with its spare wheel on the bonnet, and enjoying a coat of blue pusser's paint with ROYAL NAVY in white letters on either side. But the interior was sparse and unwelcoming, with plain slatted seats. It definitely did not compare with Beri-Beri's Mercedes.

Knecht beamed at him. 'Maybe we get better one next time, Herr Leutnant!' He looked very fresh and neat, his skin glowing as if he had just had a shower.

He thought of Meikle.
Just your style.
He certainly knew how to needle and irritate people.

Knecht had seen to everything. Marriott's small case was on the back seat and a sealed tin which the wardroom chef had sent over with some sandwiches, plus a bottle of wine in a rubber bag filled with ice. He heard Knecht humming to himself as he prepared to start the car. At least he was happy. Getting the job, or being back in a world he understood, it was hard to tell which.