‘Aren’t you being a bit paranoiac, there, sir?’ asked Fergusson.
‘Sorry, Fergusson, but I’ve got my reasons for suspecting I’m being watched – perhaps all of us are. Someone else knows we’re not just exercising to fill in the time. So I’m taking every precaution I can. Even when it makes more work for us.’
‘Blimey! It’s the first time I’ve ever done anything important enough to be spied on,’ exclaimed Baines.
‘I can believe that,’ replied Steadfast sarcastically. ‘But tonight and the next few nights is all about trying to make sure that’s it’s not your last time.’
Steadfast then turned to his briefing. ‘I’ll run through your tasks for tonight, starting from being at Point Z. In the real thing, one boat will stand by to keep guard at Point Z. There’s always the risk that a snooper will turn up. It will be the job of the guard boat to get word of an approaching enemy to the shore party. With luck, any passing vessel won’t notice the guard boat, so I’m not expecting any action while the rest of us are on shore. But – and we have to be prepared – the one thing we cannot afford is to have our boats trapped in the target bay.’
‘And if there is some action?’ asked Truscott.
‘You’ve got brains in your heads. Whoever is out there will have to do the best they can. The main thing, of course, is not to let on that there are other boats inshore. So, if the guard boat is in trouble, it should move further away. At all costs we must make the enemy look in the other direction.’
‘Sounds sensible to me,’ responded Truscott.
‘Sounds complicated, sir,’ remarked Baines.
‘It won’t be too difficult to understand once we’re there,’ replied Steadfast, ‘even if it proves impossible to do.’
‘What do you mean “impossible”?’ asked Baines.
‘The plan assumes that we don’t meet any hostile forces. You know what they say, Baines, all plans only last as long as the first hour of the encounter – or something like that.’
‘And then?’
‘And then we improvise. You’ll have to since I shall be going ashore to help get Dobransky. That will leave you three commanders with your boats. If trouble comes, you use your initiative. Just keep in mind that we need the three boats to get back. No one wants you to be dashing heroes.’
‘Which boat gets which jobs?’ asked Fergusson.
‘I’ll decide that when we’re there. For now, each of you has to be able to do every job. Remember, we might lose a boat – an accident, a breakdown, or even a skirmish on the way across. Everyone’s got to be able to do every job. Any questions?’
‘What about the men, sir?’ asked Truscott. ‘They keep asking why we’re detached and why you’re here. What can we tell them?’
‘Good question,’ replied Steadfast. ‘Tell them that London’s come up with some new ideas on using gunboats for close support. I’m here to teach you about them. It won’t do any harm if you give the impression that you don’t think you’ve much to learn from London – probably true now after all that training. The main thing is to avoid anything that suggests I’m here for something special.’
With no further questions Steadfast dismissed his commanders with the final order of ‘Midnight tonight. Point Z, gentlemen.’
***
That night, three gunboats could be seen leaving the Kars Al Tin jetty shortly before 11.30 p.m. No one noticed the old beggar sitting in the shadows on a pile of discarded hemp cables. As the boats disappeared from view, the beggar slid off his resting place and made off into the darkness.
The sea was calm and the air balmy with a light off-shore breeze. The outlines of the three boats could just be seen under the weak light of the waning moon. Moving at around 10 knots the boats cut cleanly through the sea, while their powerful motors lifted the bows, making them ride on arrows of foaming spray. There was no need for concealment yet, so all on board enjoyed the cool night air after the hot day in the city.
By midnight all three boats were assembled at Point Z, close enough for Steadfast to issue his orders by megaphone.
‘We’ll start with the simplest bit. Each boat is to take a turn of standing off at Point Z while the other two boats run into the bay, moor and deposit some partisans by dinghy – just land one crew member as your partisan. Then the dinghies must come back out, wait for their partisan to signal an agreed code letter, and go in again and re-board them. It will be best if you use different oarsmen for each run – the more practice they all get the better. We’ll start with Truscott and Baines going in. I’ll go with Truscott and stay on shore until the exercise is finished. … Oh, and don’t forget to give your partisan a torch for signalling.’
Truscott ordered dead slow ahead and his boat moved off into the darkness. After five minutes of near total silence during which the only sounds came from the low burr of the motors and the swishing of the water at the bow, Truscott whispered, ‘Cut engines’. Down went a dinghy to kedge the gunboat to within a hundred yards of the shore.
‘Truscott,’ whispered Steadfast, ‘shouldn’t your men be at action stations. This is a hostile shore.’
‘Sorry, sir, I didn’t realise we were doing it for real.’
‘We damn well are – once you get your act together.’
Within a minute all the boat’s guns were trained on the shore as the silent boat lay siege to the imaginary enemy coastline. Steadfast and three seamen stepped into the dinghy. They were just about to go off when Steadfast spoke once more.
‘Where’s the enemy, commander?’
‘There, sir,’ said Truscott, pointing to the shore.
‘And what about there?’ said Steadfast, pointing out to sea. ‘Why are all your lookouts watching the beach?’
Truscott quickly gave orders for a 360-degree look-out and then ordered the rowers to move off. With the oars in muffled rowlocks the men rowed the dinghy slowly and silently towards the beach. One seaman (the ‘partisan’) landed, as did Steadfast.
Steadfast was grateful to have seen the beach in daylight since he could hardly make out a thing in the dark. He could hear the lapping waves on the shingle and just see the vague outline of some of the larger rocks enclosing the inlet. The stony beach was hazardous because the rock-pools were like man holes in the darkness. He wanted to get himself and the partisan well-clear of the water line before either the Baines’ party arrived or Truscott’s dinghy returned. The two men stumbled up the beach about twenty yards, falling into rock pools, slipping on wet seaweed and banging their shins. At last they were able to sit down on a reasonably flat rock to await the next dinghy.
But it was not the sound of an approaching dinghy or the footfall of a landing sailor that caught Steadfast’s attention. Twice he had heard it, somewhere behind him: the distinct, sharp ‘click’ sound of a pebble that tumbles from one rock to another. And that smell: a feint odour of Egyptian tobacco. They were not alone. Somewhere up behind him someone else was watching the landing exercise.
Steadfast was now torn. He wasn’t armed – there was a limit to how realistic he wished to make this exercise – but he did have a torch. He turned to the seaman. ‘Stay here. If the dinghy comes, tell it to wait for me if I’m not back.’ And with that he slid off into the darkness further up the beach.
After a few yards, more or less on all-fours, Steadfast paused to listen. Another sound, this time like the crack of a dry piece of seaweed crushed underfoot. Up and to the right, he thought as he moved slowly forwards another couple of yards. Now sitting very uncomfortably in a rock hollow containing some viciously prickly plant which was puncturing his posterior, Steadfast waited for the next sound: the click of a skidding pebble, directly above him. He moved up the beach another yard or two. Then another wait. Then the next sound: a stifled cough, so close that Steadfast was sure he could leap upon his stalker. He jumped up, lunged forward and fell back as his left foot skidded from underneath him on the smooth surface of a rounded rock face. He heard the stalker jerk into acti
on and had just enough time for the beam of his torch to catch the familiar patchwork of a fleeing galabeya. Until now, thought, Steadfast, all sorts of reasons could have accounted for this man hanging around. But out here, ten miles from Alexandria, I’m the reason, he concluded. He made a resolution to locate the man again in the city, and this time trace him to his master.
When he returned to the water’s edge Steadfast found a second seaman. So Baines had succeeded in delivering his partisan. But Steadfast realised that he had been so preoccupied in chasing his pursuer that he had no idea how smooth or silent Baines’ delivery had been.
‘You can signal that you’re ready to be collected now,’ Steadfast told the first of the two seaman to have landed.
A few minutes later a dinghy arrived and took off the first seaman. The same procedure followed five minutes later to take off the second. Steadfast remained to watch the next phase of the exercise.
There was no next phase. Not long after the second seaman had been taken off, Steadfast heard the roar of an engine, some shouts and then the rattle of an anchor chain. He had not allowed for such an incident – whatever it was – and had left no orders other than those for the exercise. All he could do was wait for the next two deliveries. But when the next dinghy came, it carried Baines’ sub lieutenant.
Lionel Watson was the oldest of the officers in the three boats, being 31 years old. He had a longish face, made longer by his neat naval beard that obscured his fresh countenance. He wore a near perpetual smile of contentment mingled with eager expectation. Steadfast had learnt that he was a geography teacher (helpful in the navy, he thought) and a keen fisherman. Over the last few days he had watched this cheerful officer move about his job with a calm efficiency that escaped his commander. He was clearly far more competent than Baines, but had the nous not to show up his commander unnecessarily. Here, thought, Steadfast, was an able man. He could be useful if things did not go to plan.
‘Message from Mr Baines, sir,’ said the lieutenant. ‘The lee caught the boat and was taking her in. Mr Baines’s ordered an emergency touch of the engines. The boat’s hit a rock. Looks as though it’s damaged.’
‘Take me to Mr Baines, lieutenant.’
In the few minutes that it took to row across to Baines, Steadfast’s mood swung from raging anger to dark despair. One moment he heaped the blame on Moresby, who should never have let Baines loose. Then he switched to blaming Baines himself. But he realised the truth that he had to face was that, as each day went by, his operation seemed less and less ready. With further proof of Baines’ incompetence, a damaged boat and the preparations under daily espionage, the mission seemed so far from ready that it was near to being undeliverable.
‘Baines, what the hell is going on here?’ cried Steadfast as he stormed onto the deck of 349B.
‘We were swinging round, sir. I thought we were going to have another fouled cable, so I called for a bit of power. We shot off to starboard and hit a rock.’
‘Sounded more like full-ahead-both from up on the beach. Anyway, what’s the damage?’
‘There’s a gash in the bow just above the water-line. We’re OK for now, but we’ll take on water out at sea.’
‘Not covering yourself in glory, are you, Mr Baines?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Do you really want to take part in Madcap?’
‘Of course, sir. I’ve not done much so far in this war. A chance to do something big is just what I need.’
‘Well, unless you buck your ideas up, you’ll be remembered for a big mess, not a big success. We’ll talk about this more tomorrow. And have this boat in dockyard hands by 8.00 a.m.’
With that Steadfast rejoined Fergusson, called the night’s exercises off and ordered a general return to the jetty.
That night he slept badly.
In his broken sleep, half-dreaming, half-waking, Steadfast’s mind was filled with apparitions of the spy coming out from behind every rock on the Egyptian and Albanian coasts, and of Baines’ boat colliding, sinking or steaming out of control. Boats were blown to smithereens. Boats were torn in two by torpedoes. Men, some dead, some horrifically injured, floated in a jetsam-strewn sea. And the one person who had no control of any of these imagined events was Steadfast himself.
When he finally awoke and was able to shake off the horrors of the night, he found himself in a decisive mood. Only a wet flannel of a commander, he thought, would accept a man such as Baines for Operation Madcap. Baines absolutely had to go, whatever Moresby said.
He bathed, shaved with especial care and put on the cleanest clothes that he had – not that they fitted too well, being Admiralty emergency hand-outs. He looked in the mirror and saw the face of a bold, decisive and successful commander. With a tweak of his right-hand he tilted his cap a little to imitate the arrogant, impertinent style of Beatty. He smiled – a gentle, self-satisfied smile. Then he thought of Moresby and realised that there was a limit to how far he dare provoke that source of all his trouble. He readjusted his cap to a more conventional angle.
After fortifying himself with another Egyptian breakfast, Steadfast set off towards the quay where Moresby’s boat was moored. There was not much activity yet along the waterfront. Men were unloading goods from carts, huddles of workers were having a last smoke before beginning their day, and dogs scavenged in the piles of yesterday’s garbage. Abandoned hand-carts lolled in lone lines. As he briskly walked towards what he saw as the confrontation that would make or break Madcap, Steadfast rehearsed his arguments. Baines was a danger to the operation. Baines was a danger to himself. Baines was a danger to the other boats. Baines would lose Moresby one of his boats. The more he thought about it, the more he felt inclined to stress Moresby’s interests rather than his own, or those of Madcap. ‘Moresby,’ he rehearsed as he walked along, ‘I think you ought to know that there’s no chance of 349B surviving this operation. Baines just isn’t up to it, and he’s bound to be blown out of the water or smash his boat on the rocks. Don’t you think it would be better to take him back?’
Satisfied that he had now found the right argument, Steadfast quickened his pace, savouring the moment when he would be free of his useless commander – perhaps Watson could take his place. Now about 100 yards from Moresby’s boat, Steadfast suddenly noticed a movement in the shadows. He pulled back into a doorway and peered out carefully. A figure dashed out of an alleyway, across the dockside and hurriedly clambered down the ladder onto Moresby’s boat. It was none other than the man who had been spying on him for last few days.
This put a very different light on Steadfast’s position. It was too much to take in immediately, but one obvious conclusion came to Steadfast. Moresby was taking a special interest in Madcap, so he must have chosen his boats and commanders with care. That meant the presence of Baines was deliberate – most deliberate. For a moment Steadfast considered the idea that Moresby had planted Baines in order to sabotage Madcap through Baines’ incompetence. Was Moresby a traitor? Was he in the pay of the Italians? Or even the Germans? None of it made sense. Then it came to him in a flash: Moresby had sent Baines in the hope that he would not return. The spy was simply there to report on progress.
Steadfast was now emboldened. He had come this far in his unmasking of the spy. Why not go that bit further? he asked himself. There was no one on the deck of Moresby’s boat so Steadfast took the opportunity to jump down and put his head round the ladder down into the boat. There were three or four men inside, one of whom was half-dressed. He had seen him before. Who was it? he asked himself. And then he realised: Moresby’s midshipman. And now he had a distinctly smudged face. The beggar had been run to ground.
‘Is the commander around?’
‘No, sir. He’ll be back in an hour or two.’
‘No matter. It can wait.’
Wait forever, thought Steadfast as he left the boat. He had seen enough to end any attempt to reason with Moresby. Steadfast slinked off and made for the Kars Al Tin jetty. Gone were his chanc
es of appealing to Moresby on any level for the removal of Baines.
He was about 300 yards from the jetty when a strange idea came to him, a cunning idea, an idea that staggered him. If Moresby didn’t want Baines back, he, Steadfast, must do all in his power to make sure that Baines did come back. Only in this way could he get his revenge on the perfidious flotilla commander. His pace quickened at the thought of returning from Madcap to present Baines back to his master.
***
At the jetty Steadfast found Fergusson and Truscott sitting on some upturned fish crates. (Baines had not yet come back from the repair yard.) He surprised the two commanders by greeting them with the air of an excited and contented man – they had expected to find him in a filthy mood after yesterday.
‘Bit of a tough night?’ he enquired. They nodded their acceptance of Steadfast’s understated assessment of last night’s fiasco.
‘Things should be better tonight, but I reckon Baines needs a bit of help. Fergusson, would you take him out with you in your boat to the bay this morning and just run through what you did yesterday?’
‘Sir.’
‘We’ll do another dry try tonight – Baines’ boat should be fixed by then.’
Steadfast and his commanders turned to talking about the latest news from the Western Desert as the British Army continued to successfully push back the Italians. No one dared say it, but they all thought that this augured well for their own encounter in a few days’ time.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a staff car. An eager looking young officer, smartly dressed in a white shirt and shorts, stepped from the car with the air of a man on important business. Steadfast recognised him immediately as one of Cunningham’s flag officers.
‘Commander Steadfast, sir?’ he asked.
As soon as Steadfast had acknowledged his identity the young officer said, ‘Admiral Cunningham wishes to see you immediately, sir. It’s most urgent.’
Action This Day (A Commander Steadfast Thriller) Page 6