Surface With Daring

by Douglas Reeman

  He heard Trevor murmur, ‘Look at them, for Christ’s sake. Now you know what you’re doing is worthwhile. To them at least.’

  Niven was on the fore-casing now, his hands reaching out to to secure a line which had been lowered through the centre of the pier. The little submarine headed between the slime-covered piles, squeaking in protest as she nudged away from a hidden cross-beam.

  Shielded by the moored barge outside the piles, XE 16 continued to edge along the full length of the pier, while above and on either beam waving figures perched on precarious footholds like acrobats.

  There was no cheering from these muffled, unknown people, but the warmth of their welcome was as obvious as if they had yelled it up and down the fjord.

  Seaton saw another line being lowered so that Niven could attach it like a spring.

  ‘Stop main motor!’ He felt the hull shiver and lurch against the massive piles. ‘All right, Trevor, or whatever your name is, over to you.’ He smiled, feeling the tension like claws. ‘We made it!’

  At the top of the sloping pier was a tiny room, no more than an extension to the machine shed which controlled the solitary derrick.

  Seaton was guided without delay or ceremony through a small door, conscious of the unreality which seemed to increase every minute. He had left Drake and the others aboard XE 16. Everything looked safe enough but, dedicated or not, these excited Norwegians knew nothing about midget subs. It would be hard to explain to Venables if a line parted and XE 16 rolled gently along the bottom of the fjord and filled with water.

  The contrast between the submarine’s unsheltered deck, then the numbing cold of the pier, changed in an instant as he allowed somebody to lead him into the little room. It was like a furnace. The solitary window was well covered with battens and sacking, and in the centre of the room stood a huge, pot-bellied stove, which glowed pink in the darkness as if about to explode.

  Trevor solemnly shook hands with the figures which had entered the hut. There were five of them. Muffled to the eyes, and mis-shapen with fur-collared weatherproof coats and filthy boots.

  Then Trevor said, ‘This is Jens.’ He stood aside as the man loomed towards Seaton like a bear. ‘He is the leader.’

  The man Jens placed one hand on each of Seaton’s shoulders and said in a deep, throaty tone, ‘You are very welcome.’ He peered nearer, a thick beard almost brushing Seaton’s face. ‘You will never know how much.’

  They moved closer to the glowing stove, steaming and wilting in the great heat.

  A head peered round the door and whispered something, then withdrew.

  Trevor explained, ‘All clear for the moment.’

  A lantern was lit and hung above a rickety table, and the little group sat around it, pressed together in silence as the leader produced a bottle and some glasses.

  He said simply, ‘First we drink. Two of us speak your language well enough, Captain. The others,’ he showed a set of gleaming teeth through his beard, ‘will be told later, yes?’

  It was Norwegian aquavit, colourless in the lantern light, but with a grip of mellow fire.

  Then Jens said, ‘We could not use the boat, Trevor. The Germans sent a patrol in yesterday and landed it here.’ He looked at his strong hands. ‘I felt like putting them in a bed of concrete!’

  Trevor tossed back his drink and allowed a man to refill his glass.

  He asked, ‘How many?’

  Jens shrugged. ‘Six. No officer.’

  Seaton said, ‘They must have been put ashore by that launch I sighted.’

  They all turned towards him, hearing his voice for the first time. Five pairs of eyes. He removed his salt-stained cap and laid it on the table.

  ‘I’d be glad if you’d call me David. Captain sounds a bit grand.’

  Jens thumped his arm and translated to the others, and they all seemed to emerge from behind their various defences, drawn by his simple request. Fur and woolly caps were dragged off and hair shaken in the unrelenting heat. One figure reached out to touch the mildewed badge on Seaton’s cap.

  Seaton stared, seeing the slender wrist, the well-shaped hand. The girl returned his gaze gravely. She had a thick scarf partly over her head, and Seaton could see she had short, disordered curls, fairer even than Drake’s.

  He knew the others were watching him intently, with impatience or amusement, he did not know or care.

  ‘Welcome to Norway, David.’ She held out her hand. ‘I am –’ She hesitated and shook her head, spilling more hair from under the scarf. ‘No matter. Just say I am a friend, yes?’

  Seaton smiled. ‘I am sorry if I stared too long.’

  He watched her eyes as she looked down at his cap on the table. He would never be able to forget them. They were blue-green, like the sea through a periscope when the sky above it was being kind.

  Trevor cleared his throat. ‘We’d better get on. The workers will be arriving soon.’ He looked at Seaton. ‘They’re Russian prisoners of war. Slaves would be a truer description. Their job is to keep the track clear of snow and fallen rock, all the way from here to the road. They load the trucks, too.’

  The war had intruded into the warmth, stripping away the brief deception.

  Jens nodded. ‘But you will be safe here, David. You can charge your batteries whenever you wish, our generators make enough noise to cover an avalanche. We have diesel oil in good supply. The work is important for our German masters!’ He spat out the last part. ‘They will live to regret it, some of them, by God!’

  He recovered just as swiftly. ‘Now.’ He looked at Trevor. ‘It is as we thought. The ship will be arriving late today. And work will begin at first light. They have been surveying the anchorage since we first heard something was being planned. Now they are ready.’ He dragged a gold watch from one of his capacious pockets. ‘The patrol boats will be here very quick, I think.’

  A man with weather-beaten cheeks turned away and spat on the stove.

  Jens explained quietly, ‘He is in charge of the unloading here and has to meet the Germans more than any of us. I hope he can control his hatred a little piece longer.’

  Trevor touched Seaton’s arm. ‘Any problems from your end, David?’

  Seaton tried to think clearly about it. The plan was a good one. They were here, secure and well hidden, with people other than themselves to watch and worry over them. Safe from underwater detection, and well placed to observe the enemy’s preparations and defences. When the time was right all they had to do was leave the pier and drop their charges right underneath the moored ship. It sounded easy if you said it quickly.

  ‘I think I should know about the target.’ He saw their quick exchange of glances.

  Then Jens replied, ‘Yes. Of course. The waiting is done. You have all our hopes with you. Our lives, too.’

  Trevor interrupted, ‘The Germans are building a great concrete ramp just to the north of us. It has been going on for a long time under maximum security. And you know the Jerries. I mean security.’ He waved towards the covered window. ‘The target is nothing less than a floating laboratory and factory. As the weather improves, more and more equipment will be transferred to the installations ashore. The ramp is a good site for practice shots. To iron out any last problems.’

  Seaton was conscious of the stillness, of the girl’s hand on the rough table beside his own. It looked tanned, and had freckles on it.

  Trevor added slowly, ‘It’s a rocket, David.’

  Seaton chilled. All the music-hall and radio jokes about Hitler’s secret weapons were suddenly no longer amusing.

  ‘And it’s your job to knock it out before they can get into business ashore. If, I mean, when you’ve destroyed it, it’ll take them time to get going again, priceless time which we must have if we’re to invade Europe, or anywhere else for that matter.’

  Seaton looked at him. Just him and his companions, and a little over four tons of explosive. It would seem cheap at the price.

  Trevor seemed to read his thoughts. �
��There’s no other way. Deep in this fjord the target is safe from bombing attack, even if our people could reach this far without being shot into the drink. Every mile of coast from here to Bergen, or north to Trondheim, is bristling with flak, fighters and everything but the kitchen sink.’ He kept his tone as level as his gaze. ‘It’s a must, David, no matter what they told you at home.’

  Seaton wanted to lick his dry lips, but was almost afraid to snap the tension. They were watching him, weighing the chances, wondering probably if they had made a mistake. It was vital they should trust him.

  He said, ‘I’d like to get hold of the known details of the ship. Size, tonnage, name. What she was used for before this.’

  Jens said, ‘I will arrange it.’ He looked at the others and nodded.

  The girl said quietly, ‘You have made them very proud, David.’ Her hand touched his lightly. ‘You are a brave man.’

  Jens asked, ‘Is there anything we can do for you?’

  ‘Sleep, something to eat which has not been dropped straight out of a tin, but mostly a good hot bath.’

  He forced a grin, seeing their satisfaction. It was as if he had already been labelled as dead once the mission was completed. Proud? Brave? What did those words mean?

  ‘There is a concealed place in the roof above us here.’ Jens was on his feet. Eager to begin. ‘I suggest you stay there during the day. Your men can remain in the submarine. They can lie submerged on the ledge in complete safety.’ He gripped Seaton’s hand. ‘But you, I think, should go up there and watch your enemy.’

  Seaton looked at Trevor, who said, ‘You’ll never get a better chance.’

  ‘True.’ Seaton stood up and jammed the cap on his head, the drowsiness from the fire dragging at him like hawsers. ‘I’ll go and put the others in the picture.’

  As the door closed behind him, and he followed one of the Norwegians back along the pier, Jens asked, ‘Picture? What picture?’

  But the girl said abruptly, ‘You didn’t tell him all of it, did you?’ The blue-green eyes watched Trevor with something like anger. ‘Was it because he is not strong enough? Answer me!’

  Trevor picked up the bottle and emptied it into a glass. ‘I’ve seen him at work, and I know a bit about him. He’s been through a lot in this bloody war.’ He downed the aquavit in a gulp. ‘It’s not his strength I’m worried about.’ He looked at the others. ‘It’s his humanity.’

  6

  No Choice

  ‘I’VE BROUGHT YOU a hot drink.’ Trevor squatted on the floor beside Seaton’s rough palliasse and watched him curiously. ‘Your Number One gave some coffee to Jens. The first good stuff they’ve tasted for a long time.’

  Seaton rolled over on to his back, every muscle hardening like an alarm system as he grappled with his whereabouts.

  The hiding-place in the roof of the pier was, naturally enough, triangular, and separated from the rest of the building by a brick bulkhead. It was possible to stand upright in the centre, but the roof sides sloped to floor level, towards the land, and out acrosss the fjord. It was lined and very warm, the heating provided by the metal stovepipe from the little room below.

  Trevor asked. ‘Sleep well?’

  Seaton struggled up in the blanket, feeling crumpled and dirty in his battledress. He had been dreaming about the girl. Thinking of her. Wondering how she would look without her padded clothes and scarf. When Trevor had shaken his arm he had almost believed she had come from dream to reality.

  ‘I feel like hell.’

  ‘Splendid. I let you rest. There’s nothing for you to do just yet.’

  Sounds, muffled and indistinct, probed into the hiding-place. The grate of metal, a far-off shout followed by the noise of engines.

  Trevor said casually. ‘They’re loading cement on to some trucks. They’ve been at it since morning.’ He smiled at Seaton’s dismay. ‘Yes, you’ve been in the Land of Nod until now.’ He peered at his watch. ‘Nearly dusk.’

  Seaton lay back and said wearily, ‘For God’s sake. I’m not a child, you know.’

  Trevor was unmoved. ‘You need all your beauty sleeep.’ He stood up and grappled with part of the roof. ‘Take a look. The beast has arrived.’

  Seaton was on his feet in seconds. Trevor had unclipped a portion of the roof, about the size of a brick. Through the narrow slot he could feel the icy air like something solid.

  For several long moments he said nothing, nor did he move. It was all so incredible and unreal, this could be another wild dream.

  He had arrived here in semi-darkness, and now with the fjord already falling in shadow once again everything had changed. Instead of empty, swirling space there was a ship. Against the bleak shoreline she looked huge. Invincible.

  Seaton moved his head from side to side, trying to see more. A few power boats surged this way and that, and there were plenty of arc lights on the ship’s maindeck. There was no need for blackout this early.

  He asked, ‘What is she?’

  Trevor replied, ‘Jens has made enquiries. She’s the Hansa, sixteen thousand tons. Used to be on the Deutsche Ost Afrika Linie running out of Hamburg, before the balloon went up.’

  Seaton examined the ship as calmly as he could. It was not hard to picture her in sunnier days. Two fat funnels and a spacious boat deck, and three lines of scuttles down to her waterline. Now, her tall hull was garish with pale dazzle-paint, and she had the look of a vessel which had been hard-used since those far-off times.

  He studied the two masts, the twin derricks which were weaving and dipping above her decks as if independent of human hands.

  Trevor said, ‘She was the usual mixture. Passengers, mail and cargo. Paid her way.’

  A long launch moved slowly against the stream, pushing back a broad moustache of white froth. Seaton watched it, surprised that he was so calm, unable to accept it. There were German uniforms in the boat, and a bright scarlet flag with a black cross and swastika curling from her staff.

  The enemy. He should feel something, surely?

  He said, ‘Have they begun work on the nets yet?’

  ‘Tomorrow. There’s a tug and supporting craft farther down the fjord. It’s just as you were told. The enemy are starting from the wrong end.’

  Seaton wiped his eyes. The bitter air was making them weep. It still eluded him. That down below the pier, and under this tiny room, was XE 16. A little midget of fifty-four feet, in which were three people, probably sleeping to save air. The launch which was edging past the cement barge was at least seventy-five feet long, and there were doubtless plenty more where that one came from.

  He looked again at the big ship. All those men and weapons, and he was going to wipe them out. It was then that he shivered. It was better not to see them so near. So real.

  ‘Satisfied?’

  Seaton asked, ‘What are those extra deckhouses for?’

  They were like low metal tanks, without scuttles, but he could just make out a door in each of them. They spoiled the vessel’s otherwise stately outline.

  Trevor answered vaguely, ‘Equipment, most likely. The whole ship is crammed with the stuff, and enough eggheads and boffins to start another war.’

  Seaton rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘This one is enough, thanks.’

  He stood aside to allow Trevor to seal the slot again.

  Then he said, ‘It will make a bang, believe me.’ In his mind he could visualise their cautious approach, the agonising moments of setting the charges. But after they had left the explosion would roar along the fjord like a tidal wave. ‘The rock walls will make it worse.’

  ‘Yes. Jens has arranged to evacuate the pier in time. His village will be safe enough and shielded from the blast.’

  Seaton sat down on the box, thinking about it. How many would die? What must it feel like? He shook himself angrily.

  ‘When?’ His voice was sharper than intended, and he added, ‘I’m getting old.’

  Trevor lit a cigarette and puffed at it. ‘Day after tomorrow. Soo
ner, and they might shift the moorings. Later, and the bastards may lay more nets around the hull with detection gear on.’

  Seaton pulled in his stomach muscles, testing himself. Day after tomorrow.

  Trevor said, ‘It’ll be a Saturday.’ That seemed to explain everything.

  ‘Yes.’ It was funny, but you never thought of the Germans as people who had ‘Saturdays off’, like the British. All their efficiency and clockwork precision seemed to exclude such weaknesses. ‘Saturday then.’

  ‘Look, if you’re bothered about something?’ Trevor changed tack. ‘I mean, if I can help in some way?’

  Seaton smiled at him. ‘Forget it. It’s like a first-night. All will be well when the curtain rises. Where will you be?’

  ‘That depends.’ Trevor looked away.

  ‘I mustn’t ask.’ He yawned. ‘Sorry.’

  Trevor moved to the concealed hatch. ‘I’d better check with Jens. The Russians will be on their way back to camp by now, poor devils. But Jerry may throw in a patrol, just to impress the new arrivals.’ He hesitated. ‘You’ll want to discuss it with your people.’

  ‘Yes. Geoff Drake can surface the boat as soon as you give me the word.’

  ‘It’s snowing just south of here. That will keep the patrols tucked out of sight.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Almost forgot. I’ve fixed it so that you can all have hot baths. One at a time, of course.’ He chuckled. ‘Just like Claridges!’

  Trevor knelt down and raised the hatch half an inch. ‘All clear. I’m off then.’

  Seaton said, ‘The girl.’ It had come out. Just like that.

  The hatch dropped softly into place again. ‘Girl?’

  ‘You know.’

  Trevor turned slightly, his eyes in shadow. ‘There’s no point, David. I tell you, then somebody else knows. You tell another, and so it goes on.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you?’ Trevor moved closer. ‘There’s a man not far from here, a farm worker, an ordinary, simple man. The Germans made a swoop, looking for suspects, for members of the Resistance, for anything. They took this simple, ignorant farm-worker to their camp dentist, and they drilled every tooth in his head. Can you imagine it? Each tooth, through it and the nerve until there was nothing left. On and on. Until the man was almost crazy with agony and terror. Then they let him go. Because he knew nothing.’ He stubbed out his cigarette and added quietly. ‘Could you remain silent? Knowing just a name might help to ease the torture, eh?’