A Twist of Sand

by Geoffrey Jenkins

  "There was a suspicious noise on the hydrophones and Lieutenant-Commander Peace decided to follow it."

  The prosecutor scanned his notes. "Did not Lieutenant-Commander Peace use these words: ' I'm sick of this bloody square-search and I'm trailing a whale with alimentary ailments?'"

  John looked him in the eyes, lying magnificently.

  "Those words were never used to me, sir."

  "Are you sure, Lieutenant? Confirmation might be in Lieutenant-Commander Peace's favour when his mental state comes to be considered."

  John wouldn't fall for that sort of blandishment. "They were never used to me," he repeated.

  "I shall bring two other witnesses to swear they were used to you, Lieutenant Garland."

  John shrugged slightly. The prosecutor saw he was wasting his time.

  "Now some time afterwards Lieutenant-Commander Peace rushed through the control room in an agitated state and shouted for the hydrophones to be switched off immediately — correct?"

  John smiled slightly. "Lieutenant-Commander Peace stepped, through the control room — I was unaware of an agitated state and ordered the hydrophones to be switched off."

  "Why?"

  John flickered a glance at the Commander-in-Chief. "In submarines an asdic transmission, or any untoward noise, can reveal one's presence to the enemy. The order was perfectly logical to me."

  "The enemy, lieutenant — what enemy?"

  "The sound at the other end of the hydrophones."

  The prosecutor began to enjoy himself. "Both you and the chief hydrophone operator have used the term enemy without the slightest reason to suspect there was anything at all making a noise — not even a whale, with or without alimentary ailments."

  The sally left John as cool as before.

  "To me, sir, strange transmissions at sea, in war-time in a submarine, are the enemy. Until they're proved otherwise."

  "A curious attitude," remarked the prosecuting officer. "In other words, fire first and ask questions afterwards?"

  "Yes, sir," replied John.

  "And then Lieutenant-Commander Peace ordered silent routine — why?"

  "Normal precautions when in contact with the enemy," said John with a ghost of a smile.

  "Logical, rational orders?"

  "Yes."

  "When a noise, which could not be identified by anyone on board, let alone Lieutenant-Commander Peace, was heard?"

  "Logical and rational battle orders, sir."

  "And you would consider equally logical and rational Lieutenant-Commander Peace's ordering you off the bridge and navigating himself, without reference to his senior officer?"

  John remained silent. It was all he could do.

  The prosecutor had me in the bag — and he knew it.

  "I quote you," he said: "'What's the buzz Geoffrey — and brushing up on the old navigation all by yourself, too.'"

  My defending officer was on his feet in a trice.

  "If the prosecutor wishes to question his witness on the point, he is at liberty to do so. He cannot say 'I quote'."

  "I withdraw that, then," replied the other, but to the naval minds unused to the niceties of the law, I could see that my case had been further damaged.

  "Lieutenant-Commander Peace made another sharp alteration of course before steaming all night at high speed?"

  "Yes, sir," said John miserably, and gave technical details of course, speed and so on.

  The prosecutor tapped his pencil lightly on the table. "And when you approached a destination — still unknown to you — Lieutenant-Commander Peace ordered you off the bridge, as well as the watchmen?"

  "That is correct, sir," said John.

  "Why did he do that?"

  "I do not know, sir."

  "Were those 'logical, rational orders'?"

  "I was surprised, I admit, but Lieutenant-Commander Peace has always had an individual touch. I remember"

  "No reminiscences, please, Lieutenant. Stick to the facts."

  "After which, from the bridge, Lieutenant-Commander Peace gave a series of course alterations at short intervals?"

  Thinking of my navigation off the Skeleton Coast, that was a superb understatement.

  "Yes, sir."

  The prosecutor looked at him. "Please produce to the court your chart showing them."

  This was the left hook to the jaw.

  "There was no chart," he replied simply.

  "No chart?" exclaimed the rear-admiral. "What do you mean, Lieutenant Garland?"

  "I mean, sir, that Lieutenant-Commander Peace was navigating from a chart of his own, which he did not reveal to me. The log is here, though."

  The old fighter behind the table eyed John severely.

  "You have no idea where you were?"

  "No, sir, not to this moment."

  "Or what you were following?"

  "No, sir."

  "Or what the alterations of course were for?"

  "No, sir."

  "No idea at all?" he barked out.

  "We must have been close to land, sir, because of the echo-sounder readings."

  "And then Trout lay at the bottom of the sea at action stations for eight hours with torpedoes at the ready?"

  The prosecutor flicked over several pages of notes to draw this further damaging conclusion.

  "Yes, sir."

  The log book was passed up to the main table. The rear-admiral peered at it intently for a moment and then threw it down with a snort of disgust. I probably would have too.

  The judicial captain chipped in.

  "Lieutenant Garland, if you were presented with this log book with these apparently unrelated changes of course — extreme changes of course — what would your interpretation of it be?"

  John looked across at me, the first time he had done so. There was no compassion in that look, such as I had seen when he came in and found me laughing after I had decided to go in and sink NP I in her hide-out.

  He replied firmly and without hesitation: "I would have said they were the work of a madman."

  The Commander-in-Chief let out a faint sigh. My best friend had made the most damning statement yet before the court.

  "So," said the prosecutor and I could see he was hating it, "in other words, you would say your commanding officer was mad?"

  John looked at him squarely. "I did not say that, sir," he rejoined firmly. Even the judicial captain lost some of his detached air as the air of drama heightened.

  "What I did say, sir, was that if such a log book were presented to me here in court, I would say it was the work of a madman. What I did not say was that I was there. I looked through the periscope. I saw what he was doing."

  The prosecutor reddened. "There is no record of this vital piece of evidence…"

  John brushed his words aside.

  "I looked through the periscope," he repeated slowly as if every single breaker of that wave-lashed holocaust were living again before his eyes. "I saw the most fantastic welter of broken water that ever terrified a sailor out of his wits. It frightened the living hell out of me. I still dream about it. All I know is that until that moment I thought my commanding officer was… to say the least… suffering from battle fatigue. I thought so when I heard him laughing to himself. I thought the attack plan was all a figment of his imagination. I thought the torpedo settings were so shallow as to be crazy. I thought his action in standing watch alone on the bridge was near madness. I have no words for his course alterations and the soundings. But when I looked out and saw Trout among the breakers, I knew that he was sane beyond sanity, and he proved it by bringing us out alive. No one else could have done it. But for him we would all be dead men. There wouldn't be any court martial. I don't know to this day what he was doing, but I believe if he said there was an enemy, there was."

  There was a long silence. The Cape mountains looked lovelier than ever. A tear splashed from the Wren's cheek on to her notebook and she dabbed hurriedly at it. John never looked across at me.

  The
Commander-in-Chief cleared his throat.

  "Lieutenant Garland," he said, "if I ordered Trout to sea tomorrow with Lieutenant-Commander Peace in command, would you be prepared to sail with him?"

  "Yes, sir," said John simply, "anywhere."

  He cleared his throat again. "No further questions? Thank you, Lieutenant."

  I smiled wryly to myself. John had convinced them I was sane all right, but if I was fully responsible for my actions, then what in heaven's name was I doing? It really weakened my own case. How could I answer the unanswerable questions about NP I? I knew the line I would have to take.

  "Any more witnesses?" asked the gold braid.

  The prosecutor grinned wryly. "I'm afraid that if I brought every one of the crew, they might say the same sort of thing. No, sir, I have a number of affidavits here which can be referred to if the court feels there should be oral evidence in clarification of various points, but in point of fact there is no dispute about the general facts. Unidentified noises were heard, an attack was mounted, H.M.S. Trout was damaged, there were a series of the wildest alterations of course and depth soundings, Trout was apparently in grave danger, there was a complete failure on the part of her commanding officer to notify his officers what he was doing and even where his ship was. I have discussed these points with the defence" — indicating my defending officer — "and they are not in dispute."

  "Most irregular," sniffed the rear-admiral.

  "In fact, your case is complete against Lieutenant-Commander Peace then?" asked the judicial captain.

  My defending officer was on his feet in a trice.

  "I cannot allow such admissions," he snapped out. "Lieutenant-Commander Peace is on trial on the most serious charges. It is only right that he should be heard in his own defence."

  "He admits the facts, but has some explanation of them?" asked the Commander-in-Chief.

  My defending officer shuffled. "Unfortunately, sir, I am not in the accused's — Lieutenant-Commander Peace's — confidence regarding his explanation. But he has a right to be heard, nevertheless."

  The old sailor nodded and I was duly sworn. I could see them all eyeing me closely.

  "Before you begin, Lieutenant Gander," said the C.-in-C., "there are a number of points regarding Trout which the court wishes to clear up before we go into detail regarding this… ah… attack. Commander Peace will answer them, since I must confess I am seriously at a loss myself. First, Commander Peace, who ordered you to take H.M.S. Trout to sea? I have signalled the Admiralty and I can find no authorisation — whatsoever — for your ah… mission."

  So, I thought, those clever two never wrote down anything at all. The net was closing fast.

  "I was ordered verbally by the Flag Officer (S) in the presence of the Director of Naval Intelligence. I was flown from Malta and briefed in person."

  A ripple of incredulity ran through the court. All five officers stared at me from the dais.

  "In that case, then," said the judicial captain levelly, "there will be a record of your briefing which will be available in your defence to substantiate what you say."

  "No one else was present at the meeting," I said. "There was no record."

  "You mean to tell me —" snapped the rear-admiral.

  "Rubbish!"

  "Even admitting it were so," said the judicial captain, "it must have been a matter of considerable secrecy for two officers of their rank to discuss it with you — in private?"

  "It was," I said grimly, remembering the look in those Arctic eyes when he thought of his precious convoys and the battle-stained North Atlantic.

  "What was it?" snapped the C.-in-C.

  "I cannot answer that question, sir," I replied.

  "My God!" he shouted. "You stand there like a schoolboy and tell me you can't say?"

  There was no avoiding the blow much longer. In a moment, in a moment, I told myself, steeling myself for the inevitable.

  "Not under any circumstances," I said.

  That brought him up all standing.

  He gave me another moment's respite.

  "You mean to say that you received a secret briefing for a secret mission and that none of the usual form was observed — no record of your conversation, your orders, nothing?"

  "That is correct, sir."

  The judicial captain flicked through some papers at the table.

  "I notice, sir," he said to the president, "that all authorisation for Trout's stores, fuel and so on are on the personal instructions of the Flag Officer (S)."

  "Where were you when you made this remarkable attack — and on what?" snapped the old seadog, now thoroughly angered.

  "I'm afraid I cannot answer that, sir."

  "Are you prepared to answer anything at all?" he snapped sarcastically.

  My moment had come.

  I remembered the schoolmasterly voice and the precise muster of sentences. I remembered the compassionate, the professionally compassionate farewell. He would shake the hand of the bright boy at school when he gave him the prize in the same gentle way, probably with a slightly pedantic chiding. I imagined that he would tend the roses in his country home just like that too, and talk them over with the locals at the annual rose show. To him I was not a cypher, I was something to be wept over, but not to be mourned. He'd passed beyond ruthlessness into compassion, beyond compassion into ruthlessness. I remembered his farewell. Had he gone so far in man's barbarity to man that he no longer felt, or was it his professional manner to shield himself — what did he think deep down? It was all justified, in his view, justified because Britain was in danger… I jerked myself back. Even if I opened my mouth, he would… he'd have to… deny it all. I remembered the slight sad droop of the eyes. It was his job. He'd sold me down the river, the river of death or ignominy that bleak day at the Admiralty. We both knew the rules. He knew what he was doing, and I knew what was being done.

  Here it was.

  "Sir," I said, "I wish to admit all the charges against me."

  "What?" roared the rear-admiral.

  I think even the Wren forgot to write it down in the general sensation. The judicial captain eyed me coolly and I could see that he had made up his mind that I was certainly on my way to the madhouse. The other members of the court martial whispered between themselves. The tanned face in the middle was purple.

  "The defence…" bleated my defending officer helplessly. "The defendant…"

  I was almost oblivious of what was going on. I was living again the holocaust at Curva dos Dunas, the anchorage blazing and the distant thud of explosions, the one German with his hands upraised and the bloody, unrecognisable mess the Oerlikon had made of his face. The resolution never to mention or reveal Curva dos Dunas dropped crystallised, clear, inexorable, into my mind. I had done what old Arctic-eyes had sent me to do: that delicate, wing-like conning-tower would never show its deadly dorsal fin in the turbulent wastes of the North Atlantic now. Blohm and Voss would never know what had happened to her. She was a risk, an unjustifiable risk at best in the German naval mind, even before she sailed, and her non-return would set the seal on others of her kind. She had been destroyed through the knowledge old Simon Peace had given to me — and he was dead. The man who had ordered me to destroy her — he was dead. The Director of Naval Intelligence — well, his mouth would always be as closed as if death itself had sealed it. There would never be any hint at all of NP I if I kept my mouth shut.

  The president, who had half-risen, seated himself again with a thump. He gazed at me for a long time. No one else said anything. I had admitted the most serious offences. There was nothing more to be said. Only to be done. And that was clear enough. They'd have to kick me out — kick me out right on the peak of my naval cap.

  "The court will adjourn," said the old man savagely.

  I have only the vaguest recollection of the rest of the proceedings. It was only a question of disposing of the corpse, so to speak. I felt quite unmoved by it all. I remember John coming to chat with me, and then to p
lead, half-quizzically, and again with a measure of friendship which I did not realise he had for me. But the die was cast. Curva dos Dunas and I must keep our secret — until death do us part.

  X

  A Nymph Rejoins her Ancestors

  "It is only a very small request, and I shall pay you well," murmured Stein blandly. The shadow from the light above his head in Etosha's saloon did not conceal, but rather accentuated, the cruel mouth. The mouth was twisted ingratiatingly, but the eyes and the face were deadly cold.

  The faint movement of Etosha at her buoy rocked the whisky in my glass. I focused on the amber liquid to compose my thoughts. I was angry, furiously angry, at Stein again pushing his way into Etosha's cabin when Mac and I were having a drink together, as we always did after the crew had gone ashore. It was a month since that dreadful scene in the bar at Mark's. The drunken German was removed screaming like a madman and shouting obscene threats at me. Stein had just stood and stared at me as if he were trying to sort some mental jigsaw into place. The whole thing still jangled on my nerves. I hadn't seen Stein since, but the sight of him back in Etosha brought forward all my latent fears and caution. What did Stein really want of me?

  Mac sat under an open porthole, his face inscrutable.

  "Stein," I said and my voice rasped at the goading of anger and whisky. "Once and for all, I shall not put you ashore on the Skeleton Coast, even for a thousand pounds each way."

  "I am a scientist," he replied, ignoring my mounting anger. "All I ask is the opportunity to collect a beetle which has been lost to science for many, many years."

  "To hell with you and your precious beetles!" I swore. "Now get out and leave me alone."

  "I repeat," said Stein and the cruel gash of a mouth grinned more sardonically than ever, "I am a scientist. So when a man starts to scream in a bar for no reason at all, I say to myself, there must be a reason. Not so?"

  "What has a drunken sailor got to do with my taking you to the Skeleton Coast?"

  Stein evaded the issue. His voice became prim.

  "I say to myself, a man does not scream for nothing. There must be a cause. Could it be the little thing which fell out of Captain Macdonald's pocket? I ask myself. And what is that thing — a little lucky charm which we have in southern Germany. Surely that alone would not reduce a man to a frenzy and send him into a mental hospital afterwards?"