To Risks Unknown (15 page)

Wemyss shouted, ‘The harbour looks pretty deserted now, sir!'

Crespin nodded. It was true. Apart from an elderly cruiser and some support ships the
Thistle
had the pick of moorings. The landing craft and destroyers, the encamped troops and the gathered clutter of invasion equipment had been spirited away as if by magic. As the girl had said, it would not be long now.

He watched the bows edging towards the jetty once more and saw a burly seaman poised like a statue, a heaving line at the ready, while from aft he could hear Porteous calling anxiously to his own men as the tossing triangle of water lessened between the ship and the land.

‘Stop engine!' Crespin leaned out over the screen and saw the line snake across the rail to be caught by some half a dozen yelling Arabs. The eye of the wire headrope followed jerkily above the water and was eventually dropped around a massive stone bollard, and from the quarterdeck there came fresh confusion as two lines fell short alongside before a third was seized and made fast.

He snapped, ‘Full astern!' The deck trembled violently as the screw thrashed the water into a great gusher of white froth and slowly but surely pulled the stern round, lending its weight and power to the straining seamen who skidded on the wet deck and threw themselves against the tautening wires.

‘Stop engine!' Crespin felt the hull sidle against the waiting fenders and give a final convulsive shudder. To Wemyss he said, ‘Not the easiest place in the world to get into.'

But Wemyss was still staring over the screen. ‘Look at that, sir!' His tanned features split into a grin. ‘Now that is what I call a
proper
reception!'

Crespin followed his stare and saw a jeep pulling to a halt almost opposite the ship. A seaman was at the wheel, but there was no mistaking the slim figure beside him. She was still wearing khaki slacks and shirt and on her head, barely held in place against the eager wind, a bright yellow sou'wester. She was peering up at the bridge, her eyes squinting against the blown dust and sand, her shirt already blotchy with spray.

Some of the seamen were already swarming ashore to secure the springs and breast ropes, and more than one stopped in his tracks to whistle with appreciation until herded away by Petty Officer Dunbar.

Wemyss said, ‘She's a damn pretty girl. I don't know what use she is out here, and I don't much care. I just know it's always good to see her.'

Crespin saw Dunbar giving the girl a hand to climb aboard the main deck, his normally severe face split into a smile of welcome. Like Wemyss he seemed to look on her as part of
their
world now. Crespin knew Wemyss was watching him and wondered if his face displayed some of his own feelings. During the voyage back he had thought about her a good deal, but the suddenness of the confrontation had momentarily unnerved him.

He said, ‘I'm going below, Number One. When the ship is properly secured you can dismiss the hands and send them to tea.' He knew that his words were both unnecessary and stupidly formal. Wemyss' broad grin was no help either. He added sharply, ‘And make sure the gangway staff are properly in the rig of the day. I don't want some bloody reprimand from that cruiser because the ship looks like a day excursion to Southend!'

Wemyss saluted smartly, ‘Aye,
aye
, sir!' But he was still grinning.

When Crespin reached the deck he found the girl standing below an Oerlikon mounting, talking with Magot. Crespin saluted. ‘This is unexpected. But I'm very glad to see you.' Magot stood his ground, shifting his eyes from one to the other.

Crespin asked, ‘Was there something, Chief?'

Magot wiped his hands on his overalls and muttered, ‘It can wait, sir.' With obvious reluctance he moved back to the engine room hatch, where two stokers watched the girl with unwavering admiration.

She said, ‘Sorry to drop in like this.' She looked around the upper deck. ‘It looks different this time. More businesslike!'

Crespin watched her. She seemed tense, less confident than at their last meeting.

He said, ‘Come below. You must be wet through.'

The wardroom was very quiet after the wind and activity of the upper deck. He watched her as she tugged off the sou'wester and brushed away some strands of hair from her face.

‘I'll get you some tea,' he said awkwardly. ‘Then we can talk.'

She turned and faced him squarely, her eyes troubled. ‘I'm very sorry. But this is an official visit.' Her words seemed to fall like stones in the damp air. ‘Captain Scarlett flew in this forenoon.' She studied the changing emotions on Crespin's face. ‘So there it is.'

‘I see. Thank you for coming anyway.' He could not disguise the bitterness. ‘It's as well you warned me. I might have come barging in on
you
for a change. I wouldn't want to upset things between you and Scarlett.'

Her lips parted slightly and for a moment she looked as if he had attempted to strike her. Then she gave a small shrug and pulled a sealed envelope from inside her shirt.

‘These are your new orders, sir.' She was in control again. ‘You're to sign for them, if you please.'

Crespin stared wretchedly at the envelope. ‘What is it this time?' He did not really care. He had made a wrong move again and the change in her tone made him suddenly ashamed.

She walked across the wardroom and stared thoughtfully at the ship's crest. ‘Operation Husky is to start on the tenth of the month. It's all there in the orders. The combined British and American forces are to invade Sicily's south-east section, stretching about one hundred miles from Syracuse to Licata.' She turned slightly to watch him as he flattened the closely typed pages on the table. ‘General Eisenhower and the C.-in-C. are already in Malta, and the whole invasion fleet is waiting for the order.'

Crespin's eyes moved rapidly down the pages. Rendezvous points, recognition signals, landing beaches and objectives, it was all there. He asked quietly, ‘Don't they know about the weather?' The invasion date was four days away, and if conditions stayed like this it could be a living hell for the landing craft and their cargoes of men and tanks. Due to the speed of the military build up most of the landing craft had been used for ferrying troops, and the young officers who commanded these unwieldy vessels had little experience or training in the actual business of beaching on a defended coast. In this sort of weather some of them might capsize before they reached the beaches. Others could miss their objectives altogether.

She said, ‘There isn't any choice, sir.' The
sir
turned in Crespin's heart like a knife. ‘The met people say that it could blow itself out in a couple of days. By that time it would be too late to change anything, even if the weather got worse. Some ships might not get their recall in time and go ahead on their own. Others could get scattered and picked off by the Luftwaffe.'

Crespin did not need telling. This invasion was a must. It was the pattern upon which Europe's fate would be decided.

He turned over a page and stopped. There was an addition typed in red and headed: ‘Attention of Commanding Officer,
Thistle'.

Before he could start reading she crossed swiftly to his side and laid one hand directly across the paper. When he turned she was watching him, her eyes apprehensive and unhappy.

She said, ‘The enemy must know all about the preparations for the invasion. He's had plenty of time. Our people have to have all the help they can get.' She made no attempt to remove her hand, nor did she take her eyes from his face. ‘Captain Scarlett put this plan to the C.-in-C. and the Americans. Both have agreed that it is possible, even desirable,' she faltered, ‘under the circumstances.'

Crespin took her hand and gently moved it aside. Her fingers felt smooth but ice cold. He could feel her eyes watching him as he read through the remainder of the orders.

Then he said dryly, ‘A diversionary action, I think they call it.' He felt vaguely light-headed. ‘It doesn't allow much time.'

She stood back. ‘Is that all you've got to say?' Her voice was trembling.

‘What else
is
there to say?' Crespin looked round the shabby wardroom feeling suddenly trapped. ‘I'm to take this ship to a point north-west of Sicily and cover a raid with a force of marine commando. Scarlett's intelligence officers have assured him that the local Sicilian “underground” is ready to launch an attack from inland to coincide with ours, so that the Germans will have to withdraw some pressure from the southern beaches.' He pushed the papers across the table. ‘Always assuming, of course, that Jerry hasn't got the whole place covered as it is!'

‘What are you going to do?'

‘Do?' Crespin stared at her. ‘I don't have any choice in the matter!'

Wemyss stepped quietly into the wardroom, his smile fading as he saw the expressions on their faces.

Crespin said, ‘We're getting under way again at 2100. I shall speak to the ship's company before that time, but I'll fill you in on details right now.' He gestured towards the table. ‘Sit there and read that lot. It'll give you something to think about.'

Across Wemyss' shoulder he studied the girl and said, ‘I take it you have to get back?'

She nodded. ‘I'm late already.'

Crespin walked with her into the passageway, conscious of her nearness, the touch of her arm against his sleeve as he guided her to the ladder.

She stopped suddenly and faced him. ‘I'm sorry about this. I really am.'

‘I was looking forward to that drink, too.' He tried to move his mouth into a smile but it would not come.

‘I didn't mean that!' Her eyes flashed in the grey light. ‘When I heard what you've been asked to do I wanted to hide. Then I thought it would be better if I brought the orders myself. I had to see you before you left.'

Crespin listened to the whine of wind against the moored ship. So it was as bad as that?

He said quietly, ‘I'm glad you came. I mean it. Otherwise I'd have thought …'

She interrupted, ‘You'd have thought what you
did
think. That my relationship with Captain Scarlett was something more than official.'

Overhead a voice called wearily, ‘Hands to tea! Men under punishment to muster!'

Another world. The ship living her separate, controlled existence, as if nothing else mattered.

He said, ‘If I get back perhaps we can keep that date?'

She nodded firmly, and he saw that her eyes were shining with something other than the reflected light.

‘When
you get back! And I shall hold you to it!' Then she turned and ran quickly up the ladder.

Crespin followed her and watched as she climbed down the brow and into the waiting jeep. She looked very small against the background of bombed buildings and angry clouds. As the jeep moved away into the swirling dust she turned and shouted against the wind. He could see her white teeth, the hair flapping rebelliously from under the oversize sou'wester. She could have been calling good luck, he thought. Or goodbye.

He turned and walked slowly towards the bridge, his mind dragging itself reluctantly back to those orders.

When he reached the deserted bridge he glanced down at the place where the seaman had died. That man, and the one who had deserted, would be well out of it, he decided bitterly.

Then he crossed to the chartroom and slammed the door behind him.

Perhaps the inexperienced officers who commanded the landing craft were better off after all. They at least would go into battle knowing nothing of the odds against them.

He opened the chart and stared for several minutes at the craggy coastline before marking the point of the proposed gesture with a small cross.

In his mind's eye he could picture the place quite well enough, although he had never been within a hundred miles of it.

Small, rocky and backed by high, featureless hills. A place where people had scraped a bare living since time began without knowing why.

He picked up a pencil and parallel rulers and began to work. In a few days they would have something to remember, he thought bitterly. It was to be hoped they would appreciate it.

FAR FROM IMPROVING
, the weather got steadily worse, and within twenty-four hours of leaving harbour the
Thistle
was crashing into the teeth of a great north-westerly gale. The short, steep waves were replaced by long ranks of towering rollers with savage-looking crests which broke across the reeling ship in a continuous procession and even burst high over the bridge.

She was accompanied on the first part of the journey by a powerful new fleet destroyer, for to give her sudden disappearance from Sousse some recognizable purpose to any interested enemy agent the stage had to be properly set. The destroyer had taken on some impressive wooden crates a few hours before sailing, each left on the jetty just long enough to be noted, and clearly addressed: ‘Flag Officer in Charge, Gibraltar. Naval Stores'. Once, on the first day out, a flimsy Italian seaplane had dived out of the clouds to be met by a few sporadic bursts from their anti-aircraft guns and had immediately returned to the safety of the clouds, no doubt satisfied that this was just a small unit of enemy ships en route for the Western Mediterranean. So perhaps the clumsy precautions were justified after all.

Few aboard the
Thistle
cared much one way or the other. Watchkeeping was sheer misery, and below decks for a brief respite it was even more wretched. For crammed between decks were two hundred Royal Marine commando, complete with their ammunition and weapons, scaling lines and numerous other bundles of nameless equipment which made movement from one part of the ship to the other almost impossible. Only once before in her lifetime had the little corvette carried nearly that number of passengers. Wemyss recalled that during a particularly bad Atlantic winter when the
Thistle
had been tail-end Charlie on an eastbound convoy she had picked up the survivors of some ten torpedoed merchantmen. One hundred and twenty to be exact, so this new situation was even worse. Everywhere you went you seemed to fall over sleeping marines or stacks of weapons, and all the while the ship rolled and staggered, dived and lifted her bows to the scudding clouds as if to tear herself apart.