Torpedo Run (1981) (19 page)

Beresford smiled. ‘Will power and hair dye. Never fails.’

Devane walked towards Dundas, his mind still unable to face what had happened. He hardly felt his wound as he shook hands with Dundas. All he could think about was Claudia, which was even more unreal. He would be the last one she would want to meet.

Dundas was obviously delighted to see him. ‘You look
fine
, sir! We’d all have come to see you, but Captain Barker refused leave beyond the base.’

They stood side by side on the jetty and looked at the moored boats.

Dundas said, ‘I expect we’ll be off again soon, sir.’ It sounded like a question. ‘I heard from the Russians that the Germans have stopped searching for their E-boat.’

Devane faced him. That was strange. Beresford had failed to mention it.

‘How can they be certain?’

Dundas looked uncomfortable. ‘Sorry, I thought you’d know. Captain Sorokin had an old motor launch taken to sea and scuttled near to the German minefield.’

Somehow Devane knew what was coming.

Dundas continued quietly, ‘When we took the E-boat there were fifteen Germans on board, so we captured them as well. Sorokin’s men made certain they were still aboard when the launch was scuttled, and wearing life-jackets. It wouldn’t take a genius to discover the corpses were from the E-boat’s original crew.’

Devane turned away, sickened. The Germans would discover the drifting corpses and some suitably collected flotsam and imagine their E-boat had tried to return to base and had hit a stray mine.

He remembered the lines of wounded soldiers at the field hospital, the little nurse who had spoken perfect English.

Sorokin had needed a secret. In his war there was only one way of keeping it.

Beresford opened the wooden shutters and winced as the sunlight gouged across his face.

‘Phew! But at least they managed to find us a fairly good billet. What I know of Port Said, it’s like trying to open an oyster with a bus ticket to get a decent room.’

Devane lay back in a cane chair and nodded. It was oppressively hot, and the drive from the airstrip had turned their car into a private kiln. At least in the room there was an illusion of coolness and shadow.

Through the partly open shutters he could see the masts and funnels which lined the waterfront, could hear the unending murmur of voices, street-cries and the occasional blast of a car horn.

Tuapse and its bomb-shattered dockyard seemed lost in distance and time.

Beresford closed the shutters and threw his khaki drill jacket on to a chair.

‘Bloody hell, John, it feels like a homecoming.’

‘My thoughts too.’

Devane watched his friend as he lifted a gin bottle, frosted with moisture, from a bucket of rapidly melting ice.
A homecoming
. After all they had done in the Mediterranean together, not that many miles away, the deaths, the moments
of tragedy and loss, it seemed wrong to feel like this. Glad to be back.

He asked, ‘When does this inquiry begin?’

Beresford sounded vague. ‘They’ve had some sort of preliminary hearing. It will take a few more days, I think. We shall be the last to know, as per usual.’

Devane watched as he made two pink gins, large ones even by naval standards, and remembered Beresford’s explanation about Sorokin’s ruse to stop the enemy’s search for the E-boat. He had been matter of fact, as only he could.

‘You’d had a rough time, old son. Didn’t want to deluge you with gloom. Barker was enough for one day, I thought.’

They had left it at that. For the moment.

Beresford sank down in a chair and plucked his shirt from his chest.

‘Cheers!’

Devane moved his body gingerly against the chair. The scar was healing well, but hurt like hell whenever he forgot to guard it against sudden contact. He had seen it in a mirror. It was livid and star-shaped like the steel splinter.

He wondered what the little nurse was doing. Probably tending more wounded troops. That small, silent room was likely crammed with sick and injured men now. They were strange people, almost impossible to know except for short, uncertain contacts. Like those he had had with Orel and the girl called Ludmilla. Perhaps even Orel spoke fluent English and listened to the background chatter of his British allies whenever he could. What were they suspicious of?

Beresford said, ‘Richie’s widow is being flown in today. She’s got a room at
the
hotel. That’s what they call it.’

Devane watched him, looking for a sign. But if Beresford had suggested his coming for some deeper motive he did not show it.

Up to this moment Devane had expected, even hoped, that she would not come. She might not want to. And with a war raging round the world it was more than likely the air transport might be withdrawn, or cancelled altogether.

He was deluding himself, clinging to the impossible dream. As usual. She was more than capable of handling these
people. Often in the past he had seen her turn a man aside with the deftness of a skilled swordsman.

Beresford closed his eyes and tilted his head to swallow some more iced gin.

‘Remember Korvettenkapitän Lincke?’

Devane stared at him, caught out by the sudden change of tack.

‘Lincke. Of course. Why, has he been killed at long last?’

It was strange how a man’s name could become as strong as the man, or a memory. Korvettenkapitän Lincke had first proved his ability in the Channel when in command of an E-boat. As soon as the dust of Dunkirk had settled, his name had begun to appear in intelligence packs, sometimes with blurred newspaper photographs pinned inside for recognition purposes. Shaking hands with Grand Admiral Raeder, or receiving an Iron Cross from Hitler himself, Lincke had lived a charmed life. A survivor like himself in many ways. It would be hardly surprising if his luck had finally run out.

Inevitably, their paths had crossed, and Devane had wondered if his enemy had known about him also. In the Mediterranean Lincke had popped up, in command of an Italian naval unit in the Adriatic. For, if the Germans’ allies possessed some of the finest torpedo boats in the world, they had for the most part lacked the leadership to make the best use of them.

Submarines had their ‘aces’, and in the world of fast motor torpedo boats and gunboats Lincke was high in the same quality.

Beresford did not open his eyes. ‘Far from it. There were some dispatches waiting for me. Intelligence seem pretty sure Lincke’s in the Black Sea.’

Devane said uneasily, ‘Barker had better watch his step.’

But the joke fell flat. Lincke in the Black Sea. It was very possible. Especially if the German High Command had got wind of
Parthian
and its true purpose.

He added, ‘It’s too much of a coincidence. Lincke’s arrival and Barker’s proposed operation.’

Beresford looked at him. ‘I agree. It’s getting a bit personal. I also discovered that Vice-Admiral Talents, my overall boss,
was at Dartmouth with Eustace Barker. I can smell the workings of the Old Pals’ Act.’

Devane laughed. ‘I’m glad I’m a simple soul.’

‘You?’ Beresford leant forward with the bottle. ‘That’ll be the bloody day!’

He stood up. ‘I’m going to try and bribe my way into a shower somewhere. Failing that, a good woman.’ He touched Devane’s arm as he passed. ‘Get your head down while you can. We assemble at 0900 tomorrow.’

Devane nodded, his mind dulled by the gin. Beresford’s disclosure about Lincke did not fool him for a moment. Whether or not Barker’s mysterious plans had anything to do with the German E-boat commander did not really count.

He must face it. Lincke was in the Black Sea for one purpose above all others.

Devane said it aloud without realizing it. ‘He’s going to get me, if he can.’

But Beresford had already left.

Devane poured another gin very carefully. He should feel flattered. If it had to happen, they had chosen the best one to do it.

He got to his feet, the gin untouched. Maybe that was why Beresford had let it out so casually. To give him a chance to stand down. To plead unfitness due to strain and the stress of constant action. Nobody would be able to deny him a relief, no matter what some might secretly say or think.

Devane pushed aside the shutters and allowed the sun to scorch his face and arms like a furnace.

If they thought that about him, they would have to think again.

For he was
not
like the others.
He
had nothing to lose.

When Devane, accompanied by Beresford, arrived at the shabby building where the inquiry was being conducted, he was astonished to see the familiar figure of Captain Whitcombe also present.

Devane exclaimed, ‘You didn’t say he would be here?’

‘Oh, didn’t I?’ Beresford showed his pass to a sentry. ‘It’s
all this secrecy, I expect. I never say anything nowadays, just to be safe!’

Devane strode into the shade and saluted. Beresford’s explanation sounded as unconvincing as some of his others. Nevertheless, he was glad to see Whitcombe in some strange way. Although God knows why they had brought him from Special Operations for an inquiry which could have been completed in Whitehall.

Whitcombe beamed at him. ‘You look well, John, damn well. Considering. How is it, by the way?’

Devane answered, ‘Doesn’t hurt much now. I was wondering –’

‘Later.’ Whitcombe took him aside as more officers arrived panting from the heat.

‘I’m sorry about all this, for Richie’s sake, and for his widow’s, of course. But my coming out here will help
us
to complete our plans for the Black Sea strategy without attracting too much attention. Mrs Richie has the right, after the hearing, to claim the body. It’s in the military hospital.’

Devane looked away. Until now he had imagined Richie was buried, probably at sea, like the men who had died after the capture of the E-boat. As he would have been if the star-shaped splinter had not been half spent.

What might it do to her when she was told? To know that Richie was lying in some iced vault while she had made love in a Chelsea hotel.

Whitcombe was watching him worriedly. ‘Beresford’s told you about Korvettenkapitän Lincke. My guess is that he was being sent anyway, as soon as the Germans picked up the news that Richie was on his way. You or Richie would affect Lincke in the same fashion.’

‘I know.’ He glanced at the clock above a military policeman’s head. ‘But before we go in, sir, is this inquiry really necessary, even to cover up our future operations? Richie was wrong to shoot himself, but it happens. Brave men should never crack under the strain, but they do.’ He waved his hand towards the white and khaki uniforms. ‘This is a farce.’

Whitcombe nodded to a messenger and headed for a side
door. ‘Cowardice doesn’t come into it. Lieutenant-Commander Richie was already being investigated, and he knew it. He’s well out of it by now, but we have to go through the motions.’ He looked him directly in the eyes. ‘So that we are not branded with the same mark as the Nazis!’

Devane turned to speak with Beresford, but he too had disappeared.

What the hell was Whitcombe talking about? He made no sense at all.

He saw a car stop outside the building to be surrounded immediately by a crowd of babbling onlookers and beggars. The car carried a Swedish flag, and two men left it immediately. Their pale skins and neat briefcases put them miles apart from the sweating military policemen at the entrance.

‘Take your places, gentlemen.’

The doors opened and Devane followed the others into the adjoining room. It could have been anywhere, but for the outdated fans and a native servant who was putting out ashtrays on a long trestle table.

The court consisted of an elderly commander, two lieutenant-commanders and a bespectacled lawyer from the Judge Advocate’s department. At another table sat Whitcombe and Barker, the latter shining in a suit of white drill.

The two Swedish visitors were seated at yet another table, and were watching the members of the court settling down, arranging papers and clearing their throats.

Devane sat with his arms folded. He should not have come. Perhaps if he just got up and left nobody would notice.

The commander at the trestle table put on a pair of glasses but looked over the top of them as he surveyed the room at large.

‘Governed by the same rules of secrecy as before, this court of inquiry is reopened.’ He nodded to the two Swedes and added, ‘And may I offer my thanks and greetings to our, er, guests.’

Devane looked quickly over his shoulder but there was no sign of Claudia Richie.

The commander said briskly, ‘Before we get down to the matter concerned in this inquiry, I have something to
announce of great importance.’

He had everyone’s attention now.

‘This very morning, the Allied forces made several successful landings on the island of Sicily. Enemy resistance was overcome and all first objectives taken.’ He looked at their faces and added dryly, ‘The Royal Marines were, I’m told, the first to land yet again!’

If they could have cheered, Devane knew they would have done so. All the waiting, the setbacks and stunning losses in four years of war. This was the first step on the long way to victory.

Devane saw the commander glance quickly at the Swedes and wondered if the Sicily announcement could affect them in any way. Something to soften the pill, but for what?’

The commander continued, ‘The evidence in the case of Lieutenant-Commander Donald Jason Richie, Distinguished Service Cross and Bar, twice Mentioned in Despatches, Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, is as follows, the facts having been verified by the sources contained in my report, and which out of necessity must remain a matter of secrecy.’

Devane could feel the tension around him, also the resentment against the two foreign visitors whose country remained neutral. It was a stupid resentment, but a natural one. Their presence was like an intrusion.

The commander must have sensed this. He continued, ‘Our distinguished guests, Mr Winter and Mr Revelius of the Swedish committee for the investigation of welfare into the conditions of prisoners of war and enemy occupied territories, have played no small part in this investigation.’