He saw Seaton down on the pontoons, speaking with an engineer officer.
A good man. No, better than that. He thought of the time XE 16 had sailed for Norway. His vigil on the hillside with Second Officer Dennison. Helen.
He turned as Captain Venables hurried along the deck, speaking with one of his assistants. It would be Admiral Venables before long.
Venables paused and studied him thoughtfully, his head on one side.
‘I’ve been speaking with the C-in-C about you. A job you might fancy.’
Trenoweth drew himself up, leaning on his stick as little as possible.
But Venables gave him no time. ‘Nothing grand, of course. But I’ll need someone to take overall command of the new midget base down here, to get them ready for the Far East. Suit you?’
Trenoweth swallowed hard. Then he said simply, ‘Thank you. I’d like it.’ He nodded. ‘Thanks very much.’ Surprisingly, he found it easy to say.
Venables gave his wry smile. ‘We make a good team. They like you, and in me there’s always someone to hate.’ As he turned to follow his agitated assistant he added, ‘Second Officer Dennison will be posted to you for communications.’ He smiled again. ‘And so forth.’ Then he was gone.
Trenoweth gripped the guardrail and exclaimed aloud, ‘Bless my soul, Duffy, we’re not done for yet!’
The operations officer ran his parallel rulers across the chart and said quietly, ‘There is this snag to contend with.’
Seaton leaned forward, his eyes rebelling against the harsh, reflected glare from the chart table. The two other commanding officers, Allenby and Winters, studied the ‘snag’ with him.
The operations officer explained, ‘With the best of intentions the R.A.F. sent a strike of low-level bombers across your U-boat pen. This was before anyone had a clue about rockets or anything else. A U-boat was returning from patrol. Usual thing, nobody looking at the sky, each chap thinking about a run ashore after the bloody Atlantic.’
Seaton studied the neat pencilled mark on the chart. How simple he made it sound. Usual thing. It was certainly true that more submarines were caught on the hop by aircraft when they were returning to base than outward bound.
Winters said, ‘The U-boat’s still there on the bottom.’
‘Right.’ The operations officer sighed. ‘The Germans can’t be bothered to salvage her at this stage of the game, they’re otherwise engaged. But the sub does present a hazard. Watch out for the thing. Check your bearings whenever you can. Memorise each detail so that you recognise a landmark without going backwards and forwards to your charts.’
Allenby straightened up and rubbed his spine. ‘One thing, old son. It’s not so far as Norway!’ He chuckled. ‘Last week we were moaning about being out of it. Right now, I think we are well and truly in it!’
In the dockyard, dressed in his stained seagoing gear, Niven stood with a telephone to his ear, listening to his father’s voice. For anybody else there were no private calls with the whole base at top level security. Niven knew it, and wished his father had not used his authority to telephone him from London.
It was too much like school, or Dartmouth. Seeing him off from holiday or leave.
He was in an emergency signals office, where a telegraphist and two Wrens were watching him with unveiled curiosity. They knew who was calling, and who he was, too. More to the point, they would know where he was going.
His father was saying, ‘I’m not worried, naturally. Just wanted to say that I hope it all goes all right. You know.’
‘Yes.’ Niven stared at the floor. ‘Thanks.’
A pause. ‘Is that all you’ve got to say, for goodness sake?’
No, it’s not. Decia’s having an affair with Geoffrey Drake. She can’t keep her hands off him, and now she’s writing to him.
In a tight voice he answered, ‘I’m sorry.’
Something in his tone made his father ask, ‘Look, Richard, is something wrong? We’ve had our ups and downs, I know. All families go through this sort –’
Niven heard himself stammer, ‘Ours is not a family. It’s a bloody, hopeless mess!’ He saw one of the Wrens cover her mouth with her hand. He said, ‘So long, Dad. Tell Decia he got her letter, will you?’ He slammed down the receiver.
The telegraphist watched him walk to the door and gave an admiring gasp.
Niven turned and looked at them, his face pale and strained. ‘Sorry about that. Bad show. But you see –’
One of the Wrens hurried from her table and said, ‘It’s all right, sir. Really.’ Then she leaned over and kissed him quickly on the cheek. ‘That’s from all of us, sir. Good luck. Things will sort themselves out.’
A red-faced yeoman of signals banged through another door and halted stock still. ‘What’s goin’ on? Something wrong?’
Niven lifted his chin and then gripped the girl’s arm. ‘Thanks for that.’ To the yeoman he said, ‘Wrong? Nothing at all. It didn’t really matter.’
The door closed behind him, and the Wren who had saved Niven’s sanity burst into tears.
The yeoman said desperately, ‘Gawd Almighty! The day they let girls into th’ Andrew was the bloody day!’
Seaton was so involved with last-minute preparations it came almost as a shock to find that the day had gone.
The water around H.M.S. Cephalus was hazy with the stench of diesel engines, as the maintenance engineers made their last checks on the midgets and aboard the three submarines which would tow them as near as safety allowed to the target area.
Torches bobbed along the pontoons and the out-thrust arms of the harbour breakwaters. Launches snarled into the darkness, and from outside, somewhere in the Channel, Seaton heard the banshee shriek of a destroyer’s siren.
He tried to think clearly, to find any loose strands. He had others to think of this time, while within his own command there was a new and latent menace between Drake and Niven. He had warned Drake, so why not Niven? He was the youngest aboard, and yet, as he had proved, could quickly become the most vital man in the crew. Despair, hatred or just humiliation might kill as easily as a bullet.
A seaman scuttled out of the gloom, his oilskin shining like black glass.
‘Sir? Senior Officer wants to see you up at the base, right away.’
‘What does he want, for God’s sake?’ He relented, seeing the man’s confusion. Why take it out on him? ‘All right. Pass the word for the duty motor boat.’
The seaman relaxed. ‘Ready and waiting, sir.’ He hesitated. ‘Best of luck with the raid, sir. A bit of Harry Roughers, if you ask me!’
Seaton smiled. Good old Jack. A phrase which contained everything involved with the job, and excluded all those not taking part.
Perhaps the senior officer had some last minute request. Anyway, it took his mind off things. As he sat crouched in the bouncing motor boat, the ‘skimming dish’ as she was nicknamed, he went over his own private preparations. Letters for Nina and his father. One for Captain Trenoweth, giving him the necessary authority to dispose of his effects. It was not a lot, but it might help Nina to find time, to discover another hope of happiness.
Into a car and up the winding road to the base. He caught sight of himself in a long mirror as he hurried through some swing doors. It looked wrong in some way to appear so smart. In fresh battledress and cap, the shoulder straps with his new rank for all to see, he barely recognised himself.
Even that brought it back again. Nina setting off with his old uniform to lay a trail for the Germans to find, and draw them from Bergen. She had spoken of his bravery, but what of her own? How that S.S. butcher would have made her suffer was beyond imagination.
He glanced at all the empty racks outside the wardroom, which such a short time ago had been filled with naval caps. British, American and almost every nation which was occupied by the enemy. Where were their owners now, he wondered?
A porter guided him to somebody’s office, where to his surprise he saw Air Marshal Ruthven drinking coffee with the ba
se commander.
The air marshal stood up and shook hands warmly. ‘Hello, young man, you look better than the last time I saw you.’ He looked meaningly at the commander. ‘Must be off soon. Back to my Sussex hideout to keep an eye on things.’ As the other officer moved to the door Ruthven added, ‘It’s putting a lot on your shoulders. More than anyone has a right to ask. If I thought there was any other way …’ He shrugged. ‘But now we know for certain. I’ve had a report just now that a rocket was launched on a test run from that site. It apparently had no explosive warhead, but it landed in the Bristol Channel, that’s over two hundred miles from the firing point.’ He massaged his forehead wearily. ‘It fell amongst a coastal convoy heading out of Cardiff. But for the quick thinking of the officer in charge of the escort, I might not have been told. But as he reported, there was this enormous splash which threw up a column of water bigger than anything he had ever seen, and although it was clear of the convoy, it almost capsized one of the coasters.’
Their eyes met, then Seaton said, ‘So they’ll be assembling the next one right now, sir. Armed and set for a real target. Probably London.’
Faces flashed through his mind. His father and his friends in the pub. The women of London, as conductors on the buses, on the trains, working at machines in factories, tending the injured.
‘It looks like it. After that it will be a bombardment.’
Ruthven walked to the door. ‘I have to go. Good luck.’ He gestured to the other door. ‘She’s waiting in there. Five minutes.’
She was standing in the centre of the room, her hands clasped, her blue-green eyes fixed on the door. The next second they were together, holding each other so tightly that nothing outside of them seemed real.
He said quietly, ‘I never dreamed I could be so lucky.’ He lifted her chin with his hand, remembering everything which had grown between them.
She had taken off her service cap, and as he touched her hair with his fingers she moved her arms up around his neck. The scent of her, the feel of her body against his was something which no uniform could mar. She said, ‘I shall be waiting, David. And then we will be safe, We will have a life. Together.’
Seaton saw her mouth quiver, but knew she would not break now. Not until after the door was closed. She, more than most, knew the value to him of this last moment. To both of them.
Outside, a horn echoed like a wounded stag.
She said, ‘Five minutes. Like our seven days, David. They are shorter than everyone else’s.’
‘Wait here.’ He kissed her slowly and with great feeling. When their mouths drew apart it was like being burned. He stepped back. ‘I shall never forget.’
She brushed the hair from her eyes. ‘You look beautiful, David. And I’m so proud.’
He closed the door quickly and hurried through the other room without looking back.
His driver was ready. ‘All set, sir?’
‘Yes.’
He sat in silence, remembering her face as he had closed the door.
He thought too of Ruthven. For someone who was sending them almost certain death, he had done all he could to help.
The car swung in a tight arc and he saw the harbour.
The rest was behind him.
17
Goliath
THE PASSAGE TO the target area seemed to demand more of Seaton’s nerve than any before. Because of the danger of detection, or the possibility of being attacked by one of the many Allied warships which were covering the invasion forces, the three towing submarines took a roundabout route from Portland.
Down channel, then south towards the Bay of Biscay, with the crews getting as much rest aboard their parent craft as their varied resources of courage and experience would allow.
Each slow mile gave Seaton a growing sense of his responsibility in the operation. It was not just another case of risking his neck, with all the excited aftermath to hide the earlier apprehension and fear. This one really was important, and he found it almost impossible to snatch even a cat-nap.
The commander of the towing submarine did his part of the job with practised efficiency. But this time he gave it something extra, knowing what was expected of Seaton and the three tiny X-craft. At regulated times he went to periscope depth, raised his snorkel to suck air for his diesels, while at the same time he monitored the steady flow of signals from the far off Admiralty.
The commander was about the only man within the submarine’s hull to whom Seaton confided his thoughts, even his hopes.
But each radio signal was like a slap in the face. A further sighting shot had been detected from the hidden rocket site, and this time it had fallen on land just to the west of Southampton. It had completely destroyed itself, but had made a crater in a stretch of farmland large enough to hold several tanks. With its massive warhead fitted, the effect of an explosion would be appalling.
The submarine commander had said during one of their discussions, ‘It seems to take them about two days to assemble each rocket. They’ll probably get quicker at it. But now they’ve got the practice and know-how to range it on a particular area. It’s my guess that the next few days are going to tell.’
Seaton lay behind his bunk curtain and stared at the dripping deckhead.
The army was not going to break into the Brest sector in time, and although the R.A.F. had made another heavy raid on the target area, they had achieved nothing, and had suffered terrible losses from flak and fighters.
A few hours before the time of transferring to XE 16, Seaton gathered his crew in the submarine’s wardroom. The commander had ensured he would be left undisturbed, and even the off-duty watchkeepers had been made to take their rest elsewhere.
They sat around the small table, as they had before. But it even felt different, with a barrier between him and the others.
When he explained about the enemy’s second practice shot he saw the effect of it at once. Perhaps, like himself, they had been hoping for a way out. A miracle.
He said, ‘The unloading of the rocket components and their entry through the U-boat pen appears to take place at night. It makes sense. This is going to be a rough one, and with no time for messing about. We’ll go in at dawn. If we attack earlier the rocket will not be inside to explode with the side-cargoes. The Airborne are doing a red-herring raid for us, so there’s not much else we can hope for. It’s us or them.’
Drake placed his hands flat on the table and stared at them. ‘Seems a tall order.’
Seaton watched him. ‘It is. But just remember. That first test shot went two hundred miles plus. I’m given to understand that it can do another hundred and then some at full blast.’
He looked at their faces. Niven, tight-lipped, hiding his feelings. Jenkyn, his narrow shoulders stooped as if only just aware of what he was facing. Drake, unusually grim, wary.
The curtain moved slightly across the door. ‘Ten minutes, sir.’
‘Well, I think you know what this may mean.’ Seaton patted his pockets. How stiff and unfamiliar his new battledress felt. ‘But we must try to get clear after the attack. And help each other all we can.’ He imagined Allenby and Winters saying much the same to their own crews.
Jenkyn stretched and yawned. ‘They’re spendin’ enough on this one, sir. So we mustn’t let the old taxpayer down, must we?’
Outside, in another world, a tannoy rasped, ‘Deck handling party muster by the fore hatch. Anti-aircraft gun crews to the control room on the double.’ A slight pause. ‘Stand by to surface.’
Niven said, ‘I’ll be glad to get on with it.’ He smiled at Seaton, his gaze excluding the others. ‘Don’t worry, sir.’
Seaton looked away. He knows I know. He’s trying to tell me in his own stiff way that he’ll not let me down.
They heard the inrush of compressed air, the click of the lower hatch being opened.
Seaton waited, standing away from the table or any support, gauging the deck’s motion as the big submarine lurched to the surface. It barely swaye
d more than a few degrees.
Jenkyn had been watching his face, and said, ‘Mill-pond. That’s summat.’
Then they were moving, hurrying through the boat towards the fore hatch where the seamen had already hoisted out a rubber dinghy.
A few quick glances from the busy submariners, a thumbs up, a brief grin.
Then with the handling party they were on the casing, gasping in the salt air which seemed too strong after the confines of the boat.
Seaton waited for the others to jump into the dinghy and then turned towards the conning tower’s dark outline. He knew the commander would be watching him, but aware all the time of his own responsibility, his nakedness on the surface, trimmed as high as possible to help the dinghy crew.
There was a regular off shore swell, but less than Seaton had expected.
They had been steering due east, following the forty-eighth parallel as if walking a tight-wire. To port lay a deadly procession of rocks and tiny jagged islets, and beyond them, away to the north-east, was the fortified port of Brest.
Seaton clung to the rocking dinghy as it twisted and bobbed down the tow-line towards the surfaced X-craft. He could see her black outline, surrounded by lively cat’s-paws as she wallowed beam-on to receive her rightful company.
Twenty miles to the target, and dawn was early. It would be dangerous all right.
He pictured the French coastline as it reached out like a protective shoulder above the Bay of Biscay. Pointe du Raz. A difficult stretch of land which had cost the lives of many sailors and had claimed a lot of ships down through the centuries.
Nelson’s captains must have hated it as they had worked their weather-beaten ships back and forth on blockade duty. Brest, Belle Île, Ushant, names from history.
Seaton watched the seamen making fast to XE 16 and poised himself to jump across.
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