The Greatest Enemy

by Douglas Reeman

  Back on the bridge Standish found Irvine and Wishart watching the boat as it curved away from the ship and headed back towards the spine-humped islet.

  Irvine looked at Standish and said, ‘The doc would like a word with you. He’s in the chartroom.’ For once he seemed less sure of himself. ‘I’ll keep an eye on things for you.’

  Standish nodded and walked into the cool chartroom, trying not to think of Dalziel’s face as he had left the ship. He would look like that when he left her again, for the last time, he thought.

  Rideout was waiting beside the table, his scrubbed hands resting on a locker as he watched Standish for several seconds before saying, ‘I suppose you know what I’m going to say?’

  Standish sat down and looked at him. ‘Say it anyway.’

  Rideout raised one hand and studied it carefully. ‘You may not know this, but I shall be leaving the Navy shortly. I have been offered an appointment in Manchester, which I have accepted.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Less exciting perhaps, but rather more rewarding. However, as this ship’s medical officer I do have some responsibility, and in view of my early removal from the Service, I suppose I am doubly suitable for the task which I have at this moment.’ He paused and glanced at Standish. ‘I did not ask to become involved, let me make that clear. But certain suggestions and complaints which came my way, as well as the captain’s recent behaviour, leave me no alternative.’

  Standish tensed in his seat. ‘Have some of the officers been complaining to you?’

  Rideout did not answer directly. ‘There were several things which first interested me. Later I discovered certain unusual behaviour patterns. Then there was a list which I compiled.’

  ‘List?’ Standish watched the doctor’s immobile face as he glanced towards the open scuttle.

  ‘The captain has done some things which might be construed as contrary to Service requirements. Misuse of stores, the matter of the sports fund which he controlled for his own purposes, things like that.’

  Standish replied coldly, ‘Some of the officers have been using you to do their complaining for them, it seems.’

  Rideout shrugged. ‘They are career officers. They probably realize that to make some sort of open protest would be as damaging to them as to the captain. But I am not interested in these symptoms from a disciplinary standpoint. There is a strong pattern here. The captain’s single-mindedness, his utter absorbtion with his own personal interests. But I think you know more of this than you are willing to admit?’

  Standish said quietly, ‘Finish what you started.’

  ‘At first I couldn’t understand why Captain Jerram had me appointed to the ship at such short notice. That and other events made me curious. I suppose now Jerram wanted me here as a kind of watchdog, knowing of my earlier association with Duncan House.’

  ‘Was that the letter you received?’

  ‘It was. I wrote to a friend, but I think I knew anyway. It was Dalziel’s mania for public speaking which triggered it off. I recalled there was a patient at Duncan House who took a course in it to help with his therapy, and was always addressing the other inmates about naval history, battles and so forth. I didn’t see him, but I heard a good deal about him from others.’

  ‘The captain was discharged as completely fit.’

  ‘Quite. But one never really knows. Perhaps in a less demanding role he might have been adequate. Here, I am not so sure. Always he has to have a just reason for his actions. His refusal to recognize his own marriage for instance. It probably stems from the fact he cannot accept the truth. That his command was gained through his wife’s favour and not because of his own ability. I gather that when you made your first serious contact with a junk and an innocent civilian was shot dead, Dalziel was absolutely convinced he was a terrorist. The fact there were actual terrorists hidden aboard is irrelevant, but lucky for Dalziel of course.’

  Standish spoke very carefully, trying to hide his anger as well as his anxiety. ‘Have you forgotten how he has pulled this ship together? Or the way he handled her in the typhoon?’ Even as he spoke he saw a smile forming on Rideout’s lips.

  ‘With all respect, I think your behaviour was more valuable during the storm. As for the ship—well, it only happens to be the elderly Terrapin. Have you thought of a Dalziel in command of a carrier, or a Polaris submarine for instance?’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Number One, but it’s too risky.’

  ‘What do you intend to do?’ Standish felt both helpless and sickened by what what was happening.

  ‘I am afraid it rather rests on you.’ Rideout watched him sadly. ‘I can make out a report, giving my reasons for Dalziel’s immediate replacement, and you could put it in the form of a signal. No blame will attach to you, whatever some might say behind your back. But the longer we stay here, the worse it will be for everyone aboard. Wherever they go, they will be marked as people from a ship which strayed. A ship, which because of apathy or incompetence, stood by while her captain slowly drove himself insane.’

  Standish stood up and walked to the scuttle. The islet with its green backdrop of glittering water seemed to be mocking him.

  ‘I know you don’t care about your own reputation.’ Rideout’s voice was very gentle. ‘You believe your loyalty to him is more important. Sometimes perhaps that might be true. But now, at this point in time, your loyalty and your responsibility is to everyone aboard. You will be doing him a favour if you act at once. It will soon blow over, and I am sure there are many who would thank you.’

  Standish turned and said harshly, ‘And the captain. Will he thank me?’

  Rideout glanced at his hands. ‘Yes. Later, I think he might. He is basically an honest man. His main disadvantage was being born two hundred years too late. The days of independent action are finished. Now we have policy rather than individual deeds of death or glory.’

  ‘Suppose the captain agreed to leave here and now and take the ship back to Singapore as ordered?’ Standish listened to his own voice, hating it, despising himself for failing to destroy Rideout’s case.

  Rideout nodded. ‘That of course would be the best thing for everybody. Once at Singapore I could speak with the P.M.O. who is not an unreasonable man …’

  Standish held up his hand. ‘You’ll speak to no one! When we get there I’ll make my report and do what I can for the captain. He’s got enough to contend with as it is without another expert stabbing him in the back!’

  Rideout dropped his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, really I am.’

  Standish walked slowly to the door. ‘When you get to your new job in Manchester you’ll be able to tell all your students about this. It has been quite an interesting experiment for you, hasn’t it?’ He opened the door and added bitterly, ‘Just remember when you do, that Dalziel, and men like him, were responsible for your being able to stay alive. While you were going through medical school he was probably at sea, keeping the Navy going when the country resented every damn penny being spent to protect them. Perhaps he has had his delusions,’ he waved abruptly around the cramped chartroom, ‘but by God he’s not got much to show for all of it, has he? They’re going to destroy him anyway, but at least you can leave him some dignity!’

  He strode out into the filtered sunlight and saw Irvine by the compass.

  Irvine said awkwardly, ‘Sorry to drag you in like this. We all felt it was best.’

  ‘Did you?’ Standish faced him coldly. ‘Then I hope you’re satisfied.’

  He ran down the bridge ladder to where Wishart was watching his boat below the rail.

  ‘Take me after the captain, Sub.’ He climbed into the small cockpit beside the three seamen and added, ‘Fast as you can.’

  Wishart glanced at him and said quietly, ‘I had no part in it. They didn’t even ask what I thought.’

  ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’

  ‘I wish there was something we could …’ The rest of his words were drowned by the roar of motors as the Whizz-Kid thrust from the ship’s side and heade
d towards the reef.

  Once through the arms of the narrow inlet the temperature fell away, so that it was like standing inside a giant ice box. The high craggy walls on either beam, the countless overhanging ledges kept the inlet in constant shadow, above which the clouded sky seemed suddenly remote and unreachable.

  They saw the motor boat idling gently on a swirling current beneath one of the cliffs, and directly opposite, perched grotesquely on a ledge of jagged rocks lay the remains of the Bombay Queen.

  ‘She was just as Irvine had described. The bridge was still there, but everything aft had been carried away, and her rusting entrails were scattered across the rocks to mark the force of that final great wave which had hurled her into the narrow inlet and her last resting place.

  Standish said, ‘Go back to the ship, Sub. I’m going to speak with the captain.’ He did not look at Wishart as the two hulls touched momentarily and with one jump he crossed to the other boat.

  He waited for the Whizz-Kid’s noise to subside beyond the nearest cliff and then said, ‘So you found her, sir.’

  Dalziel stared up at the shattered hull with its flaking, rusty plates and gaunt holes along her bilge keel.

  ‘I am glad you came to see her, too.’ He sounded downcast. ‘Not a pretty sight.’

  The bowman, who was sitting with his feet dangling around the stem dropped his eyes as Standish looked at him. Like the boat’s coxswain and an armed seaman, he was probably wondering just how long Dalziel would stay here staring at the wreck. Perhaps in her he saw the remains of his own life, Standish thought.

  He said, ‘It must have been one hell of a storm to carry her in here.’

  Dalziel sighed. ‘That’s it then. No point in hanging about, I suppose.’

  Standish watched him anxiously. He looked as he sounded. Beaten.

  The bowman called, ‘’Er nameplate is still ’angin’ there, sir! Shall I grab it with me boat’ook?’

  Standish was still looking at Dalziel. He had already seen the forlorn plate dangling from one bolt below the broken stemhead. And why not? he thought. Maybe Dalziel had been saved in the past by some of his delusions, so what was wrong with one more? Perhaps in the years ahead he would be able to look at the old Bombay Queen’s name and find some small comfort there to sustain him.

  He nodded. ‘Right. Get it if you can.’

  The engine coughed into life and the boat nudged slowly between two finely edged rocks as the seaman stood swaying in the bows ready to drag the plate down with his hook.

  He heard the metal rasp across the rusting plates and then looked over the gunwale to make sure the boat was in no danger from the nearest rock. It was then that he saw it. A long black nozzle attached to two clean, bright shackles. Coupled to the nozzle was a thick hose, about eighteen inches in circumference.

  He seized Dalziel’s arm and pointed. ‘Look! For God’s sake, it’s a fuel pipe!’ The boat swayed as Dalziel ran to the side and shouted, ‘It goes up through the wreck, I can see it quite plainly!’

  Standish swung round, seeing the coxswain’s startled gaze as he called, ‘Full astern! Let’s get out of here!’

  The bowman turned and looked at them, the boathook still above his shoulder. ‘’Ere, ’old on, I bloody nearly fell in that time!’

  The sudden crack of automatic fire rebounded off the high cliffs so that it seemed to come from every direction.

  Standish saw the bowman’s expression change to stark terror, and then as the bullets tore into his back he gave one shrill scream and toppled headlong over the side.

  Bullets were hammering into the hull, hurling splinters and ricocheting from the engine even as the boat started to go astern.

  When he looked up Standish saw the telltale drift of smoke beside the wreck’s eyeless bridge, heard the coxswain gasp with agony as he too was smashed down across the tiller.

  The armed seaman jerked frantically at his Stirling and then fired blindly towards the ship’s side, the bullets cutting away the rust and making a wavering line of holes between two empty scuttles.

  And still the firing went on, joined now by another weapon higher in the bows from behind a heavy winch.

  Feathers of spray lifted and danced all around the boat, and as he looked down Standish saw the water already seeping greedily through the bottom boards by his feet.

  Dalziel groaned and threw one hand to his side, the blood shining in the hazy light like black paint.

  Between his teeth he gasped, ‘Take the helm! Back to the ship!’

  Standish stumbled aft, realizing for the first time that the Stirling was silent and the seaman lay staring at the sky above the cliffs, a great hole in the centre of his forehead.

  ‘It’s no use!’ Standish did not know he was shouting aloud. ‘The bloody boat’s sinking under us!’

  Dalziel struggled across the cockpit and picked up the Stirling. He fired a short burst towards the wreck and then said, ‘Empty!’ He looked up at Standish and said hoarsely, ‘They were there all the time!’ He clapped his hand to his ribs and added, ‘Keep going astern. If you try and turn they’ll get you, too!’

  Sweat poured beneath his cap, and he could feel his breath whistling in his throat as he struggled to hold the tiller against the engine’s reversed thrust. It was hopeless. The boat was dragging badly, and when the water reached the engine … He looked up as something blue and white cut across his vision before turning end on towards him.

  Dalziel muttered, ‘God, it’s that young fool coming back for us!’

  The Whizz-Kid swung wildly, the spray bursting away on either beam as the coxswain headed straight for the sinking motor boat. Shots hammered against the wood, and Standish saw other bullets smashing into the Whizz-Kid’s fibreglass hull while two seamen returned fire with the machine gun.

  He saw Wishart right above him, felt his naked back under his hands as he dragged himself over the side while another man hauled Dalziel across the sagging bows.

  He managed to grin and gasp, ‘Back home now, Sub, and thanks for the ride!’

  Wishart did not seem to see him, and as he ran aft to the stern Standish saw his face was like that of a hardened veteran.

  With the hull bouncing and careering back across her own wash he had to crawl to Dalziel’s side. As he opened his shirt and thrust his hand inside he heard Dalziel say, ‘They thought we’d seen them, the bastards!’ He bared his teeth as Standish’s fingers probed at the wound. It was from pain, but as Standish glanced up at him it looked exactly like his old, mischievous grin.

  Dalziel said through his teeth, ‘Well, they made one bloody great mistake, didn’t they?’ Then he lay back and closed his eyes.

  18 Sixty-five Days

  AS THE BOAT came alongside the frigate’s hull Standish saw the guardrails were crammed with watching men. It was then that he realized none of them had heard the shooting or knew anything of what had happened up to this moment. The walls of the narrow inlet had masked every sound, and now, as some jumped into the boat and others shouted questions from above, he felt his earlier reaction giving way to something like anger.

  He saw Pigott leaning over the rail and calling, ‘What happened?’

  ‘The boat’s sunk!’ Standish stood aside as Dalziel was passed up and over the rail. ‘There are three dead back there!’ He noticed too that the swell was heavier and the boat was rising and falling steeply against the ship’s plates.

  He pushed between the seamen and saw the doctor running towards them, his face alive with questions.

  Rideout reached Dalziel’s side and said, ‘Better get him to the sickbay.’ Across the captain’s shoulder he looked at Standish and added, ‘I’ll look after him.’

  Dalziel seemed to come to life at that moment. He thrust Rideout aside and lurched against the rail, his voice harsh as he said, ‘Take your hands off me! I don’t need a refugee from the bloody National Health Service to tell me what to do. While I am in command I will give the orders, right?’ He swung round, seeking out
Standish. ‘Help me to the bridge. There may not be much time.’

  As they moved towards the first ladder Dalziel called over his shoulder, ‘Tell the Chief to keep steam on the capstan. I will be shifting anchorage in a moment.’

  Wishart asked breathlessly, ‘The boat sir? Shall I get her inboard?’

  Dalziel glared at him. ‘I will tell you when I want it hoisted!’ In a more level tone he added, ‘You’ve done damn well, Sub. Don’t spoil it now by being such a worrier, eh?’

  It seemed to take an age to reach the upper bridge. Curious faces, peering figures were on every level, and by the time they lurched over the last coaming Dalziel was sweating badly.

  As Rideout climbed after him he rasped, ‘Just get a dressing on this gash, will you?’ He tore off his shirt and threw it to the deck, seemingly unaware of the blood which ran unheeded down his side and leg to the gratings.

  He saw Irvine and gestured fiercely, ‘You were too damn hasty, Pilot! They were there right enough!’ He looked round the bridge. ‘But they’re prisoners now. They can’t get away, and I intend to keep them and their bloody secret oil dump until help arrives!’

  He seemed to realize Irvine was still staring at him and asked coldly, ‘What are you gaping at, man? Can’t you admit you were wrong?’ He held up his arms to allow Rideout and his medical assistant to wrap a large dressing around his ribs.

  Irvine said haltingly, ‘Just before we saw you returning we had a signal, sir.’ He glanced at Standish before continuing, ‘It seems some freighter is in difficulties. Shifting cargo. She’s sent out an S.O.S. and we have been asked to verify our present position and state if we can reach her and give assistance.’

  Dalziel dropped his arms and moved them cautiously. He winced, then replied, ‘Show me.’ He read the scribbled signal and said, ‘Even if we had already left we couldn’t get there before other ships in the area. She’s on the main shipping lane. She’ll be all right. Anyway, she’s a Greek ship, so it’s probably more panic than danger.’