Barker rocked back again on to his heels, his hands characteristically wedged into his reefer pockets with the thumbs protruding.
‘Parthian will execute the raid which I planned. Four boats, under cover of night and with certain help from your patrols, a landing force of some one hundred trained men, and we can cause such confusion and disruption behind the main German defences it will give your assault every chance of success.’
Sorokin’s jaw tightened. ‘Not possible. My people have fought and died, starved and suffered to win back our country and crush the fascists once and for all!’
Other officers nearby had stopped drinking and talking to watch the unmatched confrontation.
Barker waited impatiently. ‘Orel does not have the right vessels at his disposal. I do.’ He removed one hand from its pocket and brushed an invisible speck from his sleeve. ‘Furthermore, if Korvettenkapitän Lincke, who is not unknown to you I believe, throws his E-boats amongst your landing craft and supply ships at the moment of attempting to retake the peninsula, your whole campaign may have to be curtailed.’
Devane waited for Sorokin to explode, or smother the little captain who was not even bothering to hide his self-confidence.
But Sorokin bit his lip and then said, ‘Parthian, as you call it, will draw Lincke away, is that what you are saying?’
Devane tensed. He should have seen it coming. It was not such a bad plan, provided they could get more MTBs, and that Lincke did not have ideas of his own.
Barker turned and looked sharply at Devane. ‘My study of Lincke’s past behaviour leaves me in no doubt as to his intentions. Lieutenant-Commander Devane here has met with him before, and will back me up.’
Devane stared at him. He could recall exactly how Barker had scoffed at the remotest possibility of Lincke’s new vendetta with Parthian, and more particularly, with its new senior officer.
It reminded him too of what Beresford had told him about Barker’s ignorance on the F-lighters. If the war lasted that long, Barker would be an admiral yet.
‘And where is this place you intend to launch your attack?’ Sorokin sounded dangerously calm.
‘My team is working out the final details with the intelligence people. I cannot say too much. We have had reason to believe that the enemy is getting information already from certain Russian prisoners.’ He eyed him blandly. ‘Security is everything, as you will appreciate, I’m sure.’
Devane put down his glass. He did not even notice he had emptied it.
It was incredible. Sorokin had backed down. If Barker’s raid failed, the enemy would be roused and ready for a major attack. If he was refused permission to carry out his plan, the Russians were in worse trouble. Lincke’s flotilla and the other collection of small naval units would see to that.
Beresford said almost humbly, ‘I am empowered to assure you, Captain Sorokin, that everything will be done to help your raiding party achieve success.’ He hesitated, gauging the exact moment. ‘The place we have selected is largely occupied by Russian soldiers who chose to change sides when the German armies were advancing. I would think that your men would have plenty of reasons for –’ He got no further.
Sorokin’s champagne glass shattered in his grip and yet he was oblivious to the pain, to the droplets of blood which ran down the front of his impeccable uniform.
He exclaimed fiercely, ‘Those swine! Those soft-bellied scum!’ A vein throbbed on his forehead as if his whole face was overheating. ‘So they are on the Crimea!’ He started down at Barker’s impassive features for a long moment. ‘Then you shall have your wish, Comrade Barker!’
He swung Barker around by his elbow and bellowed to the room at large. Soon everyone was clapping and cheering, and an infantry major was throwing glasses into the air with crazy abandon.
Beresford explained in a loud whisper, ‘He is telling them that we, his allies, are going to stand shoulder to shoulder against the common enemy.’ He grinned. ‘Very melodramatic, although I think our captain is still smouldering at being classed as a comrade!’
Devane said, ‘What about his plan? Is it really any good?’
Beresford turned and studied him calmly. ‘I’ve no idea. But it could shorten the war on this front.’ He let his words sink in. ‘It’s what you came here to do, remember?’
Devane noticed Lieutenant-Commander (E) Buckhurst on the far side of the room, one arm around a cheering Russian. It was probably as far as any of them could see. Get it over. Return to a navy they understood, or thought they did.
Beresford added gently, ‘Barker wants you with him when he finalizes the plan with his chief, Vice-Admiral Talents.’
Devane stared past him, seeing Dundas and the new lieutenant with the burned hands and the pain in his eyes. Seymour trying to kill himself before his life had really begun. Metcalf excited beyond fear as he had shouted in German through his loudhailer, and all the others in Merlin and throughout his little flotilla.
‘So he’s here too?’
Beresford lowered his voice as Barker pushed through the crowd, his face stiff but pleased all the same.
‘No. The admiral is in Cairo. Well, are you on?’
Devane looked at his hands as if he expected to see them shaking. It was all decided. There was no point in fighting the inevitable.
Barker joined them and snatched up a full glass of champagne. ‘Damned Bolsheviks!’ His eyes moved just briefly to Beresford, like a question.
Beresford nodded. ‘Next stop Cairo, sir.’
‘Good. For one moment I thought. . . .’ Barker’s old brisk manner returned. ‘Get it laid on. Mackay can take command here. No sea-time for Parthian.’
As Barker hurried across to meet another senior Russian officer, Devane said, ‘You’ve known right from the start, haven’t you? Just as you must realize that Parthian stands no chance at all if we hit real opposition.’
Beresford shrugged. ‘Some I’ve known, some I’ve had to guess. It’s my job, just as it’s yours to lead, no matter what the odds might be. It’s never been any different.’
‘It hasn’t, but I thought you were different. I was wrong. You use people, they don’t matter to you.’
Beresford grinned uneasily. ‘Here, steady on. Somebody’s got to do it.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me how Dundas got jumped by Lincke? Tell me that Barker had set up my boat, knowing that Lincke would go after it, thinking it was me? Did you bloody well imagine I wouldn’t work it out for myself?’ He looked round the room, hating the faces, the laughter. ‘David lost his hands because of it.’
‘We don’t know for certain. You’re guessing.’ Beresford watched him anxiously, then persisted, ‘But you will come to Cairo?’
‘You even used Claudia, didn’t you? You knew I’d go, if only to see her.’ He did not conceal his contempt. ‘It’s partly true, but I need to see her, more than ever now. It’ll probably be the last time. But tell Barker not to worry. I’ll get Lincke. Or he’ll get me. Now I’m going back to the base.’
As he turned on his heel Beresford called after him, ‘You’re just tired, John.’
Devane took his cap from a Russian servant. ‘Not tired. Sick!’
For a long while, Beresford stood staring at the blackout curtains as if he still could not believe what had happened.
Barker crossed the room again. ‘Trouble?’
‘No.’ Beresford sighed. ‘Nothing I didn’t ask for.’
Barker did not hear him. He stared at Sorokin’s broad shoulders, sensing the excitement his proposed attack had roused.
He had shown them. Others had doubted him after his son had been killed. But he had known that given the right moment he would make them all sit up and take notice.
Vice-Admiral Talents was flying specially to Cairo to see him. It would be the end of Whitcombe and his kind, and about time too.
He glanced severely at Beresford and said, ‘You look a bit shaky, Ralph. Go to the heads and stick a finger down your throat if need be. I will n
ot tolerate any of my officers being the worse for drink in front of the bloody Russians!’
Beresford smiled wearily. ‘I’ll remember that, sir. I really will.’
Outside in the cool, damp air Devane watched a few pale stars.
My darling John. The words hung in his mind as if she had spoken them from the shadows.
He saw a staff car jerk reluctantly towards him.
He was going to see Claudia. Tell her exactly what she had come to mean, what they would do. . . . He hesitated with his hand on the car door. But there was no future now. He shook himself angrily. What did you expect? Nobody lives for ever.
The little villa was soon out of sight, and the sea was waiting for him. As usual.
They sat opposite each other at a small table in the English Tea Shop. The name of the café and its mock-Tudor beams were bizarre when set against the screened windows, the arguing Egyptian traders in the street outside.
Neither of them noticed the contrast, nor the curious stares of some women at another booth.
They held hands across the table, speaking only occasionally as they studied each other as if for the first time.
She said quietly, ‘I knew you would come. If I had gone back to England I would have missed seeing you.’ Her hand tightened around his fingers. ‘I love you so much. We must not be sad.’
Devane thought of the flight to Cairo, the new barrier between him and Beresford. He had waited for this moment only. Seeing Vice-Admiral Talents, going over the usual aerial photographs, shaking hands with anonymous staff officers, it had all been a part of the enforced waiting. Now they were here, together, and he could not find the words to tell her how he really felt.
He smiled, and watched the moisture on her upper lip, the way the humid air held a small dark curl across her forehead. She was lovely, and he wanted to throw aside the table and its ridiculous cakes and clutch her body to his. Tell her his fears. Of his longing for her which made the prospect of dying more terrible than ever before.
‘And I love you, Claudia. How have you been getting on?’
She shook her head. ‘It is an office job which I do for the garrison. Easy when you have had to help run an estate.’
Her throat quivered and Devane felt her nails dig into his hand.
‘Dear old Dorset. I wish to God we were there now, together.’ She pushed the sudden sadness aside. ‘Tell me about you, and your work.’
Quite suddenly he found himself doing just that. The café faded away, the street sounds became non-existent. Only her face stayed with him as he told her what had happened to Sydney Home, Harry Rodger and the others. Some of them she had met when Don had been alive. His ‘warriors’, he had called them.
Then she said, ‘After this visit here, you’re going back to something special, something really dangerous.’ She smiled gravely as she studied his features. ‘I know. Careless talk costs lives. So does war, my darling. Just tell me this. Is it extra bad?’ Her grip tightened again. ‘You know what I mean.’
He looked at the table, barely able to answer. Like that time with the dying Home whose remaining eye had compelled him to go on, to resist the urge to break down completely.
‘It’ll not be easy.’
He recalled the admiral’s narrow features, another Barker almost. No, there would be little chance of any extra boats. No, they could not obtain even one fitted with radar, not yet anyway. Which implied that it would have been too late anyway.
Devane said, ‘When I got the chance to come to Cairo I was of two minds.’ Still he dared not look at her. Until he had finished. ‘I – I thought it would be unfair to you, after what you’ve already endured. In a way it was selfish, I see that now. I needed you so badly I thought only of myself when I agreed to come. In a day or so I’ll be gone. Even that I could bear if, if I thought. . . .’ He looked up, his voice pleading. ‘Don’t you understand? You’re the one person I love, the one I can’t bear to hurt. Yet when I do one I cause the other.’
She said gently, ‘We shall be together again soon. We must.’ She watched him steadily. ‘Remember the night in that little pub? We knew then. If you asked me to marry you, I would, right here and now if it were possible.’ She freed her hand and reached up to touch his face. ‘We are married now, as far as I’m concerned, my darling.’
‘If anything happens –’
She put her fingers on his lips. ‘Don’t say it. It shall not happen.’
She stood up slowly and smoothed her dress. When she looked at him again there was a new light in her eyes, something almost desperate as she whispered, ‘We can go to my room now. It’s hard to sit still and kill time when I want you so badly.’ She thrust her hand through his arm, just as she had that day in London. ‘It’s not far. I share it with another girl. Her husband is with the tanks.’ Her voice shook. ‘We console each other.’ Her step quickened and they were out in the dying sunlight. ‘But she’ll be away by now.’
He looked at her. ‘I must be dreaming.’
‘I’m being sent home quite shortly.’ She turned her face away from him. ‘So when we meet again it will be Devon.’
‘I’ll remember.’
‘You’d better.’
‘If you see my mother and father, tell them –’
She shook her head. ‘We’ll tell them together.’
They arrived at a medium-sized house which had been broken up into apartments for the duration. Once it had housed the family of an army officer, now it had a shifting population. Clerks for the garrison, officers on transit, lost souls in a world at war.
The room was quite spacious, and the paler outlines on the walls where pictures had once hung were disguised with cheerful rugs and shawls from the local traders.
She closed the door behind them and stood with her back against it, her breasts moving quickly as she appeared to listen.
Then she said, ‘Gone. We’re alone. It’s ours until I tell her differently.’
She came to him eagerly as he held her tightly. Only when he unbuttoned her dress and let it fall to the floor did she exclaim, ‘Let’s not waste a moment. I want you.’
Later, as they lay on the bed, the room in strange shadows from the window, she murmured, ‘That was so wonderful, my darling.’ She propped herself on one elbow and looked down at him, her hair touching his throat while her hand explored his body, then holding him until his longing was aroused again to a point of madness.
He made to rise and pull her down on the bed, but she rose above him, her slender body etched against the ceiling like a living statue.
‘No, my captain, stay a prisoner.’ She straddled him firmly, her hands on his shoulders, her voice lost in whispers as she lowered herself to contain him and repeat their act of love.
Totally exhausted, their bodies and limbs entwined, they lay still again to await the dawn. Another day of discussion, of meaningless talk, while he thought only of her, the dragging minutes and hours until he would join with her once more.
He pushed some hair gently from her face. She was asleep at last, her head on his chest, her breast moving steadily against him. At moments like these she was more like a wanton child than a woman. Full of desire, yet vulnerable. Full of ways to make a man lose his self-control, his inhibitions, in the fashion of her love-making. There would, there could be nobody else for him.
Devane touched her spine and felt her snuggle closer, but she was still asleep. He cupped her breast in his hand and whispered, ‘I shall come back, somehow. I don’t know how I’ll manage it, but I will.’
Then he too was asleep.
Twelve hundred miles from the room where Devane lay with the girl pressed beside him, his adversary, the man he had never met, stood below the window and contemplated the dawn. It was cold and without promise. Damp, like the accursed country.
Korvettenkapitän Gerhard Lincke watched the sky and listened to the far-off wail of a siren. The Eastern Front never rested for long, but Lincke had taught himself to keep his mind clear of un
necessary diversions. He would inspect the whole of Gruppe Seeadler this morning. There was no substitute for routine.
He heard the girl moan in her sleep and turned to look at her, at her nakedness, and the way her hair hung over the side of the bed.
Lincke had taken her to his bed not from lust or affection. It was just another part of his routine. Necessary, although in her case unsatisfactory. She made love like an animal, and had cried several times. She was an interpreter, described as Polish. But Lincke had checked her record sheet. She had been born a Russian, and had lost her parents and family in the revolution. She had the features of an aristocrat, the mind of a slut, he thought.
He shivered and stood back from the window. Today the new admiral would come and inspect the naval forces here. He would replace the one killed in Parthian’s attack on the Potsdam. Lincke gave a tight smile as he recalled how some of his brother officers had seemingly expected him to be enraged by such an impudent attack in his territory.
Quite the reverse. Lincke had been seeking the last clue in the pattern of events. He knew that Devane commanded the handful of motor torpedo boats named Parthian. He had studied his background, and now knew him better than some of his own subordinates.
He thought of the coming Russian offensive. It could not be delayed much longer, and it must commence before winter closed its grip. It was to be hoped that the new admiral was better than the last one or the senior captain who had been sent from Odessa temporarily to assume command. A useless object. Lincke could feel his anger rising again. The man had kept moaning about the great ships which were now no more. Even the mighty Tirpitz had been attacked by midget submarines within the safety of a Norwegian fjord and was out of service. He should have realized that it was a small-ship war. U-boats, fast patrol vessels, with young minds to command them.
Lincke had been to the local field HQ to examine some photographs of Russian supply vessels. On the way he had seen a firing squad unhurriedly shooting a dozen or so ragged figures. They had fallen into a long trench, almost grateful it seemed for the reprieve from suffering. Partisans, a brutal-looking SS lieutenant had explained. They had been interrogated fully. No further use.
Torpedo Run (1981) Page 25
