Action This Day (A Commander Steadfast Thriller)

by Richard Freeman

  ‘My half are. I picked them myself and trained them myself at another fort down the coast, just like this one. I’ve pushed them up and down the cliffs, cleared mines, blown in doors and taught them to slit a throat as if it were a hunk of soft cheese. They’ll kill you before you even hear them coming. Everything you could want on a mission like this. On my honour, commander, these are just the men you need. Trust me.’

  ‘And the other half?’ quizzed Steadfast.

  ‘Not sure. They were sent over by a cousin of mine twenty miles inland.’

  ‘Have you worked with them before?’

  ‘No. I don’t even know their names.’

  ‘So how do you know you can trust them.’

  ‘How do you say it in English: “Beggars can’t be choosers”?’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Steadfast with some degree of anxiety.

  The discovery that Gozhita was using men who he didn’t know aroused Steadfast’s suspicions.

  ‘What about those Ities at Bay C. How did they know we were coming?’

  ‘Must be a leak at your end.’

  ‘That’s impossible. I’ve not told anyone. I didn’t even tell my men where the landing place was until we got to sea.’

  ‘Commander, be careful what you are suggesting. My men are a rough lot. April 1939 the Italians came here, and we’ve been fighting them under cover ever since. That’s a lot of killing and a lot of rough living. It hardens a man, coarsens him. They’d kill their own mothers if they had to. If they ever suspect that you don’t trust them, it’s …’ And Gozhita held out the first two fingers of his right-hand and drew them in a sharp cutting action across his throat. ‘I can only control them so far,’ he added with a hint of satisfaction at being the commander of such a dangerous rabble.

  Steadfast was not reassured by Gozhita’s account of his men. His own men – the supposedly trustworthy one’s would slit his throat if he impugned their credentials. And the other lot came with no guarantee at all. I’m between the Devil and the deep blue sea, he thought.

  ‘OK, then. Let’s just say the Ities made a lucky guess,’ replied Steadfast, not yet used to the idea that he might meet his end at the hand of one his allies.

  Steadfast let the matter drop but in his own mind he continued to fret. A beach and cliffs that the Italians had always treated as unscalable was suddenly guarded on the very night of his arrival. Somewhere there was a spy – or, even worse, a traitor. This job was not at all like commanding a destroyer, where you knew your enemies: the sea, the weather and the Nazis. Now the enemy was unknowable and might even be in one of the dinghies or by his side on a beach. ‘I must trust no one,’ he said to himself.

  Then there was the problem of how to alert his commanders to his suspicions. He thought of telling them outright that there might be a spy amongst the men. Or, even worse, that possibly the whole thing was a trap. What if Gozhita had fallen for a ruse set up by the Italians? Perhaps the whole fort business was an Italian hoax to lure Gozhita and his men into a trap. But the more he allowed his thoughts to imagine these terrifying and treacherous scenarios, the more he realised how demoralising it would be to confide these thoughts in his boat commanders. But, before he could reach a conclusion, Gozhita whispered to him.

  ‘OK to start, commander?’

  Steadfast reeled from the gush of cigar smoke and replied, ‘OK.’

  MGBs 371F and 453T noiselessly moved in towards Bay X, while Baines stood off as a back-stop. Gozhita took out a small pocket torch and flashed a recognition signal. Almost immediately the confirmation came back.

  ‘All, OK, commander. They’re ready to board.’

  The two embarking gunboats came close into the shore, this time perfectly executing the routines that Steadfast had taught them. Each lowered a dinghy and silently rowed to the beach. Within twenty minutes 371F and 453T each had six partisans on board, together with their huge rucksacks of weaponry and plastic explosive. Each man carried a length of climbing rope around his neck, from which was also slung a Sten gun. Their chests were criss-crossed with numerous bandoliers, stuffed with evil-looking bullets. They were dressed in an assorted collection of outdoor gear, including old battle dress blouses, leather windcheaters, shapeless pieces of knitwear and donkey jackets. A variety of felt hats crowned heads of wild filthy hair. On their feet were heavy nailed-boots, all in a terrible state of repair. They smelt of the animal-urine-soaked straw from the barns in which they had slept, and the aroma of the fermented grains and fruits in Rakija, the local alcohol, mingled with the stench of stale tobacco. Steadfast reckoned he had never seen a nastier looking bunch of men and suspected that the Italians would run at the mere sight (or smell) of them. Wellington’s famous remark about his soldiers came into Steadfast’s mind: ‘I don’t know what effect these men will have upon the enemy, but, by God, they frighten me.’

  ‘Agreed that we go to Bay T now?’ Steadfast asked Gozhita.

  ‘Agreed. They won’t expect you back tonight, and they don’t even know we’re here.’

  Steadfast ignored this dubious statement and ordered his craft to change bays once more. It was time to attack for real.

  Ten minutes later 371F and 453T were moving into position in Bay T, with Baines once again standing out to sea. It was only a glimpse in the darkness but Steadfast was certain that he had seen the mast of a small fishing boat as they moved between the bays. The sail was down and the boat appeared to be moored. He turned to Gozhita: ‘Is there much fishing around here?’ he asked.

  ‘Not right here,’ replied Gozhita, ‘the currents are rather treacherous.’

  That was not the answer that Steadfast wanted. A fishing boat, yes. But not, he thought, a fisherman.

  8 - Reconnoitre at Bay T

  ‘Commander,’ said Gozhita, ‘I think we need a reconnoitre before landing the men. There’s no more dangerous attack than one on a hostile beach.’

  ‘It’s your attack, Gozhita. I’m only in command on the boats. Do as you think best – but I’d like to come.’

  ‘That’s agreed, then. I’ll take two men, and you can tag along. Are you armed?’

  ‘As an officer I’m supposed to carry a pistol, but if, you don’t mind, I’ll bring a Sten gun.’

  ‘Mind? I wouldn’t take you if you had only a pistol. And you’d better take some of our grenades.’

  ‘Grenades! I’ve never used one in my life.’

  ‘Don’t worry, if you need to use them you’ll be so desperate you’ll just do it,’ replied Gozhita. ‘Just remember to throw,’ he quipped.

  Two seaman rowed the dinghy up to the sandy beach. There was enough loose shingle on top of the sand for the sound of the choppy waves that were churning up the beach to drown any residual noise from the muffled oars. With a gentle scrunch the dinghy dug itself into the beach and the four men cautiously stepped out into the shallow water. Bending low, in fear of retaliatory fire, they inched their way up the beach in the darkness, Gozhita in the lead.

  Steadfast could see that Gozhita knew this beach well as he headed off for two large rocks, little more than three metres high. To Steadfast they looked like a solid mass in the darkness, but he saw Gozhita disappear between them, as if the rocks had eaten him. Then the two partisans disappeared in the same way. Steadfast followed and, when he was right up against the rocks, he saw that what he had taken to be no more than a crack, was actually a narrow passage, which curled between the two rocks. He followed the others along the passage and almost immediately found that he was climbing the cliff face – there was no path, just a series of sizeable stones and ledges, which followed the irregular face of the cliff. The going was slow since he had to feel every step in the dark so it took several minutes for him to climb about thirty feet. Suddenly he bumped into one of the partisans. At first all he could hear was a whispered ‘Back’ from Gozhita. Then Gozhita edged his way down past the two partisans to reach Steadfast.

  ‘The path’s been blocked. There are huge rocks dumped from above �
� it’s absolutely impassable now. I had my suspicions that someone had been here. The scrub had been cut away lower down. We’ll have to go back.’

  ‘What next?’ asked Steadfast.

  ‘Let’s get back to the beach first.’

  Gozhita squeezed past Steadfast and took the lead on their return to the beach. He almost tip-toed between the last two rocks, and then put his head out to check the beach. At the shock of the blast of 9 mm Beretta fire he flung himself back between the rocks, smashed his head on a corner of one rock, and fell unconscious to the ground.

  Of all the worries that Steadfast had had over the last twenty-four hours, this scenario had never crossed his mind. Gozhita spoke good English, if with an atrociously thick accent, but he had seen no sign that the others understood a word of the language. And now he was in charge, at least until they could get back to the boats.

  Not since he was a midshipman, just after the First World War, had Steadfast fired a gun. As to hand-to-hand combat between fighting ships, it hadn’t been used in the Navy since around the end of the Napoleonic Wars. Yet now he was faced with an armed enemy in the dark on the beach that lay between him and the dinghy.

  His first thought was to wonder how many Italians there were down on the beach and where exactly they were. There was only one way to find out. He grabbed a stone the size of an Easter egg and flung it out onto the beach. His answer was two blasts of fire that came in from two separate points about twenty-five feet to his left. A dash down the beach and across to the boats, even with all with guns firing, would be suicidal. In fact, Steadfast realised, it was even possible that the Italians had captured the dinghy. The Italians must first be disposed of.

  Steadfast turned to the two partisans and whispered, ‘Do you speak English?’ The dumb look on their faces was all the answer that he got. Taking the first man by the arm, he brought him to the edge of the gap between the two stones. Using sign language he pointed in the rough direction of one of the Italian gun locations. Then, with a sweep of his arm, he showed how he wanted the partisan to climb over the shore rocks and take the Italian from behind. A wide grin exposing a mouthful of gold, which sparkled in the darkness, indicated the man’s enthusiasm for his deadly task. Steadfast thanked the stars that this partisan was on his side.

  Having sent off the first partisan, Steadfast directed the other towards the second Italian position. He too showed the same excited enthusiasm at the prospect of killing as had the first. He disappeared into the darkness. After a couple of minutes, Steadfast heard a short strangulated cry and saw a black shape tumble onto the sand. This was followed thirty seconds later by a burst of fire from the location of the second Italian and a blood-curdling scream. And then silence. Nothing moved other than the waves scraping away at the gravel on the beach.

  Once more Steadfast threw a stone onto the beach. It shattered under the fire from the second Italian. So, concluded Steadfast: one dead Eyetie and one all too alive. It rather looked as if there might also be one dead partisan. Damn sign language, he thought, realising that he had not given any orders to the partisans as to what they should do once they had dispatched the Italians. Now faced with making a dash for the dinghy or dealing with the second Italian himself, he opted for the latter choice.

  The ‘path’ over to the second Italian was simply an obstacle course over the random rocks that had fallen from the cliff over time. Steadfast more or less found a route and, at one point, stumbled over the body of the second partisan. He had hardly righted his foothold when he heard a tiny tap of a metal boot stud. As he was using both hands to crawl over the rocks, he needed a few seconds to grab and aim his Sten gun. It was a few seconds too many. The second Italian fired a few shots which went over Steadfast’s head. He aimed his gun into the dark and fired. Nothing.

  Instinctively he threw himself forward to fall on top of the Italian and the two men rolled down the rocks onto the beach. The Italian was the better of the two at this sort of war. He soon had his powerful hands around Steadfast’s throat. Steadfast was chocking and spluttering, tearing at the vice-like fingers crushing his throat, his lungs bursting and his chest heaving in agony. He felt his strength failing as the Italian gripped tighter and tighter, all the time shouting expletives. On the point of expiring, Steadfast heard a man rushing out of the dark and shouting ‘Hold on commander, hold on’. There was a thud and a nasty crunching sound and the Italian fell away dead.

  ‘Looked as if you needed a bit of ‘elp, sir,’ said the oarsman.

  Chocking and gasping Steadfast asked, ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘Just a stone, sir. You’re lucky there were a good few on the beach.’

  Steadfast looked down at the blooded stone and chokingly laughed, ‘Lucky? It’s the stone I threw onto the beach a few minutes ago. I must have second sight.’

  ‘What next, sir?’

  ‘Gozhita’s back there … between the rocks.’

  ‘He’s not, sir, I’ve got him and another stinking brute in the boat, if you pardon my language, sir.’

  ‘I know what you mean. Back to Fergusson’s boat, then. We’ve no more business here tonight.’

  The somewhat stunned Gozhita, the other surviving partisan and Steadfast were soon back on Fergusson’s boat. Steadfast gave Fergusson a brief account of their attempt to climb the cliff at Bay T before the question of what to do next came up.

  ‘This beach is hopeless. If Gozhita can’t find a way up, I doubt anyone else can.’

  ‘So what do we do, sir?’ asked Fergusson.

  ‘I think landings are off until Gozhita’s in a state to advise us.’

  ‘Do you mean we just sit here like dummies?’

  ‘Not quite. Have you noticed that fishing boat?’

  ‘I’ve not seen it since we moored, sir.’

  ‘So you think it’s still in the same place?’

  ‘Probably, yes.’

  ‘Right. Well we’re going to have to deal with it before we do anything else.’

  ‘Blast it out of the water, sir?’

  ‘God, no. We don’t want to give away more than we have to about our location and forces. And who knows what we might find inside? No, I think we need to pay it a discrete visit.’

  Steadfast, clutching his pistol, was soon back in the dinghy with four of Fergusson’s seamen and one Sten gun between them. It took them about fifteen minutes to locate the fishing boat in the dark. It was about twenty feet long with a low cabin at the front and a shallow well at the back. An unlit lamp for night fishing dangled from a short mast. There was no sign of any fishing nets and there was a tarpaulin spread over the access to the tiny cabin. Steadfast told himself that there was every chance that the boat was empty, but after the surprise presence of the Italians on the beach he was taking no chances.

  With the dinghy hovering at the stern of the fishing boat, Steadfast pointlessly shouted ‘Hands up!’ – there was little likelihood that the occupants understood English. But the challenge of one of his seaman in the international language of a blast from a Sten gun fired over the cabin received a rapid response. The awning was immediately flung back and out of the darkness a hand grenade flew through the air and landed plumb in the dinghy. Steadfast reached down to throw it into the sea, but a seaman grabbed it first and flung it awkwardly upwards. Steadfast was never sure whether the seaman intended the grenade to fall in the sea but it dropped straight into the stern of the fishing boat and exploded. A shower of filthy bilge water and splinters of wood fell on Steadfast and his men. As the air cleared the dinghy party saw the large hole that they had blasted in the well of the boat. It was rapidly filling with surging water.

  A young man, a workman’s cap on his head and dressed in fisherman’s clothes stumbled out of the cabin, still wearing his headphones. He took one step forward and disappeared into the sea through the hole in the keel.

  But Steadfast had no interest in the man. His attention had been focused on the headphones, which were all the confirmation of his susp
icions that he needed. Now he knew that the booty that he wanted was sure to be inside the cabin. Down he went into the sea and, holding on to the sinking fishing boat’s gunwale, he worked his way towards the cabin, which was rapidly filling with water. His own seamen in the dinghy looked on aghast as Steadfast disappeared into the cabin. They waited. And they waited.

  ‘He’s had it,’ said one seaman.

  ‘Looks like it,’ said another.

  ‘Rum old business this one,’ said a third.

  ‘This is what comes of messing around with partisans. It’s not Navy work, this,’ concluded the first seaman.

  The men’s analysis of the wisdom of Operation Madcap was suddenly interrupted by the reappearance of Steadfast. With only a foot of the cabin doorway still above water, his hand appeared through the opening, grasping some papers. Then came his face and his arms as he wriggled and kicked his way out of the cabin. The last traces of the fishing boat disappeared beneath the waves as Steadfast swam towards the dinghy on his side, while holding the papers in the air above the water.

  ‘Take this,’ he shouted, ‘it’s gold.’

  Ten minutes later, on board 371F, Steadfast, still dripping like an overloaded sponge, waited for Fergusson’s verdict.

  ‘Sir, it’s their codebook.’

  ‘Exactly. Strange tackle for a fisherman?’

  ‘And one less problem for us now the boat’s gone.’

  ‘One less, but we’ve a damned sight more trouble ahead. God knows what that man’s seen and what he’s radioed through to his minder. Is there anything the Ities don’t know about this so-called “secret” operation?’

  Fergusson merely shrugged his shoulders. He could neither contradict his commander’s suspicions nor confirm them.

  ‘Anyway, how’s Gozhita?’ asked Steadfast.

  ‘Nasty gash, which Evans has patched up. Otherwise seems OK.’

  ‘Good, I think I’ve had enough of leading this attack for the moment.’