by Alan Evans
They went down to the boats. Already engines were starting up one by one, roaring briefly then throttling back to a low rumble. Smith and Zacco dropped down into the cockpit of his boat and Zacco called, ‘Lombardo!’
He came stooping out of the engine-room and straightened in the cockpit. He wore a blue boiler-suit that was tight across his broad chest and as he looked from one to the other his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Smith said drily, ‘Smell a rat?’
Lombardo scowled. ‘From a mile off.’ He caught Zacco’s eye then and added, — ‘sir.’
Smith said, ‘It’s simple enough. I want a good engineer. You.’
‘Yeah? What’s the job?’
‘Assistant to Mr. Balestra.’
‘Balestra? That nut? I don’t want —’
‘That’s enough!’ Smith snapped, cutting him off. ‘Just listen. I could order you to do it but I won’t because he doesn’t want somebody just to tighten a nut when he’s told. He wants a man who can think, plan, devise and improvise, somebody interested and willing.’
Lombardo said obstinately, ‘That last bit lets me out.’
Smith ignored that and went on, ‘So I am only ordering you to come and talk to him. He might decide you’re not the man he wants after all.’
Lombardo shrugged ‘OK — sir.’ He glanced at Zacco. ‘You’re going out soon. What about the engines?’
Zacco said, ‘Faccini’s a good man and his boat is in dock. I’ll borrow him for a day or two.’
Lombardo nodded, ducked into the engine-room and emerged with a tool-box swinging from one big hand. He saw Smith glance at that and growled, ‘I ain’t changed my mind, but these go where I go.’ He followed Smith back to the white launch.
Smith ran her gently in to nose at the platform surrounding the slip in Balestra’s shed. He could see the light glowing yellow at the rear and the sound of singing came to them as the launch stopped.
Lombardo muttered, ‘Is this a workshop or a vaudeville theatre?’
Smith’s lips twitched and he told Lombardo, ‘You’ll find him in the office.’ Lombardo climbed out of the launch and made her painter fast. Smith stopped the engine then and watched him walk back through the half-light of the shed.
They spoke in Italian. Lombardo stood in the doorway of the little cubicle, his wide shoulders filling it. ‘Signore. The English captain said you wanted to see me.’
Balestra straightened from the drawing-board and ran his fingers through his hair. He had been up and at work since first light but he had slept and felt good. He did not like the look of Lombardo glowering about the office, but said, ‘We haven’t time to waste so I’ll speak frankly. The captain brought you here because I asked for you. I want a good engineer and a good swimmer. Lieutenant Zacco says you are the best at both and I think you might be. I’m building something new. The idea behind it isn’t new but the way I propose to do it is. The point is that once we move away from the drawing-board and start building we’ll run into problems that we’ll have to solve as we go along. Another thing: this whole affair is not official, you understand. A lot of people are against it. I’ve got this workshop and that’s all I’m going to get. There won’t be any glory, no promotion, no medals, just a hell of a lot of work. But I believe this —’ he tapped the plan on the drawing-board, ‘could help to save Italy and finish the war a little sooner.’ He paused to let Lombardo think about it.
Lombardo said disinterestedly, ‘What is this thing, anyway?’
Balestra told him and Lombardo’s scowl and lack of interest vanished. He said huskily, ‘Jesus Christ!’ Then: ‘You’ve got a crew for this?’
Balestra nodded. ‘I’ve chosen the man.’
‘You’re going yourself?’
Balestra blinked in surprise at the suggestion. ‘Of course.’
Lombardo looked at the slender yoking man with the mop of dark curls and large, dark, dreamer’s eyes. He said ironically, ‘Can I speak frankly, Tenente?’
When Balestra nodded, he went on: ‘I saw that — that thing you tried to sail into Trieste and I know what happened, that they practically had to drag you off it. I think you’re a screwball —’ he used the Italian — svitato ‘who’s going to get himself killed but that’s your affair. I’ll build this thing for you and make it work if it’s possible, if only to see if it is possible.’
Balestra said, ‘Just two things we’d better clear up.’
‘Huh?’ Lombardo looked at Balestra who was pale now and the dark eyes no longer dreaming.
Balestra said, ‘First, this is my baby. I want an assistant, a partner if you like but I’m senior partner. Don’t forget. Second: You can think what you like so long as you help me build this but if you call me a — screwball — again I’ll break your head with a spanner. Is that understood?’
Lombardo studied him, thought that if this man was mad it was a fighting madness, tightly controlled. He realised that this was no cushy job he was taking on with office hours and an easy routine but he was curious about the man and the machine and his own fighting spirit rose to the challenge. He said, ‘All right, I’ll remember.’
‘And you’ll call me Signore!’
‘Signore.’ Lombardo lifted his box of tools. ‘When do we start?’
‘We’ve already started. It’s wanted tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow! What nut asked that?’
‘Captain Smith.’ Balestra smiled. ‘He was only half-joking. He wants it in a hurry.’
Lombardo set down his tools on a bench. ‘Smith!’ He walked back down the length of the shed but he muttered as he went, ‘Smith! No point in arguing with him, either. Tomorrow!’ To Smith himself, when he reached him, he growled, ‘I’m staying, sir.’
Smith only said, ‘I thought you would.’ He started the engine and as Lombardo cast off, turned the launch and headed away, leaving the burly motorista staring after him.
Smith went to Hercules and talked with Menzies and Archbold, made a brief tour of inspection and satisfied himself that she was ready for sea. Geordie Hogg, the fat and sweating engineer said, ‘I put out the fires and cleaned them, sir. I’m ready to get steam up whenever you like. What notice, sir?’
Smith thought for a moment. He had no orders for sea and there was no sense in keeping steam up and burning coal unnecessarily. At the same time this port was near the front line now and if orders came he must be ready to sail without undue delay. He compromised: ‘Four hours.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
Now Davies: ‘That pontoon gun o’ mine sir. Can I go to the dockyard and see how it’s coming on?’
Smith sent him away in the dinghy from Hercules then asked, ‘Not bored yet, Mr Menzies?’
The midshipman smiled sheepishly. ‘No, sir. Mr. Archbold’s been explaining some of the working of the ship an’ Davies an’ Jenkinson have been telling me about the pontoon gun.’
Smith asked, ‘Jenkinson?’
‘He’s the rating who works out the range, bearing and time of flight from a book of maths tables because most of the time they’ve been shouting from a map and couldn’t see the target from the gun. It sounds jolly interesting actually, sir.’
Smith said absently, ‘Very good. You never know when these bits of knowledge might prove useful.’ But he was thinking of Helen Blair.
*
He returned in the launcher to the house on the Ca’di Dio. It was midday and the mist had lifted a little but now a fine rain was falling again. He found the old housekeeper ready to serve his lunch and that Helen Blair had already eaten and left. So he ate, wondering if she was deliberately avoiding him. But should she do so after inviting him into her house?
Afterwards he walked along the Riva degli Schiavoni, the long, broad stretch of quay leading to the Doge’s Palace. He brooded on Salzburg and Voss, wondered about their next move, chafed at his own inability to at least attempt to carry out his orders. Twice he had encountered Voss and Salzburg and come off the worse. The rain was cold on his fa
ce. As he walked he sensed a heightened tension in the city. Statues and buildings were protected by walls of sandbags, timbers and splinter mattresses. In the Piazza San Marco he found the entire front of the church covered by a timber framework that held a wall of sandbags.
Helen Blair was walking slowly across the square, head down under the rain and he fell into step alongside her. She greeted him without a smile. ‘Commander.’
‘My name is David.’
She hesitated, then, ‘I’ll remember.’
‘You like walking in the rain?’
She shrugged. ‘I hadn’t noticed it. I wanted to get out of the house and think.’
He paced beside her. He saw that a gang of workmen had erected sheer-legs before the church and were using ropes, pulleys and slings to lower the four golden horses down, one by one, from over the great entrance.
Helen Blair said quietly, ‘They are taking down such monuments all over the city for safety, in case of fire from the Austrian guns.’
Smith halted. ‘Are they so close?’
‘Almost.’
If this crowded city came under fire from the Austrian batteries the destruction would be immense. The thought was appalling and he could do nothing.
Helen Blair walked on and he went with her. He felt that he owed this girl a lot and that was why he had sought her out. It was time he came to the point and he said awkwardly, ‘I want to thank you for taking me into your house.’
She smiled at him, ‘You were welcome.’ Was there hesitation again?
He said, ‘I’d like to take you to dinner.’ He remembered his sight of her with the young Air Force officers around a table in the Aurora Hotel. ‘At a restaurant.’ He took her arm and halted so she faced him. They were back on the quay now. He saw her cheeks were flushed and thought it was the cold wind cutting in from the Adriatic and bringing the blood to them. She did not answer and he said, ‘Is that possible?’
She was looking down, avoiding his gaze. ‘No.’
He stared down at the top of her head, put out. With an edge of anger now at the distance she always kept between them he said, ‘I only asked you to a meal!’
She answered quietly: ‘And then? Tomorrow?’
‘Nothing. A meal and that’s all, that’s the end.’
Was it?
Now she looked up at him and he stared back defiantly. She smiled. ‘Don’t be angry, David, but — you’re not married, not engaged?’
So that was it. He grinned, ‘No.’
‘You belong to nobody.’
‘That’s right.’
She nodded seriously, ‘That’s right.’
‘So?’ He was puzzled now.
‘I am not the first woman.’
His grin became lop-sided. ‘Well —’
‘How many of them do you remember?’
The cool question angered him. ‘What the hell!’
Helen Blair said quietly, ‘Some you’ll remember. Only a little, but kindly. Serve them right.’
Smith stared at her and she explained. ‘A woman would be a fool to love a man like you, here today and gone tomorrow. I’m sorry, David, but it’s true. And there are other reasons.’ She bit her lip.
He growled at her, ‘That’ll do to be going on with!’ He released her arm.
‘David, please!’ She reached out to him.
‘Hey, English!’
The voice was harsh and deep, like gravel pouring out of a chute. Smith remembered the voice and turned, saw the capitano di fregato he had met at the mouth of the Livenza river, Bruno Garizzo. The captain strode across the quay. Now his uniform was immaculate, fitted beautifully and his boots glittered but the voice was the same and the high good humour. ‘And La Contessa!’ He saluted her with a flourish and added a little bow. ‘As beautiful as ever.’ He cocked an eye at Smith. ‘A bit of all right, eh? That is so? A bit of all right!’
Smith nodded. ‘Yes.’
Garizzo turned back to Helen Blair. ‘This is better than the Livenza, better than the front. It is good you stay away from the front now. It is bad there.’
The girl smiled at him. ‘Thank you, but I will visit the front again soon.’ Garizzo shook his head with a frown but Helen Blair said firmly, ‘You do your duty, sir, and I do mine.’ Her voice was not so firm when she turned to Smith. ‘It’s for the best, David, I’m sure.’ He did not answer and she said to Garizzo, ‘Please excuse me. I must go. Arrivederci.’
‘Arrivederci.’ Garizzo saluted again and watched her walk away. He turned to Smith, puzzled, ‘I said wrong?’
Smith shook his head. ‘No. I did. Before you came.’
‘Ah.’ Garizzo shrugged. ‘Your business, eh?’ He gripped Smith’s hand, slapped his shoulder. ‘I came to Headquarters for orders. They have plate full. That’s right? Plate full. They have to defend Venice. The army hold a line on the Piave river. I come for orders and guns. I got orders but no guns! They say the main attack will come inland and all the guns must be there. Maybe in two — three days there will be guns but not now. I hold a line from the coast two miles south-west of Porto di Cortellazzo inland to the Cavetta canal and I have eight hundred and thirty men and twenty officers! I need guns!’ For a moment there was anger behind the grin, the black eyes hard. Then he laughed. ‘But that is my affair! And you? What do you do with your fishing-boat?’
What indeed? Smith was still obsessed by the threat from Salzburg and Voss but it was a threat only he believed in: Devereux and Pickett would not listen. And now all of them here, in Venice were faced with a greater, more immediate danger. He wondered what he should do, what he could do. If Venice fell there was no other naval base north of Brindisi. If Venice fell the line on the Piave would be turned, the retreat would go on. He remembered the atmosphere of tension in the city, born of the threat hanging over them all. He said, ‘I might see you south-west of Porto Cortellazzo.’
‘With your fishing-boat?’
‘That’s right.’
Garizzo looked at Smith thoughtfully, then said, ‘Good. I think you would be welcome to me with or without your fishing-boat. The challenge is “Venezia” and the answer “San Marco”. Do not forget. We cannot take chances up there.’ He gripped Smith’s hand. ‘But I must return. My men dig trenches while I talk. Goodbye, English.’
‘Arrivederci, Capitano.’
Garizzo guffawed. ‘You learn, English!’ He strode off along the quay, roaring with laughter.
Smith watched him go, thinking of that long line stretched thinly across the marshes between the coast and the Cavetta canal and of the capitano’s men he had seen at the mouth of the Livenza. It was the capitano’s affair but he had said Smith was welcome.
He hurried back along the Riva degli Schiavoni to where Hercules was moored bows-on to the quay. Davies had the watch on deck and saluted as Smith came aboard. Smith asked, ‘The pontoon gun?’
‘Ready for sea, sir.’
‘What about ammunition for it?’
‘We draws that at La Certosa, sir. We just turns up wi’ the gun, say what we want an’ sign for it.’
‘Good. Call Mr. Archbold and the engineer.’
Davies bawled down the hatch and seconds later Fred Archbold and Geordie Hogg appeared, both blinking: obviously they had been catching up on their sleep. Menzies, disturbed by the commotion, came tumbling up after them. Smith said, ‘Mr. Hogg, I want steam in one hour.’
Geordie complained, ‘You said we were at four hours’ notice, sir.’
‘Well, now you are at one hour’s notice. Can you do it?’
Geordie opened his mouth to protest then caught Smith’s eye and changed his mind. ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ He trotted away to the stern and shouted down the after companionway for the stoker.
Smith glanced at Menzies and Fred Archbold, who was still buttoning his jacket. Fred nodded unhurriedly. ‘Aye, aye, sir. One hour.’
Smith told Menzies, ‘Come with me.’ He went down to his cabin. The bunk was rumpled; Menzies had also been catching up on h
is sleep. As Smith sat down at the desk Menzies tried surreptitiously to twitch the blankets smooth. Smith said impatiently, ‘Relay that! You did right to get all the sleep you could. You may not get much for some time.’
‘Sir?’ There was enquiry in Menzies’ voice but Smith was not listening, had already started to write. He had no orders for Hercules or the pontoon gun so he wrote briefly to Naval Headquarters that at the request of Capitano di Fregato Garizzo. He was sailing to give support to that officer’s battalion.
He handed the signal to Menzies. ‘Read it. Then take it to HQ and hand it in to Captain Devereux’s office to be passed on immediately.’
He went on deck with Menzies and saw him hurry aft to where the dinghy lay alongside, its crew standing by. Smith turned and found Buckley waiting. ‘Come on.’
He led the way along the quay to the house on the Ca’di Dio. Helen Blair opened the door to them and Smith said, ‘I’ve come for my kit.’ The girl looked past him and saw the big seaman. Smith said, ‘You know Leading-Seaman Buckley.’
She nodded and smiled. ‘Of course. How are you, Mr. Buckley?’
Buckley saluted smartly and smiled back at her. ‘I’m fine, Miss. Thanks.’
‘You’ll find the commander’s valise where you left it, in the room on the right, up two floors.’
‘Thank ye, Miss.’ Buckley edged past them, cap in hand, and climbed the stairs two at a time.
Helen Blair looked at Smith. ‘I’m sorry about today — the row. You don’t have to go to a hotel. We can still be friends.’
‘I’m going to sea.’
‘Oh.’ That came flat and the corners of her mouth went down. ‘Far? For long?’
‘I don’t know. I’m going to join Garizzo. He’s holding a line from the Cavetta canal to the sea.’
She frowned, ‘But how can your ship help there?’
‘We have a pontoon gun. Six-inch.’
‘I see.’ And then she added, ‘He will need a forward observation officer. Is that you?’
Smith blinked at her knowledge then remembered that this girl had been talking with soldiers for two years now. He said, ‘That’s right.’
They stood in awkward silence for some time. The girl seemed unhappy and Smith was eager to get away now. Helen Blair said suddenly, ‘David —’ Then stopped.
