Goudie appeared next. “Reduce speed now.”
“Slow ahead together.” Frazer felt the hull sidle into a deep trough. “Send Archer aft to watch over the tow. We don’t want that bloody schooner coming aboard.”
They were almost up to the rendezvous now. So far it had gone like clockwork. Frazer wondered what the Sicilians would be like. He had heard Archer speaking of them disdainfully as “a bunch of ignorant bandits.”
“Signal, sir! Fine on the port bow.”
Frazer nodded. “Stop engines.” The hull began to rock and dip uncomfortably as the sea took over. The signal reappeared, a small torch, very low down and reflected on the waves.
And waves they were, Frazer thought. The poor marines would be wondering how much longer before they could be released from their hiding places. He hoped they would not be too sick to move.
Thomas said, “Fishing boat. Have it covered.” The nearest guns dipped and then settled on the small vessel as it loomed out of the darkness.
Thomas added, “It’s the right one. He sounded very tense. Then he said, “You come with me, Allenby. I’ve detailed some men to assist you.”
“Another flare, sir. Same bearing.”
They watched the bright green flare. Like a droplet of molten glass.
Goudie said, “Somebody’s awake, it seems.”
Thomas did not rise to it, and Frazer had the feeling they disliked each other. Or maybe it was just the usual division between navy and military.
The fishing boat came alongside with a violent thud, and Frazer heard Petty Officer Gregson snarling at someone to drag more fenders between the two hulls. It was a dangerous moment. There were not enough hands to man the guns and work the lines and fenders at the same time. Too many chiefs and not enough Indians, Frazer thought.
Was that how Lieutenant Bill Weston had been killed? Transferring commandos or agents while in enemy-patrolled waters?
Allenby paused to glance at the bridge then lowered himself onto the fishing boat’s deck. Even in the dark he knew it was filthy; it stank of fish and bilge water.
A squat figure in a sheepskin jerkin stepped from the tiny wheelhouse and waited for Thomas to join him.
Allenby glanced round as two muffled figures followed him with satchels of explosives. He thought suddenly of Hazel, of the dead sailor’s sister in Portsmouth. The despair and anguish in her voice when she had spoken to him.
Thomas said shortly, “This is Maroca. He is the leader.”
Maroca watched Allenby in the gloom. He made no at tempt to offer his hand or showed any emotion. Perhaps anyone in uniform was automatically suspect to him.
Thomas added, “Everything’s clear. There is a patrol boat at the pier. It always ties up there. We’ll go in without any more delay. You all know what to do.”
He spoke crisply and with confidence but Allenby had the strange feeling it was for Maroca’s benefit. As if in their brief exchange beside the wheelhouse Thomas had discovered some unexpected flaw in his plan of attack.
“Don’t forget. The patrol boat is to be taken intact.” He spoke quickly to Maroca in fluid Italian and the latter nodded and then showed his teeth in the darkness.
“Cast off then.” Thomas waved to the big Siebel ferry and the two hulls began to move apart even as Frazer restarted his diesels.
The fishing boat’s engine coughed into life. Another smell to add to the rest.
But filthy or not, the fishing boat showed a good turn of speed. Thomas sensed Allenby’s surprise and said, “They use it for running contraband and guns. They’re used to this kind of thing.”
Again the slight inflection. Polish? It seemed likely.
Thomas said suddenly, “One thing. Maroca says that his people have cut the telephone wires to the plant.” He was containing his anger with an effort. “Too damned early. If the Germans or the local police check on the place, they’re bound to investigate. Bloody fools, can’t trust any of them.”
Allenby considered what it could mean. The enemy might have attacked and overpowered Maroca’s men,,and would be waiting for the raiders to appear. Allenby had heard something of what the Germans did to the Resistance or terrorists; even a naval uniform would not protect him.
He thought of that morning in the hospital, the old lady in her bed which had been propped within a few feet of the hole made by the parachute mine, the nurse who sat with her holding her hand while he had worked on the mechanism to render it safe. If men like Prothero and Major Thomas could shorten the war by direct action, surely this was worth all the risks?
He thought too of his father, the way he and Frazer had got on so well. He had shown the tall Canadian his Daily Mail war map on which he had moved the flags of friend and foe alike so many times it was filled with holes.
With some pride his father had said, “When we were all alone in the war after Dunkirk I tried to join the Home Guard. But they wouldn’t have me because of the leg. I could have done something if they’d tried to invade. I’ve not forgotten how to use a Lee-Enfield. You don’t after being at the Somme.”
What would his mother say now if she could see him with Thomas and the villainous-looking Maroca? Not her idea of the war at all.
It seemed an age before lookouts sighted the coast. It was just a darker shadow without substance but, like the desert, you could smell it, sense its strange air of menace.
Allenby turned to his new assistants. He did not know their names. Thomas had said it was better not to. Just in case.
He said, “Stay close. We’ll do the hardest one first. Have it ready. Once the Siebel ferry is alongside we can arrange the bigger one. It’ll wake the dead.” He wanted to return to the ferry and tell Frazer about the cut telephone lines. He ought to know.
One of the men rolled up his balaclava helmet and Allenby saw that it was Able Seaman Weeks who had been the first one to greet them from Naval Party Seventy-Five.
Even in the darkness Weeks saw his surprise and said simply, “The Skipper told me to come along, sir. He thought you’d prefer to have someone you know with you.” He slapped the soldier on the back and added, “No offence, mate. “
Allenby smiled in spite of his tight nerves. Frazer would think of something like that even though he was in greater danger than anyone, standing on top of a floating bomb.
Weeks added, “Anyway, I’m a torpedoman.” That settled it.
Thomas snapped, “Dead ahead.” He unslung his machine pistol and cocked it. Around the littered deck others were doing the same, and Allenby saw one man with his body hung about with grenades. Like obscene fruit.
Far inland a searchlight darted its beam at the clouds, licked across them and then went out again.
Allenby knew that the whole operation depended on perfect timing. If Maroca’s men had made one mistake they could easily make another.
Another half-hour dragged by, and sounds of the engine, the spray battering over the boat’s blunt bows seemed tremendous, impossible not to hear.
Allenby asked quietly, “What about prisoners, sir?” It was just something to say. To ease the awful tension.
Maroca leaned towards him and replied thickly, “No prisoners.” He was grinning, enjoying Allenby’s sudden anxiety.
Thomas remarked, “Stay out of it. They’re different.”
The outline of a pier made black lines on the choppy water and still there was no challenge, no rattle of machine guns. He thought of Maroca’s words and guessed that any such guards were already dead.
And there was the moored patrol boat. Even in the darkness Allenby could see her clean rakish lines. An Italian motor anti-submarine boat. Their means of escape when they had completed what they had come to do. But first they had to take her.
He imagined he heard the distant thud of Frazer’s diesels, but guessed that this little place was used to the comings and goings of German and commandeered vessels.
Thomas pulled his beret down over his forehead and said, “Now. Before some bloody sentry ge
ts edgy.”
Allenby swallowed hard. It was like those deserted streets all over again. With only the unknown at the end of them.
Obedient to the rudder, the Siebel ferry swung in a slow arc, the tethered schooner dragging astern.
Frazer said, “Keep a good look out.” He glanced up at the stumpy tripod mast. “Put a good man up there, Sub. These diesels drown out everything, but he might hear something.”
Archer touched a man’s arm and watched him climb the ladder.
Frazer half smiled. Archer was still sulking after his “bottle.” He thought of Allenby. He was a strange one. Never gave much away or volunteered an opinion. But the way he threw explosives about showed he was an expert in his new trade.
Goudie said, “What’s taking so long, for Christ’s sake?”
Frazer glanced at him. He could see most of his face now, just as he could recognize some of the others around him. It was getting brighter by the minute.
Archer suggested, “Maybe the fishing boat’s broken down, sir. “
Frazer looked away as Goudie swore horribly. It was not Archer’s day.
He peered at his watch. Again it reminded him of that unsatisfactory night at the Royal York Hotel. What had he really expected? That she would fall into his arms and make passionate love even though they were soon to be parted again? Every time you did an Atlantic convoy the odds against you mounted. Frazer had survived one sinking, but had known men who had been bombed or torpedoed several times. Eventually their extra time had run out.
Caryl was vivacious and desirable and came from a respected Vancbiiver family, and tlien
Goudie asked irritably, “Is it time?”
“Yes.” Frazer wondered how long he had been staring at his watch.
“Full ahead both engines!”
The man on the mast yelled, “Ship dead astern! Closing fast!”
“Stand by all guns!”
Frazer ran to the rear of the bridge and trained his glasses over the screen. That bloody schooner had hidden the other vessel’s swift approach but as he settled on the shadow he saw a rising moustache of white foam from the newcomer’s bow wave as she tore in pursuit.
Goudie said, “Thomas has taken the interpreter with him. Of all the bloody luck.”
Frazer asked, “E-Boat, d’you think?”
Goudie shook his head. He of all people would know what an E-Boat looked and sounded like.
He came to a decision. “Switch on the searchlight. Two can play silly buggers.” He groped down in the darkness and when he stood up again Frazer saw he was wearing a German
officer’s white-topped cap.
The big searchlight hissed into life and cut a blue path directly astern. Everything stood out with glacier brightness, the schooner with her flaking Italian flag painted on her side, the bubbling wake which surged past her, and about half a cable farther on was the other boat.
She was small and low-lying, with just a single cannon like an Oerlikon mounted on her foredeck. There were several sailors too, gripping handholds for support as their craft bounced through and over the choppy waves. They were Italians, but Frazer concentrated on her wheelhouse. Two different uniforms, he thought, one with a cap like Goudie’s.
Goudie said, “They often carry Germans. To make certain their allies don’t make a foul-up.” He glanced up at the big scarlet ensign that rippled from the tripod mast. “That would have been good enough to fool the Eyeties.” In the blue glare the cross and swastika stood out on the flag stark and clear. “If we open fire now, it’ll rouse half the coast. It might even catch Thomas and his party in the open before they can land.” He rubbed his chin, watching the other vessel through narrowed eyes. “Dead slow, if you please. Drop some fenders outboard as if we’re open for visitors.” He sought out Gregson. “Warn the Royals. It’ll have to be quick. Tell Sparks to keep listening watch. If those bastards start to transmit we’ll open fire. Then we can try to pick up Thomas and your chum and get the hell out of it.”
He did not sound too hopeful, Frazer thought. When daylight came they would not get very far before the planes found them. The more he thought about it, the flimsier the plan of attack became. Suppose the patrol boat was not there? How would they get away?
Goudie was saying, “Here they come.” He spoke so gently he could have been watching a shoal of fish. “They’re bound to take a look at the schooner, what did I tell you?”
“D’you think they’re checking on us, our number maybe?”
“Doubt it. What with the shambles in North Africa and troops coming back in anything that will float, even the Germans will be in a twist. But they will want to know why we’re up here to the north of the island.” He released a sigh as a metallic voice echoed across the narrowing gap. Goudie unclipped the loudhailer and shook it above his head to show it was out of order.
Frazer heard a thud as one of the crates in the hold spare was levered open. The atmosphere was so tense it was barely possible to breathe.
At the nearest gun mounting the seaman who was strapped behind it eased himself very slightly to one side so that the twin muzzles were pointing directly at the approaching launch. One of the Germans was waving his arm and gesturing at the glare.
“He wants us to switch it, off.” Goudie unbuttoned his holster. “Can’t have that, can we?”
How many times had Goudie done this sort of thing, Frazer wondered. It was unbelievable, chilling, the way the enemy were standing with heaving lines, their single cannon unmanned. One of them was waving and trying to make himself heard above the growl of engines and the slosh of trapped water between the two hulls. Yards, then feet; Frazer could feel his heart thumping louder even than the engines. Two lines snaked across the glare and were deftly made fast by the British seamen.
Then he heard a sharp cry of alarm. Something or someone had accidentally betrayed their true identity. Two pistol shots cracked against the bridge and shattered the screen on the other side. The Italian sailors, so relaxed a moment ago, were frantically tearing at the lines that held the enemies together, and it was then that Frazer saw the most terrifying sight of all. The commandos scrambled up from their hiding place in a silent, deadly arrowhead. Their teeth and eyes shone in the searchlight, and their blackened faces only added to the sense of nightmare.
The Italians seemed to crumple before them as they swarmed across their deck. Here and there a commando dagger glinted just briefly in the searchlight and then it was done. The two Germans came out of the wheelhouse, their hands in the air; it had taken only three minutes.
“Cut the searchlight!” It was like being blinded as the beam died.
Goudie shouted, “Open her seacocks, and make sure the corpses go with her. If a patrol comes looking for her they’ll only find the schooner. With luck they’ll think it was a skirmish between the patrol boat and some terrorists.” He did not turn as one terrible scream broke the stillness.
Frazer had been about to ask about the two Germans. He knew it was pointless now. He felt sick.
Goudie said, “Better us than the Sicilians, you know.
Those bastards would make it last longer if they got their hands on them.”
He watched the commandos leaping aboard, the lines being cast off. “Good show. No casualties.” He looked at the Italian launch; it was already settling down, beginning to founder. “Now we must make up for lost time. To hell with caution, full speed ahead and cast off that ruddy schooner. Without her, I think the Krauts would have put out a radio alarm. “
Frazer passed his orders and wondered how his voice stayed so calm when his whole body was shaking in protest and disgust. When he next looked at Goudie he saw that he was smiling, as if at some private joke.
He checked the compass and groped his way into the wooden chartroom. Around him the hull quivered and rattled as the engines worked up to maximum revolutions. He thought of the abandoned vessels as they fell farther and farther astern, one with its dead crew still aboard. Frazer recalled Levant�
��s captain, when one of the convoy escorts had been caught napping by a German bomber. The ship had broken in half while maneuvering at full speed. There had been very few survivors.
He had commented, “Vigilance. You must never take anything for granted. You’ll go under if you do.”
The crew of the patrol boat had just paid for their lack of vigilance.
Archer climbed onto the bridge, and as Frazer left the chartroom he saw the tall sub-lieutenant hold a wristwatch to his ear, his features set in a frown of concentration. When he lowered his arm Frazer saw there was a smear of blood on his cheek. In two strides he crossed the bridge and tore the watch from his hand. “We’re not down to stripping corpses yet!” Then he flung the watch over the side.
He saw Archer’s eyes light up like twin lamps and then heard the-dull thunder of an explosion. It even seemed to touch the hull, like a bodyblow.
Goudie, who had been watching the little drama with the watch, said calmly, “Save it for the enemy. I think the balloon is about to go up.”
5
THE RAID
ALLENBY CROUCHED ON his knees and peered up at the gaunt steel pylon. It was still bare of cables and he guessed it would be the first of a line across the island once the German engineers had finished their work.
Able Seaman Weeks watched as the lieutenant ripped open his pouch and deftly laid out his tools on the rough ground. The soldier waited nearby, his eyes on the pale, blocklike shape of the new generating plant, seemingly oblivious to the terse commands, the scampering partisans as they ran for cover and fanned out towards the village.
Allenby felt the ground beneath his knees. It was like rock and, despite the nearness of the sea, gave no hint of moisture.
He said, “Just one leg of the pylon should do.” He found it easy to concentrate on the job in hand, to ignore the fact he was actually in hostile territory. Later perhaps-he felt his lips tighten as he fastened the grip on the wire which Weeks was unreeling for him. There might not be any “later.” He wondered how Frazer was getting on and tried to picture the map and the chart as he had last studied them. Thirty miles east of Palermo where there was a big German garrison. It was a bloody wonder they had not got wind of the raid already. Allenby checked his racing thoughts. He must concentrate. This was his job. The others would manage on their own.
The Volunteers Page 6