Frazer thought rapidly. They were only ten miles from Rotterdam, the nearest E-Boat base. They could scramble in minutes.
“Get ready!” The trawler was ignoring them completely and heading purposefully to close with the escorts, a powerful froth rising beneath her fat counter.
Frazer thought they probably imagined the MGB was a rescue launch which had got caught up in the fight. There was not time to mess about.
He heard a chorus of cries and turned in time to see one of the escorting MGBs explode in a sheet of flame. The others were still coming in for the kill, tracer, cannon fire, anything that would bear. There were shell bursts all over the trawler and her mast with the radio had already vanished over the side. Not soon enough, Frazer thought wildly as he said, “Starboard a bit, ‘Swain. Slow ahead. We’re going alongside.”
Balfour stared mesmerized at the blazing MGB. She was down by the head, and her shattered bows were scooping in water as her props still churned ahead. Perhaps her bridge was manned only by the dead. The light vanished, snuffed out instantly as the boat rolled over and disappeared.
“Can’t we pick some of them up?” Balfour sounded stunned.
“Don’t be a bloody idiot!” Frazer shook his arm. “Get down and be ready to board that thing. If anyone tries to stop you-” he tore open the sub’s holster for him, “then use this!”
He hated himself, his voice, everything. But it was no time or place for party manners.
Balfour leapt across the surging trough of water, followed by an armed seaman. He could not concentrate and his head cringed at the noise of battle. It was all so bright and savage, like nothing he had expected or experienced. The trawler was ablaze but still firing with barely a break. The MGBs had separated to divide the enemy’s firepower while the MTB was circling like an assassin, ready to dash in and drop depthcharges right alongside the enemy.
Balfour clambered down the tower, half expecting a shot and yet with his pistol still in its holster.
A feeble battery light was switched on and he saw there was only one man in the swaying uncomfortable refuge. He was dressed in crumpled RAF flying gear and Mae West, and looked exactly like a ditched airman. Balfour found time to wonder if the Germans would have accepted his disguise as genuine and marched him off to a PoW Camp, or by interrogation would have discovered he was leaving rather than arriving.
He gasped, “Who are you?”
The man was already hurrying to the ladder. “Redskin,” he replied.
Balfour grinned shakily. He had almost forgotten the password.
They climbed up and over the tower and after waiting for the right moment the agent, holding on to the seaman, leapt aboard the MGB.
One of the other MGBs tore past, guns painting the sea in red and green tracer. The trawler had stopped at last, but was still hitting back. The passing MGB ‘s wake lifted the rescue float and parted it from the boat alongside. Balfour was just groping for a handhold when the gap widened and a wave knocked him from his feet and he fell choking into the sea.
Allenby dropped his glasses to his chest. “E-Boats! Dead astern!”
Frazer ran to the side. “Cast off!” Then he saw Balfour floundering in the water. If he started the engines now the screws would slash him to ribbons. If he waited
He yelled, “Get him aboard!”
The E-Boats-it looked as if there were six of them-were coming in at top speed. But they did not fire because of the trawler. It was only a matter of a few seconds, but it saved Balfour’s life. He was dragged, streaming and retching, to the bridge and Frazer shouted, “Emergency full ahead! Hard a-starboard!” He felt the deck lift to the sudden surge of power and tore his glance from the trawler as a depthcharge, then another, exploded right against her bilge. She began to settle down immediately, and he saw men hurling themselves into the water, some even swimming towards the empty rescue float.
“Midships! Steady!” He heard Ives swear as some stray bullets whimpered above the bridge.
A running fight had developed but was falling farther and farther astern. The old enemies. Goudie would be at home here.
Frazer felt his limbs unwinding and he tried to control his breathing. Their escorts had won the day, but it had cost them dearly, and for what, he wondered.
Balfour dragged himself to the forepart of the bridge. He was shaking badly. But he was very young. He’d get over it.
Balfour gasped, “Thank you, sir. For saving my life.”
Frazer grinned and knew he must look slightly wild.
Not a man lost and no damage. It helped to even the score.
He shouted, “My pleasure, Alex.” He faced up to the stars. “Now for home, my lads!”
They were met off the Isle of Wight by a harbor launch and their passenger was transferred aboard. Frazer recalled afterwards that he had not said a word since he had offered the password to Balfour. The following evening they cruised slowly up Carrick Roads past the crowded moorings, the rank upon rank of landing craft. Then up-river until the green tiles of the old hotel came into view.
“Fall the hands in, Dick.” Frazer studied the moorings, the lines of expectant faces on the other two MGBs. Some were already waving, and there were some ironic cheers from a tank landing ship nearby.
Frazer felt strangely elated. He had done it. He rubbed the screen. In his own command.
They turned and headed for the mooring where seamen were waiting to take their lines.
As they came alongside and the head and stern ropes were made fast Frazer ordered, “Stop engines.” He looked at their faces. “Well done.”
A smart petty officer in white belt and gaiters was the first to board. Some anonymous wag called, “Don’t come too near, mate! This is a fighting ship.”
The PO found Frazer and saluted. “Beg pardon, sir, but Commander Prothero would like to see you immediately before you dismiss your company.”
Trust Prothero to be waiting. To hear it all before anyone else. It was his navy after all.
He hurried up the track, past grins and salutes. He felt like a victor.
Prothero was waiting in his office, his buttocks towards an empty grate. Frazer thought he had been standing like this for some time.
Prothero shook hands and watched him without speaking. Then he said quietly, “I thought it might come better from you, Frazer.”
Frazer felt the same chill again. “What’s happened, sir?” “Last night there was an air raid on Plymouth. Leading Wren Hazel was killed.”
Frazer said, “I’ll tell him, sir.” He looked away, his eyes blind. “Somehow.”
17
COUNTDOWN
FRAZER LAY ON his back and listened to the wind as it moaned around the cottage. It was afternoon and yet the room seemed dark, as if dusk was already closing in.
The girl propped herself on one elbow, her other hand occasionally stroking his chest.
She asked quietly, “Was it as bad as you thought?”
Frazer put his arm around her and touched her spine.
“It was worse in some ways.” He pictured Allenby’s pale face. “I thought he might snap completely. You remember how he was the last time? It would be enough to destroy anyone. I’d sent Alex off the boat, I was expecting-I don’t really know what.” He clasped her tightly so that her breasts touched his skin as she looked down at him. “Instead he said something like, `I think I knew.’ That really shook me.”
A shutter clattered against the wall, and he added, “They’ll have to call the invasion off. It will be a fiasco otherwise.”
Her hand moved slowly over his skin, exciting and yet soothing.
“They won’t. One postponement is enough.”
Frazer looked at her steadily. He was conscious of their love and also of the great sadness that hung over them.
He said, “You always think you’re the one who’s going to die. You worry about those you’ll leave behind. God, he must be going through hell.”
“The Boss offered him the chance to
transfer, but he refused. He insists on staying with you. I’m glad in a way.”
Frazer smiled. “Yes. If he were thrown adrift now there’s no saying what he might do.”
He thought of their orders. Operation Neptune, the naval phase of the Normandy Invasion, was already under way despite the foul weather. It was more like January than June, and there were even tossing white horses on the river. It was to be hoped that the troops, packed like sardines in their landing craft, would not be too sick to dash ashore.
Frazer could think of what lay ahead and yet remain very aware of the girl beside him. Perhaps he had been a navigator for so long he could stay detached from facts and figures and accept that a destination was less important than the means of getting there. Perhaps he was wrong to take Allenby. If he broke down there could be no turning back. He dismissed the idea instantly. Loyalty was all important, but it had to stretch both ways. Allenby’s last words before he had gone to his quarters were, “I was going to buy the ring next leave.”
Frazer said, “If anything happens-“
She laid her hand on his mouth. “Don’t.”
“But if it does. Write to my mother, will you? Tell her how it was.”
“How it is.” She studied him gravely. “How- many times have we made love this afternoon?”
He smiled. Her eyes were very blue in the filtered light. “A lot.”
“Just think of that then. Of us.” She reached out and caressed him with her fingertips. “Of this.”
He kissed her lightly. “You know I will. You’re my whole life.”
She stretched across him to the bedside table and lifted her wristwatch to look at it.
“You must go soon.”
He held her closer as she leaned over him. Feeling her, smelling her body, her warmth.
“I know.”
She said, “I try to understand what it must be like. What those involved feel and think, not just a mass of stars and arrows on the Boss’s maps.”
“Just be here when I- come back.” He felt her hand fasten on him and then she said huskily, “Once more, my love.”
She thrust her leg over him. “Oh, my dear love. Do take care. “
Later they walked to the track by the river and looked down at the three MGBs. Most of the other vessels seemed to have gone already. Heading at their various speeds to the great whirlpool of shipping that would gather in the Channel south of the Isle of Wight before forming up for the final assault. The assembly area was to be nicknamed Piccadilly. In pitch darkness, and with every class and size of ship involved, it was very apt. All their exercises and maneuvers would be tested to the full.
Prothero had code-named their little force Jupiter Two. They would sail ahead of the invasion fleet and intercept some coastal transports that were reported as heading west from Rotterdam. Each transport was said to contain German Beavers, two-man submarines which the enemy had been testing in secret in the Black Sea and the Baltic. If they got among the invasion fleet with its rigid lines and close ranks it would be hard to detect them. The effect on the landings could be disastrous and any delay would allow the enemy time to move his Panzers to the beachheads, which would then be obvious even to a blind man.
Frazer suspected that the agent they had dragged from the rescue float might have had a lot to do with it.
She took his hand. “I wish I didn’t know about it.”
“I know.” He returned her grip; her skin felt like ice.
Neither of them mentioned the real snag. The little convoy of transports were able to move close inshore. They had an escort of German Vendettes, fast, fifty-foot launches which were heavily armed for their size. In addition, coastal batteries would be covering the transports every mile of the way.
It would have to be a night action. Fast and effective. It was their reason for being. The cost could not be counted this time.
He saw Goudie on the shore chatting to Archer and Kellett, the two other skippers. Each boat had been loaded with extra depthcharges and ammunition at the expense of fuel. The planners obviously thought it might be a one-way trip.
He studied his own boat and remembered his elation when they had returned here, the dismay at Prothero’s news. He had to go.
He said, “Don’t wait. No goodbyes, Lynn.” He’ raised her chin with his fingers and kissed her very gently.
She brushed something off his jacket. “I can still feel you.”
She stood back. There were no words but her mouth said, “I love you.” Then she turned on her heel and walked towards the HQ entrance. She did not look back but once the door was closed he had the sensation that she was watching him.
He touched the peak of his cap and said softly, “And I you.”
He stepped aboard his boat and saw that the pendant number 193 had been freshly touched up with paint to cover a scar left there by chaffing against the fenders. Even the White Ensign, stiff in the wind like metal, was a new one.
Ives, who waited with the side party to greet him, saluted and grinned. “Must do it right, eh, sir?”
A launch cast off from the outboard side and Frazer saw it was the mail boat with its crew of Wrens. Last letters to mothers, wives and lovers. With the age of his crew it would mostly be the former, he thought grimly.
Goudie was in good form. “I’ve spoken with the others. Each boat has photographs and silhouettes to study, so don’t let’s make a balls of it, eh?”
Frazer watched him. It would be the last time they spoke until afterwards. Maybe for ever.
He said, “Piece of cake.” He held out his hand. “Last one home sets up the drinks.”
Goudie returned the handshake and then, surprisingly, saluted. “Keep your head down.” Then to the trill of calls he strode across to 195, Kellett’s boat, where he would take overall command.
Frazer saw Allenby waiting for him with Balfour. “Ready to proceed, sir.”
He looked like death and his quiet determination made him seem worse.
Allenby was glad to be moving and doing things, anything to escape from the glances and the sympathy.
He had endured something like torture when the mail boat had come alongside. The coxswain had clattered down to the wardroom and had asked, “Any letters, sir?”
Allenby had stared at her, then at the blue anchor on her sleeve. A Leading Wren like Joanna, yet not like her at all.
He had written a confused letter to his parents. It had been hopeless. His mother would not understand. Would put her own family first. “Never mind, Dicky.” He seemed to hear her.
He had crumpled the letter into a ball and had shaken his head. The girl had lingered on the steps. Like everyone on the base, she knew about Allenby and his girl. Secret it might be, but this was no ordinary service, it was more like a family. When Prothero had sent a squad of frogmen to be dropped along the enemy-held coast to search out and examine the anti-tank defenses none of them had returned. Nothing was said, but the family had its own, private grief all the same.
She had said, “We’re all so sorry, sir. She was a lovely girl.”
Allenby stared at the seamen who were loosening the mooring lines. Was. Was. Was. The word crashed like a hammer in his mind.
Ives had said uneasily to his friend the ERA, “He’ll get himself chopped if he doesn’t keep his mind on the job.”
Shiner Wright, the oldest man in the boat, a veteran of twenty-nine, had replied sadly, “Inside, he’s dead already, if you ask me.”
Frazer walked around the small bridge and when he looked up saw a line of faces along the protective fence of the old hotel.
Prothero and the engineer officer, some Wrens, maybe even Captain Heywood.
There was so much he had wanted to tell her. There was never any time, and the words always eluded him when he needed them most. He turned his back and saw a light flash from the leader’s boat, a cloud of vapor from her outlets as she started her big Packards. Frazer tugged his cap tightly across his unruly hair.
“Here we
go.” He smiled at Ives and the others near the bridge. “One more time.”
The river quaked to the combined roar of engines as one by one the little group idled clear of their moorings to fall in line behind their leader.
Frazer waved to the HQ building. Everyone waved back in return. He smiled. But she would know it was only for her.
By nightfall the three MGBs were deep into the English Channel and steering east. The atmosphere in Frazer’s boat seemed relaxed. He knew it was often the case before beginning a final run-in. It was soon pitch dark and yet he had the feeling that the Channel was full of vessels. They would be creeping to their selected rendezvous and trying not to collide with one another, or to betray their positions when they responded to challenges from wary patrols.
Once or twice they had heard dull explosions, a long way away, and when Frazer had turned to Allenby the lieutenant had said in an empty voice, “That takes guts. They’re sweeping mines in the dark.” They had passed several sweepers, some new, others converted fishing trawlers. Allenby would be thinking back, remembering how a trail of events had begun with sweeping mines.
There was a brief signal from the Admiralty. The enemy convoy was on course and keeping to time, its destination Le Havre. About the worst place for a nest of midget submarines so far as the Allied invaders were concerned.
Frazer went to the chartroom and studied his calculations and compared them with the intelligence notes. They should intercept the convoy at about three in the morning northeast of Dieppe. The name reminded him of the costly raid in which so many Canadians had died or been captured. People were still very bitter about its failure.
He returned to the bridge, glad to be in the open air again.
Ives said, “Permission to be relieved at the wheel, sir.”
Frazer nodded. “Granted. Don’t be too long. We’ll close up at action stations in fifteen minutes.”
Ives made his way to the ladder and someone called, “Goin’ to put yer brown trousers on, ‘Swain?” It sounded like Sullivan, and Ives ignored him.
The Volunteers Page 25