The flag-lieutenant showed his perfect teeth. Like a cat, Chesnaye thought.
A petty officer steward brought in a tray and glasses and busied himself pouring iced pink gins. No one was asked what he wanted, and Chesnaye had the idea that was the way the flagship was run under Beaushears. The gin was, however, a small but welcome distraction.
He drank deeply and signalled with sudden recklessness to the steward. ‘Another!’ He saw the man dart a brief glance at Beaushears and then pour the drink. Chesnaye smiled grimly to himself. A good master/servant atmosphere.
Beaushears cleared his throat impatiently. `Well, now that you are here you’d better be put in the picture.’ He turned to the lieutenant. `Over to you, Harmsworth.’
The flag-lieutenant tapped a bulky envelope with his finger. `It’s all in here, Captain. You will be attached to this squadron until further notice.’
Chesnaye noticed the slight emphasis. Saracen was to be with but not o f Beaushears’ squadron.
Harmsworth continued in the same bored tones : `You will find all the relevant information concerning the military situation in Libya up-to-date as far as it goes. You will start loading supplies and stores in the forenoon tomorrow. The Maintenance Commander has all the details ashore and will arrange for lighterage, etcetera. Your first destination will be west of Tobruk. The Army is getting in a bit of a flap down there.’
Chesnay looked at Beaushears. `Will Tobruk be held?’
Beaushears shrugged. `Unlikely, I should think. The enemy will probably bypass it and take it at leisure. We shall then have to evacuate the marooned troops with whatever we have available.’ He gestured towards the open scuttle. `Jerry has got his eye fixed on Alexandria. After all, he’s less than three hundred miles away at this moment!’
Chesnaye twisted uneasily in his chair. My God, is it really as bad as that? He said, `Can’t they stop him?’
Beaushears glanced at his slim gold watch. `They have a plan. But they intend to fall back and re-group. Present a fixed front outside the Alexandria perimeter. The Staff chaps say that with the sea on one side and the Qattara
Depression on the other the Army will be able to make a good show. It will make up in some ways for lack of air cover.’
Chesnaye remembered the mass of shipping in the harbour. `And what of our support, sir?’
Harmsworth interrupted smoothly. `Mostly for Greece. We’re really giving a bit of weight in that direction!’ He seemed pleased, as if personally responsible.
Chesnaye felt light-headed and suddenly reckless. He had been made to feel like a small boy by Beaushears in front of the others. He had expected it would be like that. He had thought about this meeting from the moment Fox had dropped his bombshell as the Saracen crossed the anchorage.
Beaushears had always been aloof and cool, even as a midshipman. Now he was something more, and although he acted in a detached and formal manner, Chesnaye thought he could detect a deeper meaning to his behaviour. His remarks had been double-edged, as if he had implied that Chesnaye could have done more.
Chesnaye felt the sweat fomuing on his forehead. Perhaps he had even suggested that the Saracen had deliberately held back from the convoy? That he had been afraid for the ship and himself ! Even losing the man overboard could be misconstrued as an unwillingness to stop, even cowardice ! He felt the glass shaking in his hand.
`I think Greece is a waste of time!’ Chesnaye’s voice was not loud, but from the other officers’ expressions he got the impression he had just shouted an obscenity.
Beauishears controlled his features and said calmly, `Please go on.’
Chesnaye shrugged. `Have you forgotten the Dardanelles fiasco?’ He saw Colquhoun and Harmsworth exchanging awkward glances, but he no longer cared. The fact was that behind Beaushears’ manner, his ability to offend without the slightest trace of personal embarrassment, was something which had stayed with him over the years. He had probably wanted to meet Chesnaye, but for quite a different reason. He had no doubt expected a changed Chesnaye. Humble, even ashamed, of the circumstances which had parted him from the Navy and now given him command of the oldest ship in the Fleet. Then there was Helen … Chesnaye checked his racing thought. `Anyone can see we can’t hold Greece, let alone use it as a springboard into Europe ! If it’s another proud gesture, then it’s going to be a damned costly one!’
Beaushears eyed him coldly. `I think otherwise, Chesnaye. However, it is hardly your concern. You are here to command your ship in the best way you know.’ He was watching Chesnaye with sudden intentness. `She’s not much of a catch, but we can’t be choosers. I need every vessel I can lay my hands on!’ Carefully he added : `When you reach the Libyan destination you may find that the enemy has overrun our people already. You’ll get no support from Tobruk, which is the nearest strongpoint. You will be on your own.’
Chesnaye looked at the carpet. For a split second he had a picture of the bullet-scarred pinnacle and Keith Pickles dead in his arms. `It won’t be the first time!’ He looked up to see that the shot had gone home. Beaushears face was no longer calm. He looked almost guilty.
Harmsworth said hurriedly, `Another gin, sir?’
Chesnaye took the drink and touched his glass with the tip of his tongue. If they expect me to crawl they are going to get a surprise, he thought.
Beaushears had composed himself again. In a flat voice he said, `In your assignment you may have to sacrifice your ship!’
Chesnaye started as if struck in the face. Lose Saracen? He felt the cabin closing in on him. `What do you mean?’
Beaushears stood up, the sunlight reflecting on his thick gold lace. Without waiting further he attacked. `She’s an old ship ! Useful at the moment, but expendable ! If you are pinned down, and the enemy catch you inshore, you must sink the Saracen before they get their hands on the supplies!’ His voice grew louder and sharper. `This is a mobile, fast-moving war ! Tanks and armoured columns, and not like the Dardanelles at all ! No front line, poor communications, with each day making the maps obsolete!’ He turned suddenly, his eyes flashing. `Both sides need fuel and supplies like life-blood!’
Chesnaye imagined the Saracen going down under his own hand, and felt the pain in his heart like fire. `I’ll manage !’ His voice was thick and unsteady.
`You must!’ He eyed Chesnaye slowly, his face calm again. `I know you of old. Sentimental and unrealistic.’ lie waved his hand. `Don’t bother to argue. I wasn’t going to say this, but you opened the batting ! The Navy’s changed. You either keep up with events or you go to the wall ! We’ve got amateurs, failures, has-beens and every sort of man who’s ever breathed. There’s no room for sentiment any more !!’
‘So I see, sir.’ Chesnaye rose to his feet.
Beaushears forced a tight smile. `Keep out of trouble, Chesnaye. Don’t try to act as if your ship is a battlecruiser ! Just do your job, and use discretion.’
Chesnaye turned to leave. Before he could stop himself he had asked, `How is Helen?’
Beaushears dropped a hand to his desk as if, to steady himself. He looked towards the scuttle, his face hidden. `Lady Helen is well, thank you.’
Chesnaye felt the gin raw and hot in his throat. So he had been right. After all these years Beaushears was still jealous. It was incredible. He was successful, he had even stolen the girl Chesnaye had loved, yet he was still dissatisfied.
Harmsworth looked confused, the fierce exchange of words between his admiral and the tall, grave-eyed captain had been beyond his experience. He said, `I-I’ll see you over the side, sir.’
Chesnaye regarded him coldly. `Captain Colquhoun can do that, thank you!’
On the sun-dried quarterdeck he looked down at the Saracen’s pinnace as it moved in towards the gangway. Beside the Admiral’s barge and the cruiser’s other smart boats it looked outdated and worn, but he noted with quiet satisfaction that the boat’s crew were smart and alert, boathooks poised and ready. He felt a pang in his throat as he saw, too, the small midshipman who
stood in the sternsheets shading his eyes as he looked for his captain.
Damn Beaushears, he thought savagely. I did not want it this way, but if he expects me to grovel-he jerked from his thoughts as the flagship’s captain held out his hand.
`Goodbye, Chesnaye. I hope we meet again soon.’ He eyed Chesnaye with sudden warmth. `A remarkable interview.’
Chesnaye grinned, feeling the recklessness once more.
Colquhoun looked up at the Vice-Admiral’s flag, now limp in the dipping sun. `I don’t think that fool Harmsworth will sleep for a week !’
The two men separated, the pipes trilled, and then Chesnaye was in his pinnace, with Saracen’s outline ahead of him like a challenge.
4
Tobruk
The air in the small sea-cabin abaft the Saracen’s bridge was already thick and stifling, and the blue tobacco smoke hung in an unmoving cloud above the heads of the waiting officers. The door opened and Lieutenant McGowan forced himself round its edge and eased his shoulders against the steel bulkhead. Chesnaye sat on his bunk, his legs out straight beneath the littered table.
By his side Erskine was squatting on a chair, his eyes thoughtful as he checked each cramped figure. `All present, sir.
`Right.’ Chesnaye eyed the others impassively, his features a mask for his inner thoughts. The head of every department was present, even Tregarth, his face pasty and moist from the engine room’s humid breath, and Chesnaye could tell from their expressions that they were wondering at this unexpected summons.
He waited a while longer until McGowan had lighted a cigarette, and then tapped the chart which lay across the table. `A change of plans, gentlemen.’ Their eyes followed his hand across the straggling Libyan coastline. `The enemy have pushed on rather faster than expected, and our proposed landing area has been overrun.’ He had already explained this to Erskine before the others had arrived, and even now sensed the man’s opposition to his words. ‘Tobruk, on the other hand, has been bypassed by the Afrika Korps, so our people there will need everything they can get. Every sort of supply will have to be carried by sea. For that reason I intend to unload our stores there P
It all sounded so cold, so easy, that he wanted to laugh. He remembered Beaushears’ face when he had described the mission. He had known the impossibility of the task. He must have known.
Tregarth said imperturbably, `Well, at least Tobruk’s a tiny bit nearer!’
Erskine added half to himself, `It’s a damned long way back!’
Chesnaye scraped a match along a box and puffed at his pipe. It gave him time to think about the new developments. It had taken nearly two days to load these military stores in Alexandria. The Commander-in-Chief had made it clear that with Tobruk under constant pressure it was almost impossible to get into the port except with the cover of darkness. Now the place was bypassed, and no one seemed to know exactly where the nearest enemy units were. Saracen would be a sitting target the moment she was uncovered by daylight, and with her decks covered by drums of petrol and cases of ammunition.
It had taken three more days to make the trip from Alexandria, keeping well clear of the coast and skirting local convoy routes. By some miracle they had managed to avoid detection, and had only once sighted an enemy aircraft in the far distance. The aircrew must have been looking in the wrong direction, he thought.
But now-he looked up as Fox said thoughtfully : `Is it really essential for us to go in, sir? I mean, according to the signals received, the Army is being supplied by smaller, faster ships than ours. A quick turn-round, and off to sea seems to be the order of the day.’
Chesnaye fought back the desire to yawn. The stuffy atmosphere and quiet watchfulness of his officers added to his feeling of complete weariness. Fox was right, of course. Beaushears had said, `Use your discretion.’ A trite, wellused phrase which had spelled disaster to many a captain. If you were right, others took the credit. But if you made the wrong decision you took the consequences alone.
Erskine seemed to make up his mind. `I think it is a bad risk, sir.’
The others shifted uncomfortably. Fox, hard-faced and watchful, McGowan biting his lip and eyeing his friend with obvious agreement.
Chesnaye looked at Tregarth. Nothing there. The Chief would do as he was expected. In the engine room only the machinery meant anything to him. Above, in the clean open world of sea and sky, other decisions might be called for, but they did not affect him.
Wickersley, the Doctor, looked fresh-faced and bright, the only man present who never stood a watch or missed his sleep. He would be busy enough soon if things turned out badly.
Chesnaye said calmly, `I don’t see that we have any choice, Number One.’
Erskine tightened his jaw. `We’ll be close inshore for two or three days, sir. It could be fatal.’
Chesnaye shrugged lightly. `It could.’
They all fell silent, so that the throb of engines intruded into the cramped cabin and they could hear the scrape of feet from the bridge and the creak of the steering gear.
A lonely, darkened ship, Chesnaye thought. Steering beneath an arch of bright stars which reflected so clearly on the flat sea.
He shifted irritably. `Lay off the new course, Pilot. We’ll close Tobruk tomorrow at dusk.’ He eyed the Navigating Officer bleakly. `Make a double check on recognition signals. I don’t want a salvo from our own troops!’
Fox nodded. He at least did not appear surprised at Chesnaye’s decision.
Erskine repeated, `It’s a bad risk, sir.’
`It’s a bad piece of organisation, John. The men who should be in the desert are in Greece at this moment!’
Erskine looked at him with surprise. ‘But, sir, surely that is entirely different? That risk is justified!’
Chesnaye heard an intake of breath from McGowan, but remained surprisingly calm. He tapped the sheaf of signals. `The British forces in Greece are already falling back, John.’ He remembered the smug confidence on Beaushears’ face and felt suddenly sorry for Erskine and all those others who had never known the bitterness of defeat and betrayal. `In a matter of weeks there’ll be another Dunkirk in Greece.’ He had almost said Gallipoli. The signals had briefly reported the quick change of strength, the savage enemy advance through Greece and Yugoslavia. The British Army was falling back so rapidly that already tons of arms and equipment had fallen into German hands.
Chesnaye shuddered when he imagined the waiting ships, unprotected air cover, which were expected to ferry the surviving forces to the island of Crete. And what then? How could they be expected even to hold that? What in God’s name were the hare-brained strategists in Whitehall thinking when they ordered such a hopeless gesture? He could feel the old anger beginning to boil inside him.
`You have heard my decision.’ He spoke to the group at large, but his words were directed at Erskine. `In times like these morale is of the utmost importance. The men at Tobruk do not question their orders. It is our duty,’ he faltered, `no, our honour, to give them every support!’
Erskine stood up, his eyes dull. `You can rely on the ship, sir.’
Chesnaye scraped his pipe, his features towards the chart. `Good. For a small moment I was beginning to wonder!’
Wickersley stepped forward, darting a quick glance from Erskine to the seated captain. `Perhaps I could be of some use to the army medical chaps, sir?’
His bright, eager voice seemed to break the tension, and Chesnaye looked up at him with a small, curious smile. `Yes, Doc. We can take aboard as many wounded as we can, and then you can get some practice in!’
Tregarth laughed throatily. `Better them than me!’
The officers collected their notebooks and caps and shuffled towards the door.
Erskine was the last to leave. `If we fail, sir, you could lose the ship!’ His eyes were hidden by shadow. `It’s happened to others.’
Chesnaye regarded him slowly. `If I ran for home without trying, John, I should lose something more!’
Long after Erskine
had departed Chesnaye sat staring emptily at the soiled chart. Everything was repeating itself. Only time had moved on. Like Tobruk, he had been bypassed and overlooked, but now the stage was set. He had committed himself, the ship and two hundred men to un
certainty, even disaster.
The ship wallowed heavily as the wheel was put over. Fox was already setting her on her new course. How did Saracen feel about it? he wondered. Right from birth she had never been offered a fair and balanced fight. Now he
was doing this to her. Another uneven struggle. Another gesture.
Fox slid open the door and peered into the yellow lamplight. `On course, sir. One-nine-five.’
Fox was looking at the pile of signals, and Chesnaye could imagine what was running through his mind. There was nothing to say that the Saracen’s stores were to be run into Tobruk. Not in so many words. Chesnaye was to use his discretion. He was to weigh up the situation as he found it. By which time, of course, it would be too late for alternatives. It was a heartless position for a man who commanded a ship too slow to run away.
`Very well, Pilot. Thank you.’ Chesnaye looked up sharply, aware of the despair which had crept into his voice.
But Fox grinned, unperturbed by his captain’s tired and strained features. `It’s a damned sight harder than running bananas, sir!’
`Steady on course. Closing at two thousand yards.’
Erksine nodded. `Very good.’ Fox’s voice was calm and unruffled, like a cricket commentator’s, he thought. He wiped a drip of spray from his night-glasses and swung them once more across the screen. The monitor’s fo’c’sle was like a pale wedge on the dark rippling water as the Saracen crawled at reduced speed towards the shoreline. Voices were hushed, and he was conscious of the metallic creaks around him and the distant ping of the echosounder. Across the bows lay the shore. With macabre regularity the night sky rippled with dull red and yellow flashes, like distant lightning, he thought. With each threatening glow he could see the undulating shoulders of the land mass below, where men and guns crouched and waited.
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