Cast No Shadow

by Peter Alderson Sharp

  “If you are referring to Second Lieutenant Dan Kelly, then I can tell you that I know him well and I can give you a personal assurance that he is a Royal Navy officer and is not involved in any form of espionage.”

  Kelly started and looked more closely at the big man who was speaking. In the poor light it was difficult to make out his features clearly especially with his face covered in bushy grey hair. But was it not … Guthrie! He had been one of his instructors at Devonport.

  Guthrie continued, “I trust that Captain Tzereskova is prepared to accept my word in this matter?”

  A brief exchange between Yashin and Tzereskova before Yashin called up, “That goes without saying Captain. Please again accept the captain’s apology. We will trouble you no more this night.”

  With that Tzereskova saluted, turned on his heel and strode off. The rest of his party followed behind with Botvinik bringing up the rear. Kelly had the distinct impression of a dog with its tail firmly between its legs.

  Kelly sipped on his gin and tonic as he concluded the telling of his story for the second time in two days. Guthrie and Jock Shearer, his number one, had listened spellbound.

  “Dear God! Old man, you’ve had more adventures than the rest of us put together,” said Guthrie. “That escape from the Rusky ship was real ‘boys own’ stuff.”

  “Tzereskova’s idea. He is clearly uneasy with the regime and the likes of Vladeshenko and Botvinik,” said Kelly.

  “That’s certainly the gossip around this port,” Shearer nodded. “He seems to have turned this whole episode to his advantage, but he’ll need to tread carefully. Stalin is said to be a tyrant.”

  “Anyway, you two,” said Guthrie, “I’m going to get some kip and I suggest you do the same, Dan. I’m afraid Jock here is on watch shortly. Such are the hardships we endure.” Shearer and Kelly laughed.

  “I’d like to play full role as part of the crew, Skipper, if that’s okay?” said Kelly

  “Jock will arrange everything. I’ll leave you two to thrash out the detail,” Guthrie assented. He turned and made for the door. Just before leaving he stopped and smiled. “Well done, Dan. Oh and by the way … nice to see you again.” With that, he was gone.

  Shearer produced a sheet of paper containing details of the ship’s watches which he handed to Kelly. “I wondered if you’d mind taking second of starboard watch, Dan? At the moment it’s led by a PO, that’s how short we are. He’s a good man but is beginning to feel the strain. He would really welcome some help, especially when we put to sea. We sail tomorrow at dawn.”

  “I’d be happy to,” Kelly agreed. “What time am I on tonight?”

  “Not tonight, Dan!” Shearer laughed. “You assume command of the watch from lunchtime tomorrow. Tonight, you sleep. You must be exhausted, man! Now away ye go.”

  Kelly needed no second bidding. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

  An interview with the Commodore

  Kelly knocked on the door of office C17 of the Admiralty Building punctually at 09.30 hours. He had been summoned to attend an interview with Commodore Archibald Jenkins CBE.

  Kelly had never met ‘Archie’ before, but his reputation went before him. He had been a Second Lieutenant on board the destroyer HMS Nessus during the battle of Jutland, when two shells hit her simultaneously. Several of the senior officers had been killed instantly and those not killed outright had been incapacitated. Jenkins’ quick thinking and leadership when taking command of the ship had won him the DSO. He had rallied the survivors into three makeshift teams, one dealing with damage control, another team tending the wounded and the third continuing the fight as best they could. It was the stuff of legends.

  Kelly was about to knock again when a sweet, “Come in!” trilled out. Obeying the instruction, he entered the office and was confronted by a woman of about forty sat behind a desk. She was dressed in an inexpensive print frock that hugged her body and accentuated the slimness of her frame. Her slight figure contrasted with the fullness of her bosom. Her jet-black hair was ‘bobbed’ in the American style and framed an oval face. Bright, intelligent green eyes appraised Dan Kelly as he entered. However, her most stunning feature was the radiant and engaging smile that lit up the room and encouraged a smile in return.

  Kelly did so. “My name is—”

  “Kelly!” She interrupted him. “Second Lieutenant Kelly?”

  “Dan Kelly,” he corrected, with just the slightest hint of intimacy.

  “The Commodore won’t keep you a moment,” she said, gesturing towards a chair. “Won’t you have a seat?”

  “I’ll stand, thank you,” Kelly responded. He was quiet for a moment before venturing, “You know my name, but ...?” it was more of a question than a statement.

  The woman looked at him blankly for a moment, then smiled. “I’m sorry,” she said, “that was rude of me. My name is Meganwy Evans, but everyone calls me Megan. Welsh of course, as you can tell from the accent.”

  “Barely,” said Kelly, “but there is an attractive lilt to your voice.”

  “Thank you,” she said, colouring slightly, but clearly pleased. Then changing the subject, she asked him, “Have you come up from Portsmouth?”

  “From Devonport,” Kelly corrected.

  During a natural lull in the conversation Megan continued with her work. Kelly watched her as she went about her tasks. Her movements were unhurried and practised and she was clearly efficiently on top of her job.

  On impulse Kelly spoke again. “Shall I describe the Commodore’s character?”

  She looked up in surprise, “You know Commodore Jenkins?”

  “I’ve never met him before,” said Kelly, “but I will deduce his character directly from you.”

  Megan smiled broadly. “I can’t wait!”

  Kelly looked thoughtful for a moment and then began. “He is fastidious and hates inefficiency, he wants things done well but is tolerant. He likes to run things in a business-like way, but is approachable and friendly?”

  “Well done!” Megan began, but she was interrupted by a rather stern voice.

  “Thank you for that character reference, Second Lieutenant Kelly. I hope I can live up to it!”

  Framed in the doorway of the adjoining office was a tall man in No 2, dress naval uniform. Well over six foot, he had a broad frame but was not overweight. His thin grey hair was brushed down onto his protruding brow, nearly meeting the bushy eyebrows. The combination of eyebrows, protruding brow and a long, slightly-hooked nose gave Kelly the impression of an eagle.

  Kelly didn’t need the evidence presented by the broad yellow band on the sleeve of the uniform or the triple row of medal ribbons on his chest to confirm to him that this was Commodore Archie Jenkins CBE. Archie was every inch a senior naval officer.

  Kelly didn’t apologise, instead he simply smiled and said, “Hello Sir.”

  Archie returned the smile and his whole face lit up displaying laughter lines running down from the corners of his eyes. “Come in, Old Chap!” he said and turned to enter his office. Pausing, he half turned back and was about to speak.

  “Would you care for tea, Commodore?” Megan questioned before he could ask.

  Again, the bright smiling face. “What an excellent idea Megan!” he said, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

  It showed, thought Kelly, generosity of spirit.

  Turning again, he walked into the gloom of the office. Kelly followed, winking at Megan as he passed, raising his eyebrows as if in enquiry. Megan nodded to confirm his assessment of the Commodore.

  Kelly had the notion he had strolled into a ship’s wardroom. The walls were panelled in weathered oak and adorned with pictures and prints of warships old and new, along with other items of ships’ chandlery. He marched up to the battered oak desk situated in the far corner of the room and halted in front of it, driving his left foot into the right in true naval fashion, as he assumed the position of attention.

  There was a slight cough from behind
him, which caused him to turn. The Commodore was seated in a comfortable leather armchair in the opposite corner of the room.

  “I wonder if we might conduct our business here, Old Man?” He pointed to a similarly old, though non-matching armchair. Kelly strode across the room and settled himself into the comfortable chair just as a light tap on the door heralded Megan’s entrance. She carried a tea tray, which was deposited on the small occasional table in front of the two men. Kelly noticed the detail of the table for the first time; it was exquisitely crafted, but in appalling condition, the surface scratched and ring marked.

  As if reading Kelly’s mind, the Commodore gestured towards the table. “Chippendale,” he said matter-of-factly, then looking at Kelly as he poured the tea, he added, “Beautiful things need to be used Kelly, not put on a pedestal or locked in a museum.”

  Megan was beaming at the two men as she left the room to the sound of their thanks, and Kelly, observing the Commodore watching her, wondered.

  “Now then,” said the Commodore quietly, sipping his tea, his attitude at once business-like. “I hope you don’t mind briefing me. First, let’s discuss your report. Quite an adventure, eh?”

  “Yes Sir,” Kelly replied. “It certainly had its moments. I have a mixture of feelings about it all really. Long periods of boredom penetrated by moments of high excitement. It was quite an experience.”

  “Yes, I can believe it,” the Commodore murmured. “I had a good friend in the Royal Marines during the last big exercise.” Kelly smiled, realising he was talking about the First World War. “Lieutenant Laker. Well, he told me they have a saying in the marines, ‘Hurry up and wait!’ Pretty well sums up warfare, don’t you think?”

  Kelly nodded, amused. “Certainly my experience so far,” he confirmed.

  The Commodore was silent for a moment, apparently lost in thought. He stared into the distance, before his eyes eventually settled on Kelly. “Killed at Zeebrugge. Very brave man. I was on one of the escort frigates.” Kelly gazed into the grey watery eyes. Eyes that had seen so much suffering and death, but eyes that could smile and look kindly on others.

  The Commodore was instantly himself again. “Tell it in your own words, Old Chap.” He settled back in his armchair.

  Kelly related the narrative once again, skipping over his amorous affair with Sybilla. He would have imagined the Commodore to be asleep as he lay back in his chair with his gnarled hands cupped on his chest and eyes almost closed, had it not been for the occasional interjections and questions.

  “That was damn close!” Pause. “How could you tell?” Pause. “Did you suspect?”

  And so it went on.

  When Kelly had completed his narrative, the Commodore remained silent and motionless for about two minutes. Kelly was about to speak when the Commodore shifted into a more upright position. “What do you know about heavy water?” he asked.

  “Naturally, I’ve read up on it since my return,” Kelly replied. “It seems it is a type of water in which the hydrogen atoms combine with oxygen atoms to form water molecules that have a neutron as well as a proton. Occurs naturally in nature, but is extremely rare.” He paused momentarily, then continued, “I can’t for the life of me see how this can produce or enhance an explosion?”

  “I have a little more information in that respect, however it’s classified, so I can’t enlighten you at present,” the Commodore told him. “Our boffins think there is nothing in this. ‘Speculative experimentation’ they call it. I’m not so sure. I rather think Jerry is on to something big.” The Commodore spoke seriously, his face grave. “I may need to have a word in a few very carefully chosen ears.”

  Kelly had no doubt that if the Commodore had a word in someone’s ear, then that someone would certainly listen.

  “Thank you, Kelly. Very clear report.” Jenkins eyed the man opposite him before adding, “You’ve done very well, Dan.”

  Kelly was flattered by the use of his first name.

  “You’ll get a mention for this, you know!”

  Again, Kelly felt flattered and a thrill ran through him. A mention in dispatches was a singular honour indeed.

  “Have you had a spot of leave?” the Commodore enquired.

  “Yes, thank you, Commodore,” responded Kelly. “I’ve been stood down for two weeks. I’ve had one week already, but I’m ready to go again. Bored, to tell you the truth.”

  The Commodore chuckled. “Don’t be in too much of a hurry Dan. It’s a stressful business we’re engaged in. It’s good sometimes to put your feet up and watch the world go by. It gives your internal clock a chance to rewind. The war won’t come to a grinding halt because Dragan Kelly and Archie Jenkins have decided not to play for a week or two!” He smiled wryly before adding, “Unfortunately!”

  “I hope you won’t misunderstand this, Commodore. Please be sure that if I am sent to a ship on convoy duty tomorrow, I will go willingly and will give one hundred percent …” He paused, before adding, “but there has to be a better way than this current mass slaughter, some form of deterrence perhaps?” The Commodore surveyed Kelly carefully for a moment before answering.

  “Very perceptive of you, Kelly,” he observed. “Deterrence will become a particularly important and perhaps overused concept after this war. Sadly, that will simply lead to an arms race.” The Commodore responded to Kelly’s raised eyebrows by stretching out his arms, the palms towards Kelly and the fingers spread wide.

  “Look,” he said, “I have five bombs.” He glanced at his right hand as he said this, then changed his gaze to his left hand, “and you have five bombs. Who has the deterrent?”

  “Neither,” said Kelly, stating the obvious. “We have a balance.”

  “Precisely!” roared the Commodore. “Despite the fact that you and I are the very best of international friends and allies, and that I would never do anything to harm you or your people, I’m afraid, Old Chap, that I have this uneasy feeling that you might want to harm me. So,” He drew out the word ‘so’ in order to maximise effect and then continued, “to prevent you attacking me, I’m going to build another five bombs!” He lowered his arms and stared at Kelly. “What are you going to do?” The Commodore raised his not insignificant eyebrows in interrogation.

  Kelly joined in the spirit of the semi light-hearted banter. “Well, I could build another five bombs to restore the balance, or alternatively, because I share your uneasy feeling, I think I might be tempted to build say ten extra bombs. Just for my own safety you understand!”

  “Exactly!” exploded the Commodore, crashing his clenched fist onto the oak table and rattling the cups. “You see the point I’m making?”

  “Very clearly.”

  The Commodore was silent for a moment before continuing, “The only way deterrence would work is if each side had a weapon of such horrific capabilities and destructive power that no one would ever dare to use it.”

  “Is such a weapon feasible?” asked Kelly.

  “Not at the moment. But heavy water, Old Chap! Heavy water! That could be the key!”

  Kelly was momentarily stunned into silence, but then he spoke earnestly.

  “In that case we must destroy that plant! Now! As a matter of urgency!”

  “Well, that’s certainly my view,” the Commodore replied quietly. “But that is not the universal view.” He paused then added, “Yet!”

  The Commodore sipped his now tepid tea, not appearing to notice, slumped in the depths of the old armchair. After an interval he broke the contemplative calm. “There is another form of deterrence perhaps more effective than any bomb.”

  “Go on, Sir,” urged Kelly.

  “Intelligence,” replied the Commodore. “Know your enemy. Know what they are doing, what they intend to do, how they think, what they eat, when they sleep. Know everything about them.”

  “Presumably using spies to gain the information?” suggested Kelly.

  “Agents, operatives, spies, fifth columnists, call them what you will. Committed peop
le who have the moral and physical courage to give a damn! And it’s not just the obvious potential enemies,” he continued. “Little subversive organisations with grand plans to become big subversive organisations also need to be monitored and, if necessary, eliminated. Such elements can have a disproportionately large destabilising effect on states, even continents. You only have to look at Communism and Fascism to see clear examples.”

  “Bearing in mind of course that the Russian Communists are our allies.” Kelly hoped that his observation didn’t sound like a rebuke.

  If the Commodore took it as such, he showed no sign. Instead, he responded, quietly. “Yes, Comrade Stalin and his warriors are our friends … today.” The ‘today’ was added almost as an afterthought. “Though from what you say, some of our comrades were not quite so keen for you to leave? What was that officer’s name?”

  “Comrade Major Vladeshenko” replied Kelly.

  “And the organisation he represents, at least according to Comrade Corporal Dimitri?”

  Kelly was impressed with the level of detail the Commodore had committed to memory from his report.

  “Spetsnaz,” he answered.

  “How’s your Russian, Dan?” asked the Commodore.

  “Rudimentary,” Kelly responded. “I did pick up a little during my travels to Archangel.”

  “Spetsnaz is effectively a contraction of spetsialnoe naznachenie, meaning ‘Special Purpose Squad,’” explained Commodore Jenkins. “Sounds innocuous, but basically they are an ‘elimination’ squad. Your major is an officer in a team of assassins. Spetsnaz make the Gestapo look like innocent lambs.” He smiled as surprise registered on Kelly’s face. “That said, they are extremely effective, so much so that I would be astonished if they are disbanded after the war.”

  “But what would their role be?” queried Kelly.

  The Commodore bounced the question straight back. “You tell me, Dan. What would their role be?”