by Colin Forbes
'It was the big German,' Ford said as he closed the cabin door and re-locked it. 'I caught him on the staircase at the far end -he still had his coat and hat on and he was going up on deck. I don't like it.'
'Don't like what?' Prentice withdrew his hand from where it had rested near the pillow which concealed his Webley .455 revolver, and began studying the patience cards spread out over his bunk.
'The feel of this old tub - those Jerries being aboard and not talking to each other. They come from the same country and they haven't said a blasted word to each other from what I've seen.'
'Perhaps they're English in disguise - that would explain the non-fraternization.' He picked up a card, placed it over another. 'Not been formally introduced, you see.'
Ford lit the last of his army issue cigarettes, the ones he could only smoke when they were alone, and started thudding a heel against the woodwork as he sat down on his bunk. Prentice looked up and stared pointedly at the thudding heel until Ford stopped the noise, then went back to his game. 'You could always get some kip,' he suggested hopefully.
'Couldn't sleep a wink,' the staff-sergeant told him emphatically. 'Not with those Jerries aboard creeping all over the shop when it's long past their bedtime.' He got up and went over to the porthole, pulling the curtain aside with a jerk. 'That ship's still there, too. Wonder why it's keeping so close to us?'
Prentice slammed down a card and lit a Turkish cigarette quickly while he watched the sergeant who continued staring out of the porthole in his shirt-sleeves. 'Ford, there are things called sea-lanes. Ships are liable to follow them. If you've ever crossed the Channel you'll see quite a few ships not far from each other the whole way across. I really think that Turkish food must have done you a power of harm - you're not normally as jittery as this.'
Ford turned away from the porthole, closing the curtain again. 'And I'm not normally travelling on a boat with a load of Jerries for company. There's something strange going on -I can feel it.'
'Three Jerries...' Prentice started to point out.
'Four! There's that other one the captain mentioned to us earlier in the day - the one that never comes out of his cabin at the end of the companionway.'
'All right, four! But hardly a load of Jerries - you make it sound as though there's a division of them aboard. What can four of them do aboard a Greek ferry in the middle of the Aegean which - when I last heard of it - is controlled by the Royal Navy? If you go on like this, Ford,' he continued with a mischievous grin, 'you'll end up in sick bay with some MO asking you what scared you in your cradle! Now, how do you expect me to get this game out if you persist in banging your foot and peering through portholes as though you anticipated a whole German army arriving at any moment?'
'Sorry. It's probably that last meal we had in Istanbul. What was that dish again?'
'Fried octrangel,' said Prentice absent-mindedly as he turned his attention to the cards. 'It's a baby octopus. A great delicacy.' He didn't look up to see Ford's face, but a few minutes later he became aware again of the restless sergeant's movements and glanced up to see him putting on his coat over his jacket.
'Feel like a breath of fresh air,' Ford explained. 'Don't mind, do you?'
'Yes, I think I do' The lieutenant spoke sharply. 'Going out on your own isn't really a very good idea.'
Ford's eyes gleamed as he dropped the coat onto his bunk. 'You don't much like it either, then?'
'I just don't think it's too clever for us to separate at this time of night. There!' He dropped a card on a small pile. 'You see, it's coming out.' Prentice smiled grimly to himself as he went on playing: Ford had smoked him out there. No, he wasn't entirely happy about the situation aboard this ferry, but he saw no point in alarming the staff-sergeant at this stage. Prentice was a man who, despite his outwardly extrovert air, preferred to keep his fears to himself. Those Germans who were worrying Ford could, of course, be spies, and if they were they had chosen the right place to come - the strategically important peninsula of Zervos. As he played out his game Prentice was thinking of a military conference he had attended in Athens just before departing for Turkey, a conference he had attended because a question of communications had been involved. He could hear Colonel Wilson's clipped voice speaking now as he automatically placed a fresh card.
'It's the very devil,' Wilson had said, 'getting permission to send some of our chaps to Mount Zervos. The official in the Greek War Ministry who's responsible says Zervos is seventy miles from the Bulgarian frontier and in any case the peninsula comes under the command of the Greek army in Macedonia. He just won't have us there.'
'Not even to send a small unit to set up an observation post?' Prentice had ventured. 'From what I gather the monastery under the summit looks clear across the gulf to the coast road taking our supplies up to the Alkiamon Line.'
'You gather correctly,' Wilson had told him crisply. 'But the monastery seems to be the stumbling-block. Apparently for many years the whole peninsula has been a monastic sanctuary and you need a government permit even to land there. They won't grant one of those to a woman - the only women allowed in the area are the wives and relatives of fishermen who live there ...' He had paused, his expression icy until the ripple of laughter had died. Perhaps he had sounded unnecessarily indignant on that score. 'The guts of the thing is that this Greek official practically suggests we'd be violating something sacred by sending in a few troops...'
'You believe him?' Prentice had interjected quietly, never backward in speaking up when his interest was aroused. There had been an awkward pause before Wilson had answered that one. Only a tiny fraction of the Greek population was believed to hold secret Nazi sympathies, but it was feared that one or two of these undesirable gentry might occupy key positions inside the Greek government.
'We can only take his word,' Wilson had replied eventually. 'But the thing that sends shivers up the spines of our planning staff is the idea of German troops capturing that monastery. It's perched nearly three thousand feet up at the southern tip of the peninsula and has a clear view across to that vital coast road. And that's not all. There's some freak in the weather up there which means the summit of Mount Zervos is nearly always cloud-free - so you get an uninterrupted view of that road even when visibility's nil a few miles away. A Jerry observation post stuck up there would put us in a proper pickle.'
Afterwards, a Royal Artillery major had further enlightened Prentice: beyond the head of the gulf a range of hills formed a natural defence line, but if the Wehrmacht attacked and were able to emplace heavy guns on the lower slopes they could bring down an annihilating fire on the coast road from behind these hill crests - providing they had an observation post on Mount Zervos which could guide the fall of the bombardment. The major ended up by saying that if the Germans ever did get the Allies in such a position it would be little short of a massacre.*
Prentice dropped another card in place and sighed as the Hydra tilted again, a slow, deliberate roll as though revolving on an axis. While in Turkey he'd almost forgotten that conference, never believing for one instant that he would ever set eyes on Zervos, and here he was less than eight hours' sailing time from that benighted peninsula. And why the hell did ships always have to leave almost at dawn and arrive somewhere else at that Godforsaken hour? Finishing the game, he started shuffling the cards, uncertain whether to play again.
* Later in the war the same threat materialized at Monte Cassino where a German observation post reported to the gunners every movement of Allied troops.
Then he stopped shuffling. Ford was again standing by the porthole, the curtain drawn back, and there was something in his manner which caught Prentice's attention. 'What's up?' he asked.
'It's this ship - she's coming in damned close, whatever you say about sea-lanes.'
Prentice stood up quickly and went over to the porthole. The unknown vessel was now sailing on a parallel course less than a quarter of a mile from the Hydra's hull and even as he watched the gap seemed to be narrowing. '
She is damned close,' he agreed, and felt a faint prickling of the short hairs at the back of his neck. He watched for a little while longer to be sure the ship wasn't simply passing them, then took a decision. 'I think we'd better pay our friend, Captain Nopagos, a little visit...' He broke off in mid-sentence. 'What was that?'
'Sounded like someone falling over in the passage - I think he hit our door...'
'Better see - and watch it!' Prentice dropped the pack of cards on his bunk, sat down and idly let his hand rest on the bunk close to the pillow which hid the Webley. He looked half-asleep as he watched Ford, who had now reached the locked door. Ford hesitated, listened for a moment, then heard a groan and a shuffling sound. He unlocked the door, opening it cautiously.
The Greek steward who looked after the cabins was lying face down in the companionway, his body wriggling as a slight moan escaped him. Ford looked both ways along the passage and saw that it was deserted. The Hydra was moving in a heavy swell, rocking slowly as the sea lifted and lowered it. He bent down quickly and noted that the man's hands were underneath him as though clasped to his stomach. There was no sign of injury so far as he could see - the poor devil must have been taken sick while walking down the companionway. He looked back inside the cabin and called out to Prentice.
'It's the steward. I think he's had an attack or something. I'd better go along and find someone...'
'Hold it a minute!' Prentice's nerves were on edge and his mind raced as he took in the implications of this unexpected incident. Ford going off to seek help would mean they were separated, a situation which could be dangerous. There was something queer going on, very queer indeed. 'No, don't do that,' he told Ford quickly. 'Can we get him in here? Let's have a look at him first.' He stepped into the companionway to give Ford a hand, stooping down to hoist the steward by the shoulders while the sergeant took the legs. They were standing in this position, still in the companionway with their hands encumbered, when the cabin door next to them was thrown open and Hahnemann came out. At waist-height he held a German machine-pistol, the weapon aimed at Ford's chest as he spoke in English.
'Put the Greek down and lift your hands. Be careful! If I shoot, the Greek dies, too.'
They put the steward down gently and as he reached the floor his hands and feet began to scrabble about in a more lifelike fashion. His face turned and Prentice saw that he was scared stiff, his complexion whiter than the jacket he wore. With Ford, he raised his hand's, turning slowly as he stood up so that he could look down the passage where he caught a glimpse through the half-closed door of the wireless-room. The radio operator still sat in front of his seat but now his hands were tied behind the back of his neck and then the view closed off as Volber came out holding a Luger pistol.
'Look at the wall!' snapped Hahnemann. 'And keep still.' They faced the wall and Prentice felt Volber's quick hands pat his clothes and explore his body for hidden weapons. The shock of the hold-up was going now and Prentice's mind coldly searched for a way of upsetting the enemy who had decided to continue the war on neutral territory. The Greek steward was standing up and faced the wall when Hahnemann gave the order. The German issued his instructions in a crisp, controlled manner which warned Prentice that any counteraction would have to be swift, unexpected and totally effective. 'And now you go inside the cabin. Quickly!' Prentice obeyed the order without hesitation. In fact, he went inside so quickly that Hahnemann was caught off-balance as the lieutenant tore through the open doorway, hooked his right heel behind the panel and slammed it in the German's face. His instinct was to dive for the revolver under the pillow, but knowing he hadn't the time, he jumped close to the wall as the door was thrown open again. Hahnemann jumped into the room, literally leapt through the doorway, turning as he saw Prentice a fraction of a second too late. The lieutenant grasped the machine-pistol by the barrel and swung the muzzle viciously to one side, still holding on, then jerked it backwards beyond the German who had expected him to pull it away from him. The muzzle was still aimed futilely at the outer wall. Continuing the rearward jerk, Prentice felt the weapon come free and in the same second felt his feet slip under him. He went over on the back of his head, still gripping the weapon as clouds of dizziness addled his brain and he saw only shadows through a mist. He was still struggling through the mists, seeing them clear gradually, when something hard and heavy hit him in the side. Hahnemann had just kicked him. When he recovered a grip on himself the German was standing over him with the machine-pistol aimed at the centre of his chest. In the doorway Ford stood grimly silent with Volber's Luger pointed at his stomach.
'Get up!' said Hahnemann savagely, backing away as Prentice, wondering why the hell he was still alive, clambered painfully to his feet. That hadn't been too clever. The back of his head felt to be split in two and an iron hammer was banging down the split. He gulped in several breaths of air, trying to hear what Hahnemann was saying. 'Over by the wall. Quick!' Tottering a little, Prentice went over to the outer wall and leant against it where Ford joined him a moment later. Volber went out of the cabin, closing the door behind him. It had all happened so swiftly that he was still wondering what the hell they hoped to achieve, was still suffering from a partial sense of shock. Alongside him Ford stared at the German with an intent look, waiting for him to make just one small mistake. The trouble was he didn't look like a man who repeated his mistakes - letting Prentice break loose had put him in a state of total alertness, and although he was guarding two men on his own he stood back far enough to give his gun a good field of fire. One brief burst would kill both of them: Ford, as a weapons and explosives expert, was under no illusions on this point.
'Why are you aboard this ship, Lieutenant Prentice?' demanded Hahnemann.
Prentice glanced at the table where Volber had left the papers and paybook he had extracted from their pockets while searching them for weapons. Hahnemann must have looked at these while he was coming up out of the mists. He wasn't in any hurry to reply - time was a factor the German clearly valued, as though he were following a carefully worked out timetable, and Prentice had detected a note of anxiety, behind the question, so his reply was deliberately non-informative. 'To travel from Istanbul to Zervos,' he said. For a horrible second he thought he had made a fatal mistake. Hahnemann's finger tightened on the trigger and Prentice braced himself for the lacerating burst of bullets, but the German regained control and .smiled unpleasantly.
'That I understood! Now, Lieutenant Prentice, before I shoot Sergeant Ford in the stomach I will ask the question again. Why are you travelling on this particular ship on this particular night? You understand? Good.'
Prentice found he was sweating badly on the palms of his hands and under his armpits. He hadn't the least idea of what Hahnemann was talking about but he doubted whether he could convince the German of this. His brain reeled as he sought desperately for words which might half-satisfy their interrogator, and with a tremendous effort he managed a ghastly smile in an endeavour to lower the temperature before it was too late. 'I take it you're in the German army?' For the first time Hahnemann showed a trace of uncertainty and Prentice followed up his tiny advantage quickly. 'Then you'll know that according to the Geneva Convention all we have to give you is name, rank and number. You've got those there on that table already.'
It was a hair-line gamble, switching the conversation to this topic, but Prentice was counting on the German's training to make him pause, to cool his anger, to gain control again. To his great relief he saw the machine-pistol muzzle swing to a point between himself and Ford where it could fire in either direction. The German had, at least temporarily, recovered his balance. Prentice had now assessed Hahnemann as a highly trained individual who normally kept an ice-cold grip on his emotions, but who also, occasionally, in a state of fury, lost that grip and went berserk. They had just witnessed such an occasion when their lives had trembled on the brink.
'What were you doing in Turkey?' Hahnemann asked suddenly.
Trying to get a berth home
to Athens.' Prentice's quick tongue rattled on. 'And the civilian clothes were loaned to us by the Turks. Our ship struck a mine off the Turkish coast two days ago and we were dragged out of the sea more dead than alive. We were the only survivors - and don't ask me the name of the ship or how many she was carrying because you wouldn't answer that either if I were holding the gun. And don't ask me why the Turks didn't intern us because I don't know - except that they seemed damned glad to get rid of us at the earliest possible moment. They'd have put us on the normal Istanbul-Athens service, but that was cancelled at the last minute so we were hustled aboard this ferry. The first available ship out, they said - and this was it.'