The Greatest Enemy

by Douglas Reeman

  ‘I expect you’ll be glad to see us leave?’

  Standish put down his razor, suddenly feeling crumpled and dishevelled.

  ‘More likely the other way round.’ He smiled. ‘I hope you all get to wherever it was you were going when …’ He looked away. ‘And that you can forget what happened.’

  She smiled back at him. It made her look years younger.

  ‘My husband’s a planter. I don’t suppose he’d notice if I went to America.’ She held out her hand. ‘Thank you. I’ll never forget what you did. Neither will the others.’

  She turned to go but Standish said abruptly, ‘That girl. The one who was …’ he faltered as she turned to watch him, her face suddenly severe again. ‘Has she anyone here? Anybody to help her?’

  ‘I have friends in Singapore. She will stay with me until things are settled.’

  ‘Good.’ He wished she would not stare at him. ‘I’m glad. I just thought …’

  ‘I know what you thought, and thank you again. Your family will be very proud of you. I know I would be.’

  Standish picked up his razor. ‘Thanks.’

  He heard her walk away towards the wardroom and tried to shut her grave kindness from his mind.

  Family. What family? He switched on the razor and then threw it savagely on to the bunk with the shirt. The power circuit had gone again.

  He snatched the handset from its hook beside the bunk and snapped, ‘Tell the electrical officer to send someone to fix my razor point.’ He watched his own despair and growing anger in the bulkhead mirror.

  Family. Father killed at sea during the war, and his mother had long since remarried and gone to Canada. And Alison … He barked into the handset, ‘I don’t give a bloody damn where he is, find him!’ He slammed it down and sank wearily on the edge of the bunk.

  Later, changed into a clean shirt and shaved with only minutes to spare, he stood beside Dalziel while the frigate moved slowly between the anchored warships, half listening to the shrilling pipes, the blare of bugles from the larger vessels, and every so often Dalziel s voice as he conned his command towards a vacant buoy.

  Someone had had the thoughtfulness to provide a boat and two buoy-jumpers. The latter were already squatting on the fat buoy, and in the eyes of the ship Wishart was waiting to signal the last few yards of approach so that the mooring wires could be passed down to them. A sleek harbour launch hovered nearby, and anchored firmly in the centre of the bigger ships Standish could see the uneven bulk of the Sibuyan, the Stars and Stripes somehow alien amidst so many British colours.

  ‘Steady as you go.’ Dalziel moved across the gratings to watch the buoy. He was wearing dark glasses and it was even harder to tell what he was thinking at this moment. All the way up the naval anchorage, past each moored ship, he had appeared to be waiting. Hoping.

  There had been several signals, but just the usual greetings you always received when returning to harbour. But not one word about the frigate’s gashed hull or a message of congratulations.

  ‘Stop both engines.’ Dalziel jabbed his finger towards the stem. ‘Tell that idiot to get ready with the Jack!’

  Burch pouted. ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  ‘Slow astern both engines.’ Dalziel leaned out over the wing to watch as the buoy vanished beneath the stem and the waiting seamen were galvanised into sudden activity.

  Wishart turned and raised his arm.

  ‘Stop both engines.’ Dalziel leaned against the screen as the shackle was secured and then straightened his back to watch the Jack break out from its staff above the stem, while simultaneously from the quarterdeck a crisp new White Ensign broke to the gentle offshore breeze.

  Then he removed the sunglasses and said, ‘Ring off main engines. Rig awnings as soon as the fo’c’sle party has secured.’

  ‘Launch comin’ alongside, sir.’

  Dalziel frowned. ‘Tell it to stand off until we’ve rigged the gangway, damn his eyes!’

  Burch sucked his teeth noisily. ‘Can’t do that, sir. It’s the officer of the guard.’

  ‘More delays.’ Dalziel rested one hand on the compass as the engines’ vibrations cut and died.

  The smart lieutenant who climbed to the bridge was polite but firm. His words, Standish thought, were carefully rehearsed.

  ‘I have orders to take your written report to the U.S.S. Sibuyan immediately, sir.’

  Dalziel thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘I’ll get it from my safe. I’ll expect your signature in return.’

  The officer seemed very relieved. ‘Naturally, sir.’

  When Dalziel had left the bridge Standish asked quietly, ‘This is unusual. I would have thought the C. in C. would want to see the captain first?’

  ‘It’s all been arranged like this, sir.’ The officer fidgeted with his swordbelt. ‘The American admiral is in control of your operations, so to speak, and I expect feels more able to deal with this situation.’

  Irvine looked up from the chart table. ‘Situation? I call it sheer bloody bad manners!’

  Standish shook his head. ‘Easy, Pilot.’ To the lieutenant he added, ‘Then you don’t know anything about it either?’

  They heard the door of Dalziel’s sea cabin slam shut and the sound of his feet in the chartroom. Then the lieutenant said quickly, ‘Look out for squalls! The wires have been buzzing like mad for the last few days. I thought another war had started. So watch your step!’

  Dalziel stepped into the sunlight and handed him a sealed envelope. Then he stood aside to watch the lieutenant scribble his signature on a receipt.

  The officer of the guard straightened his back and saluted. ‘Welcome back to Singapore, sir.’

  Dalziel watched him go down to his launch. Then he left the bridge muttering under his breath.

  Irvine asked, ‘What did the captain just say, Yeoman?’

  Burch looked at the guard boat as it sped towards the shore. ‘I think it was, get stuffed, sir.’

  8 A Matter of Security

  THE QUARTERMASTER POKED his head inside Standish’s cabin and cleared his throat discreetly.

  ‘Beg pardon, sir, but there’s a boat alongside to take you an’ the captain across to the Yankee ship.’

  Standish had been lying on his bunk. He looked at his wristwatch. It was over two hours since Terrapin had made fast to the buoy.

  ‘Have you informed the captain?’

  ‘Yessir.’

  Standish nodded and stood up. ‘I’ll be right there.’

  Then he glanced slowly around the cabin, automatically patting his pockets to make sure he still had his pipe and tobacco with him. So something was happening at last. After the waiting and the complete lack of information, someone had apparently decided to break the silence.

  On deck the sun was as bright as ever, and as he strode aft to the gangway he noticed how quiet the ship seemed after the excitement and speculation of their return to Singapore. There was a smell of rum still hanging over the ship, and in the messes most of the hands were getting ready for their midday meal, but, all the same, it was quieter than it should have been.

  There was not much moving on the flat water of the anchorage, just a few small craft and a heavily loaded boat full of tourists which was steering as close as possible to the grey warships in order that the movie cameras could obtain the best results.

  Wishart was O.O.D. and was watching the tourist boat intently as Standish walked up to him.

  He said suddenly, ‘Ah, I thought so.’ He pointed to the sleek guard boat which had appeared as if by magic from behind an anchored supply ship. ‘That’s three times it’s happened.’

  He did not have to elaborate. Standish watched the guard boat as with the dexterity of a well-trained sheepdog it pushed close to the slow moving pleasure craft, the coxswain standing up to shout something through a megaphone. The tourists were going to be disappointed as far as Terrapin was concerned, Standish thought angrily. It was as if the whole ship was diseased in some way, that she was to remain
isolated at her buoy forever.

  Wishart said, ‘Perhaps you’ll get it sorted out when you see the admiral.’ He looked at Standish, his eyes puzzled. ‘What does it all mean?’

  ‘Security, I expect.’ Standish glanced down at the launch alongside. ‘If there’s a reason for doing nothing, you can bet your boots it’s always security!’

  The side-party stiffened to attention as Dalziel appeared through a screen door. He looked alert and quite composed after his show of anger on the bridge, and as he took a quick glance around the upper deck his expression gave nothing away.

  ‘Right, let’s get on with it then!’

  The pipes shrilled and the American seamen saluted as Dalziel and Standish climbed down into their boat.

  Dalziel said, ‘I expect we’ll be dining aboard the Sibuyan. God knows, I’ve never felt less like eating.’

  Standish looked at him with surprise. ‘Worried, sir?’

  ‘Apprehensive.’ Dalziel turned to watch a powerful destroyer as they surged past. ‘Too many amateur politicians in the Navy these days. Can’t abide amateurs in any profession. They’re too damn dangerous.’

  He fell silent and did not speak again until the launch was within yards of the Sibuyan’s main gangway. Then he looked at Standish and whispered fiercely, ‘If anything goes wrong, you just stay out of it, see? You obeyed my orders and nothing more. I’ll not have my officers badgered by outsiders for doing their duty.’

  Standish followed him up what seemed like an endless gangway until they reached a broad entry port and a side-party of American enlisted men and marines. More pipes and salutes, and then a tanned officer was ushering them into the cool half-light of the Sibuyan’s hull.

  It was more like being swallowed than going aboard in the accepted sense, Standish thought. As he followed Dalziel and the American O.O.D. through one great passageway after another he was conscious of the vast complex of machinery and equipment all about him. Through open doors he saw men sitting at typewriters and teleprinters, and in what appeared to be a vast steel cavern he saw masses of plot tables and perspex monitoring screens, complicated graphs and a whole barrage of telephones, most of which appeared to be in use.

  They hurried still further into the ship’s interior until Standish had lost all sense of direction and position. Then they passed a wooden-faced marine and through a door marked Reception where a bored looking yeoman sat behind a desk reading a paperback and chewing gum.

  He did not look up as the O.O.D. said politely, ‘If you’ll wait here, gentlemen. I’ll tell the admiral you’ve come aboard.’

  Standish looked round the big cabin. It was fully carpeted, and there was a gleaming array of coffee percolators arranged on a small sideboard, above which hung a full length picture of the President.

  ‘Quite a place.’ Standish walked to a scuttle and peered out. He could see the Terrapin almost end-on, and guessed he was somewhere below the Sibuyan’s main bridge structure. The frigate looked small from this distance. Small and shabby.

  Dalziel said, ‘If you think this is grand, then wait until you see the admiral’s quarters.’ He tried to smile but then turned and asked sharply, ‘How long will the admiral be?’

  The yeoman looked up, his jaw open in mid-air. ‘You gotta be kidding, Commander. He takes his time, an’ when he says jump, we all jump.’

  Dalziel turned away, his face like a mask. ‘Thank you.’

  The yeoman returned to his paperback. ‘My pleasure, sir.’

  Dalziel said quietly, ‘Strange chap.’

  Standish said, ‘I expect he sees more senior officers every day than we do in a lifetime, I …’

  He broke off as the other door swung open and the O.O.D. said formally, ‘This way, gentlemen.’

  They walked on to another, even thicker carpet, and as the O.O.D. closed the door and vanished Standish found himself confronted by the largest cabin he had ever seen. Yet in spite of its size it seemed somehow spartan, and the giant desk at the far side below the open scuttles appeared to be the centrepiece, the nerve centre of this whole complicated ship.

  Rear-Admiral John P. Curtis was tanned and lean, almost a head taller than Dalziel, with a slight stoop which told of cramped service in earlier days aboard less spacious craft than the Sibuyan. He had cropped hair which was almost completely grey, but his smile was youthful, and his eyes were those of a man used to making decisions, regardless of outside opinions. Not a man to try and fool, Standish decided.

  There were others present, too. Captain Jerram and a harassed looking lieutenant were seated by some well-stocked bookcases, and near the desk was a round-faced captain in the uniform of the Royal Thai Navy.

  Curtis said, ‘Sit down, gentlemen. I’m sorry to keep you on a limb like this.’ He shrugged. ‘You know how it is today. Diplomacy first, action second.’

  Dalziel seated himself stiffly opposite the desk.

  ‘I hope my report was satisfactory.’ He could not keep the bitterness from his tone. ‘If so, I am sure my ship’s company would appreciate a word in that direction.’

  Curtis leafed through some papers on the desk, the movements regular, well-timed.

  Then he replied evenly, ‘Yes, I’ve read your report. It was full, and very definite on certain points.’ He swung his chair round until he was facing a great coloured chart which completely covered one bulkhead. ‘When I was given this command I had my doubts that it would work out. It is so easy to get panicked by a whole series of incidents, to see a communist plot in each one, when in fact they may be just unconnected coincidences. Too much force too early and we get accused of crepe-hanging. Too little and you’ve lost another battle before it’s begun.’ He swung back again and asked, ‘What’s on your mind, Captain Jerram?’

  Standish shot a glance across the cabin. Jerram had been sitting quite still, as if holding himself in the chair with real effort, but now he jumped to his feet, his face working with barely suppressed concern.

  ‘I know this was to be an informal discussion, sir, but certain of Commander Dalziel’s actions are in dispute. There may be occasion to proffer them as evidence at a later date.’

  Curtis nodded, his eyes moving lazily between them.

  ‘I see. Well, as I was saying, when I was appointed to this task of welding some sort of combined force together I knew one thing above all else. The Reds’ strongest weapon is, and always has been, the disharmony amongst their adversaries. I would not attempt to interfere in the internal matters of the Royal Navy, Captain Jerram. However,’ the word seemed to hang in the air above them, ‘while I am in overall command I will expected to be consulted at all times.’

  Jerram bit his lip. ‘I will accept that, sir.’

  ‘Great.’ The admiral leaned back in the swivel chair and stared at the deckhead. ‘Now let us get to the bones of Commander Dalziel’s report.’ Without consulting any notes he ran briefly through the parts relating to the S.O.S. and the first sighting of the Cornwallis. Then he asked, ‘Tell me, Commander, what is your personal assessment of the facts at your disposal?’

  Dalziel replied, ‘When my executive officer and his boarding party came under fire I knew there must be a definite connection between the S.O.S. and the shipmaster’s failure to identify Terrapin when we first made contact. When Lieutenant-Commander Standish signalled that he had a plan and the unpleasant alternatives proposed by the enemy, I knew I had to act, and at once.’

  Standish saw Jerram frown at the word ‘enemy’, and he knew that Admiral Curtis had not taken his eyes from him since Dalziel had mentioned his name.

  Dalziel continued, ‘It has been my contention for some time that the present system of patrol and investigation is outdated and misplaced. I believe that the Chinese communists are making renewed efforts to infiltrate Thailand and Malaysia just as they have succeeded in doing elsewhere, but I do not believe they are using the methods described by our Intelligence.’

  Jerram snapped, ‘You are forgetting yourself, Dalziel! This attit
ude has already brought a score of complaints from the Russians after you tried to stop one of their ships. And then you nearly sunk an unarmed junk, an action which resulted in the death of a civilian.’

  The admiral held up one hand. ‘It should be noted that there were three terrorists found aboard that junk by your inshore patrols, Captain.’

  Dalziel said calmly, ‘If I had not found and retaken the Cornwallis I believe they would have landed those arms and supplies without any trouble at all.’ He looked at Jerram for the first time, his eyes gleaming in the reflected light. ‘The rendezvous which you were using, and at which my ship would have been but for the courage of the Cornwallis’s radio officer who sent the S.O.S., was hopelessly misplaced, and made I suspect after your being given false information.’

  The admiral stood up. ‘Take it easy, Commander. We will just keep to the other facts, if you don’t mind.’

  Surprisingly Dalziel smiled. ‘Certainly, sir. The other thing which bothered me came when I inspected the prisoners.’

  The admiral nodded. ‘In the report you say they were regular troops. How come? As far as I know, none of them has spilled a thing yet.’

  Dalziel grinned. ‘All young and much the same age at that. All fit and well disciplined. It was obvious to me anyway.’

  Standish glanced quickly at the American, but he was smiling gently at Dalziel’s curt appraisal of the matter. He realized with a start that Curtis was looking at him.

  ‘And what do you think about it?’

  Standish saw Dalziel watching him, his fingers on the arms of his chair.

  ‘I agree with my captain, sir.’ Dalziel’s fingers relaxed slightly as he continued, ‘They were too well organized right from the start. One of the freighter’s officers said that it was timed to the minute.’

  Curtis nodded. ‘You did well.’ He smiled lazily. ‘But I hear you were a submariner. Well, so was I.’

  Dalziel said, ‘I think we should follow through with more patrols. Hunt them out before they can close the coast and pick their own landing places at leisure!’