Enemy In Sight (A Commander Steadfast Naval Thriller)

by Richard Freeman

  Kouvakis was burning to return to Duckworth and Steadfast to tell them what he had found but he waited five more minutes before moving back. Jenkinson was already there.

  ‘Well, Jenkinson?’ asked Duckworth.

  ‘All asleep, sir, apart from a sentry on each of the north and south sides. Both seem quite dozy.’

  ‘Sounds promising,’ said Duckworth.

  ‘Kouvakis, anything to add?’ asked Steadfast.

  ‘Yes, Commander. Your two seamen are in the old tents three and four, and your boxes are in tent five.’

  ‘Good man, Kouvakis. Now let’s make a move.’

  ‘Captain,’ said Steadfast, ‘how about taking out the two sentries and then making an attack on tents three and four?’

  ‘No way, commander. Five of us against twenty-five of them? And my men aren’t trained for hand-to-hand killing. Nor am I. And you?’

  ‘Well, no, I’m not.’

  ‘That leaves Kouvakis. I grant you he’s cunning and a survivor, but killing’s not his line either. He’s a resistance radio operator, damn it!’

  ‘So, what do you suggest?’ asked Steadfast.

  ‘Haven’t a clue,’ said Duckworth in a dejected voice, ‘I reckon we’re beat.’

  Macconnel, shocked at Duckworth’s defeatism and still yearning for some action, picked up one of the rucksacks. He dipped his right-hand in, pulled out various odds and ends which he dropped on the ground. Then he plucked out what he had been looking for. ‘Captain, I reckon these would do the trick. The wind’s in the right direction.’

  *

  Duckworth and Steadfast briefed their small contingent of Jenkinson, Goody, Macconnel and Kouvakis. Steadfast had pointed out to Duckworth that Kouvakis had an inborn guile that the other men lacked. He should be kept in reserve for anything really tricky. They picked Goody and Macconnel for stage one of the attack. The two men departed to the landward side of the camp.

  The first whiff of smoke reached the sentry on that side a few minutes later. His digestive juices responded to the thought of breakfast. It wasn’t long before he saw the flames and forgot the previously urgent needs of his stomach. He hardly had time to yell ‘Fire’ before the scrub far away on the landward side was a mass of flames and smoke. A strong wind was driving the fire across the scrub towards him and the tents. He ran screaming into the camp.

  Soon the dazed, waking men in the camp itself were choking and spluttering as they emerged from their tents.

  Most of the Germans were running out of the camp towards the cliff edge and the sea as they fled the oncoming flames.

  ‘Now we’re in business,’ said Duckworth, much relieved that his men had saved him from the horror of a frontal attack on the camp.

  Steadfast and Jenkinson moved round to the back of the tents. They reached the fifth tent and ripped the back open with their sheath knives.

  ‘One for you; one for me!’ cried Steadfast.

  They each grabbed one of the heavy boxes and staggered to their feet to carry their prizes back to Duckworth, who was to guard them.

  ‘God!’ gasped Steadfast as he choked on the smoke. ‘I reckon Goody and Macconnel overdid the fireworks.’

  Jenkinson attempted a reply but he could hardly get a word out. His eyes were running, his throat burning and his lungs felt as if they were being scoured with coarse sandpaper. He stumbled back to the fifth tent and bent down to lift another box. Unable to get it off the ground, he collapsed into unconsciousness. Steadfast was right behind him. He could feel the flames from the scrub. They would soon be catching the tents. There on the tent floor was the last box waiting to be taken. At his feet was Jenkinson. The cloth of his own trousers was steaming under the fierce heat from the scrub. Suddenly he was back on the bridge of Defiant with the men from a merchant ship in the water crying out to be saved. But he had ordered full ahead. Sinking the E-boats took precedence over saving individuals. Ignoring Jenkinson, he grabbed the next box, now hot, and ran through the thickening smoke back to Duckworth. When he dropped the final box in front of the captain, he was bent double from the heat and smoke. His face was black except for the pink streaks where the tears from his streaming eyes poured down his cheeks. His mouth was wide open as his lungs begged for fresh air. He turned to go back for Jenkinson.

  ‘Stop, man! Stop!’ cried Duckworth, as Steadfast stumbled back into the inferno. ‘You’ll kill yourself!’

  Feebly holding a handkerchief to his face, Steadfast strove to reach Jenkinson. His clothes were now catching fire on bits of flying scrub. These he brushed off with his left-hand as he pressed the handkerchief even closer to his face with his right-hand. Somehow he made it to Jenkinson. Steadfast bent down and grabbed Jenkinson’s ankles. He began to pull the unconscious sergeant back to safety. He had hardly gone three paces when he too collapsed.

  *

  While Jenkinson and Steadfast had been retrieving the boxes, Kouvakis had gone in search of Leach and Peabody. He had spent a good deal of the last eight or nine months in the smoke of cooking fires in the hills or even in the caves of Crete. As he sped along the rear of the camp to tent three, he almost felt that he was back home in the hills with his resistance pals. His knife made short work of the fabric. Lying awkwardly on the floor, his hands tied behind his back, he saw Peabody. Kouvakis neatly cut the rope with the same deft action that he used to cut off a sheep’s tail back on his father’s farm. Peabody sat up slowly as he tried to loosen his stiffened muscles.

  ‘OK?’ asked Kouvakis.

  ‘OK. I knew I would be. God’s watching over me,’ replied Peabody.

  ‘Lucky man. No one’s watching over me or my family.’

  ‘Perhaps someone is…’

  ‘Enough of that, sailor.’ And with that Kouvakis lifted Peabody onto his right shoulder and carried him back to Duckworth.

  ‘There’s one,’ he shouted as he turned to go back for Leach.

  He was soon slashing at the fabric of tent four. As the shreds of canvas fell to the ground Kouvakis found himself staring into an empty tent. He was no fool. ‘They’ve taken him hostage!’ He ran back to Duckworth.

  Meanwhile Duckworth had recalled Goody and Macconnel and sent them off to bring in Steadfast and Jenkinson.

  *

  ‘A hostage, eh?’ said Duckworth. ‘How do you know he’s not dead or a prisoner?’

  ‘Sir, he was there just before the fire started. You saw them: they scarpered. Why would they take a seamen with them? Would you, if you were running for your life?’

  ‘Well, no, I suppose I wouldn’t.’

  ‘But suppose you were clever and running for your life and needed to get the boxes back. Would you take a hostage then?’

  ‘Damn it! You’re right, Kouvakis. Leach is a hostage. That means they’ll be back to negotiate.’

  ‘So we wait here for them to come back?’

  ‘You and I, yes. We’ve got to get Jenkinson and Steadfast down to the beach, though. They’re in no condition to do anything at the moment.’

  Duckworth turned to Goody and Macconnel: ‘You two, take Jenkinson and Steadfast down to the beach and stay with them. Tell Steadfast I’ll be down shortly. Oh, and get some men up to take the boxes!’

  The four men disappeared down the path to the shore, leaving Duckworth and Kouvakis sitting on a mound overlooking the deserted camp and the sea below to await the commencement of the negotiations.

  *

  ‘Do you enjoy all this? The moving around, living in the hills stuff, I mean?’ asked Duckworth.

  ‘Enjoy? No, Captain, that’s not the right word. I enjoy the birth of a lamb, the apricot blossom in spring, wine and women. This,’ he gestured to the burning camp, ‘I do not enjoy. But it gives me a good feeling to know I’m doing the right thing. I go to mass, you know. I know good from evil. And what the Nazis are doing here is evil. And you, Captain. Do you enjoy this?’

  ‘Not any longer. I used to. When I was younger. Now I just wake up and wonder how I’ll get through an
other day. War! Does it ever solve anything?’

  Kouvakis, not being the philosophical type, did not attempt an answer.

  *

  The Germans halted once they were below the top of the cliff. Friedländer called them to together. Then he ordered Meyer to return to find out what was happening in the camp. A minute or so later Meyer’s head came over the top. He was knocked back by the heat coming from the still blazing camp. The tents were gone. Flames were licking round boxes of stores and rapidly approaching some ammunition containers. He turned and fled.

  ‘No one in sight, sir. The place is an inferno and the ammo’s about to go up.’

  Friedländer selected a few of the reinforcements to augment his depleted detachment and then turned to one of them: ‘Take command and get your men to see what they can rescue from the campsite. I’ve got some business to settle with that Steadfast.’ He turned to his men and called: ‘To the beach!’

  *

  Friedländer led his men down to the beach where he expected to find the radar boxes. It was, after all, only minutes since the British had been taken them, even if it seemed like hours. But when he arrived at the west end of the beach it seemed to be deserted. Neither the launches nor the dinghies were in sight. Cold terror took hold of him as he thought of how his commander on Crete would punish him for his letting the British get hold of the boxes. It would surely be the Russian Front for him – a front from which no one returned alive. He tried to swear but all that came out of his mouth was a loud, long, piercing cry of agony, which echoed round the cove like a wolf baying in the mountains.

  Had he searched the area more thoroughly he would have found Steadfast, Jenkinson Goody and Macconnel hiding amongst the rocks at the east end of the beach as they waited with the boxes for a dinghy to come in.

  If anyone had asked Duckworth whether it was wise to leave the aggressive Macconnel armed and facing the enemy alone, he would have said ‘No way.’ Equally if he had been asked how sensible it was to put Macconnel in charge of the young and easily influenced Goody, he would have been just as emphatic in his reply. But Duckworth was not there to be asked. The consequences were predictable.

  Before Friedländer had had a chance to think about his next move, Macconnel went into action. He told Goody to take cover behind a rock to his right. Macconnel then disappeared behind a rock to the left. He took aim at a German who was walking towards their dinghy. He fired. The German fell dead without even knowing he had been hit. Macconnel looked for his next target, but the Germans were now all running for cover. One, well down the beach, searched for cover in vain. Without a rock near him, he fell to Macconnel’s second burst of fire. Goody, more excitable than Macconnel, was now firing without even taking aim. But not a German was to be seen.

  Macconnel, who fancied himself in independent action, thrilled at the prospect of sneaking up on the hidden Germans. He crouched down very low and slipped away behind and up the cliff face. He was about halfway round, but still not in sight of the hidden Germans on the far side of the beach, when a shot tore past his left ear and shattered the rock behind him. He crouched yet lower. A cautious man might have moved to a safer position, but Macconnel had not an ounce of caution in him. He simply advanced more slowly, crouching even lower. It was a good five minutes before he had found cover from which his fire could reach the Germans behind their cover. He took aim at a tall young man who seemed to have his gun trained on Steadfast rather than one of the two sappers. Macconnel fired. There was a cry of pain. The soldier seemed to fall back. Then, with blood streaming from his forehead, the soldier was back at his gun, frantically swinging it from left to right as he searched for a target. Macconnel fired again and the young man fell back. His unmanned gun now pointed harmlessly to the sky. Macconnel inwardly congratulated himself on felling his third German. Then he thought of Goody. ‘Come on, Goody,’ he shouted, ‘Give it to them.’

  Goody had watched Macconnel’s bravado with a mixture of fear and admiration. Two of them against a dozen Germans! Yet Macconnel had effortlessly despatched three of the enemy. Perhaps between them they could clear the beach before Duckworth got back. Now emboldened, Goody began to also creep round the cliff face to a position from which he could fire on the Germans. In his over-confidence, he had not thought to scour the cliff face for signs of German movements above him. He advanced about ten yards, hid behind a rock and looked for a target. He picked out an older looking man – an officer, perhaps – and checked his sights. His finger hovered on the trigger. But the German on the cliff above and behind him fired one second earlier. Goody felt a blow on his right shoulder like a brick dropped from a rooftop. His right arm fell limply by his side and blood poured down his sleeve. He slid to the ground, crippled with pain. A second shot ended his agony.

  Macconnel had seen Goody fall and seen the sniper who had taken him. His blood was up. Goody, his pal, shot! Macconnel forgot about the cluster of men at the other end of the beach and began to crawl higher up the cliff. The rocks were lower there so he had to force himself down and down. A few minutes were enough to find himself above the sniper and with a clear view of him. The sniper himself was searching the beach for a target, quite unaware that Macconnel was now above him. Macconnel took aim and let off a few rounds. The sniper fell between two rocks, his lifeless body sprawled on the hillside.

  Macconnel was confident that he was safe in acting alone. The German sniper had been more cautious. He had arranged for two of his fellows to cover him. One of them saw Macconnel’s shots. He waited for Macconnel to either show himself or move off to a new position. The bold sapper chose the latter course. He began to creep further round the cliff-face edging ever nearer to the German end of the beach. He moved with the greatest care. Not for one moment did Macconnel expose himself to the German line of fire. He was now within ten yards of the end of the beach. Crouching behind two rocks with no more than a loophole between them he fired at random in the general direction of the Germans. He heard a few screams and shouts before the sniper behind him pulled his trigger. Macconnel was peppered from head to waist.

  Steadfast and Jenkinson had watched in despair as Macconnel and Goody made their pointless attack on the Germans, who were clearly intending to leave without causing any more trouble. Steadfast realised that once the Germans had dealt with the two men, as they surely would, he would be the next target. Not, of course, for a bullet, but for capture. Taking advantage of the firing, he slithered down to the water’s edge and slipped in. Jenkinson followed. Soon they were well-hidden in the rocky inlets about one hundred yards from the beach.

  *

  Duckworth and Kouvakis had watched while the fire consumed the last remnants of the camp. They waited a little longer for the Germans to return to barter for the boxes. No one came.

  ‘That’s it, then,’ said Duckworth, ‘nothing to keep us here now.’

  And with that he manoeuvred his tired body off the ground and slowly led the way down to the beach.

  *

  When Duckworth and Kouvakis arrived at the beach it appeared deserted. (Both of his dead sappers were up on the cliff face and hidden by rocks.) All they could see was a German boat just leaving the shore. It was moving very slowly westwards.

  ‘Christ!’ cried Duckworth as he looked at the deserted beach, ‘they’ve taken Steadfast, Jenkinson and the boxes. What a bloody disaster this op has been!’

  ‘How do you know they’ve got your men and the boxes, Captain?’

  ‘Well, they’re not bloody well here, are they?’ Duckworth sarcastically replied.

  ‘And if they did have the men and the boxes, why would they move off so slowly? Look they’re almost stationary now. It’s as if they wanted to be followed.’

  ‘I’m not falling for that one,’ replied Duckworth. ‘Another fucking trap!’

  *

  As the two men puzzled over the behaviour of the Germans, the two launches appeared round the headland. A dinghy was lowered. Soon all the men hiding on the beach
were back on the two launches. The boxes went too. The party was finally ready to leave Platos.

  ‘What next? Alex?’ Duckworth asked Steadfast.

  ‘Leach!’ replied Steadfast. ‘We’re not leaving without Leach. Follow Jerry! Full ahead both.’

  11. The lighthouse siege

  ‘We’re gaining on her,’ called Coxswain Alfred Kershaw in Elliston’s boat.

  Elliston turned to Steadfast. ‘What are you planning on doing, sir?’

  ‘We want Leach, that’s all,’ Steadfast replied.

  ‘But we can’t follow them all the way to Crete, can we sir? Shall we attack now?’

  ‘True, Elliston, we mustn’t let them pull us into protected waters. But they won’t, don’t you worry. Remember, we’ve got the boxes, they’ve got Leach. They’ll trade soon enough. We just have to make sure that it’s soon enough for us rather than soon enough for them.’

  ‘Meaning, sir?’

  ‘That we trade near Platos, not near Crete,’ Steadfast replied.

  He called to the yeoman signaller, ‘Make to Montague “Keep one mile behind the Germans”.’ He then turned to Elliston: ‘Pull round Jerry and get us one mile ahead. It’s time to force a conversation.’

  *

  Elliston never needed to complete his manoeuvre. He ordered ‘full-ahead-both’ and was rapidly gaining on the sluggish German launch when the starboard lookout, Walter Hogan, called out ‘She’s turning north, sir… and slowing down. Just like one of my pigeons on a bad day.’

  ‘Chief, slow-ahead-both,’ ordered Elliston. ‘Coxswain, keep following her.’