Frazer gestured to Ives and they left the house, pausing by a trickling fountain to get their bearings.
Ives watched as Frazer soaked his handkerchief in the water and dabbed it on his face and throat. It was getting light already and he could see patches of paler sky between the low clouds. This was harder to get used to than danger, he thought. Surrounded by trees and sweet-smelling flowers, statues and fountains, while two Germans lay dead and others were aboard their boat no more than a hundred yards away at a guess.
Frazer said, “No sign of Lieutenant Allenby. He must be near the boat by now.”
“Rather him than me, sir. “
Frazer said, “He’ll be all right. He’s a real wizard.”
They both spun round as a piercing scream cut through the
damp air to be cut short as if someone had slammed a
soundproofed door.
Frazer whispered, “God Almighty!”
Ives looked at him. “Look, sir, we can’t just stand here and do nothing?” He was pleading.
Frazer wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He felt clammy, unclean.
“No, we bloody can’t.”
Frazer dragged out his revolver. “Can you use one of these things?”
Ives followed him through some bushes. There was no time to tell Frazer that he had twice been pistol-shooting champion in the Job. The revolver, which looked like a toy in his fist, was much like the one he had trained with in the Met. You could not trust automatics. They jammed. With a revolver you just kept pulling the trigger. Crude but efficient.
He replied, “Yes, sir. I’ve done a bit.”
9
FRIENDS OR FOES
ALLENBY REMOVED HIS cap and very slowly raised his head above some ragged bushes. It was difficult to fix your position in the darkness, he thought for the hundredth time. The ground sloped towards the sea and was rough and uneven underfoot. Almost volcanic. The occasional clump of bushes afforded some cover and he heard Weeks sucking in air after their sprint from the MGB.
“Jerry’s not too bothered,” he said softly.
Weeks crawled up beside him and they both listened to the sad, lilting voice of a German singer. Either a gramophone or one ‘of the boat’s crew must have tuned into a friendly station on the radio.
It seemed so strange, almost more unnerving than what he had to do.
He glanced at Weeks. “Ready?”
The seaman nodded. “We stick ‘em up, and then truss ‘em like chickens. I’ve got some cord with me.”
Allenby raised his head again. He could see the faint shimmer of the sea, and a sturdy black shadow beside the little landing stage. Not a warship anyway. That would have finished everything. He felt the explosives in his pockets. Like fat cigars. But deadly.
There were no sentries, unless someone was lying down and that seemed unlikely. They obviously felt pretty secure, he decided.
A slow breeze rustled through the bushes and stirred a great carpet of wild flowers. Millions of poppies, like Armistice Day in England.
He screwed up his face to gather his thoughts. He must be more tired than he had thought to allow his mind to wander, now of all times.
Weeks hissed, “What was that?”.
Allenby turned his head. Someone crying out? He replied, “Disturbed gull, I expect.” He made up his mind. “Let’s go.” He drew his revolver and heard Weeks cock his tommygun. He said, “Keep close to me, and try to stay on the hard ground.”
“Something wrong, sir?”
Allenby bit his lip. Edgy. Or was it the old instinct which had saved his life more than once in those abandoned buildings with their telltale parachutes.
“I’m not sure-” They both turned as feet grated on the rough ground and a running figure hurried towards them. It was Ryder. Allenby had purposely left the young sub-lieutenant in the rear. He was their only link with Goudie, and if things went wrong like the last time, Ryder’s reactions might be vital. Allenby had also left him behind for another reason. He had had plenty of experience with the Special Boat Squadron, but not at this kind of thing.
Allenby called out as loud as he dared. “Get back, you bloody idiot!”
Ryder exclaimed, “A scream! Did you hear-” He got no further. There was a gentle click and something shot into the air from a clump of poppies where Ryder was crouching.
Allenby threw himself against Weeks and together they tumbled headlong into the bushes.
The bang was earsplitting and Allenby held his breath as steel fragments cut above their bodies and cracked into the ground. It had been only seconds and yet Allenby found he could recall each horrific detail. There must have been a wire, and Ryder had triggered it with his foot. The bomb was probably like the “butterflies” as they were nicknamed. They could even be dropped from aircraft, but once they touched the ground they opened their wings and lay in wait for the merest touch.
Ryder writhed on his back and sobbed, “Oh God! Oh God, help me!” Each word was torn from his lips as the agony mounted.
Allenby said, “Come on, Weeks. Our only chance, now!”
Weeks stared at Ryder, unable to move.
“Leave him.” Allenby pulled out one of his explosives and ripped off its safety tape. “They’ll do for all of us otherwise. “
He hated his words and shouted, “We’ll be back, David!” Another figure ran down the slope and Allenby sobbed with relief. “Put a dressing on him!” Even in the gloom he knew it was Leading Seaman Sullivan.
Then with Weeks close behind him he bounded towards the landing stage.
Sullivan watched them go and then crouched down beside the groaning officer.
Ryder gasped, “Hit my leg. ” He clenched his teeth to hold back a scream. “Oh my God!”
Sullivan tugged out his pack of dressings and felt the young officer’s body with his hands. He was bleeding from at least two bad wounds. Sullivan swallowed hard and retched as he touched Ryder’s leg. Except that there was no leg. Just a mangled stump which pumped out blood in time with Ryder’s desperate cries.
He would not last long, Sullivan thought. But he said, “There, sir, nice an’ comfy. That should do it.”
Then he held Ryder tightly in his arms until he died.
With the explosion still ringing in his ears Allenby dashed onto the landing stage and heard shouts from the moored vessel’s deck. The boat had a heavy-looking hull and tall funnel. An old tug, or perhaps a pilot cutter, he thought wildly.
Two heads appeared above the bulwark and Allenby flung his cigar-shaped bomb over the rail. There was a short, vicious explosion and the heads vanished.
Allenby ran up a short brow and fired his revolver as a another figure moved in the shadows. Instead of hiding the man threw up his hands in surrender.
Weeks was aboard now, his tommygun swinging round to cover a hatchway.
Even as they stood stockstill facing their first prisoner Allenby heard the sudden stammer of Morse.
“This way!”
He slammed through a screen door and saw a strip of light beneath an inner compartment. It was the radio room.
“Keep clear.” He ran forward and tried the door but it was locked. How urgent and threatening the Morse sounded. Allenby took a small bomb from his other pocket. No bigger than a packet of duty-frees with just a three-second fuse. He triggered the plastic catch and tossed it to the bottom of the door and ran. He was almost lifted from his feet by the blast as dust and smoke funneled out across the deck.
Weeks peered at him anxiously. “You OK, sir?”
They turned and waited for the telegraphist to stop screaming, then Allenby made himself walk back to the radio room. The set was smashed, and its operator, who had lost his life trying to summon aid, had been hurled against a bulkhead. The white paint was smeared with blood where he had slithered down to the deck. Allenby looked at the man’s bulging eyes. It was as if they still lived. There was not much left of him below the waist.
Weeks said, “Two dead on
deck, sir. What do we do with Jerry here?” He moved the muzzle of his tommygun. “Shall I…..?’
“No. There must be others.”
They found a German petty officer and three more sailors hiding in the forecastle. They seemed too old for the German navy, and Allenby guessed they were probably the boat’s original crew, in uniform for the duration of the war. They obviously thought that the boat was under attack by a much larger force. For them the war was over, unless Goudie decided to leave them behind. Or to kill them as Weeks had been quite prepared to do if so ordered. They found a boatswain’s store with a steel door and herded the small crew inside. As Allenby snapped a padlock in place he said, “If they’ve any sense they’ll stay quiet until their chums get here.”
Weeks watched him curiously. “I hope the bugger didn’t get a signal off, sir.”
They left the boat, now deathly quiet, but taking on shape and personality in the growing light.
Sullivan was still on the hillside with Ryder’s body nearby. In the uncertain light Allenby saw the darker patch of poppies where Ryder’s blood had made a wide stain.
“We’ll take him to the house.
He picked up Ryder’s cap. The stained seagoing one with the tarnished badge of which he had been so proud.
“Sorry, David.” He started as the other two looked at him. He had imagined he was speaking only to Ryder and himself.
Nearer to the fine house, where the rough ground submitted to green lawns and terraces, Allenby turned and looked at the sea. It could have been a beautiful view, he thought.
Today I killed three human beings. He thrust the revolver into its holster and gave a deep sigh. Aloud he said, “So what?” but the first thought remained like an epitaph.
As Frazer kicked open the door and burst into the room the group of figures froze motionless like some terrible tableau.
Several of Thomas’s men in their unmarked battledress were standing around a chair beneath the only light in the room. The girl was tied to the chair, her arms pulled back so tightly that her wrists were raw. She was completely naked, her face and body bruised, a bright thread of blood running from one corner of her mouth.
Ives held his revolver ready to fire, but his eyes recorded everything. The girl was young, her hair dark in the hard glare. There were smears of blood on her thighs; she had very likely been raped as well as beaten.
Major Thomas glared at them. “What the hell do you think you are doing?” He jerked his head. “Get on with it.”
One of his men was smoking a black cheroot and suddenly reached out and seized the girl’s right breast with his hand. He squeezed it so hard that she squirmed with agony, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling. With the nipple pinched out between his fingers and thumb the man held the cheroot’s glowing end within an inch of it.
“She knows something.” Thomas watched as another of his men screwed his fingers into the girl’s hair to force her to look as the cheroot moved slowly onto her nipple.
Frazer bounded across the room and brought the barrel of his revolver down with such force on the man’s wrist that the bone snapped like a carrot.
Frazer’s sudden move broke the spell. The girl’s head fell forward and she gasped repeatedly, as if she was sobbing without making a sound.
Frazer said, “Release her, Now.”
Thomas snapped, “What the hell do you expect? My men know what the Germans do to their prisoners. This Nazi bitch probably knows something. I will bet you she is quite used to writing down confessions of our people as they are interrogated.”
Frazer tried to keep his voice level. He was shaking with anger and disgust. He knew he would have shot the torturers if Ives had not intervened.
“You make me sick. You wear our uniform, but you foul it with your cruelty, your hate!”
Ives had untied the girl and caught her as she fainted. With infinite care he carried her into an adjoining room and then stopped dead as an explosion shook the building.
Frazer exclaimed, “That’s too loud for Allenby. Too near!”
Ives laid the girl on a bench and then went back to pick up her uniform jacket. The rest of her clothes lay in a pile. They looked wet and stank of urine. Thomas stared at him, his face expressionless. Minutes passed in an uncomfortable silence. Then suddenly the doorway filled with faces. Goudie said, “Go and help the others. Allenby’s knocked out the boat’s crew, but Archer phoned from the yacht haven to say the bastards got off a W/T signal.”
He watched Ives and looked at the girl in the other room.
“Christ, Thomas, you’ve gone too far.” He swung round. “Ryder’s bought it, by the way. Loosed off a mine of some sort. It seems as if Jerry intended to mine the whole coastal strip above the landing stage and the beach.”
Thomas stared at him, his eyes blazing. “You see? She probably knew. I would have got it out of her!”
Goudie pushed his pistol into its holster. “Doesn’t make much difference now, does it?” He looked round the room as if seeing it for the first time. The blood on the chair, the fouled uniform and the girl’s underwear. “You enjoy your work, don’t you, Major?”
Allenby came into the room. He looked tired and even paler than usual.
“The boat’s out of commission, sir.” He saw where the girl had been tortured and said dully, “Ryder heard a scream. He was coming to warn me when he set off the bomb. But for that he and three German sailors would still be alive.” He looked at Thomas and added unsteadily, “If you are an ally I think maybe I’m on the wrong side, you bastard!”
Goudie snapped, “That’s enough from all of you. Post two sentries, one on the top of the house. Good view from there. We shall lie low today and leave at dusk, maybe earlier. I’ve told Archer to camouflage the MGB with yacht tarpaulins in case some spotter plane comes looking. Thank God they can’t land here. There’ll be ships soon enough if the signal was understood.” His face lost some of its sternness and he said, “You did well, Allenby. You all did.” He looked at Ives. “Get one of the maids to help you with the German girl. I’m putting you in charge of her.”
To Frazer he said, “Return to the boat and see that the general’s gear is stowed where it will not be in the bloody way, right?”
He looked at Thomas’s men. “And get these vermin out of my sight until we leave.”
Able Seaman Weeks asked, “What about Mr. Ryder, sir?”
Goudie pulled out his tobacco pouch and pipe. “Bury him in the garden. It’s the best we can do for him. Some part of a foreign field and all that stuff.” He looked at Frazer. “I could do with a drink.” He tried to smile. “I think we all could. Tell Archer to break out some tots for the chaps, and gin for us.”
He strode away without even a glance at Thomas.
Frazer looked at Allenby. “Glad you made it, Dick.” The grin would not come. “Again.”
In the next room with the door tightly closed Ives took a warm facecloth and began to wipe away the smears of blood from the, girl’s limbs while the Italian maid watched from a safe distance.
The girl groaned and then opened her eyes. Ives saw the instant terror as her memory returned. She looked as if she would have a complete collapse. She saw what he was doing and her hands darted down to cover herself.
Ives laid her uniform jacket across her thighs and said, “You have nothing to fear. Trust me.” His voice was low and somehow soothing. He felt her flinch as he reached up to dab away the blood from her bruised mouth. He did not hesitate but kept dabbing and then wringing out the cloth in the maid’s bowl of warm water. Slowly, very slowly he sensed that she was relaxing although her eyes remained wide and desperate.
Ives had dealt with dead and injured women before. Road accidents, air raids, or after pub brawls, but nothing like this. She had a lovely face, and her body, in spite of the cuts and angry bruises, made his stomach turn over.
He made himself keep talking, “Sorry I don’t speak German, miss. But you’re an interpreter, I believe?” He felt her
quiver again as he brushed the hair from her eyes. She made him feel clumsy and helpless at the same time.
“I’ll get you some food presently, but first you must try and rest.”
She leaned forward and covered her breasts with the towel. “Don’t leave, please.” She glanced at the door, her eyes filled with fear. “Those men-“
Ives said, “They’ll not harm you again. I’ll see to that.” She studied his features and then the ribbon on his cap with
its lettering HMS upon it. “Navy,” she said.
Ives nodded sadly, “S’right, miss. Long way from home.” She frowned. “Please?”
“Just a joke.”
The door opened and Allenby entered, a mug in his hand.
“Here, ‘Swain. Some brandy from the general’s cellar.” He tried not to look at the girl’s naked limbs and was ashamed of his embarrassment. He saw the bruises and had heard one of the seamen saying the girl had been raped. She had dark hair, something like Joanna’s. How would he feel if she had been tortured and violated?
Ives held the mug to her lips. “Drink on this side, miss, I’ll keep it away from the cut.”
She looked at Allenby. “Thank you, Herr Oberleutnant.” Allenby remained pale but could feel himself beginning to flush. Then he hurried from the room.
“You work with him?”
Ives wrung out the cloth and nodded. “Yes, miss. He’s not a bad sort. For an officer, that is.”
She reached out impulsively and touched his wrist. “Thank you for what you did. I was very afraid. They hurt me. So much they hurt me. I have never been with a man before, you understand? They laughed at me, held me while they took me.” She began to sob, the tears running down her throat and breast.
Ives covered her with a blanket and pulled it up to her chin.
He said, “I’ll be over there in the corner if you need me, see?” He saw her nod and gave her his handkerchief. “Have a good blow.”
She did not understand his words, but her eyes showed she knew what he meant.
The Volunteers Page 13
