‘Time, sir.’ Carroll sounded hoarse.
‘Right. Make the signal for recall. Tell Kestrel by R/T to execute phase two.’ He heard the men moving about, grateful to have something to do to disperse the terrible spectacle amongst the flames.
The boatswain’s mate said, ‘Still, I suppose if it was our country an’ they was fighting for the Nazis –’
‘Hold your noise, damn you!’ Chalmers’ face was staring and wild in the reflected glare. ‘You don’t know what it’s like!’
Devane said sharply, ‘Easy, David. He didn’t mean it like that.’
Chalmers stared at him like a stranger. Then with a great effort he said, ‘Couldn’t help it. Should have been ready.’ He bent over as if he were going to vomit. ‘I saw my chaps die like that. We were swimming. The boat had gone by then. We were making for a destroyer which had been hit by a bomb but was still afloat. As I swam I could hear the burning fuel coming after me.’ He pushed his knuckles into his mouth. ‘I could hear it!’
Carroll called, ‘Kestrel’s acknowledged, sir.’ He was unwilling to intrude on Chalmers’ despair.
Chalmers stood up very slowly and turned his back to the land. Then he said simply, ‘The fire took all but three of us.’ He seemed perfectly calm again.
Devane touched his arm. ‘Go aft and relieve the first lieutenant.’
As Chalmers made to leave the bridge the boatswain’s mate blocked his path.
‘Sorry for what I said, sir. No ‘arm intended.’
Chalmers looked at him and then replied, ‘I know. I’m the one to apologize.’
Pellegrine pouted like an enraged pig. ‘I dunno, I really don’t know!’
Metcalf asked in a whisper, ‘What, Cox’n?’
‘Tomorrow, that’s what. It’s me birthday!’
Devane thrust his hands deep into his jacket as the green flare exploded to recall the raiders to the beach. Pellegrine had judged it perfectly. It had been a near thing. He shook himself from his apprehension. What did it matter anyway? The boatswain’s mate was probably right the first time.
But he thought of the burning, frantic shapes, of their agonized screams which he could hear in his mind if not in his ears, and knew that it did matter. Very much.
Carroll said, ‘First launch loaded and away, sir.’
Devane nodded. Mackay and Willy Walker in Harrier were already moving out to open waters. Merlin and Osprey would screen the final withdrawal.
After that it would be a matter of a few hours before they knew if Barker’s ruse had worked or not.
Dundas appeared on the bridge. ‘Ready to move, sir.’
‘Very well.’
Thank God Dundas had enough sense not to question him about Chalmers, a man who should never have been sent back to this kind of warfare. He had been scarred too deeply to forget or to recover.
Star shells exploded across the glittering water, but the cloud was low and the smoke too dense for them to be of any use.
‘New course, Roddy. Jump about.’
He saw another launch gathering speed as it throbbed past. There were a lot of bandaged heads and limbs in that one. As he watched he saw a corpse rolled over the side and left to float astern like so much rubbish.
We shall never understand the Russians, he thought. Not in a thousand years.
‘Last one clear, sir.’ Dundas watched him guardedly. ‘No casualties to us.’ He grinned as the relief took hold. ‘Makes a change.’
Devane looked up as another star shell exploded directly overhead.
‘And if Orel’s gunboats are in the right place at the right time, we should keep it that way.’
It was an easy lie, an expected one. Before Pellegrine’s birthday arrived, Parthian would be badly mauled even if the ruse had worked.
But at least it would be over. For the lucky ones. The few.
‘Ready to take up new course, sir. North seventy east. Osprey on station astern.’
‘Carry on. Increase revolutions for twenty knots.’
The land had already dipped into the shadows again, but here and there a fire still flickered, and a pattern of sparks circled above the beach where men had perished for their treachery. Or their beliefs.
Devane settled himself in his corner. So now we wait.
Captain Barker stood with his heels together, hands in his reefer pockets, and surveyed his operations room. It was considerably larger now that he had had a wall removed and an adjoining store transformed into an extension of his command post. The lights were very bright, so that the charts and wall maps, coloured markers and flags stood out like parts of a pattern.
A seaman was collecting empty teacups, and Barker’s new officers were by their telephones, sharpened pencils and signal pads within easy reach.
Only Beresford looked out of place. He was slumped at his own table, his chin resting in one hand, his hair tousled as if he had just got out of his bunk, Barker thought.
Barker snapped, ‘The attack must be working. We’d have heard otherwise.’
A telephone jangled loudly and was snatched up by one of the lieutenants. He spoke carefully in Russian and replaced it.
‘From Russian HQ, sir. The first attack across the Kirch Strait has been launched. Heavy fighting reported.’
Barker glared past him at the massive concrete wall as if he expected to hear the ferocity of the battle. But the strait was a good one hundred and fifty miles from the bunker.
Beresford stirred himself. ‘Orel’s six gunboats will be in position to support Parthian.’ He looked at the clock. ‘I wonder what Lincke makes of all this?’
‘He’ll not be in the strait, be certain of that.’ Barker’s pale eyes gleamed. ‘Even if he suspects Devane’s raid is a sprat to catch a mackerel, he can’t afford to ignore it.’
He swung round as the telephone interrupted him. ‘Well?’
The lieutenant spoke for several seconds and then covered the mouthpiece with his hand.
‘It’s all a bit confusing, sir. I – I don’t really know what’s going on.’
Beresford was on his feet and over to the other table in one movement. He snatched the telephone from the lieutenant’s hand and spoke rapidly.
Then he put the handset down and said, ‘That was Captain Sorokin himself.’ His voice shook momentarily and then he recovered. ‘Parthian’s attack worked. The enemy has started to move men and armour along the coast before the main Russian assault.’
‘Well? Spit it out, man!’ Barker’s face was suddenly deathly pale.
Beresford said in the same quiet tone, ‘Sorokin’s been removed from his command. He just told me. By order of Admiral Kasatonov. He’s in disgrace.’
Barker sounded dazed. ‘I don’t see what that has to do with us?’
‘You don’t?’ Beresford walked to the brightly lit plot-table. ‘The admiral is withdrawing the bulk of Orel’s covering force. He says he needs it at the strait. Hard opposition. You know the story.’ He glanced at the motionless lieutenant. ‘I’m not surprised you couldn’t understand. I think Sorokin’s drunk, or halfway there. But he tried to explain. Orel has left two of his gunboats. The rest are already running for the strait as fast as they can go.’
Barker stared at him. ‘Two?’
‘Yes, sir. Two gunboats. They might as well have taken the bloody lot.’
Barker rubbed his eyes. ‘Now. Let me think.’ He began to hum busily. ‘This is where it counts, eh, Ralph? Thinking caps on, what?’
The rating who had just entered with a fresh tray of tea stood stock still, as if he could sense what was happening.
‘We must not overreact, Ralph. Seeadler may also be heading for the strait, had you thought of that?’
Beresford ignored him. To Lieutenant Kimber he said flatly, ‘Make a signal to Parthian. Get it off immediately. Top priority, and never mind what the Russians say, do it. Tell Parthian that Orel’s covering force has been withdrawn. Two supporting vessels only are in vicinity.’
Barker
said sharply, ‘That’s unnecessary! Totally so. We don’t know –’
‘We don’t know anything, sir. I just want John Devane to get a chance to run for it.’
‘Run? Is that what he’ll do?’ Barker was barely able to control his agitation.
Beresford kept his eyes on Kimber who all but ran from the room with his signal pad in one hand.
‘Of course he won’t. But he’s got to be told. To have a chance, no matter how slight.’
Barker swung round and saw the rating with his tray of teacups.
‘Don’t stand there gawping, you useless idiot!’ He was almost screaming. ‘Get me Russian HQ on the telephone at once!’
The other door was opened by a sentry and Sorokin lurched into the harsh lights. He was crumpled, and his uniform coat was unbuttoned and stained. He was obviously very drunk, and yet in spite of it he held a kind of power which was both compelling and pathetic.
He saw Beresford and nodded. ‘I come to you. I come to say sorry. That is not an easy thing for me, but I am dirty. Ashamed.’ He forced out the last word very carefully, determined Beresford should understand.
Beresford said gently, ‘Here, sir. Sit down.’
He gestured to the stricken seaman with the tea but Sorokin shook his massive head and slumped down heavily. He dragged a flask from his pocket and drank for several seconds.
Then he said thickly, They are sending me to a new place.’ He grinned and the effort made him look incredibly sad. ‘Siberia probably, my friend, da?’
Beresford said, ‘What happened?’
‘Nothing. Politics. Enemies. What is the difference? Maybe you are to blame, for being here, for being seen as my friends?’
Beresford said sadly, ‘I understand. About Parthian, sir. . . .’
Sorokin tried to rise but fell down again. ‘I gave a last order. There is another gunboat in the base. It was just repaired.’ He looked up, his gaze suddenly firm. ‘You take it. You go and help your friend. There is only few men on board.’ He dragged an envelope from his breast pocket. ‘Here is authority.’
Beresford said quietly, ‘It is two hundred miles. Even if we leave now we will never reach the rendezvous. Already it may be too late.’
‘No matter.’ This time he did get to his feet. ‘Your friend will know you have tried. And I will not feel like a traitor.’ He looked at Barker but did not see him. ‘I shall go.’ He gripped Beresford’s arm like a vice. ‘Leave now.’
Then he lumbered towards the door and they heard his dragging footsteps until they were lost in the murmur of Buckhurst’s generators.
Barker said abruptly, ‘God! I’ve never seen anything like it! No pride in the man!’
Beresford opened his drawer and took out a pistol. As Kimber reappeared he said, ‘Muster all the spare hands and march them to the dockyard. Give the OOD this authority to board the gunboat. Take all the medical gear you can find. Steal it if need be.’
Barker interrupted sharply, ‘I’m not sure I am hearing you correctly, Ralph!’ He looked at their intent faces. ‘Take a Russian gunboat, to do what, for God’s sake?’
Beresford clipped his pistol-belt in place and answered, ‘I am a good officer, sir. If you order me to stay here, to do nothing after putting Parthian in a position without support, to leave your people to be wiped out to prove some idiotic theory, then stay I will. But by God I shall make certain everybody knows why I stayed. You can say goodbye to promotion after that!’
Barker looked as if he had been punched in the face.
He exclaimed, ‘How dare you!’
Beresford eyed him coldly. ‘Then I’m leaving. Now. It may be a useless gesture, but I’ll feel cleaner. We all shall.’ Except you, his voice seemed to imply.
They turned as the telephone shattered the tension.
The lieutenant who had just come out from England stammered, ‘From Russian HQ, sir.’ He was staring at Beresford. ‘Their troops are on the peninsula and pushing inland.’ He swallowed hard under Beresford’s cold stare. ‘Intelligence reports that Gruppe Seeadler has been sighted heading north-east from Balaclava.’
Beresford nodded. ‘Thank you. So Lincke was not where we anticipated. He intends to jump Parthian from astern.’ To the startled lieutenant he added, ‘Make a signal to Parthian to that effect.’ He walked to the door without another glance at his superior but something made him turn. He said softly, ‘Add to the signal. Keep your head down.’ But his voice broke. ‘Old son.’
The door grated shut and they all stared at Barker.
Barker was humming tunelessly. He said suddenly, ‘I must draft a signal to Vice-Admiral Talents. To tell him about the great success of the raid. But for it, the Russian attack might never have begun.’
He glanced at his brightly lit command, but this time nobody was looking at him.
17
Sunset
‘Ease down to fifteen knots.’ Devane dabbed his face with a towel and winced. His skin felt raw from the spray which came buffeting back from the bows. ‘No sense in shaking ourselves to bits.’
Around him binoculars and gun-muzzles probed the darkness, the men saying nothing as they strained every sense to get a first hint of danger. There was a choppy off-shore swell which pitched the boat about, adding to the discomfort and the noise.
Lieutenant Chalmers seemed to have recovered completely from his sudden outburst, and was standing aft by the twin Oerlikon mounting, his arms folded, as the deck quivered and plunged beneath him.
Dundas emerged from the chartroom and said, ‘We may have missed them, sir.’
Devane pictured his four MTBs strung out in pairs, the Russian launches managing as best they could somewhere astern. Their part was over, the killing done until the next time.
Devane said, ‘We’ll stop soon and listen. You never know.’
Feet clattered on the wet gratings, and Carroll called, ‘Signal from W/T, sir. Most immediate. Russian covering force Romeo is withdrawn. Two vessels only in your vicinity.’ He hesitated, then finished, ‘Russian attack has begun. Ends.’
Pellegrine stared hard at the black water beyond the bows. ‘Ends? It’s a-bloody-’nough!’
Devane stood quite motioness, allowing his brain to translate the stark signal into reality. What the hell were the Russians playing at? Did they know that Lincke’s E-boats were already in the strait, harrying the Russian troop transports, and no longer constituted a danger or a possible target?
Dundas muttered, ‘Of all the luck!’
The boatswain’s mate asked, ‘Fall out action stations, sir?’
Devane thought rapidly as he felt the tension moving away, the dangerous air of relaxation growing about him.
‘No.’ He spoke sharply, ‘We’re not out of the woods yet.’ He heard the quick whispers, could picture the meaning glances. The skipper’s over the top. Round the bend. Well, they could think what they bloody well liked.
He swung round. ‘Number One. Signal Osprey to fall back and cover the launches. Remainder of Parthian, line abreast. They know the drill.’ As Dundas groped his way aft he added, ‘After that, R/T silence. Not a whisper.’
Chalmers climbed into the bridge and listened to Dundas’s clipped words over the R/T link.
He said, ‘We might catch the Jerries with their pants down. That’ll make a change.’
Devane gripped the wet screen and turned his head slowly, silently cursing the chorus of sea and wind.
No operation was perfect. But this was going badly wrong. Why should Orel’s gunboats pull away? Certainly not without very firm orders from above.
‘Osprey’s acknowledged, sir. Andy Twiss will love being lumbered as an escort!’
Devane barely heard him. The signal had sounded different. Like Beresford, and yet. . . .
Carroll said tersely, ‘Another signal from W/T, sir. German E-boats closing from south-west.’
Dundas jumped for the voicepipes. ‘Bloody hell!’
Devane remained by the screen, his fingers nu
mb from the force of his grip.
‘That all?’
Carroll said quietly, ‘It finishes, Keep your head down, old son.’
‘Thanks, Bunts.’
Devane released his hold very gently. It was almost better this way. Like the inevitable moment when the cell door opens and the prisoner knows there is no reprieve, nor ever was. Or the last time a man hears the dawn chorus before the firing squad smashes him to oblivion.
He said, ‘Stand by to alter course. Steer south sixty west. Signal Parthian, Bunts. Hand-lamp.’
He heard the swift clack . . . clack . . . clack of Carroll’s shuttered lamp. The other boats would have monitored Beresford’s signal, would have known they would get the order to turn and fight. It was what they had come for, Russian help or not. Now that was out of the question. Even the two remaining gunboats were in the wrong position and could not assist. Except to search for survivors.
‘Acknowledged, sir.’ Carroll’s voice was a whisper.
‘Very well. Execute. Warn the engine room to be prepared for maximum revs.’
The three hulls turned gracefully, their stems rising and then spewing foam as they recrossed their own wakes. Line abreast, each one shining in spray, facing an invisible enemy and with each turn of their racing screws taking them further and further from aid.
Devane wiped his glasses for the hundredth time and pressed them to his eyes. God help Andy Twiss if the enemy arrived before he had rejoined Parthian’s dwindling strength. But to use a lamp or R/T over this shortening range was like committing suicide.
Devane tried to find some small comfort. The sighting report could be mistaken. It often happened. Perhaps it was not Seeadler anyway. It would be just like Barker’s lot to dramatize everything. But the comfort evaded him.
Dundas murmured, ‘How many, d’you reckon?’
Devane moved the glasses carefully and tried to cushion them against the lurching screen.
Torpedo Run (1981) Page 27
