by Alan Evans
Hacker said, not looking at Smith, “It’s worth a try.” He thought there was only a slim chance that Smith might succeed. He did not say it but Smith could read the thought behind Hacker’s face. He went on, “I intend to go myself as observer. I’ve done a bit of that.” He settled back in the corner and tipped his cap forward over his eyes. “It was a long night, as the young lady said to the Colonel. Call me at Victoria.”
Smith grinned but became serious as he stared forward, eyes vague and his thoughts racing ahead.
They were bound for Dunkerque and the war.
Chapter Eight
They got a passage in a destroyer bound for Dunkerque and sailed from Dover under clear skies. As she approached Dunkerque Roads, Smith, standing on her bridge with her captain and Hacker, saw there were yet fewer monitors at anchor in the Roads — but Marshall Marmont was out there. He grinned at Hacker. “They’ve worked hard on her!” And as Hacker raised his eyebrows “The engineers told me it was a full day’s work for the dockyard but she’s out again already.” Things were going right at last.
At his request the destroyer hoisted a signal and minutes later he saw Marshall Marmont’s pinnace following them into port. The destroyer was going on into the basin but she stopped and lowered a boat to set Smith and Hacker ashore on the quay where Sparrow was tied up in the Port d’Echouage. As he climbed the ladder to the quay he noted that some of Sparrow’s damage had been made good. There was a lot of raw, new paint and she had a whaler again but the wrecked wireless shack was still a wreck. As he strode along the quay towards her he saw Garrick climb up from Marshall Marmont’s pinnace that had hooked on near the Trystram lock and they met at the foot of Sparrow’s brow. Smith returned his salute and said, “Congratulations. You’re ready for sea.”
Garrick’s face was set. He said bitterly, “No, sir. We’re not. After you’d gone we received a signal from the Commodore. The ship wasn’t to be put into the dockyard here. She’s to go to Chatham instead. There’s a tow arranged for tomorrow morning.”
Smith stood on the quay taking it in, conscious of the orders in his pocket and a feeling of foreboding. As if to match his mood the clouds were breeding now and a shadow fell over them on the quay, the breeze turned chill. He could hear the gun-fire from the lines at Nieuport as always, but today it seemed louder and more continuous, a constant, distant thunder.
Hacker strode up and said, “The Naval Air Service people have sent a car. There’s a Harry Tate waiting for me at St. Pol.” He hesitated, then said, “Maybe we could get together for a drink. Afterwards.”
Smith answered, “That’s a good idea.” Looking beyond Hacker he could see the familiar Rolls Royce. He shook the hand that Hacker stuck out and watched the soldier cross the quay and duck into the car. It pulled away.
He heard Garrick say, “Of course, I went to see Trist and told him you’d ordered me to see the repair carried out immediately. He only said that he was responsible for priorities. So I had a quiet word with the dockyard and they’ve got plenty of work but they would have taken us if Trist hadn’t stopped them. Maybe you could put it to him better than I did, sir.”
Smith said, “I doubt it.” It would be too late, anyway. He needed the monitor to sail with Sparrow tonight. He wondered why Trist had done it. Surely not spite? No. Caution. Trist did not want to risk the ships, did not believe, or want to believe that the woods at De Haan were anything other than what they seemed. After all, he had not listened to the Kapitänleutnant gasping out his threat with the last of his life. Smith took a breath. “I’m going to see the Commodore anyway.”
“Good luck, sir. I’ll wait aboard Sparrow and have a jaw with young Sanders.”
Smith nodded. “I’ll see you there.”
As Smith left him, Garrick called back, “Buckley asked to come along in case you wanted him, sir. He’s in the pinnace.”
Smith lifted a hand in acknowledgment. Buckley. Garrick. Loyalty. He walked on to meet Trist, crossing the locks and striding along past Le Coq and the other little bars up to the house at the Parc de la Marine. He thought that he had trodden this path too often but, one way or another, this would be the last time. After tonight he would not have this command, of that he was certain. He had stirred up a hornets’ nest to get his way and Trist would see to it that he paid the price. Trist would get rid of him, somehow.
* * *
The Commodore received him in the long room. He sat in it alone, behind his desk at the head of it, an impressive figure as Smith walked the length of the room, heels clicking on the polished floor. Trist sat upright in the high-backed chair but he seemed relaxed.
He kept Smith standing.
Smith said, “I have orders from the Admiralty, sir.”
He held out the paper and Trist took it, glanced at it casually then flipped it back. He smiled thinly. “Yes. I know all about it, of course. Their Lordships sent me a signal. As it should be, how thin should be done. I may not have gone crawling to the seats of the mighty but I know more than you think.”
Smith started, “Sir, with respect I did not —”
But Trist held up a hand. “Never mind. That’s all behind us now. I had two signals. The second informed me that I am being, not promoted, but given another appointment. With a decoration, of course.”
“I’m very glad, sir.” Smith said it without expression.
He wondered if others had gone behind Trist’s back. Had whispers reached the Admiralty from Trist’s Staff? He remembered the unhappy faces of some of them when Trist had ordered Sparrow to make her ‘offensive’ patrol of the coast.
But Trist was saying, “My successor will find the affairs of my command in order. I have always contrived to keep up to date, with the help of a loyal Staff. It only remains for me to write my report and my reports on officers and make my recommendations.”
Smith knew what that meant. Trist would report on him and it would be there in black and white, or knowing this devious, cautious man, dirty grey. Forever.
Trist said softly, “So. I have my orders and you have yours and your flotilla. Carry on with my blessing.”
Smith stood in silence for a moment. Now he had to ask. Trist knew it and was waiting for him. He said slowly, “Sir. Marshall Marmont’s engines —”
“Will be repaired at Chatham. I have issued the orders.”
“Yes, sir. I know. But I need a monitor. My orders call for me to take appropriate action depending on what I find.”
“Your orders call for you to act ‘with the forces at your disposal’,” Trist quoted. “Those forces you have.”
“That’s only Sparrow, sir! There are twelve-inch monitors lying in the Roads. If I might have one of those —”
“There are monitors in the Roads because I ordered them there. They are there for the defence of this port. This command has already been stretched thin by the appropriation of ships. You know of the monitors already detached. What you don’t know is why they were detached. I will tell you, in strict secrecy. A landing is planned on the coast north of Nieuport. It is timed to link up with a big push on the Ypres front. That is why the General and his Staff were here yesterday. We were taking the planning a stage further. The intention is to capture the entire Belgian coast and deny the enemy the use of that coast and the ports of Ostende and Zeebrugge as bases for U-boats. These are matters of strategy which lie outside your sphere unless or until you are involved but I tell you for a reason.”
Trist paused. Smith thought he was boasting, demonstrating his power, that he was privy to the innermost secrets of the conduct of the war. Why?
Trist went on: “I tell you because more ships are being demanded for the landing. The only ones I can spare are Marshall Marmont and the two other destroyers I promised you. Those two are at this moment sailing for convoy duty from Hook of Holland to the Thames; the convoy assembles off the Hook a couple of hours after first light tomorrow. When they return they and Marshall Marmont will be detached. I have made this commitment.
My successor will have to honour it.”
So he had destroyed Smith’s flotilla. He was left with nothing but Sparrow. Trist had created it out of paper and now he had destroyed it with paper. Smith was silent. To attempt to carry out his orders with a single, old torpedo-boat destroyer would be madness. Trist knew it and was having his last laugh.
But the Commodore had not finished. “For the present — well, you can ask your friends to try to obtain further orders to augment your force but I don’t think they’ll find it easy. I told you I knew more than you thought. Quite simply, your mystery has been exploded. The enemy bombarded the lines at Nieuport for twenty-four hours, starting yesterday evening. You may know that. What you probably don’t know, because you were scheming in London, is that they attacked today, and successfully. They’ve pushed forward to the Yser river. Not an attack inland but on this coast. There’s your stab in the back! I expect the reserves they used were hidden in the woods by De Haan and brought up in the night.” He smiled. “You have the satisfaction of knowing that you were at least partly right, there was a plan.”
He was almost laughing. Smith thought Trist was relieved because a weight of responsibility was being lifted from him. And Smith, who had been a thorn in his side? Trist could stop him by just doing nothing. It was a perfect Trist solution. Smith rubbed at his face. Through the window he could see the leaden sky, rain spattered the panes. The room was a place of shadows.
Trist said, “The Admiralty knows this of course. I would not be surprised, therefore, if you were to receive further orders shortly. I suggest you return to Marshall Marmont and wait for them.”
Trist was wrong. The attack on Nieuport was just another attack. Why should a U-boat commander be involved? Had the woods hidden nothing but the reserves for this one attack, and for weeks on end? No. The precautions, guards and Albatros fighters, were too elaborate. Trist was right in one respect: his information would raise doubts again in London and there would be orders coming for Smith to countermand those in his pocket. He could do nothing.
* * *
Sunset was three hours or more away but there was no sun. There was the lowering sky and the rain that drove in on the wind from the Roads, though the Roads were hidden in the rain’s grey murk. He was striding blindly along, tramping through puddles that sprayed mud from under his boots when the shaft of yellow light blinked across the quay and was gone as the door closed. He came to a dead stop and stood under the rain with legs braced as if he was at sea and stared at the door. It was not the same door, not the same bar but — He stood irresolute for a moment, contemplating the risks, bearing the distant rumble of the guns at Nieuport but today there was also another, natural thunder and the tight that flickered out to sea was not gun-me but lightning. The rain beat on him and he made his decision, then moved on, walking quickly again but now with a new purpose.
* * *
Victoria Baines parted the curtain that hung over the door of the bar and peered out through the chink at the quay. The rain was still falling but she thought she’d finish the glass and go back to the Lively Lady and tell them to stand down. She had told them to keep steam up and they’d wanted to argue about that because they weren’t on call but she had refused to listen or explain. They could call it a woman’s whim if they wanted but she commanded Lively Lady and if she wanted steam up she’d damn well have steam up. She did not know why. She was just — restless, uneasy in her mind. That Hurst girl with her calm face hiding her misery — but it was not only that. There was something brewing…she had felt like this the night before the captain was lost at sea and she prayed the boys were safe…
A band of yellow light from an opened door stretched pale across the quay in that early evening. Beyond it showed a solitary, slight figure seen like a wraith through the blurring rain. The light blinked out. For a moment she still stared out into the rain, then she closed the curtain.
* * *
Smith pushed in through the door of Le Coq, shut it behind him, shook water from his cap and looked to the back of the room. She sat at the same table, stiff-backed and red of face. She wore a black hat that was circled in flowers and sat slightly askew on the grey bun. She was sipping from a glass, daintily, and her little finger was fastidiously crooked. Again he hesitated, remembering the story he had been told of how she had bawled at an officer, “Put a poor old widder woman on the beach, would you? Take away her livelihood?” There could be more than a grain of truth in that and he did not want to be that officer but…
He went to her slowly and said, “Good evening, Mrs. Baines.”
“Evening, Commander. Thought you’d gone to London.”
“I did. May I?” He laid his hand on the back of the chair opposite her.
“Welcome, I’m sure.” The china-blue eyes sharpened as he lowered himself into the chair. “You’re looking peaky. Too thin and too tired. You youngsters are all the same, don’t look after yourselves proper. I told Jack Curtis so the other day. Jack, I said —”
Smith broke in, “Where is he?”
“Gone over to St. Pol. That flying friend of his asked him over there. Some ‘do’ in the mess.”
“What about his crew?”
“They’ll be ashore. There’s nowhere to sleep aboard those motor-boats so they’ve got billets just down the quay. I’m just drinking off. I can show you the house where Jack and his Snotty sleep but I’m not sure about the men.” She paused, then asked, “Is that all you wanted? To find out about Jack?”
Smith said, “No. I want a great deal more than that.”
She met his gaze and after a moment asked, “Are you in some sort o’ trouble?”
“No. But I’m going to be.”
She stared at him and he said, “Can we talk as we go?” And stood and offered her his arm.
He talked with Victoria Baines as she led him along the quay, walling cautiously on the pave in the high-heeled shoes. He had seen her squeeze her feet into them before they left Le Coq. She held up her umbrella against the rain and Smith had to look out for his eyes. She had paused once to stare at him incredulously. Then they walked the last yards in silence and she stopped before a house, neatly painted, the windows shuttered. “This is the place.” And then, “I hope you know what you’re doing…” She went on to warn him, but — “You’re set on it, aren’t you?” And when Smith nodded, she said, “All right, I’ll do it.”
She bobbled off along the quay, bag dangling from one lacegloved hand, grey bun showing under the flowery hat. The picture of a respectable lady of advancing years and modest means. A nanny or a granny. Then the umbrella blew inside out and he heard the crisp oath, and smiled.
* * *
He rapped at the door and a minute later was talking to Midshipman Johnson who came down to him in the hall, sleepily and with a greatcoat over his pyjamas, the overlong legs of which concertina’d above his slippered feet. Smith looked at him and thought, They seem to be getting younger.
He said, “You’re early to bed.”
Johnson’s hair stuck up in spikes. He said, “The old lady here was going to bring my supper up to me. She fusses over me a bit, sir.” Smith could imagine it, looking at Johnson, who added defensively, “We’ve got all night in, sir.”
“I’m afraid you haven’t. Can you reach Mr. Curtis?”
“He’s over at St. Pol, sir. Went over there for dinner but he left a note. There’s a telephone there and —”
“Then telephone him. Ask him —” He stopped. That wasn’t right. This was Smith’s responsibility, he wanted that to be clear. He said, “Tell him he is to get straight over here. You know where Sparrow is lying?”
Johnson was wide-awake now. “Across from the shipyard.”
“That’s right.” Smith wrote rapidly in his notebook, tore out the page and handed it to Johnson. “Clear?”
Johnson read it carefully, blinked in surprise but said, “Yes, sir. I’ll telephone Mr. Curtis and bring the boat alongside Sparrow and he can join her there.�
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“Get dressed and get on with it then.”
Smith watched him run up the stairs, tripping over the bottoms of the pyjamas, sighed and shook his head and went out.
As he approached Sparrow he felt the wind on his face, coming off the sea and thought it was a fair wind. He saw them gathering on Sparrow’s cluttered little quarter-deck, Garrick’s tall figure, Lorimer short and stocky and Sanders slim. The quartermaster on the side had obviously had orders to warn them of his coming.
As he stepped aboard he asked, “Ready to slip?”
“Yes, sir.” answered Sanders.
“Lower the whaler.” And then: “Now, gentlemen. First: Wireless silence until further orders. Understood?”
Sanders said, “We haven’t got any wireless, sir.”
Smith remembered that was so; there was just the gap between the first and second funnels where the shack had stood. He looked at Garrick, who nodded acknowledgment. So Smith went on to give them detailed orders. And — like Johnson and Mrs. Baines before them — they stared…
* * *
Marshall Marmont’s pinnace slid past the lighthouse and headed along the channel towards the sea. She towed Sparrow’s whaler and had the crew of the whaler and Buckley aboard. Smith stood in the cockpit with Garrick as a light challenged them from the shore and the signalman clicked his lamp in reply. He knew Garrick was uneasy by the worried glances he shot at Smith, who ignored them because the only way he could lift that worry from Garrick’s mind was to cancel the orders he had just given. He would not do that. It was not easy for Garrick, or Sanders. They were under his command but their orders were unusual, to say the least. He had offered to put them in writing, said he would accept their formal written objections if they wished. They had refused.
He wondered why they trusted him so.
They were challenged again in the Roads. There were a dozen ships anchored there and all of them wary of intruders. They passed ship after ship that loomed out of the rain, towered over them then slipped astern. Until Marshall Marmont’s squat profile showed blurred, hardened and the pinnace swung in alongside her and hooked on. Smith and Garrick boarded her and Smith walked forward past the bridge and the tall turret with the huge fifteen-inch guns. He heard Garrick rasping his orders and then the pipes shrilled and the ship came alive.