by Alan Evans
‘No, thanks.’ They were waiting for him. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’
Helen Blair said, ‘Good luck, Mr. Buckley. Thank you.’
He grinned at her. ‘Thank you, Miss. God bless you.’ He strode away.
Helen Blair said, ‘You shouldn’t go so soon, David. You should rest.’ He had lost that haggard, distant look but in his sleep he was restless.
‘The weather won’t wait.’ Nor would Salzburg. He said lightly, ‘It’s just a reconnaissance, nip over for a look-see and back for breakfast.’
She did not believe it was as simple as that but only said, ‘I’ll be watching for you.’
He could find nothing to say now, took her in his arms and kissed her, then left her and went down to the waiting boats.
13. ‘Like the divil was after him!’
Pola lay some eighty miles south-east across the Adriatic from Venice and at midnight the three MAS boats sighted the black loom of the Brioni Islands, two miles offshore from Cristo Point at the northern end of the entrance to Pola. The harbour was L-shaped, ran inland for three miles and its mouth was a mile across. From the southern shore at Cape Compare a massive mole, a concrete breakwater, extended northwards nearly halfway across the harbour mouth. Then came a gap sixty yards wide and inside it lay the gate to the harbour, a boom anchored at one end, with a tug at the other end to open and close it. The other side of the gate was another mole, some three hundred yards long. A boom closed the gap between the northern end of this mole and the northern shore at Cristo Point. Another boom stretched outside the entire length of the southern mole.
All this the aerial photographs showed — and that there were two more boom defences inside the harbour itself, the first some three hundred yards inside, the second two hundred yards further on. The latter ran from the northern shore, the former from close to the southern. They overlapped at the centre but two hundred yards apart, so a vessel entering the harbour through the gate would swing northabout to pass around the first boom then steam south through the gap between them to round the southern end of the second boom. Because there was this gap between them Smith would not try to reach them; he knew they could be passed. But the other booms he had to see to gauge their strength.
The night was dark and again it rained. The reconnaissance was a repeat of that carried out at Trieste. Zacco laid his boat alongside the short northern mole that lifted ten feet out of the sea and waited, every man aboard tensed for discovery and the burst of fire from out of the night, while Smith and Buckley swam inside the harbour mouth and inspected with frozen, fumbling fingers the nature of the boom that closed the gate. It was of huge timbers and chains but unlike Trieste because Flying-Fish would not have climbed it. The performance was repeated with the northern and southern booms and they were of big steel cylinders linked by massive chains and again proof against Flying-Fish. Voss learned quickly. It was gruelling work and dangerous. The sea was bitterly cold and there were sentries stationed on the moles — twice they saw the figure of a man, slow-pacing and head bent under the rain, pass above their heads where they hung with faces pressed against the concrete. But the sentries were nowhere near the gateway. Possibly because two guard-boats lay just inside and they were considered watch enough. Smith tucked that away in his memory, tried to still his shuddering.
Afterwards he and Buckley stood in the well of the boat, shivered and dried themselves, drank coffee laced with grappa from a mug. His teeth chattered against it and he gasped as the coffee burnt his tongue and the grappa his stomach.
He dressed, thinking that he could see no way of penetrating the boom defences. Seahorse? If it worked, then possibly, but Smith had little faith in it. God help Balestra; he had more guts than Smith.
He wondered, suppose they set charges on the booms and tried to blast their way in? No. That had even less chance than Seahorse: as soon as the charges blew the defences would be alerted. The boom might or might not be broken but the defensive fire would be certain — and devastating. It would be Trieste and Flying-Fish all over again. But they might have to try it. He swore softly, savagely out of frustration.
*
They approached Venice with the light of a pale rising sun at their backs that could not dispel the mist lying on the city and the marshes, though the top of the campanile of St. Mark’s stood high and clear above it. Venice had not suffered another air raid since that on Smith’s first day there. He thought that might have been due to the weather, though the Italians continued to fly daily reconnaissance’s. It was more likely that the Austrian squadrons had work enough attacking the Piave river line.
The three boats entered the lagoon between the long arms of the Porto di Lido and followed the channel until the long quay of the Riva degli Schiavoni came in sight. Smith lifted his glasses and there was the front of Helen Blair’s house where it overlooked the canal Ca’di Dio, and close by Hercules, but the balcony was empty. Was she on the quay? But that was crowded, a sea of faces pressed close together and soldiers lined the edge of the quay. He wondered at that, turned the glasses on Hercules and wondered again because she had steam up, smoke rising from her funnel. But then he saw Devereux pacing the deck of the drifter. There was no mistaking his strutting walk, the swing of his stick and tilt of his chin as he looked down his nose at the world. So he was back from Brindisi.
Smith lowered the glasses. Devereux would have read his report of the assault on Trieste and the loss of Flying-Fish. So there would be a row but Smith was ready for that. At least now, after the shelling off Piave Vecchia, Devereux must see the threat that Salzburg posed. Smith and the Gatecrashers were not finished yet, by a long chalk.
The MAS boats slipped in alongside Hercules and Smith climbed aboard followed by Menzies and Buckley. Smith saluted and Devereux shifted the walking-stick to his left hand, returned the salute. His face was solemn but Smith felt it was an act, that Devereux was not as ill-pleased as he looked.
Smith said, ‘I’ll let you have a report of last night’s reconnaissance as soon as it’s written, but —’
Devereux waved a hand. ‘You’ll have time enough for that. A word in private.’ He strutted across the deck and Smith followed. When they stood right aft, out of earshot of the others in the waist, Devereux said, ‘I have bad news for you.’
Helen Blair? Smith had still not seen her. Had there been a raid in the night after all?
Devereux said, ‘I arrived last night and went immediately to my office, of course. I read your report and learned you had sailed an hour before. I sent my full report to Pickett by wireless and his answer came at midnight. He takes a most serious view of the way you took that assault craft of Balestra’s to sea and rashly attempted to force the defences of Trieste. It was done without authorisation and in face of my refusal to grant such authorisation. The Italians will be furious when I tell them and I’m not looking forward to that! Of course, I’ll make out what case I can for you — I’ve heard of your actions on the Piave river with the gun and that will count in your favour. But I doubt if it will wipe out the memory of your flagrant breach of discipline, virtual piracy!’
Devereux was speaking without hesitation to pick his words, reciting a prepared speech, eyes watching Smith and walking-stick tapping the deck to emphasise each point. He went on: ‘I may be able to persuade them not to demand your court-martial. I can’t say the same about Pickett. His view is that you acted recklessly and irresponsibly. It’s clear that he will want a court-martial.’
Smith could hear Devereux but no one else could. He saw the three MAS boats slipping across the lagoon to their berth off the Giudecca, and Menzies in the waist of Hercules watching covertly, curiously, the pair of them talking in the stern. Except that so far it was Devereux who had done all the talking.
Smith broke in on the lecture: ‘Sir! You are aware of my orders. Admiral Winter believed that Voss would lead the Austrian fleet in a break-out, and now he and Salzburg are at Pola! If we don’t act against him soon it will be too
late and the fleet will be raising hell all up and down the Adriatic! Lieutenant Balestra is building an entirely new type of craft to break into Pola though it Won’t be ready for some days. But there has to be a way of breaking through the booms and attacking Salzburg and we’ve got to find it —’
‘No!’ Devereux hammered on the deck with the stick. ‘You don’t seem to understand, Commander! Pickett sent a signal to Admiralty requesting your immediate recall. You no longer have a command! Captain Pickett is the senior officer here and has acted quite properly in my opinion in setting aside the Admiralty’s instructions. I have no doubt they will confirm his decision.’
Nor did Smith. He had expected a row but now he faced professional ruin. He could imagine the signal Pickett had sent, stressing the failure at Trieste and Smith’s highhanded taking of Flying-Fish. But then he thought of the gallantry of the MAS crews and Balestra’s determination in the assault on Trieste, his single minded dedication to his work. All that could not be cast aside now. There was still Salzburg and Voss and if Devereux was blind to their threat, then — ‘Sir, I want to speak to Captain Pickett.’
‘You’ll see him soon enough. His orders are that you sail Hercules to Brindisi and report to him there.’ Devereux said deliberately, ‘You are not under open arrest — yet — but no one leaves this ship. The guard on the quay will see that order is obeyed. Hercules raised steam at my order and will sail as soon as I set foot ashore.’ Smith could see past Devereux to the guard of Italian soldiers lining the quay. They had attracted the curious crowd massed behind them. Devereux said, ‘The three MAS will return to their flotillas and the Italians will deal with Balestra.’
Smith said doggedly, ‘He acted under my orders.’
‘No doubt that will be taken into account. It seems unfair for him to suffer severely because of your actions, but I think he is mentally unfitted for the Service, anyway.’ Devereux glanced at his watch. ‘I’m going ashore and will send a signal to Pickett stating your time of sailing.’ He touched a hand to the peak of his cap. Smith and Menzies saluted as he crossed the brow to the quay and passed through the guard there.
Smith said, ‘We’re sailing, Mr. Menzies. Inform Mr. Archbold.’
‘Now, sir?’ Menzies blinked. They had been only minutes aboard Hercules after returning from Pola.
‘Now.’ Smith went forward to the wheelhouse. He had thought as they entered the harbour that they were not finished but it seemed Devereux and Pickett had changed
all that. He faced a court-martial, was without a command save this little wooden drifter and he was a virtual prisoner aboard her.
They were mistaken. He was still sure that Winter had been right and they were wrong. All Voss had done so far had served to emphasise the fact. Italy was fighting for her life now on the line of the Piave river, Smith had seen the young men dying there. Voss had been sent to turn the Austrian navy from the passive threat of a fleet-in-being to an active one. What if the Austrians came out and struck at that long coastline stretching down the length of the Adriatic? What if Italy was forced to make peace, and the hold of the Allies on the Mediterranean imperilled?
Voss had to be stopped.
As Hercules headed for the Porto di Lido and the sea, the white launch came curving out from the shore and took station a dozen yards abeam. Fred Archbold was in the drifter’s wheelhouse and Smith told him, ‘She’s yours, Mr. Archbold.’
He left the wheelhouse, dropped down the ladder to the deck and stood at the rail. Helen was at the wheel of the launch, her face turned towards him anxiously but she smiled. He grinned back and waved, saw Balestra was with her in the launch. She called across the narrow neck of water, ‘I saw your boat go to Hercules and went to the quay. I met Mr. Balestra there. He was trying to go aboard but the sentries wouldn’t let him through. Their officer said no one was allowed to board or leave her and his orders came from Devereux.’ She paused, then asked, ‘Is it bad trouble, David?’
‘Pretty bad.’ That was a large understatement but he would not worry her with details. ‘We’re bound for Brindisi. I think I can clear things up there.’
‘How?’
Balestra called, ‘An officer came from Headquarters. He said I had two days to clear out my workshop and then I report for a sea appointment. But we are so close now! A week or maybe less. That is all we need!’
Smith answered, ‘I hope to get those orders counter-manded and be back with new orders for you to go on and make Seahorse ready.’
‘How much time do we have?’
‘I believe very little. Salzburg is at Pola. I think she is there because Voss intends to lead the Austrians in an attack on the coast of Italy, to strike another blow while the army is still trying to reform.’
Balestra was silent, ran his fingers through his black curls and stared tight-lipped at Smith. Hercules was closing the guard-boat. Smith lifted a hand in salute and shouted with forced cheer, ‘Don’t worry!’
Helen Blair waved and smiled again. He thought how beautiful she was, and hungered for her. She called, ‘Good luck, David!’
The launch curved away and headed back towards Venice. He watched until the mist furred it, hid it, then he sent for Geordie Hogg, the engineer.
Hercules headed south, black smoke belching from her funnel as the stoker laboured and cursed below. Geordie Hogg shouted at him above the thumping of the engines, ‘No good using that language wi’ me! He says he wants a record run to Brindisi so there it is!’
‘What’s the flaming rush, then?’
‘God knows, but he acts like the divil was after him.’ Geordie paused, then said thoughtfully, ‘Or t’other way round.’
14. ‘It’ll be bloody murder!’
This was their second night at sea and the morning would see them off Brindisi. The little wheelhouse of Hercules was comfortably full. Young Ginger Gates was at the wheel and Menzies had the watch with Davies keeping look-out to starboard and Buckley to port. Smith dozed in the worn, old easy chair brought up from below, cap tipped forward over his eyes and booted feet outstretched. The thoughts that obsessed his waking hours mingled with his dreams. Pickett’s determination to rid himself of this young commander with wild ideas, and Devereux, smooth and bland, deaf to Smith’s arguments. Salzburg roaring up over the horizon to hurl her huge broadsides at Garizzo’s marines. And always Helen’s face, smiling and eager, loving.
He woke at the touch on his arm, pushed back the cap and saw Menzies stooped over him, face shadowed and its expression hidden, the only light coming from the glow in the compass binnacle. ‘Smoke astern of us, sir. Don’t know how far. Could be ten miles or so.’
Smith shoved to his feet and crossed to the starboard side of the wheelhouse because the smoke from Hercules’s funnel was rolling down astern and to port so he would see nothing there. He peered out into the night that was still and dark, an occasional star winking between scattered clouds, what wind there was coming out of the west. From here he could see aft along the deck of Hercules and beyond to the horizon — wherever it was. Darkness hid it now.
Menzies explained, ‘Can’t see it now, sir. Davies just caught a glimpse because there’s a searchlight to the north sweeping every few minutes.’
Smith nodded. Searchlights were set up all down the coast. One of them could be too far over that hidden horizon to reach any ships out there but still light it with an effect like pale moonlight. At that instant light glowed to starboard and Menzies muttered, ‘There’s another one.’ It was distant, on the coast beyond the western horizon, a faint wash of light that showed the line where sea ended and sky began, a ghostly light.
Davies said, ‘There it is. Right astern.’
Smith snatched his glasses from the hook beside the wheel and searched along the northern horizon, the line of it now also lit by a pale, spectral glow, saw the low, black smudge on it. Smoke.
Menzies said, ‘Italian patrol, I suppose.’
Smith lowered the glasses and nodded. ‘Keep a sharp look
out, though. We don’t want them running us down.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
Smith returned to his chair and tipped his cap over his eyes but sleep did not come at once. He thought Menzies was a funny little chap with his ears sticking out under his cap, snub nose and wide grin, but he was eager to please and quick to learn, had done well in command of the gun on the Piave river line. The men liked him, regarded him as something of a mascot, but they obeyed him smartly and without question; he handled them well. Smith opened one eye and peeped out under the peak of his cap. Menzies strode restlessly about the wheelhouse, hands clasped behind him. That was in imitation of Smith but this time done unconsciously. If imitation was the sincerest form of flattery then was this hero-worship? Smith shifted uneasily. Menzies could find better models than Smith if he wanted to pursue a career in the navy, if only for the remainder of the war.
What of Smith’s own career? He had left Venice determined to persuade Pickett to reverse his orders and instead support Smith in his mission. But if he failed in that then he would go over Pickett’s head and send a signal directly to Admiralty, officially if he could but unofficially if necessary, and by whatever underhand method presented itself. He could send a cable. If they put him under guard then Buckley would do it. A cable like that, sent to Admiralty in plain language, would create one hell of a row. When the mud flew he would get his share and his record was far from spotless now. But if he failed with Pickett he was destined for a court-martial anyway, so he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb and if it meant that action would be taken.
Davies said, ‘There it is again, and closer. I can’t see ships but there looks to be three lots of smoke, maybe more. They must be coming down on us fast.’ He turned his head to look at Smith. ‘Gone now, sir.’
Smith grunted acknowledgment. The high speed of the ships could be because their orders demanded it, or... He said, ‘They might have had a warning of U-boats in the area, so keep a look-out for those, too.’