He heard a man chuckle and turned to see a German sergeant standing in the bulkhead doorway. He was carrying his helmet and a deadly-looking Schmeisser, and Marshall recognised him as Captain Lanmbert’s senior N.C.O.
A stoker called, ” Ands up! We’ve got our first Jerry prisoner!’
The marine explained to Marshall, `Just trying it out, sir.’ He glared at the sailor. `Be a bugger if the bloody outfit didn’t fit just as we was goin’ ashore!’ He strode away in dignified silence.
Marshall smiled. Browning would have loved it. The cloak-and-dagger atmosphere. The embarrassed anger of the marine sergeant who was more concerned with his appearance than the risk of dying.
He walked over to Frenzel. `Still bothered, Chief?’
‘A bit.’ He cocked his head. `That flaw in the screw. We can’t do more than six knots submerged without making a bad vibration. Any good Asdic would pick us up in no time.’
`Then six knots it must be, Chief. If there’s a real emergency we’ll have to think again.’ He smiled `Or take to the cockles!’
Buck, who was O.O.W. called, `We will be going through the main Sicilian minefield tonight, sir. Is that right?’
‘Correct.’ He clenched his fists in his pockets. `After that we’ll head up and around towards the mainland. Should be in position for the raid in four days, Sunday.’
Buck grinned. `Oh bother. I’ll miss church!’
Marshall looked at Frenzel. Were they really so confident, or was it all just for him? To give him the strength he would need to get them in. And out again.
He said, `Once clear of the coast we’ll have a general run through the plan. Time each part of the operation. See if we can cut corners.’
He forced himself to think forward again. Visualize the port as it really was instead of lines and sketches on a chart. If the wind got up, or the weather worsened, it would be impossible to drop the cockles too far offshore. That would mean losing time while the submarine manoeuvred back to her own attack sector. It might cause a delay to … he shook himself angrily. If, if, if. He would have to see for himself. Then decide.
Frenzel said, `I hope everyone appreciates what we’re doing, that’s all.’
Buck grinned, showing his sharp teeth. ‘Knighthoods all round, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Marshall returned to the chart. Listening to their efforts on his behalf was unbearable. It also told him just how much there was at stake. What he had got them into.
A stoker said, `Time to call the watch, sir.’
`Very well. Carry on.’
Gerrard appeared in the control room and listened intently to Buck’s report as he handed over to him. Then he crossed to the table and said, `Through the mines again, eh?’
‘Tonight.’ He waited, seeing the nervous tightening around Gerrard’s mouth. `We’ll be all right.’
`Yes.’ Gerrard’s eyes rested momentarily on his shoulder straps. `So it seems, sir.’
Marshall stared at him. Surprised. Hurt. `Is that what you think? That I’m one of the glory boys? I thought we knew each other better than that!’
Gerrard turned away. `Sorry. Spoke out of turn.’ He moved to the gyro and said no more.
Marshall said curtly, `I’m going to get some food.’
As he left the brightly lit control room he heard Frenzel murmur fiercely, `That was a bloody stupid thing to say!’
He did not hear Gerrard’s answer, nor did he want to. He might have expected a remark like that under such tense circumstances. From Simeon or Devereaux. Almost anybody. But not Gerrard. He was a friend.
He saw Warwick playing chess with the S.A.S. lieutenant, while Buck sat at the far end of the table wolfing down tinned sausages as if they were the last available in the world. He wanted to turn and leave. Hide. But there was nowhere to go. He said, `Move up for one more.’
Smith studied him impassively and then winked. `The sub here may be fine at gunnery. At chess, he ain’t!’
Marshall leaned back and watched Churchill pouring his coffee. It was probably just as well Simeon had his cabin. He might have been tempted to take a drink. Not just coffee.
Churchill asked, `Would you like the first lieutenant’s bunk, sir? ‘E’s on watch. A bit of shut-eye does a power of good.’
`No.’ Perhaps he had answered too sharply, for he saw Warwick and Buck glancing at each other. `Not just yet.’
Smith smiled gently. `Once, when I did a little job in Southern France, I did not sleep for three days. I fed myself with method and tactics until I nearly burst. Afterwards I slept for a week. It is better that way.’
Marshall nodded. `I expect you’re right.’
`It is why I am still alive.’ He pushed the chessboard aside. `And why I am plagued with amateurs!’
Marshall smiled. `Thanks.’
`For what?’ His eyes were mildly questioning. `I think you know.’
`Any coffee available?’ Simeon was in the doorway, his face puffy from sleep. He added, `Are you discussing the raid?’
Smith looked at him calmly. `Piece of cake, sir.’ Simeon sat down and glanced at Marshall. The bruise was still visible on his chin.
He said, `And what do you think?’
Marshall stood up and walked to the door. `You know what I think.’
Gerrard was waiting for him, his features working in the harsh lights. ‘I want to apologise, sir.’
He looked at him. `Forget it was said.’ He made to walk past, but when Gerrard persisted he added, `I said forget it. You’re not the only one with problems. After this lot’s over tell me again. Then I’ll listen. But right now I’ve got some thinking to do, so leave it, will you?’
`I wanted you to understand.’ Gerrard looked desperate. `Maybe I’ve been at it too long, I don’t know.’
Marshall took his arm and pulled him into the chart space, dropping his voice as he replied, `We’ve all been that, Bob, Even one day is too bloody long! I know you’re worried because of Valerie and the child, but remember all the others who will be hitting the beaches of Sicily in a few weeks time. Don’t you think they’ve got wives, too?’ He saw Gerrard’s mouth tightening and added brutally, `If that’s not enough for you then think about Browning. He lost his son, and got killed trying to save others. Or ask the Chief about his family and find out why he doesn’t crack up!’ He saw him recoil as if he had struck him, as he had Simeon. He added wearily, `I know we didn’t plan for this one. I also know it’s not going to be a piece of cake, any more than the marine captain believes it. But don’t tell me, and don’t say it in front of the others. If you value anything between us, then do me that one favour!’
As he stepped through the main bulkhead he knew Gerrard was still staring after him.
Marshall glanced around the packed wardroom and waited while the others eased into position where they could see his large-scale plan.
With all but essential fans and machinery shut down, the air was greasy and humid, and clung to his face like another skin. After a slow crawl through the last minefield, across open water to the north of Sicily and towards the mainland, nearly everyone was showing signs of wear. But the eyes were bright enough, lit by that same old excitement he knew so well. Anxiety, tension, fear, the need to get on with it. Over and done with.
He said, `Most of you know by now that the weather has decided not to be on our side.’
Marshall remembered his disappointment when they had gone to periscope depth the previous night to raise the antennae for a last radio contact. Randall, the petty officer telegraphist, had reported glumly that the Met. report was bad. Strong winds closing from the south-west. All the ingredients for a rough sea. He could still feel the disappointment, but knew he must hold it from the others.
He said, `But if it’s bad for us, it’ll be good news for the invasion arrangements. Enemy reconnaissance will be too hampered to see much of the real build-up.’
He looked at them slowly. The marine officers and Smith, his own small team, except for Gerrard who wa
s on watch, the N.C.O.s and chief petty officers standing on the seats and clinging to overhead pipes to get a better view. And Simeon. He sat at the opposite end of the table arms folded, his face devoid of expression.
Marshall continued, `So this is how we’ll handle it.’
They all craned forward, their faces shining with sweat in the solitary deckhead light.
The port of Nestore looked for all the world like a large pouch, with the narrowest part at the southern end, an entrance barely a quarter of a mile across.
Marshall said, `We know there’s a boom here,’ he reached out with some brass dividers, `controlled by a single vessel which opens and closes it as required. The left side of the port as you enter is almost sheer, and to the right, where the main fishing village once stood, the land has been cleared.’ He tapped the small coloured circles. `Pillboxes have been constructed to give a good field of fire, although I doubt if they ever expected to use them.’
`We’ll soon alter that!’ The young marine lieutenant who had spoken fell silent under his captain’s withering stare.
Marshall smiled. `It may not come to a pitched battle.’
Captain Lam.bert said worriedly, `If you can’t drop the cockles clear of the land, we will have to halve the time of disembarking if we’re to escape attention.’
`Yes. I shall surface and lower the cockles as close to the boom as I can get.
They had had a brief run-through the method of unloading two days earlier and one unpleasant fact had come to light. The cockles on their own were very light and easy to handle. But loaded with explosives, weapons and demolition gear they would break up if an attempt to slide them outboard was made in bad weather. Buck had come up with a simple solution. The submarine’s deck gun would be used as a derrick to sway them over the side. He had devised a wooden spar, to be lashed to the gun barrel like a bayonet, which with block and tackle secured at the end would make a fairly reliable crane. When someone had voiced a doubt, Lambert had snapped, `It’s all we’ve got, so let’s get our fingers out, eh?’
Devereaux asked, `What about the patrols, sir?’
‘We know about some of them, and yesterday we were able to time one of the local boats.’ He smiled. `I think they must have German advisers aboard, if not crews. They are regular and precise, and therefore predictable.’ He added sharply, `However, we take nothing for granted.’
He looked at Simeon. `Over to you.’
It was strange how they had managed to avoid each other, except on matters of duty.
Simeon yawned. `The object of the exercise is to destroy and delay. But we must make sure the enemy is not triggered off into realising our main intention. That is, to deny immediate support to his forces in Sicily.’ He reached over and took the dividers. `There is a railway which runs north-east across Italy to Bari, the port from which supplies are being sent to Greece and Yugoslavia. An obvious target if we really were going to invade by that route. Captain Lambert will lead half the landing force and carry out demolition. I will take the other party, and with Lieutenant Smith will do our bit above the village itself.’ His eyes flickered towards Marshall. `And our commander here will of course attack the main loading jetty and so forth at the top of the harbour. It is a concrete bunker construction which enables the bombs to be loaded aboard ship without ever appearing above ground until that moment.’ His eyes did not flicker as he added, `The engineer, Travis, stated that the construction is formidable, but once brought down would block the whole installation for weeks, maybe longer.’
Lambert said, `I think we’re all buttoned up then.’ He plucked at his moustache, `Should be interesting.’
Marshall looked at his watch. It was two o’clock in the afternoon.
It’s mostly a matter of timing. The nearest German garrison of any size is sixteen miles north-east of the port, at Lagonegro, so bearing that in mind we have three vital points.’ He ticked them off on his fingers. `First, the coastal patrols. Second, the boom and the inner harbour patrol, one boat to all accounts. Finally, how soon or late the port defenders will be alerted and thereby call for inland support.’ He smiled at their strained faces. `Any coimments?’
Warwick asked, `Couldn’t we cut the boom and slip through undetected, sir?’
‘Afraid not, Sub. The port is only dredged for coasters and Medium sized ships.’
Devereaux added wearily, `About six fathoms.’
Buck rubbed his hands noisily, `It’d be like shooting fish in a barrel.’
Marshall nodded. ‘We will approach the boom at the arranged time. Fire our fish into the top of the harbour, and then drift off the landing parties who, with luck will have created their own sort of pandemonium by then.’
Simeon stood up and stretched. `And that is your set plan of attack?’ It sounded like an accusation.
Their eyes met again. `It is.’ A pause. `Would you care to offer an alternative?’
Simeon brushed some dust from his sleeve. `Me? Certainly not. Wouldn’t think of it.’ He glanced at him over the table, a smile on his lips. `Your plan alone. Your responsibility, eh?’
Marshall smiled back at him. `That’s right.’
He folded the plan and added, `We’ll go to action stations in four hours. German uniforms and equipment will then be issued, but prior to that moment I want everyone to have a good meal. See to that for me.’
The meeting started to break up.
The captain of marines adjusted his watch and remarked calmly, ‘We go in tomorrow morning as planned.
Splendid.’
Buck grinned. ‘Sunday. Day of rest!’
Marshall walked out towards the control room with Frenzel beside him.
The latter said quietly, `Pity we can’t bash ‘em in the dark.’
‘I know. But it’s already cutting things fine. Our chaps would be more hampered at night than the enemy.’
Marshall was still beside the chart table when Buck reported that his arrangements were complete, the crew and landing parties had been fed and fully detailed on their particular parts of the raid.
‘Thank you.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘Silent routine throughout the boat as before.’ He looked at Gerrard’s bent back. `Watch your trim, Number One. Wait until the marines have settled down before you blow any ballast.’
More minutes passed, and he could feel the sweat running down his spine and gathering above his waistband like ice-.rime.
Frenzel reported, ‘All systems checked, sir.’ ‘Very well.’
He looked at the gauges. They were still running deep, the bull almost motionless but for an occasional tremble.
‘Ready, Number One?’ He tried to discover what Gerrard was thinking. How he was taking it.
‘Just a few minutes, sir.’ He was watching the senior Asdic operator.
The man called, ‘No H.E., sir.’ He gestured to the clock. `Next patrol should be due in about twenty minutes more or less.’
Cool, casual, almost indifferent.
Gerrard said, `Ready now, sir.’
`Take her up to twenty metres.’ He watched Frenzel’s hands moving, the stoker by his side making notes on a pad.
Long before the submarine had glided up to the ordered level Marshall could feel the growing motion. A pencil rolled from the table, and he saw Blythe put out his hand to steady himself as the deck yawned uneasily.
`Twenty metres, sir.’ Gerrard gripped the helmsman’s chairback and peered at the tell-tales. `Bad cross current.’
Devereaux snapped, `More than that, I’d have thought!’
`Still no H.E., sir.’
`Good.’ Marshall rubbed his palms on his shirt. They were wet with sweat. ‘Periscope depth.’
He waited, counting seconds, hearing Gerrard’s voice again and again as he ordered the trim to be adjusted. The motion was getting very bad, with the hull floundering so badly he thought it might even break surface.
‘Up periscope.’
He slammed down the handles, holding tight while the periscope s
eemed to swing against and then away from him to the violent motion.
For a while he could see nothing but bursting spray and the curling edge of a long breaker. Then, as the periscope edged cautiously to its full extent he saw the banks of low cloud, a panorama of small, steep whitecaps which cruised towards him like a vicious, bobbing army.
He steadied the handles and flicked the lens to full power. Between the spindrift he saw the first sight of the coast, seemingly low down because of the angry sea. There was still some sunlight, but well inland, playing across the hillsides, and blinking faintly on someone’s windows. `Faint H.E. to starboard, sir.’
He swung the handles and tried to see the other vessel. By rights it should be well clear, on the first leg of a rectangular patrol. There was nothing in sight, and it was unlikely they would detect a submarine even if the range closed, in all this confusion. The periscope too would be just one more feather of spray should an aircraft come snooping through the low clouds.
He heard someone give a nervous laugh, and guessed that many of those nearby were watching him intently. Trying to see their future in the gleam reflected in his eye.
Marshall tensed as a shaft of watery sunlight probed down towards the coast.
There it was. In the evening light the port entrance was a blur of blue/grey, but he could see the faint silhouette of a moored ship. The boom vessel. And beyond her the narrow harbour, jumbled and indistinct. He imgained he could see something pale at the far end, but could not be certain. But it could be the first outcrop of massive concrete which protected the jetty and the underground bunkers.
`Down periscope.’ He straightened his back and saw Simeon watching him from the opposite end of the control room. `We’re on station.’
‘H.E.‘s fading, sir.’
The patrol boat’s commander would be cursing the weather, the discomfort, the stupidity of his German allies who insisted on such unnecessary regularity.
Marshall rested his spine against the table. He could feel his legs quivering. As if he had been running.
`We’ll give the patrol half an hour and then resume our original position and depth.’ He glanced at Captain Lambert, already a stranger in his Afrika Korps uniform. `I shall close the land as soon after midnight as I can. We will take it from there.’
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