To Risks Unknown (33 page)

Through the half open door to the other room he could hear a drumming beat of music from the radio, and he could picture the bottle of wine and two glasses on a small table, also ignored as he had taken the girl in his arms. Now their two uniforms lay entangled beside the bed, disordered and limp, as if they, too, were spent by the intensity of their embrace.

Crespin propped himself on his elbows and peered at the open window. She had thrown back the shutters and he could see her naked body outlined against the stars, her hair moving in a slight breeze as she stared down at the street below.

‘Come back to bed. You'll get pneumonia over there.'

He heard her laugh quietly. ‘You were asleep.'

‘Never!'

She crossed to the bedside and stood looking down at him. ‘You were, and you were snoring!'

Crespin reached out and touched her thigh. The edge of the lampshade left the upper part of her body hidden in darkness, but her thighs shone in the light like pale gold. He felt her body quiver as his hand moved gently around the soft skin.

She said quickly, ‘I'll get that wine if it's the
last
thing I do!' She sidestepped away from his hand, and seconds later he saw her push open the door and walk fully into the light of the other room.

He called after her, ‘Suppose your friend the nurse comes back unexpectedly, what the hell will she think if she finds you like that?' He had to speak, if only to clear the sudden dryness from his throat. She was beautiful, with a teasing innocence which went to his head like a fever.

She walked slowly towards him, the light at her back making a halo across her hair and bare shoulders.

‘I'd tell her it was none of her damn business who I have in my bed!' She sat on the side of the bed and handed Crespin the wine, her eyes searching his face across the rim of her own glass.

Impulsively she added, ‘I have been sick with worry. Week after week and no news. And now that you're back at last it's just to say goodbye all over again.'

He touched her shoulder and ran his fingers lightly down the length of her spine.

‘We're not going to talk about it. Not now.' He saw her brush her eyes with the back of one hand and continued gently, ‘Here's to us!'

She lifted her glass. ‘To us!'

Then she said, ‘But promise me you'll take extra care. Things have been going very badly for Scarlett since you went away. He seems desperate to make a success of this new operation. He appears to
need
it, like some personal thing.'

Crespin replied, ‘To him it is personal. But don't worry, Scarlett isn't going to do anything to jeopardize his whole position just to get his own back on me.' He slipped his arm round her waist and cupped her breast in his fingers. It felt smooth and warm, and he sensed the same desperate longing coursing through him again like fire.

She shivered and then reached across him to put the glass beside the lamp.

‘Darling?'

He pulled her closer. ‘What is it?'

She shook her head and then kissed him lightly on the mouth. ‘Nothing. Just
darling
.'

Somewhere in the far distance a man laughed, and from the harbour came the mournful toot of an outgoing tug. The sound seemed to break through the girl's inner thoughts, and placing her hands on Crespin's chest she levered herself away from him and stayed for several seconds just staring at his face. Then she gripped the sheet and pulled it down between them. She seemed to sense Crespin's sudden tenseness and said quietly, ‘You mustn't mind the wound now. Not now, or ever.'

Crespin lay back, feeling her fingers on the savage scar along his leg, her hair brushing like silk over his thigh. Then the warm, firm pressure of her lips, and from a great distance her voice, husky and strangely gentle. ‘Now you'll never worry about it any more, my darling.'

Crespin's wineglass fell and shattered beside the entangled uniforms, but, like the girl, he heard nothing.

WITHIN A FEW
days of Crespin's return Scarlett began to put the next phase of his new operation on the move. Under cover of darkness the
Thistle
and the rest of Scarlett's special force, the armed yacht, two M.L.s and the old schooner, slipped through the Otranto Strait, and after hugging the protection of the Italian mainland entered their advanced base at Brindisi. The port, situated as it was sixty miles deep into the Adriatic, came in for fairly regular bombing raids, and hardly a day passed without the seamen running to their stations, only to find the sneak raiders had been and gone almost before they could uncover the guns.

But the advantages of the new base far outweighed the discomforts. Gradz and the other islands in which Scarlett was now so interested were less than one hundred and forty miles away. A day's steaming, and well within reach of future operations.

What those future operations were going to involve nobody seemed to know. Except possibly Scarlett, and he was saying nothing. Crespin saw little of him in the days which followed, and for that he was thankful. But as days began to drag into weeks it became obvious to everyone aboard that the first expectation of action was falling once more into anticlimax.

It was made worse by the fact that Brindisi was bustling with naval activity, which only helped to give the ship's company a further sense of frustration and disillusion.

Motor torpedo boats and gunboats, which had already moved their base up from Taranto, were constantly on the move, and most days saw them snarling back into harbour, their battle flags and bullet scarred hulls proclaiming another clash with the enemy on the other side of the Adriatic.

Whenever Crespin saw Scarlett the latter was curt and formal, and seemed content to keep his officers at arm's length by passing all orders and instructions through his small collection of assistants. He spent many days away in either Taranto or Malta, and each time he was careful to take the girl with him. When Crespin did manage to see her she said it was just a way of getting his petty revenge. For when she accompanied him on his tours to see the ‘powers that be' he hardly spoke to her at all, and only confided in matters of routine and fleet communications.

Coutts had vanished completely, and although he had gone without a word, Crespin guessed that Scarlett had sent him back to Gradz to pave the way for his final move into the enemy's own territory.

As the long days followed on each other Crespin found himself almost praying for action. Anything which would jolt the ship from her torpor and gloomy resignation. Morale was very low, and unless something happened soon it would get even worse. The lengthening string of defaulters and men under punishment told their own story. Fights ashore, drunken brawls with other seamen, even acts of insubordination aboard the ship herself showed how bitterly the
Thistle
's men felt their lack of purpose.

Even Wemyss seemed different. Whether it was guilt or resentment which had changed him, Crespin did not know, but the first lieutenant spent most of his off duty time ashore, and made a point of going alone. Altogether, the atmosphere aboard ship was brittle, to say the least.

Shannon, on the other hand, was thriving. He carried out his daily duties with obvious relish, and though he, too, went ashore alone, he always returned bright-eyed and sleek, and Crespin thought that he at least had found a new interest somewhere in the town.

The two sub-lieutenants rarely left the ship, and were usually to be found at the end of each frustrating day sitting in the wardroom, either in companionable silence or engrossed in some complicated discussion which always ceased immediately when Crespin appeared.

Instead of feeling more used to Crespin they seemed almost afraid of him now, and he guessed it was because of Wemyss' strange withdrawal. A first lieutenant, good or bad, was the essential link between captain and junior officers. Without it the gulf became uncrossable. For this and so many other reasons Crespin craved to get back to sea. If they were never going to Gradz, then he wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, if only to drag the ship back into a single entity again.

The weather was worsening, while to the north there had already been reports of heavy rain which slowed the Allied advance to a painful crawl. Tanks were bogged down, and while the wretched infantrymen probed the yellow mud for mines and slogged through one battered village after another, the retreating Germans fought a savage rearguard action without let up, knowing, as did everyone else, that winter would soon grind the campaign into a stalemate.

And then, one month to the day after Crespin's return from Gradz, Scarlett sent a signal. Shore leave was to cease forthwith. All officers of the special force were to muster in the
Thistle
's wardroom at 1900. Scarlett's Circus was, it appeared, in business again.

A few minutes before the arranged time Crespin stepped into the wardroom and watched the assembled officers. The place was filled almost to overflowing, and it was hard to imagine a more mixed or a tougher-looking collection, he decided. Their clothes were as varied as their faces. Battledress and khaki drill, sweaters and coloured scarves, they did indeed look like a bunch of pirates.

Scarlett arrived a few moments later, and Crespin was immediately aware of the change in him. Not so much a change as a return to the old Scarlett he had first met, jovial, confident and shining with good health. Even the lines of strain had gone, and as he strode to the wardroom table he flashed a broad grin around the assembled officers, his teeth white in his tanned face.

Following him, tired and dishevelled by comparison, came Coutts. He saw Crespin's glance and gave a brief shrug. He looked gloomy and a trifle irritated, and stared at the other officers with obvious dismay.

Scarlett said cheerfully, ‘Well, gentlemen, the waiting game is over!' He gestured with his thumb. ‘You all know Captain Coutts, our scruffy Guardee!' There were a few laughs. ‘He has just returned from Gradz, and the news he has brought is almost too good to be true.'

He unrolled a chart very carefully across the table and leaned over it, his face set in a frown of concentration.

‘The partisans have been stepping up their attacks on the enemy's communications, so that the Germans are having to withdraw more and more troops from the islands to reinforce their garrisons on the mainland.' He tapped the chart with his finger. ‘Apart from our little island of Gradz, the larger ones of Hvar, Korcula and Vis are almost completely in the hands of the Yugoslavs. In the near future, the
very
near future,' his smile moved round the table, ‘the partisans will link up into one solid force, and with our help will tie the whole occupation army into knots!' He swung on Coutts. ‘Do you wish to say something?'

Coutts stood looking at the chart, his hands in his pockets. ‘The real stumbling block is the
Nashorn
.' His eyes flickered towards Crespin. The merest glance, but Crespin could almost feel the strain and the anxiety of his words. ‘At present the Germans can still prevent any unified action amongst the partisans merely by keeping this ship patrolling the channels between the islands. In the last two weeks the
Nashorn
has destroyed three partisan schooners and has shelled several villages as reprisals for sabotage.'

Scarlett wagged a finger. ‘Now then, let's not be pessimistic again, eh? The
Nashorn
's presence is a great problem, but it is not an insuperable one.' He looked around the intent faces. ‘She has a base, as you should all know by now if you have read my intelligence reports. That base is her weakness. It is also the most perfect place for a full scale attack by the partisans.'

Crespin stared at him. For a moment he imagined he had misheard, but when he saw Coutts' lined features he knew he had not.

Scarlett beamed. ‘Destroy the base, and the
Nashorn
's immediate usefulness is curtailed. By the time the Germans have made other arrangements the partisans will have linked up with their comrades on the mainland, and we will be home and dry.'

Everyone started to speak at once. Questions and doubts flooded around Scarlett with as much effect as spray breaking on the Barrier Reef. He seemed able to overcome every objection almost before it was voiced. He was actually enjoying himself, swinging between buoyant confidence and crushing sarcasm as he demolished every argument or counter-proposal.

Even Crespin was aware of the excitement which was growing around him. It was only when he remembered the
Nashorn
's ugly bows jutting past the inlet, the thunderous roar of her heavy guns as she smashed the drifting partisans to bloody pulp, that he realized the danger of Scarlett's proposal.

He said suddenly, ‘If the
Nashorn
attacks us during the actual raid we will be cut off, sir.' Scarlett's eyes swivelled towards him, smiling, but ice-cold. ‘The German base is beyond Tekla Point and hemmed in by islands. She could approach within a mile of us before we even saw her.'

Scarlett replied calmly, ‘If you'd let me finish?' He smiled at the others. ‘I have not been idle you know. The M.T.B.s have been attacking shipping in the Otranto Strait for several weeks now. Particularly in the Valona Bay area where the enemy's coastal shipping is busiest. I have explained my task to the F.O.I.C. and he has instructed the M.T.B.s to step up their raids, and the effect is already showing around the islands to the north. Practically all the German patrol ships have had to move south to counter these attacks. The
Nashorn
will remain in the islands, but this time, gentlemen, I think the enemy is placing just too much faith in her!'

Coutts shrugged and said wearily, ‘That is true. However, it is now known that the Germans are despatching additional troops down from Trieste.' He tapped the chart loudly. ‘And they are sending them to the
Nashorn
's base, probably with any such raid in mind.' He gave another tired shrug. ‘They are coming by sea, and are timed to arrive at the base two days from now.'