Surface With Daring

by Douglas Reeman

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’ He looked at the ground. Beaten. ‘Just to know you’re safe makes all the difference, believe me!’ When he looked at her again he saw her eyes were glistening. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She shook her head. ‘Don’t be. I was selfish. Thinking of myself, my own sadness.’

  ‘Trevor?’

  She looked away. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t talk about it.’ Seaton glanced around at the sentries, the camouflaged guns. ‘Not here.’ He thought suddenly of the great house. ‘The admiral’s plac.’ He squeezed her hand, seeing the strain in her eyes, the uncertainty. ‘Please.’

  She nodded without smiling. ‘I will come. First I have to go back.’ She watched his face. ‘I mean it. I will come, but I cannot stay very long.’

  He waited until she had disappeared into the farmhouse, knowing the sentries were staring at him, knowing it was all hopeless before he had begun. Had he met her before going into the bunker, would he have agreed to Ruthven’s proposal so willingly?

  He turned and walked towards the car. He must see she was not hurt any more. Not by him.

  Seeing her again, knowing she was safe, was all that counted. It had to be that and no other way.

  15

  It Was to be Expected

  THEY SAT OPPOSITE each other before a crackling log fire. For despite the spring days the evenings still had a nip to them, and old Griffin had seen fit to light a good fire.

  Seaton felt almost afraid to move in case he spoiled it all. The girl had taken off her shoes and had curled up her legs on the chair, her eyes distant as she watched the flames.

  An hour. It was all they had. This time.

  When Seaton’s hopes had begun to waver he had heard the jeep growling up the drive, and once again felt jealous of the voices which had followed her to the door. They had only been R.A.F. officers giving her a lift, but to Seaton they had meant one more barrier, a new threat to his momentary peace.

  She said suddenly, ‘Sometimes I think I can understand my brother’s actions. When the Nazis came to Norway he was there, I was safe in England, a student. To Paul, science was everything, and in those first terrible months there was absolutely no reason to suppose that Norway would ever be free again. Country after country fell to the Germans. It must have appeared much worse to Paul than it did to those who still had a will to fight.’

  Seaton recalled his own feelings when her brother had been brought aboard XE 16.

  He said gently, ‘You took a terrible risk by going to him. He might have been betrayed before your arrival.’

  She turned to look at him. ‘It was not the first time for me. Perhaps I wanted to prove something, to redeem the family honour.’ She smiled, but it only made her look sad. ‘When I was asked to help bring my brother to England, I saw no further than that. I did not consider all those others who would be at risk.’ She shook her head. ‘I think of them now!’

  He wanted to go to her, to hold her, but knew that if he moved she might break away.

  She continued in the same low voice, ‘I had worked with Trevor several times. Officially as his radio operator, and sometimes as a contact with people I had known for most of my life. We were thrown together.’ She looked at Seaton with a level stare. ‘I never thought he loved me, but we were lovers. Sometimes life seemed very short, too precious to waste, even if it was substituting something for reality.’

  Seaton said, ‘If only I had known.’

  ‘And then?’ She shook her head again. ‘It would have made you uncertain, when you needed all your strength. It might have made you fail, and so bring failure to the mission. I hated the way you were used, but it is the way of their war. No flags. Just courage and hatred.’

  Seaton leaned forward and pushed another log on the fire. He saw her flinch, as if she had expected him to touch her.

  She said abruptly, ‘Paul, being Paul, thought he would take extra precautions, to seal his “bargain” and so save his life. He had his stolen piece of equipment lowered into that wreck in a watertight bag. If he had been killed, nobody would ever have found it.’

  ‘He was playing a dangerous game. With both sides.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Both sides, David? In that war there are as many sides as you want.’ She shrugged, even that movement bringing a pain to Seaton’s heart. ‘Now it is done. Paul has his safety, and no doubt will end his days elsewhere, possibly in America.’

  ‘What about us?’

  ‘Us?’ She shivered and leaned towards the flames. ‘We will mend in time. If there is time. But I will not be going back to Norway until it is over. I was already being hunted by the Gestapo, and they missed me twice by minutes, I am told.’ She stood up suddenly, her stockinged feet soundless as she walked to a window. It was almost dark outside, but he could see her framed against the sky, sense her barely controlled emotion as she asked, ‘Did you see him, David?’

  ‘Yes. He was alive, but beyond anyone’s reach.’ He had to speak very slowly to hold his voice steady. ‘He was very brave, too.’

  She turned easily and walked towards him. To his dismay he saw her fingers fastening the buttons of her tunic, just as he heard the sound of the returning jeep on the drive.

  She placed one hand on each of his shoulders and said softly, ‘You saved me that day in Bergen. You, nobody else. When others used my innocence, or ignorance, call it what you will, you trusted me. And now that you know about Trevor you are still here with me.’ She gripped his shoulders and he could feel the pain, hers and his own, as she added, ‘That day on the pier, before you sank the Hansa, I wanted to shout to all the others, here, take a look at this one! So quietly confident, hiding your fear for the hostages aboard the ship.’ She quivered as he put his hands on her waist. ‘But instead, I just stood there with the rest and let you go.’

  A bell jangled in the entrance hall, and Seaton heard Griffin’s footsteps, slower than usual, even for him.

  She said in a whisper, ‘I must leave now. There is a lot going on –’ It was then the truth seemed to hit her. ‘Was that why you were there today? I thought the admiral had brought you merely to …’ She threw her arms round his neck, her voice lost in anguish and sobs as she said, ‘No! Not again! They wouldn’t order you to go!’

  When he stayed silent she stood back from him. ‘You wouldn’t have told me. Any more than my superiors.’

  Griffin was in the doorway. ‘The gentlemen with the transport are here, miss.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She turned slightly, so that half of her face shone in the firelight. Then she put her hand against Seaton’s cheek, holding it there, very still, as she added, ‘This time you will not be alone. I will be waiting when you return.’ She bent down to put on her shoes. ‘And before that, if –’ She tried to brush past him but he caught her in his arms.

  ‘If?’ He could feel her heart trying to match his own.

  ‘I should like to be with you.’ Then she was gone.

  Seaton was standing there long after the jeep’s noise had faded.

  Griffin entered the room and started to draw the heavy curtains.

  ‘No air-raid warning, sir, and in any case we don’t get much disturbance here. But the local warden sometimes makes a fuss, and as he’s also our butcher, cook will not thank us for upsetting him.’ He hesitated by the door. ‘A most charming young lady, sir, I see she had a Norwegian flash on her uniform.’ He ambled away. ‘Most charming.’

  Seaton sat down very carefully and looked at the fire.

  It was not a dream.

  Jenkyn paused in front of a mirror in his borrowed bedroom and looked at himself. He felt out of sorts, and unable to explain his sense of loss.

  It was even strange to see himself in his new uniform. The promotion had come through and had awaited his return from Bergen. Chief Engineroom Artificer Jenkyn. Once it had seemed the impossible horizon. He grimaced. Call me Chiefy. Now it seemed much further down the list of things in his life.

  Reflected in the mirror
he saw the neat bedroom which he had enjoyed since that chance meeting on Waterloo bridge, when young Gwen had almost gone under a double-decker. His case and respirator lay on the bed, his new cap and mended raincoat hanging behind the door.

  What a leave it had been. Like nothing he had known. Each day had been different. Trips to the cinema, to the river to feed the ducks. A picnic down the Thames by Hampton Court Palace, when it had started to rain.

  At the end of each day, with Gwen tucked up in bed, he and Sarah had sat by the fire, listening to the wireless, swopping stories. Each had kept an unspoken promise, and when she had bolted the door of the little Victorian semi-detached house they had gone to their separate rooms.

  They had been wonderful, simple days. Now it was done. The chit said Portland. So that was it.

  He held up his sleeve and looked at the three brass buttons above the cuff, remembering that very first evening when he had peeled off the torn raincoat.

  She had exclaimed, ‘Are you an officer?’

  He smiled sadly. ‘Not exactly,’ he had replied. ‘We sort of carry the officers.’

  The worst part was, he was off to Portland, and then sea duty again. But tomorrow all this would still be here, and he would have to forget it.

  He picked up his case and gasmask and slung his coat over his arm.

  Had he forgotten anything? He had given all his hoarded chocolate, his ‘nutty’, to the kid. She had thought it must be Christmas. And he had put some money in an envelope in the dresser. Sarah would find it when she looked for a clean tablecloth, She wouldn’t like it, but it was no use to him.

  There was a sudden crash of breaking china and something like a gasp of pain.

  Jenkyn was through the door and down the stairs in a few bounds, his cap and case scattering in his wake.

  It was all immediately clear, like some brutal photograph in a magazine.

  The open door, with the single tree just outside on the pavement. The startled telegram boy, his bicycle propped against the gateway.

  She turned and stared at him dazedly, her face streaming with tears. In her hand she held a telegram, in the other an empty saucer. The cup of tea she had been getting to send him on his way lay scattered and broken on the rug.

  Jenkyn’s experience took over. He nodded to the telegram boy and said, ‘Thank you, son,’ and shut the door. Then he put his arm round her shoulder and held her against his chest. ‘Let it all go. You’ve carried it too long.’ He didn’t need to see the wording. It was all confirmed. Neat and tidy. Killed in action.

  She whispered brokenly, ‘What’ll I tell Gwen?’

  Jenkyn waited, letting her cry. Then he said, ‘I want you to know, Sarah, that I’ve a great affection for you.’ He felt her stiffen and added, ‘I’ll never be another Bob for you, but if you’ll ’ave me, I’d like you think about it.’ He squeezed her shoulder. ‘I mean it, love.’

  She looked at him, her eyes blurred. ‘I know you do.’

  ‘I’m only sorry I’ve got to go. I wish –’

  She touched his mouth. ‘I’m all right, really. I suppose I always knew Bob was dead. I didn’t feel anything. It wasn’t right somehow.’ She seemed to realise what he had said. ‘Write to me, Alec. Please. I’ll think about you, and pray for you.’

  Jenkyn picked up his cap. Chief Petty Officer. As a young boy from a working-class family it had seemed so high and mighty.

  He said firmly, ‘I’ve done me twelve years. When it’s over, I’m leavin’ the Andrew. For good. Nice little garage, that’s it. Down in Devon or Cornwall. You could do teas an’ that.’ He forced a smile. ‘’Sides, it will be better for Gwen.’

  ‘Oh, Alec. You’re so good. So decent!’

  Jenkyn was a small man, but as he left the house in Wimbledon he walked like a giant.

  Seaton stood with Drake and Niven looking across the great horseshoe of Portland Harbour.

  A navigator’s nightmare. Every inch of jetty and pier, each buoy and pontoon seemed to have five-times too many vessels tied on to it. Escorts and supply ships, landing craft of every size and design, there was no end to the display of might. And it was like that everywhere, as far as he could judge.

  In the clear sky thin vapour trails marked not dog-fights but constant and heavy fighter patrols. No enemy aircraft was to get even a sniff of the build-up of ships or of the fields and side roads which stretched inland like arteries of steel and armoured tracks.

  It was strange ‘to be back’. It all seemed different. The crowded moorings, and the double sittings for meals in the wardroom of the naval establishment perched on the side of Portland Bill. People everywhere. After Loch Striven and Rear Admiral Niven’s house it was like a menagerie.

  He had seen Nina only once more after her visit to the house. It had been a difficult affair, with the admiral’s wife and two ladies from the W.V.S. who never stopped talking about raffle tickets.

  He had watched her across the table, feeling the minutes falling away like blood. He had held her with his eyes, and had seen her mouth move in small, secret words. Torment. It had been almost worse than not seeing her at all.

  Now he was here in Dorset. The Channel looked very grey for the time of year, the sunshine too fragile.

  Drake said, ‘The old Syphilis is tied up on the other side of that big depot ship.’ He was pointing vaguely towards the harbour. ‘Our boats are pretty well hemmed in there.’

  Seaton nodded. H.M.S. Cephalus and her little brood had waddled all this way to play her part in things, whatever they were. At Loch Striven it must seem bare without her outmoded shape.

  Drake added, ‘It sure looks as if the balloon is about to rise to unprecedented heights.’ He sounded cheerful, but he had lost some of his old carefree manner.

  Niven, on the other hand, was much as usual. He said, ‘We were all bucked to hear about your half-stripe, sir. It looks better for the whole flotilla, with all the other top brass hanging around.’

  Seaton smiled. He did not feel any different. Not yet anyway.

  He thought about the new addition to the flotilla, XE 26, and her CO., Lieutenant Roger Winters, another veteran like himself. Seemed pleasant enough, and his small crew appeared to like him.

  In the past Seaton would have wanted to know each one much more closely. Now he was almost afraid to reach beyond duty and routine. Perhaps that was what rank did?

  Niven saw his smile and asked, ‘Our new job will be fairly soon, I suppose, sir?’

  Drake tapped his nose. ‘Shh! Keep mum!’

  Seaton turned and looked up at the rocky Bill. ‘There’ll be a lot to learn. New ideas, before we move.’ He shivered. If only Niven’s hope was true. Get it over with. And yet … He walked away from them, saying, ‘I’ll cadge a lift into Weymouth.’

  Drake grinned. ‘It’s Sunday. The pubs won’t be open for ages!’

  When he reached the wardroom Seaton found several officers staring at the noticeboard. He pushed through them and read the neatly worded signal.

  There would be no lifts into Weymouth. Not for a while. Leave was cancelled. All officers would report for orders forthwith.

  Even as he re-read the brief notice he heard the tannoys booming around the establishment.

  ‘D’you hear there! D’you hear there! All ships’ companies will go to first degree readiness at sixteen ’undred hours. All ratings attached to beach parties and L.S.T. disposal report to the dockyard immediately!’

  Seaton walked to the window. The Channel looked even rougher now, and yet in his heart he knew it was not going to stop them. He saw Drake turning from the noticeboard.

  ‘This it, Skipper?’

  ‘For them. Not for us.’

  ‘Maybe they won’t want us just yet after all, eh?’ He rubbed his hands. ‘Far East’ll suit me. Bit nearer home.’ He strolled away humming South of the Border.

  Seaton left the wardroom and walked out into the crisp air again.

  The tannoys kept up their stream of instructions, and pres
umably it was happening in a dozen other bases as well. Great surging mobs of seamen and marines changed into squares and platoons, into squads and to individual crews. Petty officers bellowed out names and ticked off their lists. Much as they had prior to Trafalgar, Seaton thought.

  It would be something to be going with them. After all the hard knocks and disappointments. There’d never be another, or anything like it. He thought of the secret rocket, lurking somewhere in its concrete pit. It did not seem to belong with all this din of voices and stamping feet.

  A seaman in belt and gaiters blocked his way, his eyes carefully averted.

  ‘’Tenant Commander Seaton, sir?’ He sounded like Jenkyn.

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Cap’n Venables compliments, an’ would you report on board Cephalus right away.’ He studied Seaton’s features and added hurriedly, ‘Sir.’

  He found Venables aboard the ancient depot ship drinking sherry with her captain and a tight-mouthed lieutenant commander he had not seen before.

  Venables introduced him as Alan Charteris, Mission Training Commander. They shook hands, each knowing they were not going to get on, equally understanding why Venables had made the arrangement. To hone away any last soft edges.

  Seaton took a sherry. His long weeks of recovery made him wary of drinking too much. It made him light-headed.

  ‘Fine lot of ships in harbour, sir.’

  Venables nodded. ‘Tomorrow you’ll have the place almost to yourself.’ He looked at the others. ‘The day after that is Tuesday. That’s when it all starts to happen. Operation Overlord.’

  Seaton put down his glass. ‘What about us, sir?’

  The tight-mouthed officer said sharply, ‘We get down to work.’

  Venables looked at Seaton and raised one eyebrow. ‘Fit?’

  Seaton nodded. ‘I’ll send for my gear, if you’d excuse me sir.’

  When he had gone Venables said quietly, ‘I want you to help these crews. Don’t start threatening them with hell. They’ve been there already.’

  The process of re-training the three X-craft and working them into a team for one specific purpose was more demanding than Seaton would have believed. At any other time it might have been different, but after that particular June morning when the greatest seaborne invasion had punched its way into Normandy, any form of revision was pure torture.