by Alan Evans
Smith said quietly, “I’m sorry, Chris. I’d like to give you leave but —”
Pearce was shaking his head. “I told you, her letter makes it clear that would be a waste of time.”
Smith went on, “We need your knowledge and experience with the Shorts, Chris.”
Pearce asked, “Permission to fly, sir?”
“Not that, Chris.” Now least of all times.
Pearce nodded, accepting it with his new-found calm. After weeks of torment the blow had fallen. He was too calm by far and Smith didn’t like it, made a guess and said baldly, “She told you who this soldier is.”
Pearce didn’t even blink. “She identified him very clearly, name, rank and that he’s in Intelligence. He’s Edwards, that imitation bloody Arab.”
“What’s the pistol for?”
“Just cleaning it, sir.” He met Smith’s gaze frankly, too frankly, a man with his mind made up.
Smith said deliberately, “I’ll need you and I’ll need him. You’ll get that into your head and give me your word that you won’t try something stupid. Or I put you ashore under guard. Do I have it?”
Pearce said quietly, “I won’t do anything stupid, sir. Livvy was everything in the world to me, my life, and he’s wrecked it. But I’m not going to hang for Edwards.”
“You’re not answering my question!”
“Accidents happen, sir, and it is wartime.”
“Don’t be a fool, Chris!” Smith told himself this was just wild talk on Pearce’s part, men did not murder — but Edwards did. The thought stopped him dead. He stared at Pearce, realising he meant what he said and would act on it. Like Edwards. Pearce was not insane, he met Smith’s eyes calmly. He could send Pearce ashore and report to Braddock — but the admiral would not believe it, nobody would. Smith did.
Pearce said, “I know you need us both and so long as you do — you have my word, sir.”
Smith reasoned with him, raged at him — and accomplished nothing. Pearce was cold and correct and again pledged his word to Smith — for now. Smith had to accept the situation because he needed both Edwards and Pearce. His only consolation was that Pearce could do nothing for a time — at least, not until this operation was over and it would be up to Smith to act quickly.
He returned to his ship and plunged into his work but with one more worry to plague him. First, Jackson and Edwards at arm’s-length from each other and now Pearce coldly plotting murder. As if the operation itself was not bad enough.
The operation haunted him.
In the afternoon Blackbird took aboard her two Shorts from the decked-over lighter that then went to the shore to have her deck ripped from her because she was to sail with Dauntless. Smith, watching the shore, saw Jackson’s lighter with its ramp on the beach and the Australians leading the reluctant horses aboard. There were thirty-eight of them, though Jackson’s troop only numbered thirty-five with Edwards. Two horses would be carrying explosive charges for demolition and Jackson had demanded a spare in case one went lame or was injured before it got ashore. Finlayson had said, “I’ll see you get it, if only to stop you stealing it.”
Jackson had not batted an eyelid.
The red dust haze hung over the land and north, towards Gaza, the guns pounded as if ticking the seconds away.
*
Sapper Charlie Golightly did not see the ships because his back was to the sea and he was watching the officer from the Provost Marshal’s staff. Charlie lay in the grove of palms hard by the siding and Jeffreys, Charlie knew it had to be Captain Jeffreys, stood a score of yards away, by Charlie’s engine. The captain was tall and long-nosed with cold eyes. There had been a hanging judge called Jeffreys and Charlie was certain this was a direct descendant and any man the captain caught out in a crime would pay the maximum penalty.
Jeffreys hefted a bottle of the whisky Charlie had smuggled up from Port Said and was asking Albert where Sapper Golightly could be found. Two burly military policemen flanked Jeffreys and now a third crawled out from under the tender and spoke briefly to the captain. Albert smiled and looked everywhere but at the grove of palms where Charlie lay and sweated, then pointed up the road towards the main camp but Jeffreys did not believe him, Charlie could see it in his hard face.
He knew he could not stay in the palms. He could not stay in the army either or in Palestine, because Jeffreys would hunt him down and Charlie was too old to go to prison. He shuddered at the thought and the fat money-belt under his shirt dug into him. His business here was finished, his pension had gone down the drain and the sooner he moved on the better. So he eased back until the trunks of the palms hid him from the group by the engine and he could climb on to shaky legs and hurry through the grove. He stopped at its edge and peered out at the Morning Star. He had meant it when he told Albert to steer clear of ships; Charlie did not like them. But the tramp was due to sail for Tangier this very day.
Men of the Egyptian Labour Corps swarmed by the shore, unloading the boats as they came in from the Morning Star. A few soldiers moved among them overseeing the unloading but Charlie did not know any of them. He started down through the gap in the dunes, wanting desperately to look back but knowing that was the last thing he must do. If Jeffreys saw a man with his head turned as he hurried away ... He reached the beach and shoved through the throng, his eyes flickering from boat to boat till he saw one almost empty and pushed towards it. He clambered aboard as they ran it out, pushed past the rowers and sat by the man at the steering oar. Nobody took any notice.
When the boat ran alongside the Morning Star he climbed the dangling ladder with his heart in his mouth and set foot aboard the ship.
“’Ere! What are you up to?”
The challenge shook Charlie but then he turned and saw the owner of the voice: Sapper Barney Cockcroft. He was another old soldier with a crime-sheet as long as his arm but it would have been as long as his leg as well if Charlie hadn’t got him off numerous hooks by guile, perjury and bribery. So Charlie looked him in the eye and said, “You never seen me, Barney, no more’n anybody else did. Like I done for you afore now.”
Barney returned his stare then closed one eye and turned his back. Seconds later Charlie was wheezing down steep and narrow iron ladders. In five minutes he was in a small, dark little room with one grimy scuttle that let in a ray of sunlight and gave him a view of the anchorage. Drums of red lead and white spirit stacked around him showed this was the paint store and he sat down on one drum, slowly relaxed. From what he had seen of this old bucket nobody did much painting so he was safe here for the time being. And later? He would cross that bridge when he came to it. He patted the money belt and thought about Tangier.
*
It was almost time. The last of the ammunition was coming aboard, Morning Star and the four lighters had all signalled that they were ready to proceed. Smith, in the only good suit of white drill left to him, waited on the torn quarterdeck of Dauntless with Taggart, Jackson and Edwards, all of them watching the launch coming off from the shore bearing Finlayson and Braddock. Ackroyd stood behind Smith. They were a silent group. The three soldiers were to sail aboard Dauntless where they could discuss final details with Smith.
Edwards broke the silence. “The old bastard isn’t going to change his mind and call it off.” His eyes were slitted and the whisky smell hung around him.
Taggart answered shortly, “He can’t.”
Finlayson had already sent a terse signal: the Royal Flying Corps had raided Lydda but the guns kept them high and they paid a savage price in machines and men — for nothing. The dump and the railway were still intact.
Edwards laughed with some of the old arrogance but there was bitterness in it. “I started this war with the intention of being a rich man at the end of it. I’ve made some useful friends among the Arabs. I told them I’d pledged my life to the defeat of the Turks so they could set up their Arab state. That wasn’t just talk. I wasn’t about to go back to being a sort of second rate commercial traveller up and dow
n this coast but I was going to keep my end of the bargain. I pledged my life but I didn’t mean to give it, just lend it till Johnny Turk was finished. Now I’m going to be kept to my word. As soon as Finlayson came out with his bloody plan I knew I was going to die in this country.” He looked at Smith. “Bloody luck. Maybe your albatross has something to do with it.”
Smith stared at him, not understanding. “My — what?”
“That Delilah, the bad-luck seaplane.” And as Smith still stared: “I heard some of your men talking about it.
Ackroyd broke in, eyes fixed on the approaching launch. “I haven’t heard the talk myself, sir, but I understand it’s been going around.”
“What has?”
“Well, Delilah was a rebuild job, had already been shot to bits once. She drowned a man at Port Said as soon as we got her. Then Hamilton fell out of her. Wilson was killed. Two fitters were caught in the fire that started in her. Then Hamilton again and Cole. Maybe she’s bad luck.” He stopped with Smith’s eye on him.
Smith could not believe it. These were skilled technicians manning modern fighting ships and aircraft, not ancient mariners with tarry pigtails. He said irascibly, “I’ll see the first man you catch spreading that tale.”
There was an uneasy silence.
Jackson eyed Edwards and asked laconically, “Reckon you’ll be sober when we go ashore?”
Edwards leered at him. “Stone cold, old boy.” The leer slipped away and he muttered, “Stone cold. I mean it. They’ll bury me there and I won’t be the only one —”
Jackson said contemptuously, “Aw, shut up! You make me bloody sick.”
Taggart eyed him coldly, “You’d better keep your mouth shut as well, Mr. Jackson.”
Edwards mumbled, “Damned colonial cowboy.”
Jackson looked them over. “A right caper this is goin’ to be. Out of all the millions in the British army I draw you two. One slobbering drunk and another with a mob that shot their C.O.”
Edwards fumbled at the knife in his belt.
Smith pushed in among them, shoved Taggart back and with the heel of his hand cut Edwards’s hand from the knife. He snapped, “That’s enough from all of you.”
“That was rank insubordination!” Taggart was pale with fury.
Jackson said calmly, “What are you going to do? Bust me and send me home?”
Smith shook his head. “No. This operation goes ahead, be sure of that. You all have your orders. I have mine and I’ll carry them out.”
He turned his back on them, sick at heart as the launch hooked on to the foot of the ladder. Finlayson and Braddock climbed to the deck, saluted as the pipes shrilled and the marine guard presented arms. Their visit would of necessity be brief; the ammunition lighter was casting off and it was time to sail. Finlayson must have sensed the tension in the group, looked watchfully into their faces as he shook their hands, spoke with each of them in turn. Smith thought the general probably put that tension down to the impending operation. He was only partly right.
Smith did not have time to dwell on it though. Braddock took his arm and drew him aside out of earshot. “Did you receive any mail?”
“Yes, sir. It came off and was distributed to the men a couple of hours ago.”
“I meant personally, yourself.”
“No, sir.”
“You will.” Braddock hesitated a moment and Smith wondered what the admiral was working up to. Were they giving Smith another command? But they would not take him away from Dauntless now, could not —
Braddock said, “I must be brief. Anyway, there’s little to tell. Just the same, I think you’ll find it more than enough. I knew your grandfather for many years —”
“My grandfather?” Smith stared stupidly. He knew no family but Reuben Smith and his wife Hannah. He had wanted to find out about himself but they had been unwilling to answer his questions, and once they were dead he had not known where to start.
Braddock repeated firmly, “Your grandfather. We were never friends but I served under him when he commanded a squadron. He told me all this because he’d heard I’d spoken up for you once or twice. I’ll say now I did that because of my faith in you. No other reason. His wife was dead, but they’d had a son and daughter. The son was lost at Jutland. Just over thirty years ago the daughter ran away with a man a deal older than herself, a wild character who was cashiered from the army. He had no profession or prospects and little money and he was already married, though his wife had left him years before. He and the girl skipped to the continent and wound up in Italy, living cheap on what money he had left.”
Braddock paused then said gruffly, “It seems he was good to her, loved her. Anyway, he had an idea for a new type of grenade and he was working on this with some Italian chap, hoping to get a contract from the army, but there was an accident one day and the pair of them were killed. The girl was left alone, near penniless — and pregnant. She wrote to her father for help, for the sake of the child, and he went to bring her home for the same reason. But he hadn’t forgiven her. Reuben Smith went along as his servant and Hannah Smith because she was a midwife. They took passage in a tramp from Italy and the child was born when they were two days out. But the mother died and was buried at sea.”
Smith guessed what was coming now, could not believe it. But Braddock would not lie nor be mistaken.
Braddock nodded, watching him, and continued, “The entry in the ship’s log showed the child’s parents as Reuben and Hannah Smith. Lord knows how that was wangled, maybe the ship’s master was an old friend or there was bribery, or both. But it was done. The Smiths took you to Norfolk.”
Smith was trying to take it in. The ‘wild man’, his father; that phrase had been used of himself. His impetuous mother, the rigidly stubborn grandfather — all traits he admitted in himself.
Braddock said, “He did the best he could for you, according to his lights. He wouldn’t bring further disgrace on his daughter’s name or the family by acknowledging you, but there was always enough money to send you to school, the word in the right place to have you accepted as a cadet in the navy. He was doing his duty — as he saw it.”
Smith said quietly, bitterly, “Jesus Christ! Only his duty? Wasn’t she his daughter, his flesh and blood?”
“It was thirty years ago. Attitudes have changed since then, not much, but a little. When I last saw him he was a dying man. His doctor was there and we witnessed his will. He showed it to me. He left the estate, the house and the land to you.”
Smith said, “Wait.” Braddock was going too fast for him. “You mean — now?”
Braddock nodded slowly, “I’ve just heard that he died a month ago. You inherit the estate and the name.” He told Smith the name and it was a famous one in their profession. Braddock said, “It’s not unknown for a child like that to be put out to another, poorer family. It happened then and still does.”
Smith knew that, was struggling to accept that after all these years of wondering ...
Braddock sounded a warning note. “I must tell you that your inheritance will not come easily. There’s not a shred of evidence to support the story I’ve just told you except that it is set out in the old man’s will. And that will includes a small annuity left to the only other surviving relative, a distant cousin. He hasn’t the family name but, knowing the man, he will contest the will. Your grandfather was something of a recluse and an eccentric in his last years. I think the will may be contested on the grounds of his sanity and while I’m sure you’ll win, I think you should know that it won’t be plain sailing.”
Sailing — Smith saw the ammunition lighter being towed away. Finlayson waited at the head of the ladder, heads were turned towards Braddock and himself, Ackroyd glanced surreptitiously at his watch.
Braddock took a letter from his pocket and handed it to Smith, saying, “A personal message from me, not official, but not to be opened until this operation is finished. Understood?”
Smith tucked it into the pocket of his tunic an
d followed the admiral to the ladder. Braddock became official. “Two things: complete wireless silence, of course, from the moment you sail. And you command this operation but you will not go ashore! That is an order. Understood?”
It was said clearly: Ackroyd and all of them heard it. Smith could only answer, “Aye, aye, sir.”
The salutes were exchanged, the pipes shrilled, the marine guard presented arms and Braddock and Finlayson went down into the launch. It curved away across the anchorage, side-party and guard fell out and Smith strode forward to the bridge. Minutes later Dauntless was under way and leading the little squadron of Morning Star and the four lighters towed by the tramp out through the opening in the nets. There was a scattering of cheers from the deck of Blackbird, taken up by the men of the monitor and the soldiers thronging the dunes to watch the ships depart. The crew of Dauntless were cheering and Jackson’s troopers in the lighter, in between cursing the horses to hold still. The men of the battalion, spread around the decks of the tramp now that she was stripped of her barbed wire, cheered as loud as any. Smith saw Taggart and Jackson on the deck below him but yards apart. They did not cheer.
Ackroyd grinned. “Quite a send-off!”
Smith did not smile. Braddock’s order: — you will not go ashore! — had rammed home that in his opinion they were gambling enough already. Smith said quietly, certainly, “It won’t work.”
Ackroyd glanced across at him, had hardly heard the words. He temporised, “It’s a gamble but —”
“It’s a hell of a gamble, not just a hundred or a thousand-to-one against.”
“We-ll —” Ackroyd dragged the word, not wanting to voice his own suspicions about the plan, not wanting them confirmed, either. He, like Taggart and Jackson, preferred to hope.
Smith swung to face him. The weight of responsibility had passed from Finlayson to him because he had to land those men who cheered now, and that weight showed in his face.