by Alan Evans
‘Anna?’
‘The Russian boat: that was her name. We were nearly two days in her hold.’ Gallagher grinned. ‘That’s why we smell a bit.’
Smith laughed. ‘We’ll survive that! Sorry about your quarters. We’ll try to improve them but we weren’t expecting you. What are you doing here, anyway?’
Gallagher answered, ‘I brought a flight of six Camels out to Russia by way of Murmansk last September. It was supposed to be just a flag-showing exercise, Britain going to the aid of her gallant ally, but we did a bit more than that. We lost one officer early on and then there were others.’ Gallagher paused, remembering. Then: ‘We were flying from a field near Kunda Bay, that’s in Estonia. I was shot down in November just a day or two before the Russians asked for an armistice, and wound up in hospital. There was only one real officer left with the Flight by then, Billy Williams, our armaments chap, and fortunately the first thing he did when he heard of the armistice was to send fifty-odd of the men back to Murmansk where they could get a ship home. That made sense because there wasn’t a single serviceable aircraft, or a pilot, left. We’d lost some men invalided home with wounds.’ He paused. And there’d been the funerals, the thin note of the bugle, blown flat because of the bitter cold, the brittle crackle of volleys. ‘Billy kept a nucleus of sixteen: a few fitters and riggers, armourers, a couple of cooks. I was still in hospital. After the armistice everything in Russia went to hell. There was chaos. Billy and his men had no transport, got no supplies from the Russians. He did the best he could but Danby had only arrived as a replacement the week before I copped it so he wasn’t any use.’
Gallagher paused again, might have said more, but thought better of it. ‘In the end Billy set out for our embassy in Petrograd to see if they could organise transport. That was the last anyone saw or heard of him.’
Gallagher took a breath: ‘Damn shame. Good man, Billy. Anyway, the Russians were arguing the toss with the Germans about the peace terms but all the time Jerry kept on advancing. When they got close to Kunda Danby had sense enough to start bringing my chaps back on foot but then they were rounded up by some Russians and put under guard. The Russians were in uniform but whether they were Army or deserters, or just plain bandits is anybody’s guess. They didn’t speak English and none of my blokes spoke Russian. They had a rough time and after a few weeks they dug a hole in the back wall of the hut one dark night and slipped out. One of the fitters crowned a sentry with a chunk of wood and they headed for Petrograd again. They found me at the embassy—I’d arrived the day before after the hospital finally got me a lift in an ambulance. Even then I had to walk the last ten miles.’
Smith said, ‘I understand the embassy got rid of you all in a hurry.’
Gallagher nodded: ‘They said there was a possibility the Russians might bring some charges on account of the sentry being knocked out, so instead of trying to get us on a train to Murmansk they sent us over in the Anna to meet your ship.’
Were they better off aboard Audacity? Smith wondered. Nobody knew what was happening, or going to happen, in Russia. But they had been on the bridge long enough. If the destroyer took to sweeping with her searchlight again and a sharp-eyed lookout spotted these two in uniform, the fat would be in the fire. The sooner they were safely below, the better. He said, ‘You’re welcome aboard, but now—
‘There was something I wanted to ask you,’ Gallagher interrupted. ‘You’ll remember I told you I was shot down. I got my Camel back but it was in a mess. We already had two busted machines on the ground so the fitters and riggers cannibalised them for parts to put mine together again but neither Billy nor Danby could fly it. Billy was armaments officer and Danby was—Administration. He took over that job from a chap who was killed. Danby had lost most of his kit when our field was bombed the night he arrived and that’s why he’s wearing the chap’s jacket; it fits where it touches. Anyway, they hid my Camel in the forest, stuck it up on blocks and wrapped it in a canvas hangar. Then Billy set off for Petrograd. A few days later Jerry overran the area and my Camel is presumably still sitting there at Kunda Bay. You see?’
‘I do see. But what about it?’
‘I want you to put me ashore so I can burn it.’ And Gallagher went on quickly, ‘On a show like this your orders are probably a bit elastic, with a lot left to your discretion. There’s an old peasant, I suppose you could call him a farmer, lives nearby. We used to buy eggs and milk off him and he’ll give me shelter if I need it, but this won’t take long—’
Smith shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Listen, sir, please! From what the groundcrew say, with any luck it’ll be in good condition and it won’t have been found yet. And this is a first-line fighter, the best we’ve got. If Jerry does find it he’ll learn from it and, damn it, he’ll use it!’
Smith jammed his hands deeper in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. ‘No. If they don’t learn from this one they would from another shot down in Flanders. And my orders are not elastic.’
‘But that Scottish bloke who came out with the Russians said they were twenty-four hours early so you have a day in hand. Surely you could—’
‘Shut up, Mr. Gallagher!’ And that stopped the pilot dead. Smith’s patience had run out. His ship lay at anchor surrounded by the enemy and under their guns. So: ‘Get off my bridge and below or I’ll have you put in the cells!’
For a second Gallagher did not believe him, took a breath to argue again but then read the promise in Smith’s cold glare. He swung round, shoved past Danby and out of the wheelhouse. Danby waited until the rapid tramp of Gallagher’s boots faded, then offered as part explanation, part apology, ‘It means a lot to him, sir, that Camel.’
‘I can understand that.’ Audacity and her crew meant a lot to Smith. He asked, ‘He’s a man of some experience?’
Danby answered ruefully, ‘He was flying in action while I was still polishing an office stool with the seat of my trousers. He’s an “ace”: twenty-three kills and he’s flown all kinds. Triplanes in Flanders, Pups from ships. He was one of the first to do that.’
‘You’ve been under something of a strain yourself, Mr. Danby.’
‘It wasn’t how I expected it to be, sir.’
Smith grinned at him. ‘It never is! But it sounds to me as if you coped pretty well, notwithstanding. I suggest you get some sleep now. We’re glad to have you aboard.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Danby was smiling as he left the wheelhouse.
Smith leaned on the screen again and looked out at the ships and the low, lean shape of the destroyer seen beyond Audacity’s fo’c’sle head. How long before he would be able to sail her out of this trap? He was conscious of Buckley still standing at the back of the bridge, no doubt confident as always that the captain would get them all out of this. He wished he shared Buckley’s confidence. He had sent his officers away to rest and given up his cabin to Robertson because he could not himself sleep this close to the enemy. He had to watch the destroyer. Although Gallagher and Danby were out of sight now the German captain might still become suspicious or simply curious. If he sent a boat to examine Audacity then Smith would have no alternative but to try to fight his way out to the sea. He swore under his breath. The night dragged on and he waited it out.
He was glad he was quit of Elizabeth Ramsay.
Wasn’t he?
*
At dawn the first German troops were ferried ashore in boats. The destroyer’s guns were manned and trained on the shore, ready to give covering fire if needed, but the soldiers formed up quietly into parties on the quay and marched off in various directions while the boats returned for more. There were spectators on the shore but no opposition.
Smith ate breakfast standing in the wheelhouse with McLeod for company while Robertson’s boat came off for him and took him away. He told the navigator, ‘You did well last night, talking to that German captain. We’re lucky to have you aboard.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ McLeod pulled a face. ‘I don’t wan
t to do that too often, though. All the time I was talking I was looking down the barrel of that damned four-inch. Anyway, the best interpreter’s left us.’
‘Interpreter? You mean Robertson? He’s lived here for years.’
‘No, Mrs. Ramsay.’
‘What?’ Smith had assumed that the woman spoke some Russian because she was the contact with the Russian officers, but he had not known…
‘Oh, aye.’ McLeod grinned, remembering. ‘We talked a wee bit in the wardroom and she can speak every language around the Baltic like a native: German, Swedish, Russian—’ He waved a big hand at the rest. ‘I learned by ear so I’m told I sound right, but I think in English then turn it into Swedish or whatever. She thinks in all these languages, I’d swear it. She must have been brought up in them. She’d have been the one to talk to that German skipper.’
Smith knew that before the war it had not been uncommon for a merchant skipper to take his wife along. But now? He shook his head. ‘It would have looked odd, a woman doing the talking and being on the bridge at that time of night.’
McLeod nodded agreement. ‘That’s true. Good job you kept her out of sight.’ And then: ‘She’s a real nice girl; Ross thought so, as well.’
Smith had held her close. Now she was gone. He walked away, out to the bridge-wing.
Ross was on the deck below, supervising a few of the crew going about the normal work of a merchantman in port. One painted lethargically while others chipped at rust. The cook slopped out of the galley in pyjamas and plimsolls and dumped a bucket of rubbish over the side. Smith saw through glasses the same sort of domestic routine going on aboard the German timber ship lying by the sawmill. Her name, he saw, was Königsberg. She had not completed loading, confirming her master’s intention of not sailing until the next day. There was a small naval party from the destroyer stationed on the quay, acting as a signal link between their captain and the officer commanding the troops ashore. Their signal-lamp flickered rapidly at intervals to be answered by another from the destroyer. Her guns’ crews had stood down and secured their pieces, so the shore must have been reported clear of any enemy.
At last the other ships weighed anchor and crept further into the harbour. The channel was clear and Smith took a breath, called Ross to the bridge and told him, ‘We’ll get under way, but no fuss or rush.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Ross took the point; they must not seem to be in a hurry to get away. The destroyer’s captain would be watching them.
And when the anchor cable was ‘up and down’ a lookout reported Robertson’s boat coming out from the quay. Calmly, ‘no fuss or rush’, they lowered the ladder again and he climbed aboard and up to the wheelhouse. ‘Good morning! You’re off, I see. I don’t blame you and won’t delay your departure. Brought you this.’ He pulled off his gloves and took a folded sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his overcoat. ‘A coded telegram. It’s for you. As soon as I decoded enough to know that, I left the rest for you to do and dashed out here to deliver it.’
Smith quickly handed it to McLeod, whose duties included decoding, and he immediately went below to unlock his books and set to work.
Robertson, however, lingered. ‘The Hun is busy ashore and on his best behaviour, making much of being an ally of the White Finns. It’s what I thought last night: they’re here to sit across the railway line and stop any reinforcements that might be sent from Russia. The Finns talked to the Germans and I talked to the Finns, pointed out that I had a business interest and wanted to know how this convoy and maybe others would affect harbour and storage facilities here. They say the destroyer sails for Riga today to escort another convoy from there. The German commissariat are requisitioning stores and warehouses, some for immediate use but others to be available for the nineteenth, so that’s when the next convoy is due to arrive here. I don’t know whether any of that affects your movements but I thought I’d let you know.’
‘Well, at least that destroyer will be out of my way,’ Smith replied grimly, ‘I’ve seen enough of her.’
Robertson held out his hand. ‘I’ll be off. Good luck to you, Captain. By God! You’re a cool one! When that destroyer turned up last night and you carried on with the transfer…!’ He shook his head and climbed down to his boat
Audacity got under way and crept around the headland until the other ships and the harbour were lost to sight. The open sea lay ahead and Smith stretched his arms, took a deep breath and grinned at Ross. ‘You can pipe: ‘Up spirits!’ The sun’s over the yard-arm and I think I’ll have a drink myself.’
He had cause for celebration. In spite of German patrols, fog, minefields and the appalling bad luck of the previous night he had smuggled a fortune in gold into the Baltic and delivered it to the Russian plotters—under the very noses of the enemy. Now Audacity was on her way home and might well escape from the Baltic as safely as she had entered it.
Then he heard boots pounding the deck and turned to sec McLeod running up the ladder to the bridge. He halted before Smith and said breathlessly, ‘The signal, sir!’
Smith took the telegram and read McLeod’s transcription in pencilled capitals: NEGATIVE TRANSACTION. RETURN WITH CARGO. He stared at it, stiff-faced with shock for some seconds, and then he began to think again.
Blackledge had said the British government dared wait no longer for a positive guarantee from the Bolsheviks that they would not let Germany take the Russian Fleet. Now it seemed that guarantee had arrived in London and been accepted. So the operation was cancelled.
The Admiralty, knowing the transfer was scheduled, and ordered for this coming night of the fifteenth/sixteenth, believed that Smith still held the gold aboard Audacity.
He felt sick as the implications hit him: if the Russian plotters reneged, simply disappeared with the gold, he would be held responsible for its loss. Alternatively, if they carried out the plan and sank the ships, or tried and failed, he would be blamed for the consequences. And rightly so. His had been the decision to make the transfer a day early and his alone. Others might find excuses for him but he would seek none for himself. The guilt was his to bear.
6—Fight or Run?
‘No sign of her yet, sir.’ McLeod’s voice came down from the flying bridge to where Smith stood outside the wheelhouse door.
‘Very good,’ he said, thinking that it was a bloody silly form of acknowledgment: the circumstances, in fact, could hardly be worse. Cape Kolganja lay off Audacity’s starboard beam and Koporja Bay opened ahead. Astern lay Kurgala Bay and across the ten miles of its mouth, low on the horizon and hazy with distance, was Kurgala Point. These were Russian waters and that was the coast of Russia. The sun was sinking and there was still no sign of Anna.
Smith saw Gallagher pacing the deck aft, scowling. He still smarted from having been ordered off the bridge. When questioned by Smith about the Anna’s crossing from Kurgala to Kirkko, he was polite and correct, but hostile. ‘She averaged about six or seven knots. They let me on deck after it was dark and I asked the chap at the tiller when we’d reach Kirkko and what speed we were making. He knew a little bit of English and told me six or seven knots.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Gallagher.’ And to hell with you and your injured dignity.
Danby was on deck but forward of the bridge. He seemed to be keeping out of Gallagher’s way. He wore a greatcoat that fell to his ankles and made him look like a small boy dressed up in his father’s clothes. But Smith remembered that he had led the surviving airmen out of a prison camp and back to Petrograd. So that when Gallagher gave him a hard time it was clearly not just a fighting-man patronising a chairborne warrior. There had to be some other reason.
‘I think we should have seen her by now, sir.’ That was Ross, cautiously voicing a conclusion his captain should have reached for himself—provided his captain was not a bloody fool, and had got his sums right. Was that what Ross thought, why he had spoken?
Smith just grunted in answer.
Audacity had worked up to fifteen knots after
leaving Kirkko and held to it in spite of patchy, drifting fog; the seaward horizon was now blurred by mist, visibility three to four miles. So it was obvious to every man aboard that the captain considered it desperately important that the Anna should be caught. There had been just a chance that she would be. Robertson had said she would cross the Gulf of Finland from Kirkko to Kurgala Point and then head eastward along the coast to some little port where the Russians had friends. If she’d held to that course, and at the six or seven knots she’d made on the previous crossing, then Audacity would have come up with her before she raised Kurgala Point.
But they had not seen her. They had turned aside three times while crossing Kurgala Bay to look at fishing-boats but none was the Anna. She might have varied her course, but not by much because her destination had to be a harbour or inlet along this stretch of coast. Her speed was another matter. With a hundred thousand pounds in gold aboard her skipper would make the fastest passage he could; Smith was prepared to bet on it. By now the Anna was probably tucked away somewhere along this coast, along with a huddle of fishing-boats like herself, in any one of a score of little anchorages that were too shallow even for Audacity to enter.
Smith pondered the problem: should he send in the motor-boat to search every anchorage where masts showed above a breakwater? But any strange boat would be suspect, might get in but not out again. And if, by a miracle, the motor-boat found the Anna she would never get alongside her.
In a few hours it would be dark and the gold would go ashore—if it wasn’t already there. If the Russians were among people they trusted they might well unload their cargo without waiting for night, and get it into hiding with minimum delay.
Smith stared out across the empty grey waste of Koporja Bay. He knew Ross was watching him, waiting. He could not wireless Admiralty because Audacity was far out of range of any British ship. Therefore he now had to go back to Robertson at Kirkko and ask him to send a coded telegram. Audacity’s return would look suspicious but Admiralty had to be informed that the plot was going ahead in contravention of their direct order.