The nurse entered the room and studied him thoughtfully.
‘Damn, I forgot to ask him how long I’d been here!’
Devane felt her hands on his dressing again, the hot stab of pain as she disturbed the wound. That star-shaped splinter must have struck him in the back, just above his belt. No wonder he had felt winded. It must have rammed into him like a steel fist.
The round-faced nurse bent over him, her expression intent as she snipped away the bandages with her scissors. Then, like a mother with a difficult child, she rolled him on to his side and started on the other end of the dressings.
She was so close Devane could feel her warmth, even her concentration as she folded away the soiled bandages until with a swift jerk she pulled the last piece free.
Devane gasped as the pain stabbed through him. Even the protective layers of drugs were not controlling it now.
He said thickly, ‘You’ve got lovely eyes, did you know that?’ He tensed his muscles to withstand the pain. ‘I know, I knew a girl with eyes like yours. Her name’s Claudia. We made love, but I think I love her. That’s crazy, isn’t it?’
Snip, snip, snip, the scissors trimmed a fresh bandage, and Devane felt the firm pressure of a new dressing across the wound he had never seen.
He added unsteadily, ‘I don’t suppose she even remembers me now. It was just one of those things.’ His eyes were stinging and he could not understand why. ‘Like the song, you know. Just one of those crazy things.’
She lowered him on to his back again and rearranged the sheet, her fingers brushing against his skin as if to calm him.
Devane murmured, ‘Sorry to be such a bloody nuisance. You must have a hell of a lot to do with all those wounded soldiers out there.’
He watched her preparing the hypodermic needle but found that he had no resistance left in him.
She dabbed his arm and took it firmly in her grip, the needle poised like a dart.
Just for a moment she looked at him and then smiled.
‘You are not a bloody nuisance, comrade, and my name is Ludmilla.’
Devane was smiling as the darkness closed over him once again.
9
Act of War?
Lieutenant-Commander Ralph Beresford watched Devane as he lowered himself from the camouflaged staff car and said, ‘I still think you should have stayed in hospital a bit longer.’ He forced himself to remain where he was as Devane released his grip on the car and swayed slightly until he recovered his bearings.
Devane twisted his mouth into a grin. ‘They needed the bed.’
It was blinding sunlight, and the hammers inside his skull were worse than any hangover. The bouncing, lurching progress of the Russian car had not helped.
He turned stiffly and nodded to the two army orderlies. They both beamed at him and then drove back along the pockmarked road.
Beresford said, ‘Barker’s expecting you. The Russians have knocked up an office for him next to mine. He’s a captain now, by the way.’ He made no attempt to hide his dislike. ‘He’s nobody’s fool, so be warned.’
Devane stopped and looked at him. ‘Something’s wrong.’
Beresford nodded. ‘I checked up on Barker. He’s got quite a record in Special Operations. A planner, not a doer exactly. A year or so back he organized a raid behind German lines in North Africa. Some say it was to bag Rommel or one of his top generals.’
‘I heard rumours about that. It was a shambles, I believe.’
‘Yes. The Krauts knew what was coming and were well prepared. Our lads were wiped out almost to a man. Including a young commando officer. Barker’s son.’
Beresford saw Devane’s expression and exclaimed, ‘Don’t be sorry for him. Captain Eustace Barker is proud of the fact!’
They continued in silence towards the stark concrete bunkers with the oily, littered water beyond. Some of the warships were so knocked about it was hard to distinguish them from wrecks sunk in previous air-raids. Rusty metal, fallen gantries and rubble lay everywhere. Only the slender muzzles of AA guns and carefully sandbagged rocket launchers betrayed the vigilant defences.
Devane felt light-headed and concentrated on the patch of deep shadow at the mouth of the bunkers. As they moved into the shade he saw several seamen pausing to watch him, some to salute, the more confident to grin and wave as he passed.
Beresford said dryly, ‘You will note that the pirates’ rig has gone. All hands are in proper working gear as laid down in orders. Our Captain Barker made that one of his first priorities.’
Devane said nothing. He had been shocked to discover he had been in the field hospital for twenty days. During the past week he had been allowed to take short walks, usually with the aid of the nurse, Ludmilla. Her English was excellent, she had served as a stewardess in a Russian ship just prior to the war and had used the time to learn an extra language.
Devane thought of the makeshift hospital. The endless rows of cots and stretchers, the wounded soldiers, including many amputees, laid out with little shelter, like battlefield victims of a hundred years ago.
They paused and looked at the moored MTBs. No signs of scars, not even a bullet hole to betray that short, fierce raid.
As if reading his mind, Beresford commented, ‘They’ve not had anything else to do but paint and polish.’
By the time they reached Barker’s new HQ Devane was wondering if he was going to pass out. Dizziness came and departed in waves, each spasm leaving him sick and on edge.
Beresford knocked on the door and opened it for him to enter.
Captain Eustace Barker was standing against the opposite wall, as if he had been there for some time, watching, preparing for this moment.
Devane’s first impression was of neatness and a bright-eyed alertness which seemed at odds with an officer who bothered about the sailors’ rig-of-the-day in a place like Tuapse.
He was short and slightly built, but held himself so erect, his shoulders back as if on parade, that he appeared much taller. Barker was evenly tanned, biscuit-coloured, with very dark hair parted in the dead centre.
‘Ah, Devane. You’ve arrived.’ It sounded as if he meant to add, ‘at last’. ‘Take a chair. No sense in wearing yourself out on the first day, what?’
His eyes were very sharp. Like his voice, sharp and incisive.
Devane sat down carefully. ‘Thank you, sir. They patched me up extremely well.’
He felt unreasonably angry with himself. For feeling so ill at ease with the spruce little captain, as if he was apologizing for being wounded at all.
‘Quite. Well, it’s behind you now. And we’ve not been idle in your absence.’
Devane held his tongue. He was too sore from the car journey to argue.
‘Any flotilla anywhere must retain its individuality. Even a solitary rating in a foreign country must remember who and what he represents at all times. That’s the way it was, and the way it will be as far as I am concerned.’ He shot Beresford a quick smile. ‘Right, Ralph?’
Devane relaxed slightly. It had started already. Barker’s use of Beresford’s name. To separate the regulars from the part-timers. God, he had imagined such stupid and harmful barriers had drowned for good at Crete and Singapore.
Barker had been out of the Navy between the wars, axed like so many others in the service cuts which had left the country so ill-prepared. A Navy stretched beyond the limit and officered by hastily trained volunteers had welcomed back the forgotten regulars like a gift from heaven. Some, like Whitcombe, had done very well. But there were others who had used their arrogance to cover their own dismay at discovering that the peacetime years had left them too far behind to be of much use.
Beresford said evenly, ‘Parthian is at first-degree readiness, sir. The ‘plumber’ has managed to order some more spares, but in any case his workshop is pretty well supplied.’
‘Quite. I have already spoken with Lieutenant-Commander Buckhurst myself.’
Beresford tried not to look at Devane. ‘
The captured E-boat is working up satisfactorily. We are sharing the maintenance with Captain Sorokin’s staff, of course.’
Barker raised one eyebrow. ‘I don’t see why “of course”, Ralph.’ He sighed. ‘But then I was not here when the actual decision was made to undertake a raid.’ His clear eyes fixed on Devane. ‘A raid which I still consider to have been an unnecessary risk.’ The smile returned. ‘However, we shall deal with that later. My first priority is to make the Russians realize we are here to perform specific tasks, some with, others without, their cooperation. In my opinion they would never have asked for our aid unless they were in real difficulties. Well, I’ll not grovel to them, believe me!’
Devane said, ‘It was my decision, sir. The Russians are fighting the same war as ourselves. Any extra losses to the enemy must help all of us, surely? Captain Sorokin has already said that the Russian forces will attack the Crimean peninsula in about four months’ time. If the Germans continue to harry their convoys and shoot up their naval forces they’ll be in no position to sustain an amphibious landing on the Crimea.’
Barker smiled brightly. ‘Done? Lesson over? Good show. Well, I know your record, naturally. Plenty of dash. But experience comes in handy too, especially when dealing with the Reds.’ He started to speak faster, Devane and Beresford apparently forgotten. ‘I was in Odessa in 1919. In a little T-class destroyer. I had plenty of chances to see what the damn Bolsheviks were like, and they’ve not changed, believe me!’
Devane watched Barker regaining control. This man was no figure of fun, no old-timer who filled his days examining ratings’ uniforms and haircuts. This one was totally different. And very dangerous.
Barker added calmly, ‘As it happens, I have been in regular contact with Admiralty and Chiefs of Staff. I have a mission in mind, and when it is out of the planning stage I will see that you are briefed.’ His clear eyes moved between them. Like glass. ‘No waste, gentlemen. No pointless risks. Everything must be planned to the last degree. It’s my way.’
He moved to his desk and arranged two sheets of paper until they were exactly in line. Then he said, ‘There is the matter of Lieutenant-Commander Richie.’ He glanced at Devane. ‘A contemporary of yours, I think?’
Devane replied, ‘Yes, sir.’ Where would this lead?
‘I thought so. It was all a beastly business of course. Bad for morale, especially at the beginning of Parthian, the creation of a new offensive.’
Beresford tore his eyes from Devane’s face and said, ‘Captain Whitcombe knows all about it, sir. It was decided –’
Barker said sharply, ‘Please do not interrupt. Decisions can be wrong. Likewise, they can be reversed. I was taking part in an investigation before Parthian was sent to the Caspian, and before Richie decided to take the easy way out.’
‘That’s unfair, sir!’ Devane struggled to his feet, ignoring Beresford’s warning glance. ‘He was a very brave man, with more than just decorations to prove it! I’m not defending what he did, but he must have had his reasons.’
‘Do sit down, Devane.’ Barker perched against the desk and folded his arms. ‘I admire loyalty above all else. But blind loyalty I can live without.’ He continued in the same unruffled tone, ‘The investigation was over another matter. But for Richie’s action it would all have been settled by now.’
Beresford asked quietly, ‘May we know about it, sir?’
Barker smiled. ‘That’s better. I did not ask for the assignment, but I have learned to obey orders without question. I dare say the matter may have been carelessly handled in its original stage, but heroes, the public’s darlings, do tend to get away with murder, eh?’
Devane watched him, fascinated. Barker was actually enjoying it. The war, the Russian front, Parthian, everything else could wait. But he obviously had influence in high places. His casual dismissal of Whitcombe proved that.
Barker said, ‘Lieutenant-Commander Richie’s position is to be investigated. I have received a signal to the effect that the true facts of his death will be released immediately after the hearing.’ He glanced from Beresford to Devane. ‘You look surprised?’
Devane said, ‘He was listed as killed in action. His past achievements demand that –’
‘Demand?’ Barker leaned slightly towards him, his hair gleaming in the bare lights. ‘I think you are becoming a bit of a Bolshevik yourself!’
Beresford said quickly, ‘I feel the same, sir. Richie’s widow will discover what happened. Is that necessary?’
‘She will be told, of course.’ Barker thrust himself from the desk, as if bored by the discussion. ‘Their lordships are having her flown out. It is her right to attend under the circumstances.’ He did not elaborate.
Devane heard himself ask, ‘Where is the inquiry to be, sir?’
‘Port Said. Didn’t I say?’ He smiled again. ‘I was probably interrupted, eh! Ralph and I will be going, naturally. You can’t have a game without an umpire, can you?’
Beresford said, ‘I think Lieutenant-Commander Devane should attend, sir.’ His features were devoid of expression. ‘His assuming command of Parthian might call for a few questions at any official hearing.’
Barker stared at him. ‘You think so, Ralph?’ He turned to look at Devane. ‘You are excused from active duty for the present, so I suppose. . . .’ He nodded. ‘Very well. Make a signal to that effect. Lieutenant-Commander Mackay will be left in command, with Lieutenant Kimber from Intelligence to keep an eye on him in case he wants to win the war single-handed during our absence.’
He walked around his desk, apparently unwilling to sit down until they had left.
‘Send in my writer. I have a dozen signals to dictate.’
Outside the door Devane leant against the cool concrete and took several deep breaths.
Beresford peered at him anxiously. ‘Bad?’
‘No, just stunned. Can he really go off like this and leave Parthian?’
Beresford took his arm and led him away from the door.
‘Someone, somewhere is biding his time. Probably because of Barker’s alleged operation. We’ll see. But if you’d rather not go to Port Said, I’ll fix it through the Russian doctor. I just thought. . . .’
Devane shook his head. ‘No. I’d like to go. If you hadn’t stepped in, I’d probably have asked him myself.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘Not that he’d have listened to me.’
They walked down the deserted corridor in silence.
Then Devane asked, ‘Do you know what the inquiry is about?’
Beresford did not reply directly. ‘Richie was engaged in the North Sea a year ago. Dropping and picking up agents from Norway. A very dicey job, I believe. It has something to do with that. And that’s all I know.’
Devane saw Dundas hurrying to meet them and said dryly, ‘Thanks, Ralph. How can Barker have served in 1919 in a destroyer, and have lost a son in North Africa, and still look so young?’
Beresford smiled. ‘Will power and hair dye. Never fails.’
Devane walked towards Dundas, his mind still unable to face what had happened. He hardly felt his wound as he shook hands with Dundas. All he could think about was Claudia, which was even more unreal. He would be the last one she would want to meet.
Dundas was obviously delighted to see him. ‘You look fine, sir! We’d all have come to see you, but Captain Barker refused leave beyond the base.’
They stood side by side on the jetty and looked at the moored boats.
Dundas said, ‘I expect we’ll be off again soon, sir.’ It sounded like a question. ‘I heard from the Russians that the Germans have stopped searching for their E-boat.’
Devane faced him. That was strange. Beresford had failed to mention it.
‘How can they be certain?’
Dundas looked uncomfortable. ‘Sorry, I thought you’d know. Captain Sorokin had an old motor launch taken to sea and scuttled near to the German minefield.’
Somehow Devane knew what was coming.
Dundas continued quietly, �
��When we took the E-boat there were fifteen Germans on board, so we captured them as well. Sorokin’s men made certain they were still aboard when the launch was scuttled, and wearing life-jackets. It wouldn’t take a genius to discover the corpses were from the E-boat’s original crew.’
Devane turned away, sickened. The Germans would discover the drifting corpses and some suitably collected flotsam and imagine their E-boat had tried to return to base and had hit a stray mine.
He remembered the lines of wounded soldiers at the field hospital, the little nurse who had spoken perfect English.
Sorokin had needed a secret. In his war there was only one way of keeping it.
Beresford opened the wooden shutters and winced as the sunlight gouged across his face.
‘Phew! But at least they managed to find us a fairly good billet. What I know of Port Said, it’s like trying to open an oyster with a bus ticket to get a decent room.’
Devane lay back in a cane chair and nodded. It was oppressively hot, and the drive from the airstrip had turned their car into a private kiln. At least in the room there was an illusion of coolness and shadow.
Through the partly open shutters he could see the masts and funnels which lined the waterfront, could hear the unending murmur of voices, street-cries and the occasional blast of a car horn.
Tuapse and its bomb-shattered dockyard seemed lost in distance and time.
Beresford closed the shutters and threw his khaki drill jacket on to a chair.
‘Bloody hell, John, it feels like a homecoming.’
‘My thoughts too.’
Devane watched his friend as he lifted a gin bottle, frosted with moisture, from a bucket of rapidly melting ice. A homecoming. After all they had done in the Mediterranean together, not that many miles away, the deaths, the moments of tragedy and loss, it seemed wrong to feel like this. Glad to be back.
Torpedo Run (1981) Page 14
