‘No. We’ll rendezvous with Kestrel and Osprey.’ He could sense their hurt, their resentment. Hatred even. As if he had killed that MTB himself with his bare hands. ‘Remain at action stations, just in case those unidentified vessels put in an appearance. Lieutenant Rodger might have been mistaken.’
Walker said quietly, ‘But he’s dead, sir.’
Devane nodded. ‘And so is your coxswain. So let’s get on with it, shall we?’
He walked to the forepart of the bridge again and found that he was holding his breath, keeping his whole frame tense, until slowly at first, then out of discipline and routine, the others responded to their tasks.
Before it had been different. He had never questioned the whys and the wherefores. You did your best and tried to stay alive. But a whole MTB’s company wiped out, and the coxswain killed at his side, the bullet touching his arm in passing like a taunt. Not your turn. Not yet.
‘Have a mug of kye, sir.’ It was Walker again, his voice normal and level.
‘Thanks, Willy. A kind thought.’ He held the hot mug to his lips and watched the sky over the rim. ‘Near thing that time, Willy.’ What had he meant by that?
Walker nodded dully. ‘And then there were four.’
15
Nobody Lives For Ever
Lieutenant-Commander Red Mackay had been leaning against the dripping wall of the bunker. He straightened up as Devane left the operations room.
‘Everything okay?’ He sounded worried.
Devane shrugged, holding back the tiredness with an effort. ‘Yes.’ The fact that Barker had listened to his patrol report and the loss of Buzzard without any sort of criticism had only just occurred to him. ‘Next of kin will be informed.’ How often had they all heard that?
Mackay fell in step beside him. ‘You did a good job, putting down those barges. I’ve heard a buzz that Ivan has already bagged a couple of ships which were trying to skirt the minefield.’
‘It’s not enough, Red.’
Devane hardly realized he had spoken aloud. It was what Beresford had told him just over an hour ago when a Russian harbour launch had guided them back into the concrete pen. What Barker had hinted at but not hammered home as Devane might have expected.
Any doubts about Lincke’s activity in their sector had been stamped out. But what was worse was his apparent skill and ability to foresee each plan they produced and then thrust his own counter-measures into action before anyone guessed what he was doing. He had known about the three barges and their value to the battered army emplacements on the peninsula. But, whereas Devane had seen them as bait, he had used them as a distraction. His own E-boats had made a sweep along the Russian patrol lines and had destroyed two warships and a heavy transport almost at the gates of Tuapse itself.
‘Lincke outguessed me, Red, right down the line.’ In spite of his bitterness he could feel a reluctant admiration for the man he had never met. ‘He can run rings round the Russians, and now he’s taunting us, wearing down our guard, our vigilance. German naval forces here are outnumbered two to one by the Russians, everyone knows it, but pride prevents Sorokin and his staff from admitting it. That’s why Parthian was brought here to Tuapse. To even the score. Skill for skill.’ He turned and slammed his hands together, the sound echoing around the concrete roof like a bullet hitting flesh. ‘What can we achieve with four boats? I need another two at least, and that’s if we can stop the Germans from catching us on the hop again.’
Mackay forced a grin. ‘Hell, you weren’t caught. A drifting mine is just bad luck. You know that. We’ve seen a few.’
They walked on again, each lost in his thoughts.
Then the Canadian said, ‘If only we could catch the E-boats in the open. We could at least cripple Seeadler and give Orel’s old gunboats a chance.’
Devane thought of Barker, sitting at his desk, his head on one side like a watchful bird. He had seemed more pleased at the confirmation that a German flag officer had died in the shattered Potsdam than he was prepared to admit. His own opposite number perhaps?
Devane said, ‘The boats won’t take a hard winter here. We must have replacements, to give the hulls and the men, a breather.’
They stood above the little dock and looked at the repaired Merlin. Devane saw Dundas glance up at him and then hurry towards the brow. He had been talking to a lanky officer in blue battledress. Seymour’s replacement, no doubt.
‘I’ll leave you then.’ Mackay rubbed his stubbled chin. ‘I’m going to take a bath. If I can find one.’ He blurted out, ‘They may offer you another command. It’s on the cards, it must be. With the landings in Italy, the big flap at home as to if and when we’ll invade France, they’ll need experienced leaders as never before.’
‘What’s up, Red?’ He smiled gravely. ‘You want my job here?’
But Mackay refused to be deflected from his course. ‘If you stay with Parthian we might just come through this one. If you go, and who could blame you with your record, I reckon that bloody Lincke will have us for breakfast.’ He stuck out his chin. ‘I’ve said my piece. Bill Durston, my Number One, told me how you held them all together during the raid on Mandra. And he’s not easily impressed, the big-headed bastard. The fact is, and no matter what Captain Barker imagines, we’re out of our league here. This is an army war. We’re just a necessary nuisance.’
Devane nodded. ‘I’ve no intention of going, Red. Not unless they order me out of here.’
‘That suits me fine.’ Mackay gave a great grin. ‘One for all.’
Devane watched him stride towards his own boat and wanted to call after him. But what was the point? He had known it from the moment that Don Richie’s death had been revealed to him. There was no easy way out.
Dundas saluted as he walked slowly down the brow. ‘Good to have you back, sir.’ He looked tired, as if he had not slept for days. ‘This is the new third hand, Lieutenant Chalmers.’
Chalmers also saluted, the movement of his arm and hand stiffly mechanical, as if he was saving his strength. He was tall and angular, very tanned, with a hawkish face and a pair of bright blue eyes. At a guess he was about twenty-five.
He said, ‘Transferred from the base at Alexandria, sir. My last boat bought it during the Sicily invasion.’
Dundas said quickly, ‘He’s been in hospital, sir.’
Devane held out his hand. ‘Glad to have you. What’s your first name?’
Chalmers answered softly, ‘David, sir.’
‘I see.’
Devane tried not to look at Dundas. The lanky lieutenant had the same name as Seymour. His grip felt hard, like a glove. Without dropping his eyes Devane guessed that Chalmers had been badly burned. Now he was back to be retested, like some of the others.
‘Well, David, get to know the boat, then see Lieutenant-Commander Beresford about local operations, right?’
The blue eyes watched him curiously. Relief, despair, it was hard to tell.
Dundas interrupted, ‘There’s been some mail, sir. I’ve put yours in the wardroom.’ He fidgeted with his buttons. ‘I was sorry about Buzzard.’
‘Yes. Bloody waste.’ He nodded to Pellegrine whose brick-red face had just appeared around the side of the bridge. ‘Hello, Swain, how are things?’
Pellegrine grimaced. ‘’Ad a letter from the old woman, sir. If she’s not up to somethin’ I’ll give up me pension, so ’elp me.’ Then he smiled. ‘Still, that can wait, eh, sir?’
Devane lowered himself down into the small wardroom, a twin of the one he had just left. Except that it was cleaner, and there was a smell of fresh paint everywhere.
He took down the letters from the rack and examined them. Two from his mother, a bill from Gieves and . . . he hesitated as he saw her writing on the last one.
Deliberately he threw off his waterproof coat and cap and then poured himself a large glass of brandy. Someone, probably Dundas, had left it ready for him.
His mother would understand, he thought vaguely, and in any case. . .
. His hand shook as he opened Claudia’s letter and allowed his gaze to hang on the first line.
My darling John. . . .
When Dundas entered the wardroom half an hour later he found Devane sitting us before. Crumpled and unshaven, the bottle near his arm, the glass of brandy untouched.
Devane looked up at him, wondering how his voice would sound when it eventually came out of his mouth.
Nothing had gone, everything was as he had dreamt and prayed. She loved him. She had cried when she had received his letters. There was a lot more too which he would read and re-read.
‘All right, sir?’
Devane nodded. ‘Not much changed in Dorset. My mother has been busy knitting socks and balaclavas for sailors, and Dad is still running the business –’ He saw Dundas look at the other letter. ‘Everything’s fine. Now.’
Dundas sat down as if a wire had been cut. ‘I – I’m very glad, sir.’
It hit Devane like a fist. Dundas had nobody. He was an orphan and had been put through his original training for the merchant service by an uncle who had let his obligations lapse as soon as Dundas had established his cadetship.
All these weeks and months while he had clung on to his hopes, Dundas had only dreams to sustain him. The sight of Claudia’s letter had put paid to those too.
Devane pushed the bottle across the table. ‘Join me in a drink, Number One. I’m afraid I’m back to plague you again.’
Dundas stared at him and then reached for another glass. ‘We’ve all missed you, sir.’ The glass hovered momentarily in mid air. ‘And I’m damned sorry about what happened. To David. To the others.’
‘You’ll get over it. You must. Anyway, I’ve recommended you for a command of your own.’
He saw the astonishment and the gratitude in Dundas’s eyes and was glad he had told him.
He added quietly, ‘Tomorrow can wait. Today you and I are two of the “few”, and that’s important. It’s all that matters.’
My darling John. Was he wrong to hope? The bullet which had passed through his sleeve, was that to warn him not to hope for too much?
Devane swallowed the brandy and felt its warmth. For the first time in many months he was drinking because he wanted to enjoy it. Not because he needed it as a shield against himself.
What had Willy Walker said? And then there were four.
Well, if necessary, they would be enough.
‘Where the hell are we going?’ Devane clung to the door of the army staff car and tried to prepare his body for each jarring wrench.
Beresford grinned. ‘To Captain Barker’s villa. You’ve not been before?’
‘Never been asked.’
Devane watched the feeble glow from the shuttered headlights swing past some fallen trees and two lounging sentries. The whole area to the east of Tuapse was in the hands of the army, and he guessed the soldiers were used to this and every car on the rutted track.
He remembered the journey from the hospital after he had been wounded. And the other time he had gone there to see Seymour.
Only the boats and the concrete pen with the sea beyond were real.
The roads which thrust inland meant nothing.
He asked abruptly, ‘What’s all this in aid of, Ralph?’
Beresford glanced at the Russian driver and said quietly, ‘Ivan is going all out for the big push.’ He spoke more easily as the driver began to hum to himself. ‘Parthian is going to take part.’ He shot a quick glance at him. ‘I think Barker’s been scheming for something of the sort since he arrived.’
Devane accepted the sparse information calmly. Before, he would have been on the edge of his seat. Suspicious, apprehensive, waiting for the bad news. Could her letter do so much for him?
He said, ‘Another raid, is that it?’
Beresford smiled and lit a cigarette. ‘Piece of cake to you, John. No bother. You’ve changed, you know. Maybe you’ve got your second wind?’ When Devane remained silent he added, ‘Anyway, the Russians will go through Jerry’s defences like the proverbial steamroller. But Barker needs us there, if only to put on a show.’
Devane thought about it. It would certainly explain Barker’s reception after Buzzard ’sloss. His mind had been elsewhere. Planning another operation.
‘We can’t do much with just the four boats.’ Devane looked at his companion. Beresford was more guarded than usual. ‘Are we getting reinforcements at long last?’
Beresford replied, ‘Don’t think so. Nothing in the pipeline. But then you know the top brass. We’ll be the last to hear.’
The car butted between two collapsed gates and turned into a small courtyard. It was a low-roofed villa, built probably for some party official. Now it was Barker’s.
‘One thing, John.’ Beresford touched his arm as the car quivered to a halt. ‘Go easy with Barker. He’s been a long time on the beach, remember? He’ll do almost anything to help his career in the future.’ He gave his arm a quick nudge. ‘D’you follow, old son?’
They climbed out into the darkness as the car moved away. The place smelt of damp and the countryside. But you could still hear the faint murmur of artillery even here.
‘Parthian is supposed to be my responsibility. I’ll have to hear what’s expected of us before I can give any assurances, Ralph.’
He had expected Beresford to pass it off with a laugh or a casual comment but he was deadly serious.
He said, ‘Barker will get you replaced if you kick up a fuss. Don’t kid yourself on that score. He didn’t care a fig about Richie, so why should he about you?’ He sensed his words going home and nodded slowly. ‘You can’t say what you are thinking, can you? That nobody else in Parthian could cope?’
‘Rubbish. Any one of us might get killed any day. . . .’ But in his mind he could hear Mackay’s voice seeking that very reassurance.
Then Beresford gave a chuckle. ‘Barker’s a book-man. He doesn’t understand about experience won in combat. If you’ve got the rank, you do the job. It’s his religion.’
Devane was not sure what he had been expecting, but as they were guided through two doors and a blackout curtain he was almost blinded by the glare of bright lights and the uniformed figures who crowded a long room.
White-jacketed stewards or Russian orderlies bustled amongst the officers with trays of glasses, and somewhere there was lively music and a clatter of dishes.
Beresford grinned. ‘Well, well. Most impressive. Here he comes. Remember what I said.’
Barker was tiny in stature when compared with some of the Russian naval and military officers whom he had invited to this unusual gathering. But somehow he seemed to shine and rise above all of them as he strode to meet the two lieutenant-commanders.
‘Good show. Right on time.’ He ran a quick glance over Devane’s uniform. ‘You could have worn a bow tie, but still. . . .’ He swung round as one of his new operations officers whispered over his shoulder.
Barker snapped, ‘Sorokin’s here.’ He tossed back a glass of champagne and placed the empty glass on a passing tray.
Sorokin stood in the entrance while two orderlies stripped off his shabby coat. As he turned to the lights his dress uniform and medals transformed him into an impressive figure.
He nodded to Barker and his officers and glanced casually around at his own colleagues and subordinates.
He seemed satisfied, and took a glass of champagne before saying in his thick voice, ‘Commander Devane. You did some brave work, my staff tells me. Pity you lose a little ship, but. . . .’ He gave an eloquent shrug.
Barker rocked forward on his toes. Even so, his chin barely reached Sorokin’s shoulder.
‘Which is why I was gratified to hear that your people are almost ready to attack.’ It sounded as if he was about to add, ‘at last’.
Devane watched carefully, realizing that this meeting was no mere gesture, any more than Barker’s words were to pass the time. Barker wanted Sorokin to understand that he was already fully conversant with the prepared
plans, that he was trusted by the chiefs of staff in London.
Sorokin beamed. ‘I would have told you the full details later, naturally.’
Barker’s pale eyes flickered. ‘Naturally.’
Beresford said, ‘The fact is, it’s going to take a lot of organization if the Russian army is to cross the Kerch Strait from the mainland to the Crimea. To support such an advance, the army will need constant supplies, unimpeded convoys both across the Strait and down from their positions in the Sea of Azov. Commander Orel’s gunboats and support craft are familiar with those waters of course.’
Sorokin’s great head swivelled towards him. ‘You are saying that the Germans will forestall such a landing? That Comrade Orel’s forces will not,’ he searched for a word, ‘withstand the German flotillas?’
Barker said curtly, ‘Nobody wants your attack to fail, Captain Sorokin. Least of all your, er, Admiral Kasatonov, I imagine.’
Sorokin seemed to falter at the mention of his superior’s name.
Devane watched the game pass again to Beresford who said smoothly, ‘Captain Barker has a plan, sir. A commando raid immediately before the main assault across the Kerch Strait.’ He gave a winning smile. ‘I hasten to add that the men involved would be your own, sir.’
Sorokin breathed out slowly. ‘And what would be the object of this solitary deed?’
Barker moved in. ‘Up to now, Parthian has been employed well, but only as an extension of your overall command, so to speak.’
Sorokin blinked. ‘So to speak?’
Barker hurried on, ‘With the result that my small force is being whittled down instead of being retained as a single, vital weapon.’ He gave a slight cough. ‘Which I am sure your chiefs of staff would agree with mine was the intended object, right?’
Devane took another glass from a tray and listened with amazement. Four MTBs, and Barker was discussing them like a cruiser squadron. But it meant that the Russians were worried, far more than Sorokin had ever admitted. Until now.
Sorokin spread his big hands. ‘That has some sense.’ He nodded ponderously. ‘I can understand.’
Torpedo Run (1981) Page 24
