Around all of them the ship murmured and creaked, and from somewhere in her bowels came the muted buzz of lathes and workshop machinery.
Seaton let his eyes rest at the foot of the page, seeing nothing but her face as he had picked up the telephone in the adjoining room.
He had returned to the warm bed. ‘Recall.’
The girl had moved against him, caressing his shoulders whispering secret words into his body. Perhaps she had thought of Trevor then. Those times when a message could bring danger or death.
But she had said, ‘I love you, David.’ She had shaken her head as he had looked at her. ‘You know it. Don’t try to think otherwise. You do not wish to harm me, that I know. The only hurt you can do me is to leave me forever and not to love me also.’
He had dressed in quick, urgent movements, and all the while she had sat on the edge of the bed, naked and with a sheet over her smooth shoulders. It had been terrible, unbelievably so, and he was defenceless against it.
He had said, ‘I have no words, Nina. But I love you so much. If someone were to ask me what my love is, I could not tell him. I only know it is there, has always been there, waiting for you to arrive and accept it.’
She had run to him then, all the carefully rehearsed defences going as the tears had broken through.
There was so much he wanted to know about her, so many things he needed to share. She had cried, ‘And you say you have no words, my dear David? You are so very mistaken!’
Seaton lowered the folder and closed it, the small sound making the others turn towards him.
‘The rocket site is near Brest.’ He watched their faces. They were seeing him differently now. Like a condemned man. ‘It is over a U-boat pen which has been there for two years.’
The captain tapped out his pipe. He had not even noticed, let alone resented, that he was hearing this top secret information from a junior reserve officer. It seemed right somehow, and like the moment, strangely moving.
The mission training officer said, ‘The Germans have kept it very secret. They’ve added to the protection with a concrete dome, and the whole area is surrounded by flak and heavy armoured units. The nearer our troops get to the port, the stiffer will be the resistance. The Canadians have already run into unexpected difficulties.’ Charteris had the floor, and was enjoying it.
But to the depot ship’s captain it meant a lot of other things. Time and durability, fuel and navigation for the various rendezvous points. He tried not to think that the latter might not be needed. He said, ‘Get on with it, Number One. I want all heads of department here right away. And tell the base engineer officer to come over, too.’ He leaned back, his gaze passing over Seaton’s composed features. ‘Make a signal to the towing submarines. Commanding officers to repair on board immediately, and never mind if they’ve not had breakfast yet either!’
Seaton heard the door slam, knew the captain was making a joke for his benefit. But he saw her face, could almost hear her voice, close to his ear at moments during the night.
How long had they had? Seven days. A lifetime.
Seaton said, ‘I’ll tell the crews myself, if I may?’ He was looking at the captain, but knew Charteris would answer.
‘Well, Captain Venables didn’t say anything about that.’
Seaton stood up slowly. Unwinding. Feeling unnaturally light. ‘I am to lead them. I want them to trust me.’
‘I shall have to get authority.’ Charteris sounded angry. ‘Captain Venables may want to finish the briefing.’
‘Captain Venables is not going on this one!’ He faced Charteris calmly. ‘We are most likely going to be killed. I’d like to be the one to explain why.’
The captain said sharply, ‘Of course, David. I’d do the same in your place.’ He walked round the desk and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You will not be killed. Take that as an order from me!’ But his eyes did not smile.
Seaton handed over the folder and watched as the captain locked it in his safe.
The orders, so neat and methodical, had already formed themselves into grim reality.
The rocket, which Gjerde and so many others had worked to create, was a monster. When it was launched from its underground lair it would rise to a height of over sixty miles before tearing down on its target at a velocity of over three thousand five hundred miles per hour.
And according to Gjerde’s information the rocket was far more accurate than the V-weapons. It had a range of three hundred miles, which meant that while the Germans held on to the site they could hit and destroy any target from Liverpool to London. The whole of south-west England, ports, bases, harbours and cities would be wiped out.
The captain asked, ‘Anything else I can do?’ He crossed to a scuttle and looked down at the pontoons and the submarines alongside. ‘I don’t have to tell you that we’ll be giving you every help we can muster.’
Seaton replied, ‘This rocket, sir. It’s bigger than my own command. Think of it. A rocket which rises to high trajectory and then drops at such enormous speed there’s no defence. They say that if you’re still alive you’ll be able to hear the sound of the thing falling after it’s exploded! Can you imagine?’ He shook his head. ‘So it’s up to us apparently.’
The captain tried to see Seaton’s little hull groping through the mined and netted waters towards this impossible creation.
Instead he saw a young ex-estate manager, a New Zealand marine biologist, a subbie who had barely experienced anything of the Service he had intended for his career, and lastly the little chief who had come to see him about ‘getting spliced’.
Charteris said, ‘Well, if you do your best –’
Seaton picked up his cap. ‘Christ, you sound like my father.’ Then he walked out and made for the upper deck.
The captain looked at Charteris’s angry face. ‘Not your day, is it?’
‘Well, there it is.’ Seaton leaned on the table in the operations room, feeling like a showman, with an overhead light trained on the carefully constructed model. The model makers had done well. Had even added little trees made out of ersatz sponge.
Operation Citadel. It certainly looked like a strange, nightmare fortress. The huge dome, and tiny ones scattered around it like offspring. In fact, they housed multi-barrelled anti-aircraft guns. The original entrance was deep underneath, although it was said to have additional steel gates which were closed at the moment of firing. He wondered what had happened to all the slave workers who had built the U-boat pen and later the massive additions overhead. Probably ended up mixed with their concrete, as the advancing Russians had discovered in their own country.
Seaton said, ‘The rocket has one disadvantage to its users. It has to be delivered to the site in sections and then assembled inside the ramp.’ He saw Lieutenant Farmer, XE 26’s first lieutenant, grasp his fingers together as he added, ‘Against that, however, it will do far more damage than anything we’ve yet envisaged.’ He looked round at the faces, men he knew, who were withdrawing into strangers. ‘It can, no, it will smash everything we have on this side of the Channel unless we can knock it out. The bombers can’t hurt it, and unless the army get there in time to destroy it, things look dicey for any hope of victory.’
They were probably thinking of the flying bombs which were still falling across London and the south-east. Intelligence had added further reports about the second V-weapon, but even combined they were nothing when compared with the one near Brest. And even Gjerde had admitted there would be more of them under construction once the invasion was turned into another Dunkirk.
Seaton said, ‘There will be the proper briefing tomorrow at eight.’ He thought of the captain’s joke. There would be little breakfast eaten that day.
Gervaise Allenby stood up languidly. ‘May I say something?’
‘Shoot.’
‘I’m not too keen on this little caper. But if, as the felon said to the hangman, go I must, then I’d rather be led across the great divide by you.’ He sat down, and there
were several nods and murmurs of approval.
Seaton cleared his throat. There was no point in drama and false heroics. But he could imagine the sort of talk Charteris would have given, or Niven’s father.
He thought of all the men who had gone. Had known their efforts would be hopeless, at least for themselves. The lonely ones you never met. Who led the prongs of an attack, or waited at the tail of a retreat. The real heroes.
He walked past the scattered chairs, needing fresh air. Silence.
On deck a stiff wind drained the warmth from the sunlight, and he paused by the guardrail to stare up at Portland Bill until his eyes watered. What was she doing now? Still at the cottage, or had she been picked up and taken back to the underground H.Q.? No, surely they would have spared her that. Seeing the little flags being moved on Ruthven’s wall chart, nearer and nearer. Then vanishing, to be placed in a tin with all the others.
Someone leaned on the rail beside him. He knew it was Drake.
Drake said quietly, ‘The big one, Skipper.’
‘Looks like it. Worried?’ He turned slightly to watch Drake’s strong profile and faraway eyes. Whatever our flaws and weaknesses, we have come through a lot, he thought.
‘I’ll be glad when it’s over. Put it like that.’ He grinned. ‘Least, if we have to ditch we know the army will come to us, eventually.’
The newly-joined diver in XE 26, Sub-Lieutenant Driscoll, hovered beside them then said, ‘Letter for you, Geoff.’
‘Thanks.’ Drake examined it. It was in Decia Niven’s handwriting.
The new sub-lieutenant did not go. It seemed to give him confidence to be near the one who would lead. Who had done it all before, and had got back.
He said, ‘Mail’s just in. Your diver, Richard Niven, gave it to me.’
Drake stared at him. Drake and Driscoll. Both letters in the same rack. Niven could not have failed to see it, to recognise his wife’s writing.
Seaton guessed most of it. It had happened at last, and it was too late to do a damn thing about it.
Drake stared down at the oily water. ‘Holy cow!’
Seaton walked away, leaving him to his new anxiety.
Tomorrow there might be a letter from Nina. He hung on to the name, her voice and her accent. Nina.
Then he swung on his heel and was back at Drake’s side almost before he understood what was happening.
‘Listen to me!’ He saw Drake’s eyes widen with surprise. ‘I really don’t give a damn about your affairs. It’s no longer important. What is, and I should have made this point in the ops room, is that we will do a good job, no matter what the cost. And hear me, Geoff, if I see cause to blame you for one fault during the attack I will personally drop you overboard with the side-cargoes!’
Drake tried to grin, to laugh it off, but his mouth stayed frozen.
‘I mean it.’ Seaton walked down the side deck without another glance.
The decision to put Operation Citadel into effect, once confirmed, set the chain of command rapidly in motion.
From the Admiralty, through Combined Special Operations and Flag Officer Submarines to the desk of the admiral in Portland, the message was urgency.
The briefing aboard Cephalus as she rose above her small brood like a protective parent was taut and exacting. The U-boat pen which had been converted into the rocket site was just one of the great complex of concrete bunkers which had been built along a one hundred mile coastal strip from Brest to Lorient. For months and years the U-boats had left their French bases to probe deep into the Atlantic and reap a bloody harvest. In 1943 the tide had started to turn, and for once U-boat losses overtook the yards’ ability to replace them. New methods were employed by the Allies to protect the precious convoys as they fought their way again and again into the Western Approaches. Better escorts, hunter-killer groups, radar, pocket-sized aircraft carriers, and almost as important, the realisation that at last they were starting to win.
Fewer U-boats returned to the concrete pens, and their crews no longer sang as they marched up to their shore quarters past bitter-eyed French men and women.
With the Allied armies now in Normandy it would be a matter of time only before every U-boat base along the Bay of Biscay would have to be evacuated, with the boats having a hard time to reach safety in Germany.
They were all at the briefing. Venables, Charteris, the depot ship and base technical officers, Operations and Met department, and Seaton was glad to see Captain Clifford Trenoweth slip in quietly just before the briefing got started, his familiar limp making several heads turn.
Venables, clear-eyed and brusque, with no hint that he had barely slept for days, cleared one point after another.
The target was some twenty miles south of Brest. It had never been very useful as a U-boat pen, mainly because of the twisting shallows which led up to it. For its present use it was excellent for the same reasons. There were a few soldiers present, too. Lean, tough-looking officers in camouflaged jerkins and red berets.
The Airbourne were going to make a drop inland to attack a château which was known to be a German infantry H.Q.
A lieutenant colonel and two majors made notes as Venables spoke of the proposed diversion. Seaton thought it sounded more like suicide.
A strike force of fleet destroyers would pass through the blockading squadrons to cover the withdrawal.
Seaton glanced at Niven, who was writing busily on his pad. Perhaps Drake was wrong? Niven gave no sign of anger or dismay as he compiled the notes for his navigation log.
Drake, on the other hand, sat bolt upright, his eyes fixed on the maps and the model, but his mind obviously elsewhere.
The three E.R.A.’s stayed in a tight group of their own. Jenkyn was grim-faced and dwarfed by his two companions. But there was an unusual brightness about Jenkyn, like someone inspired, or controlled by another force.
Seaton watched him, feeling a lump in his throat. Would Jenkyn ever find his dream now? His ‘nice little party’.
Seaton looked down at his hands. Nina kept emerging, recalling precious moments.
The first dawn, waking together. Watching her at the mirror, the comb crackling through her hair. Walks in the fields, hand in hand like children one moment, desperately in need of each other the next.
The meeting was almost done. Feet moved uneasily. Thoughts of a good meal, writing letters home, or just going over it all in your mind, showed on most faces. Those who would be going. Others who would try to make it as safe as possible for them.
Venables waited for the operations officer to complete his appraisal of coastal defences, then he stood up and walked to the centre of the little stage, his hands in his reefer pockets, his neat head thrusting forward as he surveyed them.
‘All this seems to great to digest. And yet in a matter of weeks we have achieved miracles. Soon the cry will be, forward into Germany, the last turn of the screw.’ He spoke very evenly, and his words seemed to have more impact because of it. ‘It is not our lot to know if each and every part we played in this conflict was vital, or even necessary. This I can say. If we falter now, the sacrifice of every man, woman and child in our world will have been in vain. Be proud of what you are doing, for there is no fault in pride. Be determined, but above all, gentlemen, know that what you are about to do is the stuff of victory.’
He stepped down from the platform, and followed by his aides walked through the assembled men looking neither right nor left.
Seaton licked his lips, trying to fix the moment in his mind, as he would a bearing or landmark on a chart. There should have been cheers, or a wave of wild and crazy excitement.
He looked around at the others, those who would go, those who would have to wait behind. There was something more than empty excitement here. A will to go through with it. A strength which he had never seen before.
A hand touched his sleeve and he saw it was Trenoweth.
‘Good to see you again, sir. It seems so long.’
Captain Trenoweth
grunted. ‘That man Venables. Never knew he had it in him, quite a speech, I thought. Blast the man, I was almost cheering m’self just then!’ He grimaced. ‘Almost.’
Seaton waited for the others to move away. ‘I was going to write to you anyway, sir. I’ve some letters and a few personal things.’
‘I see.’ Trenoweth was expressionless. ‘You’ve made me very proud. To have asked me.’ He looked away, swaying heavily on his good leg. ‘But it shan’t happen. Not now.’
Seaton watched him despairingly. Help me. You know what it all means. You must have gone through it often enough.
Trenoweth said heavily, ‘They’ve closed down Syren. I’ve come south to take over some little job. I’ll miss the old place, and all we achieved together.’
‘Yes.’ Seaton clenched his fists, suddenly angry. Why had he been thinking only of himself? He should have seen something was wrong. Trenoweth’s world had gone for good. He had done a fine job, they would say. Then they’d forget him. Another old warrior, used and thrown away.
He said gently, ‘I’m selfish, sir, but I’m glad you’re here. I was feeling a bit down. You always managed to perk us up when we needed it.’
‘Did I?’ He sounded miles away. ‘Poor old Duffy’s no longer with us.’ He poked the deck with his stick. ‘Went off in his sleep. Still miss the old bugger, bless him. Buried him above the loch.’
Seaton nodded, seeing it. The old captain with his stick, the ungainly dog sniffing along the loch at dusk. Inseparable.
‘I’m very sorry. You know that.’ Trenoweth’s loss seemed to steady him, to pull him together. Perhaps it was the simplicity of it after all the grim technicalities of the briefing.
Trenoweth made a great effort. ‘Wish we had time for a gin. But I expect you’ll be wanting to get ready, eh?’ He smiled sadly. ‘I’ve not forgotten the feeling.’
Seaton held out his hand. ‘Thank you again, sir.’ He did not know how to tell Trenoweth what he had done for him. Instead, he drew back and saluted.
Trenoweth limped out on to the slippery deck. It must have been drizzling, he thought. Then he peered down at the three small submarines which seemed to be swarming with artificers and mechanics. It had all got beyond him. He felt at a complete loss amidst the bustle and purpose of a front-line base.
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