The Greatest Enemy

by Douglas Reeman

  ‘I admire your concern.’ The admiral watched him curiously. ‘But you must try and see the broader pattern. As I said earlier, we must have co-operation, which is why I requested you to give the prisoners to the Malay patrols. SEATO or any other set-up out here requires that each country manages its own internal defence. If other, non-committed nations think we are taking over the whole shoot they’ll be terrified of being turned into another Korea or Viet Nam, a battleground for the big powers who might see fit to withdraw from the ashes without either winning or losing the final conflict.’

  A telephone buzzed quietly and he lifted it from the desk. ‘Yes. I see. Okay.’ He replaced it and looked at his watch. ‘Lunch is about ready, gentlemen.’

  Dalziel stood up, his face suddenly anxious. ‘But, sir, what about my ship’s part in all this? My men have worked damn hard, some have even died to carry out what I think was a fine piece of work.’

  Curtis looked at him, his eyes thoughtful. ‘Here’s the deal. Tomorrow morning the Press Bureau will issue a statement. That the S.S. Cornwallis was overrun by pirates, the attack being repulsed and defeated by H.M.S. Terrapin which was on routine patrol at the time.’

  His eyes hardened slightly. ‘I know how you feel, Commander, and I can guess what the ship means to you. But we are here to do one all-important job and nothing more. I do not want the whole world and ten thousand reporters clamouring over my command, not unless or until I know exactly what the Reds are up to.’ He looked round their intent faces. ‘And I don’t give a sweet goddamn who steps out of line. If he’s under my flag, I’ll break him, okay?’

  Then he looked at the Thai officer who had said nothing throughout the interview.

  ‘Captain Pumhirun is the kind of officer I like. He speaks no English, so we get on just fine.’

  He crossed to Standish and held out his hand. ‘Sorry I can’t have you to lunch too. But this is strictly for the heads of departments.’ His handshake was firm but brief. ‘Take care of yourself. I have a feeling you are going to be useful around here.’ He turned his back on the others and dropped his voice to a mere whisper. ‘Especially if you can stop your captain from blowing his cool every time we meet. I have troubles enough without an internal riot!’

  Dalziel caught him as he moved to the door. ‘I’m damn sorry about this, Number One. But I expect it is to be another informal get-together.’ He looked at him fixedly, his eyes suddenly bitter. ‘I’m not going to let them forget our part in all this. I don’t care what it costs!’

  Two white-gloved marines had opened a pair of doors at the far end of the cabin, and through them Standish could see the well-laid table, other senior officers and the glint of silver and perfectly matched china. He thought suddenly of the Terrapin’s shabby wardroom, the others who would be waiting hopefully for his news.

  He said, ‘I’ll be going, sir. If we’re docking tomorrow there’ll be a lot to do.’

  Dalziel stood up and then said impulsively, ‘Look after her, eh? She’s a good ship, you know.’

  Standish nodded. ‘I will.’ She’s all we’ve got, he thought.

  Then he was through the doors and past the same unmoving marine, his mind still busy with what he had seen and heard.

  Would it have been any different with another captain? Did Admiral Curtis propose this negative report because of Dalziel or in spite of him, or because Jerram had already spoken against him in private?

  A grinning sailor touched his arm. ‘Not that way, lootenant. Follow me if you wanna see daylight agin.’

  Standish smiled. ‘Lead on.’ And suddenly he was glad to be leaving. Glad to be going back to the Terrapin, where for once he felt he was going to be needed.

  * * *

  Dalziel returned to the Terrapin in the late afternoon. There was an official from the dockyard waiting to see him, and while they discussed the matter of the ship’s repairs in the captain’s cabin Standish watched him closely and tried to discover his present mood.

  He seemed quieter than usual but in no way subdued, and when the dockyard official had departed he said briskly, ‘Soon get this bit of damaged hammered out, eh?’

  Standish asked, ‘How did it go, sir?’

  ‘The lunch? Dalziel sounded vague. ‘Quite well really. Chicken of course. It’s always chicken aboard American ships. Odd chaps.’

  He stood up and paced across the worn carpet. ‘Rear-Admiral Curtis was very friendly, I thought. Plenty of get up and go in that one.’ He halted suddenly in his pacing and stared at Standish. ‘How did the others take the news?’

  Standish thought of the brooding silence as he had outlined their reception aboard the Sibuyan.

  ‘Disappointed, sir. But I thought you’d like to fill in the picture yourself.’

  ‘Quite. Good thinking. As a matter of fact I may be able to tell them some more inspiring news after I’ve seen the C. in C.’ He saw Standish’s surprise and added, ‘Made an appointment for this evening. Don’t want to let the grass grow under us, eh?’

  He crossed to his cupboard and took out the beautifully cut decanter and glasses.

  ‘Bit late in the afternoon, I know, Number One. But I’m rather hoarse after all that talking and tinned chicken.’

  He held the decanter to the scuttle and swilled its contents about in the sunlight.

  ‘Good bit of glass this. Got it as a small mark of appreciation when I was escorting the Royal Yacht.’

  Standish opened his mouth and closed it again. Perhaps he had misheard the first time, or maybe there was a twin decanter which Dalziel had received from the Shah of Persia.

  He asked instead, ‘Do you think Admiral Curtis will act on your report, sir?’

  ‘Depends.’ Dalziel swallowed the neat whisky with obvious relief. ‘Jerram is the one who bothers me. Such an old woman, and absolutely no idea of the real situation we’re facing out here.’ He perched himself on the table and leaned towards Standish. ‘As I see it, the Chinese communists are in a hurry. They’re not going to mess about subverting and infiltrating right round the northern coast of the Gulf of Thailand. In Viet Nam it was quite different. They helped the North Vietnamese to by-pass the frontier and demilitarized zone by using Laos, where the Americans could not get at them. But this time they will try and take a short-cut, pop up right in the middle of their next objective, so to speak.’

  Standish watched the whisky splashing into the glasses again. ‘I can understand that.’

  Dalziel smiled warmly. ‘I know. That’s why I like you. You see beyond all this nonsense about rules and so forth.’ He hurried on before Standish could speak. ‘The U.S. Seventh Fleet is absolutely bogged down with its commitments throughout the whole South China Sea and as far north as Korea. It is a vast organization, a naval way of life more than an individual concern. You saw Curtis’s flagship, well that should give you some idea. It’s all so connected, so dependent on long drawn-out lines of communication that personal initiative is almost heresy.’

  Standish thought of Curtis’s great desk, the radio links which connected him with every corner of the Western world, or perhaps in the end to just one man at an even larger desk in Washington.

  Dalziel said, ‘Whatever anyone tells you to the contrary, wars are won by pre-thinking and individual action. No other way.’

  ‘I take it that Captain Jerram is satisfied with your explanations, sir?’

  ‘No other choice, has he?’ Dalziel grinned widely. ‘Everything I said was true. His Malaysian patrols were useless when the time came, and so would we have been if we’d been at the rendezvous.’

  He eyed Standish crookedly. ‘You’re thinking it was sheer luck, eh? I can see it written on your face.’ He crossed to his bookcase and ran his fingers along the top shelf. ‘Look at these names. Nelson, Collingwood, or John Paul Jones if you like. They all took risks when older, more stagnant minds were dead against them. Failure would have meant ignominy and disgrace, if not worse. But they trusted their own judgment, and were proved right.’r />
  Standish watched him gravely. Dalziel’s voice was getting louder and there were patches of colour on his tanned cheeks. It was as if his energy and enthusiasm needed a safety valve, but one over which he seemed to have little control.

  ‘That rubbish of Jerram’s, for instance. Are we supposed to cruise up and down the damned ocean with blinkers on? I say that if the communists know we are here, then we should show them we mean business. It all stems from today’s politicians, hypocrites almost to a man if you ask me. No thought of honour, not them. Just what is in it for me? or how much money will we lose if we go to help a nation which trusted our word! Lot of bloody parasites living off the state!’ He whirled round and snapped, ‘Enter!’

  Leading Steward Wills looked through the door. ‘Shall I lay out your best uniform, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’ He seemed to relax. ‘Sword and medals for a visit to the C. in C.’

  He reached for the decanter, paused and then poured another full glass. ‘Never hurt anyone,’ he remarked absently. ‘Still, I expect the politicians will stop that too one of these days. No drinking for the officers or rum for the ratings, so that they can spend the money themselves on some bloody party rally at Broadstairs or something.’

  He looked at Standish thoughtfully. ‘Might have a little party tonight, what do you think? Just our own officers and a few drinks to celebrate.’

  ‘I’ll lay it on, sir.’

  ‘Capital. One good thing about this sort of commission is that you live together as a ship’s company, not running off every night to watch television.’ He frowned. ‘Did the ladies get ashore all right?’

  ‘They had gone when I returned from the Sibuyan, sir.’ Standish recalled the strange sense of disappointment when Wishart had told him. He added shortly, ‘I’ve heard that the lads turned out to see them go. I think they feel that the women were the only ones who really appreciated what they did.’

  ‘Hmm, I can understand that. Still, we mustn’t mope about it. We’ve shown everyone what we can do. Now it’s up to us to see we go on paving the way.’

  Standish stood up and moved towards the door, but Dalziel added slowly, ‘I shall speak to the ship’s company myself. Explain to them about all this security nonsense.’

  Standish was not quite certain but he thought Dalziel winked as he added gravely, ‘Of course, it’s not always possible to keep Jolly Jack quiet when he’s on a run ashore, is it? So give leave to all but the duty part of the watch until midnight and lay on some tenders to bring them back aboard, right?’

  He saw Standish hesitate and asked, ‘Something on your mind again? Well, spit it out. You know me better than to keep it bottled up.’

  ‘I was thinking about what you said earlier, sir. Perhaps Captain Jerram was anxious to overrule you, or maybe he had someone breathing down his neck, too. I think it would be unwise to tempt fate so soon after the last trouble.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘Our people are disappointed because they feel their little victory is being overlooked. But later, if there’s another let-down, they might start to ask if any of it was worthwhile. Men died aboard the Cornwallis, and they’ll start remembering it when this excitement has worn off.’ He thought of the gun in his hands, the suddenness with which he had killed. Like the swift reaction of a wild animal with thought of nothing but survival.

  Dalziel reached out and punched his arm, the gesture playful. ‘Then it’s up to us to see that the excitement does not wear off, right?’

  As he walked along the passageway Standish thought he heard Dalziel humming to himself.

  * * *

  Lieutenant Marcus Irvine leaned back in his chair and blew a stream of cigarette smoke towards a deckhead fan.

  ‘This is the stupidest party I’ve ever attended!’

  Standish crossed to a scuttle and stared at the thousands of glinting lights along the shoreline, the occasional pale wash of a power boat before it was swallowed up in the darkness of the anchorage.

  All the frigate’s officers were present, their mess kit strangely formal against the worn furniture and faded paintwork. A messman was stirring a giant china bowl of punch, while Wills stood by the sideboard staring gloomily at an array of delicacies which he and the cook had prepared between them. The slices of toast upon which they had arranged tempting portions of anchovies and local tinned fish were already curling like damp cardboard, and the sandwiches looked decidedly stale.

  Irvine said angrily, ‘A party, he says, and the principal guest is still absent.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I could have been at the Tang-Liun Club tonight instead of sitting here like a bloody twit.’

  Hornby passed the sideboard for the twentieth time, his eyes on the untasted food. ‘I suppose we could start without him?’

  Pigott showed his teeth. ‘Watch it! I can’t abide fat officers!’

  Standish smiled in spite of his nagging apprehension. It was strange that Dalziel was still ashore.

  He said, ‘All right. Serve the punch, Wills.’

  Quarrie grimaced. ‘Punch? Tastes like gin and diesel.’

  ‘Got the recipe out of a book, sir.’ Wills eyed him defensively.

  Irvine smiled gently. ‘Which book?’ He looked at Caley. ‘I expect you’d prefer a glass of beer, eh?’

  But if the punch tasted unusual, it was certainly potent. Standish noticed the level dropping in the bowl, and when he glanced at the sideboard he saw that the food had equally diminished.

  Hornby was munching as if his life depended on it. ‘I expect the captain’ll bring a few bottles off for us too, if we’re lucky.’

  Irvine grinned. ‘I think your luck is fast running out, old son.’

  ‘What?’ Hornby’s last sandwich halted halfway to his mouth.

  ‘Do you remember when we were attached to the American squadron a year ago? How mad keen you were to compete with them on equal terms?’

  Hornby frowned. ‘Vaguely.’

  ‘You’d better be more precise, my fat comrade. The captain asked me this morning about a “special sports fund” you were holding at that time.’ He nodded as Hornby’s face paled. ‘I see that the jolly old memory is returning a little.’

  Standish saw the others watching and asked, ‘What was it for?’

  Hornby did not seem to know what to do with his sandwich. ‘We were very short of good sports gear. The Americans seemed to have everything, and as we were the only British ship in the squadron I thought …’

  Irvine interrupted smoothly, ‘You thought you’d gather a little nest-egg of your own!’

  Hornby lurched to his feet, his eyes blazing. ‘That’s a bloody lie! I intended to use it for some more water-skiing and aqua gear. How was I to know we were leaving the Americans to go on that survey job?’

  ‘Well, the captain knows about it, so you’d better prepare your defence.’ Irvine glanced languidly at Standish. ‘Even Hornby’s court martial will be better than nothing.’

  Hornby sank down in his chair and said wretchedly, ‘I’ve not spent a penny of it.’

  Quarrie eyed him bleakly. ‘Why the hell didn’t you pay it back to the lads?’

  ‘Half of them had left the ship by then. It was all gift money, for the good of the ship as a whole. I didn’t see anything wrong in it!’ He sounded as if he would burst into tears.

  Standish said quietly, ‘I expect the captain will see it your way.’

  It was odd Dalziel had not questioned him about it. But perhaps as Irvine had been aboard longer and was the next senior officer, he saw no point in wasting time.

  Irvine asked calmly, ‘How much cash is there in the old kitty?’

  Hornby mopped his brow anxiously. ‘Don’t you remember, we had several raffles, and I made some more at tombola in Hong Kong?’

  ‘You really are a nut.’ Pigott was grinning broadly. ‘But as Number One says, you should be able to explain it.’ He spread his hands. ‘Most of the officers I’ve known have lost the money, not added to it.’

  The quartermaster appear
ed in the doorway. ‘Officer of the day, please?’

  Wishart looked round. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Boat shovin’ off from the pier, sir.’

  Standish said, ‘That’ll be him. I’ll come up with you, Sub.’

  They stood together by the gangway in the circle of light below the main awning. Standish saw the pinprick of green light reflected above a boat’s bow wave and found that his stomach muscles had gone taut. It was not difficult to recall that other great green eye hanging above the Terrapin’s hull, the terrible closeness of disaster. But even that would have been better than what had followed.

  Wishart asked quietly, ‘Will there be trouble about that money?’

  Standish breathed out slowly to relax his limbs. Although he had made light of it in the wardroom, if only to save Hornby from Irvine’s calculated persecution, he was still not too sure. More officers had been broken over mishandling money than anything.

  ‘We shall have to wait and see.’

  The quartermaster cupped his hands and yelled, ‘Boat ahoy?’

  Back came the call, ‘Aye, aye!’

  Wishart said, ‘It’s not the captain after all.’

  ‘Probably another officer paying us a visit.’

  Standish watched as the harbour launch chugged alongside the gangway, pausing only long enough for one passenger plus two large suitcases to be dumped without ceremony on the gratings before merging once again into the darkness.

  It was a lieutenant, and as he stepped cautiously into the lamplight Standish saw the gleam of scarlet between his two gold stripes.

  He smiled. ‘Hello, Doc, what brings you out here?’

  The newcomer blinked and pulled an envelope from inside his jacket. ‘Surgeon Lieutenant Peter Rideout. Come aboard to join, sir.’

  Wishart grinned. ‘The captain got his way, Number One. He said he would get us a doctor.’

  Standish guided the doctor through the screen door and heard a thump as he struck his head against the steel frame.

  ‘First ship, I’m afraid.’ Rideout rubbed his head ruefully. ‘Pity if I became my first casualty, too.’