Black August

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘Well, I’m a little rusty on my drill, but I’ll do my best,’ Kenyon agreed.

  ‘That’s settled then.’ Gregory stood up. ‘Now you’d all better get what sleep you can—you two,’ he looked swiftly at the girls, ‘will occupy the first room on the left down the passage. Fane and Harker the room that opens on the gallery over the hall. We move off at six-thirty tomorrow—or rather this morning, I should say.’

  ‘Where to?’ asked Kenyon.

  Gregory Sallust drew a big, official-looking packet from his pocket and smiled at the party. ‘Sealed orders,’ he said abruptly. ‘That’s why I’m only in charge of a platoon—but you’ll all know more about it this time tomorrow. Good night,’

  11

  The Taking of the ‘Shark’

  They were all up with the dawn—cold, miserable and still sleepy, their bruises from the night before giving renewed pain, their limbs stiff after the inadequate rest.

  The weather had turned. The sky was overcast, and a gentle but persistent drizzle saturated everything. From the windows of the big house the grey sweep of the Thames, rolling towards the sea between the low mud flats, showed a cheerless and uninviting prospect.

  After a hurried breakfast Gregory Sallust surveyed the scene through his binoculars. The sloping meadows of his boyhood had been levelled into fine playing fields, but the shipping was almost nil and the only sign of life in the near distance a small tug, about a quarter of a mile from the shore, which seemed to be in difficulties. He could make out two men and a woman on the bridge, but the vessel did not seem to be under power. It floated swiftly, broadside on in the sweep of the tide, turning a little—first to this side, then to that—as fresh eddies caught it. ‘Somebody trying to escape to the Continent,’ thought Gregory, ‘but unable to handle the machinery, or perhaps their supply of fuel has already run out.’

  He turned his glasses on H.M.S. Worcester, lying at her permanent anchorage just off the foreshore. The old wooden battleship, with her bulging sides neatly painted in longitudinal stripes of black and white, looked silent and deserted. The cadets would be on summer leave, he reflected, and only a skeleton staff of instructors left in charge, hence the tenantless condition of the Abbey.

  ‘All present and correct, sir.’ The sergeant saluted stiffly at the door.

  ‘Very good, I’ll come down then.’ Gregory snapped his binoculars back into their case and glanced at the others. ‘We must move off in five minutes, so you’d better come too.’

  They followed him meekly downstairs, and stood in a little group on the terrace in front of the house while he walked slowly down the ranks of his men, inspecting each rifle with meticulous care. He then addressed the whole platoon and the detachment of Greyshirts.

  ‘Now men, your own officer has failed to rejoin us, and as I cannot be everywhere at the same time it is important that I should have assistance in your leadership. Owing to the events of last night the services of one officer—of perhaps unorthodox, but commissioned rank—are available. I refer to Lieutenant Harker of the Greyshirts. We also have Lord Fane, who has been through the O.T.C. Unusual circumstances demand unusual steps, and therefore it is my intention to delegate authority over you to these two gentlemen for, shall we say, the duration!’

  The sergeant’s mouth twitched and one or two men tittered, Sallust smiled and went on evenly:

  ‘You will treat them in every respect as you would your own officers, so should any unforeseen accident occur to me you will take your orders from Lieutenant Harker, and failing him, from Lord Fane.’ He paused, and turning strode towards the others with his curiously unmilitary slouch: ‘Mr. Harker, you will take the leading lorry please—Lord Fane, you will take the third and your sister will go with you. Miss Croome, you will come with me. Prepare to mount.’ He waved his crop at the detachments; ‘Mount!’ The lorries jolted their way slowly up the hill, past the lodge, and so out on to the road to Rochester.

  Most of the inhabitants of Gravesend were still sleeping after the late night which they had shared with the rest of England. Strood was waking to the dreary day, and as they entered it Ann, who was seated between Gregory and Rudd, asked if they could stop for a moment when they passed a dairy so that she could buy a bottle of milk.

  ‘Do you wonder that I didn’t want women on this trip?’ said Gregory, but his tone was mocking rather than unkind, and when they passed a creamery he ordered Rudd to pull up.

  The shop was open and a short man stood in the doorway; a light brown overall, several sizes too large for him, dangled to his boots.

  ‘Hi! Bring me a couple of quarts of milk, will you?’ Gregory called, leaning from his seat.

  The short man shook his head. ‘Wish I could sir, but I haven’t got a drop.’

  ‘All been commandeered for rationing, eh?’

  ‘’Tain’t that, sir, I’m afraid. The farmers won’t send it in no more—lots o’ people is going to miss the milk bottle from their doorstep this morning!’

  ‘Sorry, Ann—let her go, Rudd.’ Gregory was waving a farewell to the dairyman when Ann gripped his arm and drew his attention to a pillar-box on the other side of the road. The slit had been pasted over and a square, white placard stood out in sharp relief against the red paint. In bold black letters it bore the legend:

  ‘SERVICE TEMPORARILY SUSPENDED.’

  In Rochester they tried to secure a paper but none were available. No trains had arrived since the previous afternoon; however, there were plenty of rumours; ‘The King was dead again … the King was quite recovered … the discontented sailors had volunteered in a body as Special Police … they had also attempted to burn down Buckingham Palace … the Lord Lieutenant of the County had been hanged from the porch of his own house by rioters … bombs filled with mustard and chlorine gas were being dropped by aeroplanes on the East End of London … the Bank of England had been blown up by International Crooks….’

  The last man they spoke to declared that he had it on the very best authority that Field-Marshal Lord Plumer had been assassinated by the Reds.

  ‘You fool!’ snapped Gregory angrily, ‘he died years ago. Let her go, Rudd.’

  They rumbled on under the ancient castle of Bishop Odo, across the Medway Bridge, and so, while it was still early morning, into Chatham.

  Sallust’s lorry then took the lead and he piloted them straight down to the dockyard’s gates. A Marine sentry called on them to halt—then catching sight of Gregory’s hat—turned out the guard.

  The General dismounted and spoke to the Marine Police sergeant who appeared to hesitate about letting them through without instructions, but Ann caught the words ‘with the country in a State like this’ and saw Gregory produce his bulky official envelope. The sergeant saluted and had the gates thrown open. Gregory climbed back into the lorry and they jolted down the hill between the lines of cheerless barrack buildings, workshops, and offices.

  Leaning forward in his seat Gregory peered sharply from side to side as they advanced, his keen eyes taking in every detail of the naval township which lies hidden behind the high dockyard walls. One big battleship lay seemingly deserted in a far basin, two destroyers in another, and a group of submarines in a third. A sudden swift smile of satisfaction twitched Gregory’s thin lips for a second as he caught sight of a single destroyer lying in the lock by the furthest quay—the haze from her funnels showing that she was apparently ready for sea. He ordered Rudd to drive towards her.

  A few moments later they pulled up, and Gregory, dismounting, strode over to the gangway. The Quartermaster who stood there came quickly to attention.

  ‘Where’s your Commanding Officer?’ asked the General.

  ‘He’s ashore sir, shall I fetch the officer of the watch?’

  ‘Yes, General Sallust’s compliments and he would like to see him at once.’

  The sailor disappeared and returned with a short, fair, square-faced naval lieutenant.

  ‘This is the Shark, isn’t it?’ Gregory questioned, althou
gh the name was inscribed in bold letters on the lifebuoys.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Your Commander is ashore, I understand, but how soon can you be prepared to sail?’

  ‘Sail? Well, I don’t know, I’ll ask the Executive Officer to speak to you.’ The N.O. turned, and sent a messenger for his superior, and a few moments later a Lieutenant-Commander came on deck.

  ‘This is Brigadier-General Sallust,’ the Lieutenant introduced Gregory.

  The new-comer smiled as they exchanged salutes. ‘My name is Fanshawe. What can I do for you, sir?’

  ‘I was inquiring when you will be ready to sail?’

  ‘Sail, sir! But why, may I ask?’

  Gregory frowned. ‘Didn’t you know that you were to act as transport for my men?’

  The Lieutenant-Commander looked a little astonished. ‘No, I’ve had no instructions, and the Owner’s ashore at present, so is our Engineer Officer. Of course, we are more or less standing by expecting to be ordered up to London, but we were told we should have a couple of hours’ warning, and they may not be back for some time.’

  ‘I see, but the matter is of the gravest urgency.’

  ‘We are to take you up the river with us, I suppose?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ Gregory drew the bulky packet from his pocket and showed it to the sailor. ‘OFFICIAL SECRET—Not to Be Opened Until Out of Harbour’ was scrawled across it under the bold printed lettering, ‘O.H.M.S.’

  ‘Sealed orders, eh? Well, sir, the crew is complete, so we could get under way in half an hour, or less, but we must wait for the return of the Captain.’

  Gregory frowned. ‘That’s awkward—I thought you would be expecting us and ready to leave immediately. Anyhow, I’d better get my men on board at once—that will save a little time.’

  ‘We’ve had no instructions about you here,’ demurred Fanshawe, ‘but as you say it’s so urgent perhaps that would be best.’

  ‘I’ve got some stores, too—mostly tinned stuff—I wonder if one of your people would be good enough to show my men where to stow them?’

  ‘Certainly, sir—Mr. Broughton!’ The Lieutenant-Commander turned to the officer of the watch. ‘Show the troops where to stow their stores, please—better use the foremost mess-deck.’

  Gregory stepped over the gangway and beckoned Harker to him. ‘Tell the men to unload the lorry, and get the stores on board, will you?’

  Harker grinned: ‘What’s the big idea, General? Are you standing us all a Mediterranean cruise?’

  ‘In the interests of discipline, Mr. Harker,’ said Gregory with studied coldness, ‘I should be glad if you would confine yourself to a prompt execution of orders when on parade. In the Mess, of course, you can express any opinion that you wish.’

  A strange look came into Silas Gonderport Harker’s eyes. First anger, then surprise, and finally amusement tinged with a flicker of respect. ‘As you say, sir.’ He brought his heels together with a click and marched back to the waiting men.

  The lorry was speedily unloaded, and the supplies carried on board, the sailors giving every assistance. Veronica with Ann behind her came up the gangway.

  ‘Er—excuse me,’ the Lieutenant-Commander spoke in a rapid, low-voiced aside to Gregory, ‘these ladies—are they—er—to be in the party?’

  ‘Yes, worse luck,’ Gregory’s tone was bitter and the stare with which he regarded the women left no doubt in the naval officer’s mind as to his extreme disapproval of their presence.

  ‘It’s a bit irregular, isn’t it, sir?’ he hazarded.

  ‘Damnably so, but instructions were passed from M.I.5 to take them along, so I had to lump it—better send ’em below somewhere, hadn’t we?’

  The sailor accepted the glib lie with an understanding nod and cocked an appreciative eye at Ann. He did not appear to share Gregory’s apparent misogyny. ‘I’ll take them below to the wardroom,’ he volunteered.

  As Fanshawe turned away Gregory gave a swift glance along the jetty. No sign of the Captain yet—Broughton was busy with the stores and troops—the quarter-deck free of officers for the moment. He caught the eye of Rudd, who was standing near, and strolled casually up the starboard ladder to the bridge. Rudd followed.

  For two very fully occupied minutes Gregory was in the wireless room, while Rudd lolled close to its entrance. By the time the Lieutenant-Commander returned from below, the General was standing once more by the rail on the quarter-deck watching the approaches to the lock.

  ‘Look here’ he addressed the sailor anxiously—‘how soon can we move off?’

  ‘I’ve got to wait for my Captain, sir.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know, but you don’t seem to appreciate the urgency of the situation. This ship should have been ready and waiting to take me and my men to sea at once. If you’ve had no instructions someone’s made a bloomer at the Admiralty and they will get it in the neck.’

  Fanshawe smiled: ‘That’s hardly my fault, sir.’

  ‘Of course not, but I must carry out my instructions—can’t you get her ready to move off directly the Captain does turn up?’

  ‘Yes, there’s no reason we shouldn’t do that.’ He turned to his petty officer: ‘Quartermaster, call the hands, stations for getting under way—ask the engine-room to tell me how soon they will be ready—it’s urgent, so skip!’

  Broughton, who was standing near them hurried forward. Gregory kept an anxious eye on the jetty while preparations were being made but there was still no sign of the Captain when, some twenty minutes later, the Lieutenant reported to the Lieutenant-Commander that the ship was ready to proceed.

  Gregory, who was standing near shook his head with a worried frown: ‘If that Captain of yours doesn’t turn up soon,’ he observed quietly, ‘we shall have to leave without him.’

  ‘But we can’t possibly do that, sir,’ said the Lieutenant-Commander in a shocked voice.

  ‘Why?’ asked Gregory, ‘surely you can navigate the ship yourself?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Broughton and my other lieutenant and I can do that between us, it’s not that.’

  ‘I see, but of course your Engineer Officer is ashore as well, isn’t he? Is that the trouble?’

  ‘No, not exactly, but—’

  ‘Well, what is it then?’ Sallust cut him short impatiently. ‘I understood you to say that you had a complete crew.’

  ‘Yes, nearly eighteen of them are in irons at the moment, we had rather a bother with them last night—demonstration in sympathy with those bad eggs in the Battle Squadron; normally they would be in prison on shore, but instructions were to keep them here for the time being. We had a bit of bad luck with our Gunner this morning too—the front wheel of his push bike got in a tramline and he went over the handlebars—they’ve detained him in hospital on shore, but of course I could manage easily with the rest.’

  ‘Then for goodness’ sake let me get on with my job.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve already told you, sir—I can’t sail until my Captain turns up. I have no official order—unless you’ve got one you can show me from a Naval Authority?’

  ‘Of course I haven’t.’ Sallust spoke with unusual heat. ‘I received my orders verbally from Eastern Command when they handed me the packet I showed you, but you should have had your instructions from the Naval people here in the early hours of the morning.’

  ‘Quite, sir, but you see my position, don’t you?’

  ‘Now look here, Commander,’ Gregory had suddenly become very amiable again, ‘I quite appreciate that it is an awkward situation for you, but there’s a war on you know—or its equivalent at all events. The Government seems to have got the country into a ghastly mess and now it’s looking to the Services to pull it out. It’s my job to get my troops wherever they’re ordered at the earliest possible moment—you must understand the urgency of the matter. I appeal to you as a brother officer to get this ship under way without any further delay.’

  The Lieutenant-Commander smiled, obviously sympathetic towards t
he General’s anxiety to be off. ‘I’m sorry, sir it’s quite impossible—I can’t put to sea without my Captain. I tell you what though! I’ll slip over to the signal station and try and get him on the telephone; it’s not a long job, and if I can’t get in touch with him I’ll ring up the Secretary’s office at Admiralty House and ask if any instructions have come through.’

  ‘Splendid!’ Gregory grinned suddenly. ‘That’s awfully good of you—I wish you would.’

  ‘Righto! I won’t be five minutes.’ With a friendly wave of his hand Fanshawe disappeared over the side.

  Gregory paced slowly up and down the quarter-deck. His lean, rather wolfish face showed a nervy satisfaction, but his sharp eyes were never off the jetty for more than a moment, and when the Lieutenant-Commander reappeared he walked quickly over to the gangway to meet him.

  ‘It’s all right, sir,’ came the cheerful hail, ‘I haven’t found my Captain but I can explain why those orders never came through!’

  ‘Can you? That’s good,’ Gregory nodded.

  ‘Yes, all the wires are down and the private line’s been cut, so they are sending dispatches by road and one of the cars was wrecked outside Strood round about two o’clock this morning. The Secretary at Admiralty House seemed to think instructions about your party must have been among that bunch.’

  ‘I see, but he agreed to our sailing at once.’

  ‘Well, he could hardly do that himself, and when he went in to see the Admiral the old man was so up to his eyes in it that he couldn’t get anything very definite, but he says General Instructions are that where communications have broken down officers will be expected to act on their own initiative, rather than remain idle, and that every opportunity should be taken to act in conjunction with the sister services—so in an emergency like this, I think that lets me out.’

  ‘Good for you. Then I’ll slip down to the wardroom for a moment if you don’t mind.’

  A pleasant smile spread over Fanshawe’s face. ‘Rather, sir, and I think we’d better make you an honorary member of the Mess.’