To Risks Unknown (37 page)

Crespin breathed out slowly. Scarlett had been saving that piece to the last. Torpedo boats would indeed put an end to the slow and ponderous
Nashorn
, once a base was secured for them.

He said, ‘What about the armed yacht, sir?'

Scarlett pouted. ‘She will remain here as, ah, communications ship so to speak.'

Soskic looked at Crespin. ‘A good plan.' It sounded like a question.

‘You have my word for it!' Scarlett's smile had vanished. ‘Just make sure that
your
people don't jump the gun, eh?'

Coutts said flatly, ‘He means, keep them from attacking before the signal!'

Scarlett's frown eased slightly. ‘Very well then. I suggest you gather your men together and put them in the picture. I intend to leave Gradz at dusk and attack at first light tomorrow.'

The partisans stared woodenly at Coutts' mouth, and as he finished speaking gave a great shout of excitement and obvious satisfaction.

The rough curtains moved slightly and Wemyss appeared within the circle of lamplight.

‘Signal, sir.' He glanced quickly at Crespin and then back to Scarlett. ‘Immediate.'

Crespin watched Scarlett's eyes moving quickly over the pencilled signal, but it was impossible to gauge any sort of reaction.

Then Scarlett said curtly, ‘Carry on then. I'll be coming round to make a last check in two hours' time.' His eyes shifted to Wemyss and he added, ‘You can carry on, too, Number One. I don't need you here.' It was a cold dismissal.

He waited until most of the partisans had followed Soskic from the bunker and then said, ‘Bad news, I'm afraid, Crespin.' He held out the signal. ‘It makes things all the more urgent.'

Crespin read the neat printed letters and felt the bunker moving around him as if in a mist.

Scarlett's voice seemed to come from a great distance. ‘A great loss to the Service.' He sounded more preoccupied than charged with any sort of emotion.

Crespin placed the crumpled signal on the table, amazed that his mind had become so clear. Clear and empty, like a void. There should be pain, some words to ease the shock and agony of the brief report. A plane down, lives lost. It was common enough. He should have been able to accept it.

He said, ‘I would like to return to my ship, sir.'

Scarlett nodded slowly. ‘Best thing. No use brooding at a time like this.' He added, ‘Too much depends on all of us.'

Coutts had been standing in the shadows. ‘What's happened?'

Scarlett gestured towards the signal. ‘I'll be leaving after the raid. I shall be needed for other work now.' His eyes gleamed as he turned towards the lights. ‘France, and then Germany.' He moved restlessly. ‘Our work out here is almost finished anyway.'

Coutts said quietly, ‘I'm sorry about this, old son. Damned sorry.' He followed Crespin into the harsh light of the hillside and added, ‘There aren't any words. There never are.'

Crespin heard himself say, ‘She was having a baby.'

‘Hell!' Coutts pulled out a cheroot and then replaced it in his pocket. ‘You were right for each other. I knew that.'

Crespin saw the motor boat cutting a fine line towards the shallows below the village.

‘If it hadn't been for me she'd still be alive. She didn't
have
to go on that bloody aircraft!'

Coutts looked at him and then replied simply, ‘You're wrong, you know. You must stop thinking like that. It won't help her, or you either.'

Crespin started to walk down the stony track, his eyes fixed on the flat water of the inlet. Coutts watched him go, his eyes troubled. Poor bastard, he thought. Poor, lonely bastard.

Scarlett emerged from the bunker and stood beside him staring at the village below.

Coutts said slowly, ‘Pity about Oldenshaw, sir.' He waited, watching Scarlett's face for some sign of regret.

Scarlett thought about it. ‘I agree. Still, it will make hard work for the rest of us.'

Coutts felt vaguely satisfied by the comment. You're starting to feel glad the plane crashed, he thought bitterly. It will mean promotion for you, and a firm place in history to gloat over when you go back to your other world.

He said, ‘I'll go down to the schooners, sir. Time's getting a bit short.'

Scarlett was still staring around at the hills. ‘You know, Coutts, I think I'll be
sorry
to leave here.'

‘Sorry?' Coutts turned his face away. ‘I hope I never see the place again. Ever!' Then he swung on his heel and walked quickly down the slope, leaving Scarlett staring after him.

At dusk the same day the
Thistle
made ready to leave the inlet. Beneath the deepening shadows of the tall cliffs it was already as dark as night, and only the swirling water showed any sign of movement, and shone in the fading light like black steel.

The schooners had sailed an hour earlier, their decks crammed with armed partisans, their patched hulls swaying uncomfortably as they edged between the headlands to meet the swell of the open sea beyond. Theirs would be a slow passage, but via a shorter route, hugging the islands and slipping through even the narrowest channels to rendezvous before dawn with the rest of the group.

The stream anchor had been recovered, and as the main cable clanked slowly inboard Crespin stood by the screen watching the pale shape of the stern swinging towards the middle of the inlet, pushed steadily by the wind until it seemed to point directly at the village. Below his feet the deck trembled impatiently, and he heard the squeak of blocks and falls as the motor boat was run up to its davits and made fast. The stern was still swinging, and he wanted to yell at Shannon's anchor party to get a move on. But it might only fluster him, he decided dully.

He knew that Scarlett was still sitting on the bridge chair, crouching forward to watch the seamen around the bows, but he did not look at him. Any sort of forced conversation seemed beyond him, and all day he had confined himself to the business of preparing for the raid.

Looking back over the day it was hard to remember any real sequence of events. He had slept for maybe three hours at the most and spent the rest of the time going round the ship, speaking briefly to the heads of departments, checking, and then re-checking. It had all been interspersed with endless cups of coffee and little else to sustain him. But he knew he had to keep going. It would be fatal to stop and think beyond the necessities of preparation and work.

‘Up and down, sir!' Shannon's voice sounded frail on the wind.

Crespin breathed out sharply. Just in time. ‘Slow ahead! Starboard ten!' He could not wait for the anchor to break surface.

A few more minutes and the ship might drift against some of those rocks. He could see them quite clearly, shining like jagged metal below the cliffs. There were no watching villagers or partisans there this time. The old and the sick, the women and the children would be in their huts and houses, waiting and praying.

‘Anchor's aweigh, sir!'

‘Midships!' Crespin groped for the voice-pipe. ‘Steer straight for the centre of the opening, Cox'n!'

‘Aye, aye, sir.' Joicey needed no unnecessary orders. He knew the feel of his ship as a rider knows his horse.

Griffin snatched up his lamp as a shaded light flickered briefly from below the headland. ‘Signal from senior M.L., sir. Request permission to take up station.'

Scarlett stirred. ‘Granted.' He lifted his glasses to watch the sudden flurry of foam as the two lean M.L.s gathered way and pushed through the arms of the headland. They would sweep ahead of the
Thistle
in the wider channel beyond Korcula Island.

Scarlett said suddenly, ‘Make to M.L.s “Good hunting!”' His teeth shone in the blinking Aldis light. ‘It'll cheer 'em up a bit, eh?'

Crespin did not speak. Good luck. It was like a schoolmaster handing out a present for the smartest boy in the class. He felt sick.

Wemyss climbed up beside him. ‘Motor boat secure, sir.' He stared up at the fast moving clouds. ‘Glad to get shot of those damn nets.'

Crespin said, ‘Tell Willis to secure the radar, Number One. I want no transmissions of any sort from now on. The Germans are not supposed to have any detecting gear hereabouts, but we'll not take chances. Then go round the ship and check every last fan and watertight door yourself.'

Scarlett watched Wemyss clatter down the ladder before he spoke.

‘Taking no chances, eh?' He sounded calm and relaxed.

‘No, sir.'

The headlands opened up on either beam and then slid past, their protective reefs coming into sudden life as the ship's bow wave surged over them.

‘Starboard ten.' Crespin buttoned his oilskin over his binoculars as spray drifted above the bridge and spattered against the screen. ‘Midships. Steer two-eight-zero.' He watched the gyro's luminous dial ticking round and then steady itself. Away from the island, away from the mainland. They would circle round in a wide turn before making that final approach up the unmarked channel.

The bosun's mate looked up from a voice-pipe. ‘Anchor secure, sir!'

Crespin nodded. ‘Very well.' He reached out and pressed the red button below the screen, hearing the shrill clamour of bells echoing around the ship, knowing that the men who now ran quickly to their action stations would remain there until the ship returned to Gradz. Some would come back to Gradz and stay to join those five graves above the village.

He half-listened to the muttering voices, the slam and crash of watertight doors, the scrape of ammunition and steel helmets. After this raid was finished, what would happen? he wondered. The little
Thistle
would perhaps go back to her proper role of escorting helpless merchantmen, and her company scattered and lost from each other for ever. And himself? He thought of the M.T.B.s which would soon be coming to the Yugoslav islands. Maybe he would go back to them. Go on fighting in the Adriatic, further and further north until …

‘Ship closed up at action stations, sir.'

‘Very good.' He turned as Scarlett eased his tall frame from the chair.

Scarlett said, ‘I'm going to the chartroom. I'll be there if you need me.'

‘Yes, sir.'

Scarlett paused below the gratings and dropped his voice to a fierce whisper. ‘I know how you feel about that plane crash, but you mustn't let it get in the way of what
we
have to do. This raid must succeed, it
has
to!'

‘You'll find me ready enough, sir.' Crespin looked down at him, surprised that he could feel neither anger nor resentment any more.

‘I'm glad to hear it!' Scarlett seemed eager to go, yet unable to leave without saying more. ‘I had a feeling it might come to this, you know. Right from the start. I was prepared to accept that you might resent serving under a temporary officer, one who has commanded nothing larger than an armed launch. I was ready to accept it because I thought you were different. But your attitude in the past, your very upbringing has made future possibilities in this section out of the question.'

‘Is that all, sir?'

‘No, it's not!' Scarlett pushed his face closer. ‘Admiral Oldenshaw told me that he might be considering you for this command in my place. I was against it, of course, but I suppose he had his reasons.'

‘And now he's dead.' Crespin looked past Scarlett's head towards the ship's small wake. Gradz had already disappeared in the gathering darkness.

‘Exactly.' Scarlett checked himself. ‘And that's an end to it.' He turned his back and made for the chartroom.

Wemyss came back, dragging his feet noisily across the gratings.

Crespin asked, ‘Everything all right?'

He nodded. ‘All positions checked, sir.'

‘Good.' Crespin walked to the chair and leaned against it. ‘After the attack we will return to Gradz. Coutts will pick up the partisans and withdraw to Korcula Island. It's nearer for him and no Germans left there to hinder things.' His voice sounded toneless and he added sharply, ‘By that time the Germans on the mainland should be too busy to bother about us. The raid and demolition of the Tekla base is the general signal for other partisan attacks up and down the coast. It'll be a long day all round.'

Wemyss said quietly, ‘I heard about Third Officer Forbes, sir. We all got to like her a lot. She was sort of part of our little community.' He was fumbling for words. ‘And I know what she meant to you.'

Crespin gripped the chair with all his strength. ‘Thank you.'

Wemyss added, ‘It's different from the Atlantic. Out here it's women and kids, everyone. Coutts was telling me how the Yugoslav children climb on the Jerry tanks to ask for food and then drop grenades or petrol bombs into them.' He faltered. ‘That's why it was good to have her out here with us, sir. It evened the score in some way.'

Crespin closed his mind like a steel door. ‘Thank you, Number One, and now let's forget it, shall we? Later there may be time, but right at this particular moment there's no damned time for anything.'

He saw Wemyss move heavily back to the chart table and felt sickened by what he had said. He wanted to call him, to tell him that he felt just as he did. That his heart was aching with the pain of loss and despair.

In the same instant he knew it would be useless, even dangerous. Just as he had known it was pointless to argue with Scarlett, to tell him that he knew the true reasons for the dead admiral's decision to remove him. Tired, overworked, they were old words. Scarlett's role had gone when the tide of Allied defeats had started to turn the other way. Gestures and brave headlines were no longer enough. Four years of war had pared away the glamour and the frail beliefs in such things. Perhaps Scarlett belonged to another era, when war was kept at a distance, when women and children were spared, and the harvest of battle was confined to casualty lists and a yearly service around the Cenotaph.