To Risks Unknown

by Douglas Reeman

  Soskic sighed deeply, ‘I will leave you now. I must go and see Captain Scarlett again. There is much to plan and prepare.’

  They watched him return to his boat, his beautiful boots shining in the sunlight.

  Then Coutts said, ‘I saw her at the airfield.’ He fumbled inside his coat. ‘She gave me a letter for you.’

  Crespin took the envelope and looked at it. ‘Did she get off all right?’

  ‘It was raining.’ Coutts was watching him. ‘Yes, she was all right. She’s a damn fine girl.’ He shrugged and glanced at his watch. ‘Better get back to Scarlett’s H.Q. Don’t want young Preston doing a wrong translation for him.’

  Crespin followed him to the deck and stared unseeingly at the covered corpses.

  ‘Thanks for the message.’

  Coutts saluted casually. ‘My pleasure, old son.’

  In his cabin Crespin sat down and turned the letter over in his hands for several minutes. Around him he could hear the usual shipboard noises, yet the cabin retained the stench of smoke and cordite. He slit open the envelope and read the unfamiliar handwriting very slowly.

  It was a short letter. At the top of the second page it continued: ‘… and I expect Captain Scarlett let you believe he had ordered my return to England? The truth is that I asked for the transfer myself. I knew Admiral Oldenshaw was on another tour and I made my request to him. You see, my darling, I think I am pregnant, and I could not tell you, knowing you as I do. If you still want me, it must be because of us and not because of what has happened. When you get home again, I, or maybe we, will be waiting. Think about me sometimes. I love you. Penny.’

  Crespin laid the letter on his table. It was almost as if he had heard her own voice, and he looked around the cabin like a man emerging from a dream.

  Wemyss peered into the doorway, his cap beneath his arm. ‘Excuse me, sir, but there’s a messenger from the village. Captain Scarlett requests your presence at the bunker for a briefing.’

  Crespin stood up, his movements heavy and barely controlled. ‘Thank you, Number One. Call away the motor boat.’

  Wemyss said slowly, ‘Shall I attend to the burial party, sir?’

  Crespin nodded. ‘If you would.’ He was only half aware of what Wemyss was saying. She had gone. Afraid that he would marry her because he had to. In his tired mind the distance between them seemed to build up until it was limitless, like black space.

  ‘Is there anything I can do, sir?’ Wemyss was watching him anxiously. ‘Anything at all?’

  Crespin walked past him. ‘Nothing.’

  Wemyss followed him to the gangway and saw him into the boat. He watched the little motor boat curving away towards the village and wondered about the letter.

  Sub-Lieutenant Defries appeared by his side. ‘Was that the captain, Number One?’

  Wemyss nodded. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Signal, sir. Just been decoded.’ Defries moved the pad into the sunlight between the draped netting. ‘I think he should know about it, although it’s addressed to Scarlett.’

  Wemyss looked at Defries’s pale face. ‘What does it say?’

  ‘From Admiralty, Number One. The aircraft carrying Rear-Admiral Oldenshaw is overdue and presumed missing. Captain Scarlett will return to U.K. and assume control of Special Operations until further orders. Ends.’

  He looked up at Wemyss’ lined face. ‘What does it mean, d’you think?’

  Wemyss turned and stared after the motor boat. The letter on the desk and Crespin’s face. That was what it meant.

  He said harshly, ‘When the boat comes back I’ll go ashore. Tell Shannon to take charge of the burial party. He ought to be good at it!’ Without another word he walked aft and leaned heavily against the depth-charges.

  Porteous saw Defries and asked, ‘Another flap on?’

  ‘Oldenshaw’s been killed.’ Defries was still staring towards Wemyss’ slouched figure. ‘Still, I suppose he would have died anyway pretty soon.’

  Porteous looked at the dead seamen being lowered into the waiting boat, the small firing party, embarrassed in their best uniforms. He thought of Haig, the competent leading hand who had died at his side. Now he was going ashore for the last time. He wondered vaguely how they would manage to scrape out the graves in that rocky hillside.

  He said quietly, ‘That’s a comfort, I suppose. But not much.’

  It was very cold in Soskic’s bunker, and the silent figures around Scarlett’s improvised map table huddled together for mutual comfort. As Crespin stepped through the rough sacking curtains Scarlett looked up, his face gleaming in the glare of several oil lamps.

  ‘Good.’ He gave Crespin a ready smile. ‘You made a bloody potmess of that troopship to all accounts!’

  Crespin saw Coutts translating Scarlett’s remarks to the partisans and there were several nods and grunts of approval. He noticed that there were many more partisan leaders than on his other visit, leather-faced, tough-looking men in thick jerkins, their bodies festooned with weapons and ammunition of a dozen makes and sizes. Almost without exception the partisan commanders wore German jackboots, their late owners having no further use for them.

  He said, ‘We lost five killed and three wounded, sir.’

  Scarlett regarded him searchingly. ‘Hard luck. Still, it could have been worse.’ He took a bayonet from one of the partisans and used it like a pointer across the map. ‘We must get on with it if we’re to make use of our advantage.’

  Crespin rested his palms on the table. He must push the other thoughts from his mind. He had to concentrate. The tiredness was dragging at his brain like a drug. It was hard even to see straight.

  Scarlett said crisply, ‘Up here we have the Peljesac Peninsula, beyond which is the main channel to the coast and Tekla Point. We will keep fairly close to Korcula Island and thereby avoid the other island of Hvar. There are still German forces on the latter and we don’t want an alarm to be raised before we get within reach of our objective.’ He paused and tapped the map with obvious impatience as Coutts translated for the benefit of the partisans. ‘Surprise and quick action are the mainsprings to this attack. The Germans obviously imagine that the troopship was sunk by forces from Italy. Otherwise we’d have seen more activity around here by now. So much the better. I have decided,’ he paused and shot Soskic a warm smile, ‘we have decided that the attack should be in two parts. The schooners under Captain Coutts’ command will land the main body of partisans three miles from Tekla Point to approach overland. Thistle in company with the two M.L.s will enter the base from seaward for a frontal attack and destroy all installations and any local shipping which cannot be taken for our own use.’

  Crespin watched the tip of the bayonet as it stabbed at each objective. It was a daring plan, but simple enough to work, if only the Germans had no surface forces in the area.

  Scarlett said abruptly, ‘And if anyone is worrying about the so-called Rhinoceros, he had better forget it.’ He looked calmly at Crespin. ‘If we smash the base, the Germans will be forced to withdraw from this section of the coast. The island of Vis is already in partisan hands, and the other local ones will follow as soon as we complete this raid. After that,’ he paused to allow Coutts to finish translating, ‘we will have more offensive craft based on Vis, M.T.B.s to be precise, and they will soon take care of this German monstrosity which has been tying everyone down here.’

  Crespin breathed out slowly. Scarlett had been saving that piece to the last. Torpedo boats would indeed put an end to the slow and ponderous Nashorn, once a base was secured for them.

  He said, ‘What about the armed yacht, sir?’

  Scarlett pouted. ‘She will remain here as, ah, communications ship so to speak.’

  Soskic looked at Crespin. ‘A good plan.’ It sounded like a question.

  ‘You have my word for it!’ Scarlett’s smile had vanished. ‘Just make sure that your people don’t jump the gun, eh?’

  Coutts said flatly, ‘He means, keep them from attack
ing before the signal!’

  Scarlett’s frown eased slightly. ‘Very well then. I suggest you gather your men together and put them in the picture. I intend to leave Gradz at dusk and attack at first light tomorrow.’

  The partisans stared woodenly at Coutts’ mouth, and as he finished speaking gave a great shout of excitement and obvious satisfaction.

  The rough curtains moved slightly and Wemyss appeared within the circle of lamplight.

  ‘Signal, sir.’ He glanced quickly at Crespin and then back to Scarlett. ‘Immediate.’

  Crespin watched Scarlett’s eyes moving quickly over the pencilled signal, but it was impossible to gauge any sort of reaction.

  Then Scarlett said curtly, ‘Carry on then. I’ll be coming round to make a last check in two hours’ time.’ His eyes shifted to Wemyss and he added, ‘You can carry on, too, Number One. I don’t need you here.’ It was a cold dismissal.

  He waited until most of the partisans had followed Soskic from the bunker and then said, ‘Bad news, I’m afraid, Crespin.’ He held out the signal. ‘It makes things all the more urgent.’

  Crespin read the neat printed letters and felt the bunker moving around him as if in a mist.

  Scarlett’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. ‘A great loss to the Service.’ He sounded more preoccupied than charged with any sort of emotion.

  Crespin placed the crumpled signal on the table, amazed that his mind had become so clear. Clear and empty, like a void. There should be pain, some words to ease the shock and agony of the brief report. A plane down, lives lost. It was common enough. He should have been able to accept it.

  He said, ‘I would like to return to my ship, sir.’

  Scarlett nodded slowly. ‘Best thing. No use brooding at a time like this.’ He added, ‘Too much depends on all of us.’

  Coutts had been standing in the shadows. ‘What’s happened?’

  Scarlett gestured towards the signal. ‘I’ll be leaving after the raid. I shall be needed for other work now.’ His eyes gleamed as he turned towards the lights. ‘France, and then Germany.’ He moved restlessly. ‘Our work out here is almost finished anyway.’

  Coutts said quietly, ‘I’m sorry about this, old son. Damned sorry.’ He followed Crespin into the harsh light of the hillside and added, ‘There aren’t any words. There never are.’

  Crespin heard himself say, ‘She was having a baby.’

  ‘Hell!’ Coutts pulled out a cheroot and then replaced it in his pocket. ‘You were right for each other. I knew that.’

  Crespin saw the motor boat cutting a fine line towards the shallows below the village.

  ‘If it hadn’t been for me she’d still be alive. She didn’t have to go on that bloody aircraft!’

  Coutts looked at him and then replied simply, ‘You’re wrong, you know. You must stop thinking like that. It won’t help her, or you either.’

  Crespin started to walk down the stony track, his eyes fixed on the flat water of the inlet. Coutts watched him go, his eyes troubled. Poor bastard, he thought. Poor, lonely bastard.

  Scarlett emerged from the bunker and stood beside him staring at the village below.

  Coutts said slowly, ‘Pity about Oldenshaw, sir.’ He waited, watching Scarlett’s face for some sign of regret.

  Scarlett thought about it. ‘I agree. Still, it will make hard work for the rest of us.’

  Coutts felt vaguely satisfied by the comment. You’re starting to feel glad the plane crashed, he thought bitterly. It will mean promotion for you, and a firm place in history to gloat over when you go back to your other world.

  He said, ‘I’ll go down to the schooners, sir. Time’s getting a bit short.’

  Scarlett was still staring around at the hills. ‘You know, Coutts, I think I’ll be sorry to leave here.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Coutts turned his face away. ‘I hope I never see the place again. Ever!’ Then he swung on his heel and walked quickly down the slope, leaving Scarlett staring after him.

  At dusk the same day the Thistle made ready to leave the inlet. Beneath the deepening shadows of the tall cliffs it was already as dark as night, and only the swirling water showed any sign of movement, and shone in the fading light like black steel.

  The schooners had sailed an hour earlier, their decks crammed with armed partisans, their patched hulls swaying uncomfortably as they edged between the headlands to meet the swell of the open sea beyond. Theirs would be a slow passage, but via a shorter route, hugging the islands and slipping through even the narrowest channels to rendezvous before dawn with the rest of the group.

  The stream anchor had been recovered, and as the main cable clanked slowly inboard Crespin stood by the screen watching the pale shape of the stern swinging towards the middle of the inlet, pushed steadily by the wind until it seemed to point directly at the village. Below his feet the deck trembled impatiently, and he heard the squeak of blocks and falls as the motor boat was run up to its davits and made fast. The stern was still swinging, and he wanted to yell at Shannon’s anchor party to get a move on. But it might only fluster him, he decided dully.

  He knew that Scarlett was still sitting on the bridge chair, crouching forward to watch the seamen around the bows, but he did not look at him. Any sort of forced conversation seemed beyond him, and all day he had confined himself to the business of preparing for the raid.

  Looking back over the day it was hard to remember any real sequence of events. He had slept for maybe three hours at the most and spent the rest of the time going round the ship, speaking briefly to the heads of departments, checking, and then re-checking. It had all been interspersed with endless cups of coffee and little else to sustain him. But he knew he had to keep going. It would be fatal to stop and think beyond the necessities of preparation and work.

  ‘Up and down, sir!’ Shannon’s voice sounded frail on the wind.

  Crespin breathed out sharply. Just in time. ‘Slow ahead! Starboard ten!’ He could not wait for the anchor to break surface.

  A few more minutes and the ship might drift against some of those rocks. He could see them quite clearly, shining like jagged metal below the cliffs. There were no watching villagers or partisans there this time. The old and the sick, the women and the children would be in their huts and houses, waiting and praying.

  ‘Anchor’s aweigh, sir!’

  ‘Midships!’ Crespin groped for the voice-pipe. ‘Steer straight for the centre of the opening, Cox’n!’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Joicey needed no unnecessary orders. He knew the feel of his ship as a rider knows his horse.

  Griffin snatched up his lamp as a shaded light flickered briefly from below the headland. ‘Signal from senior M.L., sir. Request permission to take up station.’

  Scarlett stirred. ‘Granted.’ He lifted his glasses to watch the sudden flurry of foam as the two lean M.L.s gathered way and pushed through the arms of the headland. They would sweep ahead of the Thistle in the wider channel beyond Korcula Island.

  Scarlett said suddenly, ‘Make to M.L.s “Good hunting!”’ His teeth shone in the blinking Aldis light. ‘It’ll cheer ’em up a bit, eh?’

  Crespin did not speak. Good luck. It was like a schoolmaster handing out a present for the smartest boy in the class. He felt sick.

  Wemyss climbed up beside him. ‘Motor boat secure, sir.’ He stared up at the fast moving clouds. ‘Glad to get shot of those damn nets.’

  Crespin said, ‘Tell Willis to secure the radar, Number One. I want no transmissions of any sort from now on. The Germans are not supposed to have any detecting gear hereabouts, but we’ll not take chances. Then go round the ship and check every last fan and watertight door yourself.’

  Scarlett watched Wemyss clatter down the ladder before he spoke.

  ‘Taking no chances, eh?’ He sounded calm and relaxed.

  ‘No, sir.’

  The headlands opened up on either beam and then slid past, their protective reefs coming into sudden life as the ship’s bow wav
e surged over them.

  ‘Starboard ten.’ Crespin buttoned his oilskin over his binoculars as spray drifted above the bridge and spattered against the screen. ‘Midships. Steer two-eight-zero.’ He watched the gyro’s luminous dial ticking round and then steady itself. Away from the island, away from the mainland. They would circle round in a wide turn before making that final approach up the unmarked channel.

  The bosun’s mate looked up from a voice-pipe. ‘Anchor secure, sir!’

  Crespin nodded. ‘Very well.’ He reached out and pressed the red button below the screen, hearing the shrill clamour of bells echoing around the ship, knowing that the men who now ran quickly to their action stations would remain there until the ship returned to Gradz. Some would come back to Gradz and stay to join those five graves above the village.

  He half-listened to the muttering voices, the slam and crash of watertight doors, the scrape of ammunition and steel helmets. After this raid was finished, what would happen? he wondered. The little Thistle would perhaps go back to her proper role of escorting helpless merchantmen, and her company scattered and lost from each other for ever. And himself? He thought of the M.T.B.s which would soon be coming to the Yugoslav islands. Maybe he would go back to them. Go on fighting in the Adriatic, further and further north until …

  ‘Ship closed up at action stations, sir.’

  ‘Very good.’ He turned as Scarlett eased his tall frame from the chair.

  Scarlett said, ‘I’m going to the chartroom. I’ll be there if you need me.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Scarlett paused below the gratings and dropped his voice to a fierce whisper. ‘I know how you feel about that plane crash, but you mustn’t let it get in the way of what we have to do. This raid must succeed, it has to!’

  ‘You’ll find me ready enough, sir.’ Crespin looked down at him, surprised that he could feel neither anger nor resentment any more.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it!’ Scarlett seemed eager to go, yet unable to leave without saying more. ‘I had a feeling it might come to this, you know. Right from the start. I was prepared to accept that you might resent serving under a temporary officer, one who has commanded nothing larger than an armed launch. I was ready to accept it because I thought you were different. But your attitude in the past, your very upbringing has made future possibilities in this section out of the question.’