by Nevil Shute
“Not a bit,” I said. “I’ll do whatever you do.”
I went and changed with him in his room; when we went down to the boat on the hard a quarter of an hour later I was the complete fisherman, in blue jersey with S.Y. Arcturus in white letters on the chest, rather torn and old, blue serge trousers and gum-boots. It was the first time I had ever done a gun trial in those sort of clothes.
Colvin met me as I scrambled over the side. They were all dressed as fishermen, and their salutes were humorous in their incongruity. I spent about ten minutes going round the ship with them; then we cast off the mooring and got under way.
We slipped down past the town, out by St. Petrox; at the harbour mouth we set a course south-east out into the West Bay. We steamed on on that course for an hour or so; I did not want to do our stuff within sight of land. I was busy all that time, because I had to satisfy myself that they would be ready for the admiral’s inspection. I went around the ship with Colvin and with Boden making a list of the defects that they still had to rectify. I spent some time in the engine-room, crouched in the confined space beside the pulsing Diesel. Then on deck I had a long talk in bad French with André, the C.P.O. in charge of the Free French and Danish crew. He was a decent, fresh-faced, smiling sort of chap who had been in the French Navy for eight years, much of the time in the Dunquerque. His home was in St. Nazaire; he said his wife was there still.
That put an idea in my head, and I asked him if any of the crew came from Douarnenez. But Simon, I found, had considered that point carefully. None of them came from anywhere closer to Douarnenez than Audierne.
I left André, and found the ship’s armament laid out on deck for my inspection: six Tommy-guns and several revolvers. They were all well oiled and cared for; we put a barrel overside and cruised around it, firing a few rounds from each. Then we turned to the flame-thrower.
We did not fire that at a target; I did not want to draw attention by creating a blaze. We had a good look round the sky for aircraft, waiting a quarter of an hour till one away over to the west went out of sight. Then Rhodes slipped into the little bucket seat, we pulled away the camouflaging nets, and I gave him the word to open up.
He fired three shots of three or four seconds each, traversing as he fired. The thing belched out its flame in a great terrible jet that dripped blazing oil upon the water underneath its fury; above it thick black smoke wreathed up into the sky. On deck the heat was intense; one could hardly bear to keep one’s face exposed to it. He fired three times, and each shot plunged its burning, lambent tip into the sea many ships’ length from us. Rhodes seemed to have no difficulty in training and in elevating the weapon.
I stopped him then and got into the little seat myself. He stood beside me till I was entirely familiar with the controls; then he stepped aside and I fired three shots with it myself. The heat was very great, but not unbearable, and the view of the target seemed to be fairly good. Within the limitations of the thing it seemed to work all right, and I could pass it off for service. I told Rhodes that he must have a pair of goggles up upon his forehead to pull down if firing had to go on for a length of time. Three shots was all I wanted without some protection.
That was the end of our gun trials, and there was a great column of black smoke above us towering up to show what we had been doing, six or seven hundred feet high. We turned and steamed towards the north end of Torbay at our full speed to get away from it, re-arranging the camouflage as we went in case a Heinkel or a Dornier came up to have a look. But nothing came except a Hudson of the Coastal Command, which circled round us at a hundred feet, obviously puzzled. We had an Aldis lamp in the little wheel-house, and I made a signal to him: Admiralty to Hudson — Go away. He waggled his wings at us and went off up Channel.
We held on our course till we were within a couple of miles of Hope’s Nose, then altered course for Berry Head and Dartmouth, making a wide circuit to prevent our return being associated with the dark cloud that we had made at sea. We entered the river and passed up by the town at about 15.30, picking up our moorings at Dittisham a quarter of an hour later.
We went on shore, changed back into our uniforms, and had a cup of tea in the ward-room. Then I got into the truck and the Wren drove me back to Dartmouth to catch the evening train to London.
I sat beside the Wren. During the short drive I said to her: “Are you with this party permanently, or do other drivers share the duty with you?”
She said: “I’m the only one that ever comes to Dittisham, sir. They put me on to this job when it started. I do nothing else but this.”
I nodded. “You know a good deal of what’s going on, then, I suppose?”
“I think so, sir. I’ve driven them to Honiton three times.”
“I don’t suppose I need to tell you not to talk,” I said. “One day this party will be going over to the other side. If through some careless word of yours the Germans get to know about it, they may be killed. That’s a real danger now, and you don’t want to risk it.”
She said: “I know that, sir. Lieutenant Rhodes warned me to be very careful.”
I was mildly interested; everything to do with that party was of interest to me. Rhodes was the technician. I said: “Who gives you your orders — tells you what to do?”
“Captain Simon, sir. When he is away, Lieutenant Colvin or Lieutenant Boden.”
I said idly: “But it was Rhodes who told you about secrecy?”
She said: “Oh, well...” and stopped. I glanced at her, and she was flushing a little. Then she laughed. “I get the food for his rabbit,” she said. “He told me then.”
“Does Rhodes keep a rabbit?”
“Yes, sir. In the net defence store.” With a little urging she told me all about it; that is how I came to know about Geoffrey.
She took me to the station; I crossed to Kingswear and took the evening train to London. Next morning from my office I rang Brigadier McNeil and told him that the gun trials had been satisfactory.
He said: “I’m very glad to hear it. I say, you’ve got a very smart young officer upon that thing.” We were speaking on an outside line. “That chap Rhodes.”
I was pleased. “I think he’s pretty good,” I said. “He’s colour-blind, but I don’t think that matters for this job.”
“He’s some kind of an industrial chemist, isn’t he? In civil life?”
“I think he is,” I said.
“They were very much impressed with him at Honiton. They seemed to think you’d picked a really good man for the job.”
“Well, that’s pure luck,” I said. “It was he who brought it forward in the first instance. We didn’t pick him; he picked us.” And then I went on to talk to him about the admiral’s inspection of the ship.
I saw V.A.C.O. a couple of days later and told him, amongst other things, that Geneviève was ready for him to inspect.
“Very good, Martin,” he said. He turned to his engagement diary. “Sunday — I am meeting Captain Fisher at Torquay to see the M.G.B.s for Operation Parson. Suppose we say Saturday afternoon for Geneviève at Dittisham? I should like Brigadier McNeil to be there, if he could make it convenient.”
“Very good, sir. Will you stay the night in Torquay?”
“I think so. The Royal Bristol is very comfortable. See if you can get rooms for us there, Martin.”
I did, and when the day came we travelled down to Torquay in the morning, arriving soon after lunch. I had arranged a car, and when we had dropped our bags at the Royal Bristol we started off in it for Dittisham, Admiral Thomson, Brigadier McNeil, and myself. We got there about four o’clock. Simon was waiting for us with a little motor-boat to put us on board the vessel; we were not taking her to sea, so everybody was in uniform and very smart.
N.O.I.C. was there. I imagine that they had been consulting him on etiquette, because a boatswain’s pipe shrilled out as the admiral clambered up the short rope ladder that served as a companion on Geneviève and swung his leg over the bulwark. I never saw s
uch a variety of salutes upon one ship before. Simon saluted army style, of course, and the naval officers in navy style; nine of the Free Frenchmen saluted the same way and one differently because he had been a rating in their Armée de l’Air. The two Danes saluted differently again.
The inspection followed upon stereotyped lines. The admiral found a cat on board. That was my fault; I knew that idiosyncrasy of his and I should have warned the ship. “I have no objection to animals on board — within reason — in harbour or in time of peace,” he said weightily. “But in a ship sailing against the enemy they are out of place, and may even cause the loss of valuable lives. People do stupid things, go back to save them when the ship is sinking. A great many seamen have lost their lives in that way — yes, and officers too.” He turned to Colvin. “See that it is put on shore before you sail.”
“Very good, sir.”
He was interested in the flame-gun, and got down into the seat to handle it while Rhodes explained the mechanism to him. “Yes,” he said at last. “A very dreadful weapon if you have your enemy within its range. Unfortunately, he isn’t always there.”
The ship’s armament — what there was of it — was laid out on the hatch. He picked up a Tommy-gun, handled it for a moment, and put it down again; then we went aft. He turned to Simon. “I understand you are the officer who got the information which you hope will lead you to the enemy,” he said.
Charles Simon said: “I was in Douarnenez in February, sir. I went there on my way back from Lorient.”
“Yes — I remember. Tell me now, in your own words, what you hope to do. I have heard it from Commander Martin, but I want to hear it from you.”
Simon said: “On this first trip, sir — it is just reconnaissance. If we can find the fishing fleet, mix in with them, and get away without detection — that in itself is of much value. That way we can land agents, open up communications with the country.” He paused.
“I do not want to make a contact with the enemy, at any rate on this first occasion,” he said. “I would prefer we...how do you put it? Find our feet — yes, first find our feet.” He smiled deprecatingly. “And, anyway, we cannot make a contact with the enemy even if we want. We have twelve knots at the most, and a Raumboote can do twenty. It is for him to make the contact with us.”
V.A.C.O. said: “That’s very true. And if the enemy makes contact with you?”
“Then he is almost certain to come up to shouting distance,” said Simon. “He can do nothing else, because to him in the night-time we are a fishing-boat, that cannot read a signal. If he comes close, then we burn him up.”
“And get away into the darkness quickly?”
“That is the way. We must be many miles off shore before the dawn.”
They talked about it for some little time, standing there in the calm summer afternoon, the admiral and the cement engineer from Corbeil. The tide slipped by us between wooded hills under a clear blue sky; in the trees the wood-pigeons were calling. It was very quiet and peaceful there.
“What English port will you sail from?” the admiral asked.
“From Penzance, if we may. That makes the shortest crossing of the sea and the least risk of observation by the German aeroplanes.”
“Very good.” The admiral looked up and down the length of the little vessel. “All the luck in the world,” he said at last. “Come and report to me when you get back.”
We went over the side into the boat, and he followed us down the ladder; we were ferried ashore. On the hard we turned and looked back at the ship; they had draped the netting over the flame-gun again. But for the men in uniform moving about on board she was every inch a fishing vessel.
We got into our car and were driven back to the Royal Bristol Hotel. I had to be with the admiral next day in Torquay; McNeil was going back to London, but had missed the afternoon train. So we all stayed that night in the Royal Bristol Hotel.
It was a Saturday, and I remember noticing as I went through the entrance lobby that there was a dance that evening. I went up and washed and then came down and sat with the others in the garden till dinner, looking out over the bay.
We dined rather late. As we sat down to dinner I noticed Colvin sitting with an old lady and a younger woman, probably her daughter; he seemed to be keeping them amused, because I heard the girl laugh more than once. They got up shortly after we went in and went through into the lounge for coffee.
Admiral Thomson had noticed them. He said: “Wasn’t that the first-lieutenant in the ship we saw to-day?”
“Yes,” I said. “His name is Colvin.”
“A handsome-looking chap,” said McNeil.
The admiral said: “I’m sure I know the old lady. Her husband was Chief of Staff in Malta just after the last war. I was in Tiger. They used to ask us up to tennis.” He wrinkled his brows. “Now what the devil was the name?”
He asked the wine waiter when he came. “Mrs. Fortescue, sir,” the man said.
“That’s it — General Fortescue. I must go and talk to her after dinner.”
When we went out into the lounge he crossed the room to where the old lady was sitting with Colvin and the daughter. Colvin got to his feet as the admiral went up, looking a little awkward.
V.A.C.O. said: “Mrs. Fortescue, I’m sure you won’t remember me. But years ago — in 1919 or 1920 — we met in Malta. You were very hospitable to my ship, and you came to a dance we had on board.”
She looked at him from her chair. “Of course I remember you,” she said. “Commander... Commander — is it Thomson?” He nodded, smiling. “But I see it’s not Commander any longer — something much grander. I’m sure I don’t know what all those gold bands mean. Do bring your coffee and come over here and join us. This is my daughter and Mr. Colvin.”
V.A.C.O. bowed to the daughter and nodded to Colvin. “I have met Mr. Colvin,” he said. “Is this the little girl you had at Malta?”
He sat down with them and began reminiscing with the old lady. Colvin was looking awkward still; I moved over to him.
“I say,” I said in a low voice, “I’m damn sorry about that cat. I ought to have remembered what he thinks of cats and warned you.”
He said: “That’s all right, sir. I’m glad that was the only thing he found to bawl us out on.”
“There was nothing else,” I said. “I think he was very pleased with what he saw.”
We sat chatting about this and that for a quarter of an hour, then dance music sounded from another room, and Colvin took the girl through to dance. I heard the old lady say to the admiral:
“What a nice man that Mr. Colvin is! Is he under you?”
He said: “In a way he is. Commander Martin here knows more about him than I do.”
She smiled at me. “Elaine and Mr. Colvin are great friends,” she said. “He comes and takes her dancing whenever there is a dance. It’s very good for Elaine. Living as we do in hotels like this she meets so few young men. Sometimes I feel it’s rather selfish keeping her with me.”
The conversation shifted on to something else, but I had heard enough to make me just a bit uneasy. I was fairly certain Colvin had been lying when I had asked him if he was married; at the time I was quite glad, because that was the answer that I wanted. I watched when they came back after two or three dances. The girl had got a colour in her cheeks and she was as radiant as a bride.
Geneviève was due to sail on operations in a few days’ time. A damn good thing, I thought.
I went back to London with the admiral the next afternoon, Sunday. That was some time at the beginning of September, and the nights were long enough for what she had to do. I made the necessary arrangements, and they sailed her round to Penzance on the Thursday and Friday, working up as they went.
There was a full moon that week, and the weather was perfect, much too good for them. I wasn’t going to be any party to sending them over to the mouth of Brest upon a blazing moonlit night half as light as day. I talked it over with McNeil, and we kept the
m there at Penzance for the best part of a week before we let them go. By then the moon was waning, and we got a forecast of unsettled, rainy weather. That was more the sort of thing we wanted, and I went down to Penzance with McNeil overnight.
That morning, Thursday morning, was grey and dreary with a light rain falling. Geneviève was anchored just outside the harbour; I went to the Naval Centre and got a boat out to her. Colvin had been ashore to report when they got there; apart from him none of them had left the ship. They had been out each day exercising in Mount’s Bay, but it was very cramped quarters in the ship for the full crew, and they were anxious to get away.
I had a conference with them in the cabin that forenoon, Simon, Colvin, McNeil, and I. By the shortest route they had about a hundred and ten miles to go to a point half-way between Le Toulinguet and the Île de Sein, where they might reasonably expect to find the fishing fleet. I wanted them, however, to keep clear of Ushant by ten miles or so; that made their route about a hundred and seventeen sea miles. At their comfortable cruising speed of ten and a half knots, that meant a bit over eleven hours.
I did not want them to get to the rendezvous before midnight, in order that they should have plenty of darkness in which to approach the coast, and I told Simon that he ought to get away soon after three in the morning.
Colvin marked off their course upon the chart and measured it carefully. “Get under way at one o’clock,” he said. “Hands to dinner at twelve. I’d better tell the cook.” He went out to the galley.
I turned to Simon. “If you can make it, come to Dittisham direct on your return,” I said. “I shall go back to Dartmouth and wait for you there.”
Brigadier McNeil said: “Is there anything more that you want? Anything we can do for you when we go ashore?”
Simon brushed back the long, dark hair that had fallen over his forehead. “There is nothing that we want,” he said. “We now have everything. Only if you are going back to Dartmouth, would you do one thing for me?”