To Risks Unknown (31 page)

But he was grinning as the boat cast off and headed up the anchorage.

Purple shadows were darkening the harbour as they surged past the cruisers and neat trots of moored destroyers, and Crespin found himself looking towards each ship in turn, as if he still could not believe he was back. Just over three weeks, yet it felt as if he had been away from the only life he knew for months.

Then he saw the
Thistle
, almost end on and swinging gently at her own isolated buoy. Even in the deepening shadows there was no mistaking her stubby stern, the jaunty rake of her solitary funnel.

Across the water a voice called, ‘Boat ahoy?'

The boat's coxswain cupped his hands. ‘
Thistle!
'

Coutts said, ‘You look like a lad with a new toy.'

Crespin saw figures gathering at the corvette's gangway and grinned, ‘I feel like one!'

The bowman hooked on, and with Coutts slipping and cursing quietly at his heels, Crespin ran up the short ladder to the side deck. In the shaded police light he saw Shannon standing stiffly at attention with the gangway staff by his side, their eyes watching their returning captain with something like awe. The frigate's boat had already dashed away, but Crespin did not even notice.

Shannon said awkwardly, ‘Welcome back, sir.'

Crespin controlled his sudden elation as something in Shannon's voice sounded a warning. Without speaking he looked around him, and as his eyes probed beyond the little circle of blue light he saw the uneven patches of new paint, some discarded pieces of plating, each pockmarked with telltale splinter holes.

‘Has there been an air raid?' A chill of anxiety moved through him. ‘Where is Number One? Is he all right?'

Shannon looked uncomfortable. ‘I think you'd better come to the wardroom, sir.' He glared at the watching seamen who seemed to shrink back into the shadows. ‘It would be easier to explain there.'

Crespin walked to the ladder, but once they had reached the deck below he caught Shannon's arm and swung him round.

‘I'm waiting for an explanation. From
you
!' He knew his voice was unnecessarily harsh, but the sudden sense of foreboding pushed everything else aside.

Shannon said dully, ‘We returned to harbour two days ago, sir. We'd been sent on patrol to look for a Special Service M.L.' He dropped his eyes under Crespin's flat stare. ‘There had been a raid by some commandos, but the M.L. got separated from the group and shot up. We found her all right, but we were jumped by six Ju. 87s. The M.L. was sunk, and
we
lost five men killed.'

Crespin asked tightly, ‘And Number One?'

Shannon reached for the wardroom door and pushed it open. ‘He's here, sir.' Then he stood aside to allow Crespin and Coutts to enter.

Wemyss was seated at the table, his head resting on one hand while he played with a full glass of gin with the other. A bottle, two-thirds empty, stood within easy reach.

Crespin stared at him. He had steeled himself to believe that Wemyss was dead, or at best wounded. His mind was still grappling with the discovery that
Thistle
had been sent to sea in spite of what Scarlett had promised, and to see Wemyss obviously drunk, made him explode with sudden anger.

‘Just what the bloody hell do you think you're doing, Number One?'

Wemyss turned his head very slowly. There were deep shadows beneath his eyes and he did not seem to be able to focus properly. He did not get up or even attempt to.

‘You're talking to the wrong officer, sir.' He poured some more gin into the full glass, so that it ran unheeded over his hand.
‘He
is the first lieutenant at the moment,
Mister
bloody Shannon!'

Crespin looked coldly at the lieutenant. ‘Is this true?'

Shannon bit his lip. ‘Temporarily, sir.'

Wemyss was muttering thickly, ‘All my life at sea and never lost a man or a bloody ship without trying to save both. And that pompous, stuck-up bastard tries to tell
me
what to do.' He wagged the glass dangerously. ‘I've been watching, y'know, Shannon. You and God Al-bloody-mighty Scarlett!'

Crespin said coldly, ‘Put that drink down and listen to me.'

Wemyss replaced the glass very carefully and tried to rise to his feet. If he had further lost his temper or passed out completely Crespin would have known what to do. But when Wemyss faced him he saw that his stubbled cheeks were running with tears.

Wemyss said between his teeth, ‘Sent them to their deaths, he did! They never stood a bloody chance!' He wiped his face with his sleeve. ‘Scarlett told us it was just a patrol. To look for an M.L. which he had bloody well mislaid somewhere.' He shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘They weren't lost. They were damn well sacrificed to his bloody mania for glory!'

The curtain across the door moved and Crespin heard footsteps in the passageway. At any minute a seaman, anyone, might come in and see Wemyss like this.

He said to Coutts, ‘Get him to my cabin. I don't care what you do, or how, but get him there
now!
'

Coutts was slim, and beside Wemyss looked almost delicate. Yet with the ease of a fireman with a limp woman he pulled Wemyss' arm over his shoulder and thrust him towards the door. They cannoned into the sideboard as Wemyss tried to turn, his eyes already glazing over like those of a corpse.

He said, ‘I know what you're thinking, sir. But I did it for you,
and
the ship. I've seen too much already, too much waste and bloody incompetence. I'll not let a bastard like him throw what's left on the bloody fire!'

Coutts grimaced. ‘Come on, old son. Let's be having you then.'

Together they staggered through the door and Crespin breathed out very slowly.

Then he asked quietly, ‘Well?'

Shannon looked away, his cheeks flushing. ‘I didn't ask for this, sir, you must believe that. Captain Scarlett ordered him to take the ship inshore, near an occupied harbour, to try and get the raiding party away.'

‘How far inshore?'

Shannon frowned. ‘About a mile, I think, sir.'

‘What time of day was it?' Crespin kept seeing Wemyss' stricken face and knew there was worse to come.

‘In the forenoon, sir. There was a coastal battery, but it was supposed to have been knocked out.' He licked his lips. ‘It wasn't.'

‘What happened next?'

‘Captain Scarlett was with us. When the battery opened fire he ordered Wemyss to pull out, but he insisted on trying to reach the last M.L. It was aground on a sandbar, in broad daylight.'

‘Go on.'

‘Well, sir, the battery straddled us, but we managed to silence it after about twenty minutes. And all the time the marine commandos on the M.L. were standing there, cheering us on, as if it were a football match.'

Crespin thought of the partisans waving to him from the boats towed astern of the schooner. The way they had stood in silence to be slaughtered.

Shannon said dully, ‘Then the bombers came. They blew up the M.L. and killed a few others who were floating about from another boat. We lost our men when a bomb exploded alongside.' He ran his hand over his hair, trying to remember. ‘Some of our fighters came over after that. They shot down one of the German kites.' He shrugged. ‘And we got the hell out of it, sir.'

Leading Telegraphist Christian tapped on the door, and when he saw Crespin his face split into a grin.

‘Nice ter see yer back, sir.'

He held out a flimsy. ‘Telephoned signal from Captain Scarlett, sir. Report when ready.'

Crespin looked past him towards the ship's crest above the sideboard. Wemyss had said, ‘I did it for you,
and
the ship.'

‘Very well. Call away the motor boat's crew. I'll change my uniform and go across.' As the man left he added to Shannon, ‘I suppose the whole ship knows about this?'

Shannon shrugged. ‘Hard to say, sir. We came in just two days back and we've been working like hell to put things right. Captain Scarlett had it out with Lieutenant Wemyss here in the wardroom. I don't know exactly what happened, but when the captain left he said I was to assume his duties, and Lieutenant Wemyss was suspended until further notice.' He shook his head. ‘Could be serious for him. A court martial would not only ruin his chances in the Navy, it would also finish his career outside the Service.'

Crespin clenched his fists tightly. Once, during a middle watch, he had heard Wemyss discussing his life with young Porteous. He had pointed over the screen towards the black water and said, ‘This is my home. A ship and a suitcase is all I need.' Now, hearing Shannon dismiss his past and his future with such smug indifference filled him with blazing anger.

‘In case you had forgotten,
Mister
Shannon, I am in command of this ship. Until such time as I order otherwise, Lieutenant Wemyss will remain as my Number One!'

Shannon said, ‘I was only doing as I was told, sir.'

‘Good, well keep on doing it! You may think you're God's gift to the Navy because you've got two pieces of gold lace on your sleeve, but as far as I am concerned you are still a half-trained, conceited and thoroughly irresponsible officer! I know Wemyss is drunk, and I also know that what he said in front of me amounted to putting his head into a noose. I also happen to believe that he is one of the most honest and reliable men I have ever met.' He looked at Shannon with cold anger. ‘So remember that! A ship is a unit. Men and steel all bound up as one. There is no room for petty ambitions or lack of trust, you'll do well to remember
that
, too!'

Barker, the steward, peered in the door and said nervously, ‘I got yer shoregoin' uniform ready, sir.'

Crespin tore his eyes from Shannon's dark face. ‘Good. Now fetch a pot of black coffee to my cabin on the double, and a large bottle of brandy!'

Barker's eyes were popping. ‘Yessir. Right away, sir!'

Crespin took a deep breath. ‘I'll go ashore in fifteen minutes. But before I leave I want to see the action chart and the log.' He turned and strode from the wardroom without waiting for an answer.

Barker came down the ladder carrying the coffee-pot and almost collided with Petty Officer Joicey.

The coxswain caught his arm. ‘The Old Man's back then?'

Barker nodded vehemently. ‘Back. And
how
he's back!'

Joicey watched him go and then plucked his lower lip. Not a bloody minute too soon either, he thought grimly.

The spacious room above the harbour was just as Crespin remembered it. But it was no longer cool, and with the windows sealed by shutters and blackout curtains it felt oppressive and humid, so that his shirt clung to his body like another skin. It was very quiet, and beyond the shutters the street noises seemed muffled and far away, a constant, unchanging murmur.

As the minutes dragged past he could barely control his impatience. Apart from the guards and a poker-faced steward who had ushered him to this room, he had seen nobody, and he wondered if it was just part of Scarlett's policy when receiving returning officers. He could feel the brandy rasping on his stomach lining and thought suddenly of Wemyss' strained face as he lay tossing on the bunk, his words slurred and confused, between reason and oblivion. As he thought about it he became angrier, mostly with himself for not understanding Wemyss' despair from the start. He had never seen him drunk before. That alone should have prepared him.

The double doors swung inwards and Scarlett hurried across the room, a file of papers beneath his arm. He reached the big desk in a few strides and threw himself into the chair. Then he looked hard at Crespin and said, ‘You're here then.' His voice was devoid of expression.

Crespin reseated himself and replied, ‘I came as soon as I could, sir. There were some matters aboard the ship which needed my attention.'

Scarlett looked unusually tired. On edge.

Crespin added, ‘I have brought a full report as ordered. Captain Coutts has prepared one of his own also.'

Scarlett nodded abruptly. ‘I see. I have studied your brief appraisal which you despatched from Taranto. I shall want to study the matter more fully before I can assess its value.'

Crespin eased his back against the cane chair. Then he said, ‘I should like to know why my ship was sent to sea while I was away, sir. I was given to understand she would remain here until I returned.'

Scarlett leaned back and stared at him coldly. ‘What I decide to do or not to do with the vessels and personnel under my command is my concern and not yours, Crespin. I see that you have heard all about the patrol, the appalling handling of the whole affair. It was a stroke of pure luck I was there to stop it turning into one godalmighty shambles!'

‘In my opinion Lieutenant Wemyss did exactly what I would have done.' Crespin controlled his voice but his hands gripped the chair until his knuckles shone white. ‘As far as I can tell from the log, a force of marine commando was sent to raid a small Italian harbour in two L.C.I.s with an M.L. for escort. It wasn't even certain if the harbour was still occupied by the Germans!'

Scarlett said, ‘It was a reconnaissance in strength. There are always risks to be faced. You don't win wars by sitting on your backside!'

Crespin replied evenly, ‘Nor can you win them by throwing away lives,
sir
!'

Scarlett jumped to his feet, sending the file skidding across the floor.

‘Just who the hell do you think you're talking to? I told you at the outset that your ship is just a weapon, not a way of life! Do you imagine that your officers and men are exempt from taking risks? That they deserve some special consideration?' He was shouting. ‘The operation failed due to poor intelligence reports. When I saw what was happening I ordered your first lieutenant to withdraw at once. He refused, do you hear? He bloody well disobeyed my direct order!'