My Enemy Came Nigh

by Richard Townsend Bickers

  von Trampel invited him to lunch and it was obvious that he had fallen for Eva on sight. What Wüstling was careful to conceal was that he had fallen for Stutzer the moment he saw him standing nonchalantly alert on his conning tower: jaw tilted, hands in jacket pockets, debonair but firmly in command. Wüstling could almost smell Stutzer's toilet water while the U-boat was still a cable's length offshore. In an instant this new seducer had banished Holzkopf from Wüstling's fickle affections.

  Petar, also observing the submarine's arrival, strained his hearing for the sound of approaching aircraft. Had that fool Guido made a nonsense of the message with which he had entrusted him? Surely the British would attack at once rather than wait until their photographic flights had confirmed the target? Now, when the Germans would be least expecting attack? But there was no sound: Guido must have bungled; again.

  All day Petar waited impatiently, listening while he went about his work. But the R.A.F. did not come.

  That evening, at about the time that Anstey sighted the unidentified ship, Kapitänleutnant Helmuth Stutzer welcomed Fregattankapitän Erich von Trampel and other officers to his wardroom for drinks, before going up to the latter's quarters to dine. There was Scotch whisky and English gin, for U987 had recently sunk a merchantman among whose cargo had been supplies for British officers' messes. The crates had floated around the wreckage of the steamer and Stutzer had surfaced to collect, at his leisure, several dozen of the highly prized bottles. He presented von Trampel with three of each, and despatched an orderly with them to the house.

  Stutzer entertained his guests and Eva stood outside von Trampel's house, listening, like her brother, for the longed ­ for air raid. Sixty miles to the south, the R.A.F. was otherwise engaged.

  *

  The ship shewed navigation lights and her unscreened ports and windows cast bright reflections on the water.

  Despite the poor light the markings on her sides were discernible; but her decks were crowded with uniformed men.

  "Stand by," the controller had instructed Anstey, and the four Beaufighters circled the vessel like wolves around a bear, watching, waiting their opportunity. But it was uncertainty, not caution, that held them back.

  "I don't like it," Tindall told his pilot on the intercom. "We can see her markings, even if she seems to be carrying reinforcements instead of wounded.''

  "Think of all the JU 53s that used to be sent out under the Red Cross, to take photographs and even attack the Channel coast, before we started shooting them down."

  "Did you ever get one?"

  "Two, in fact."

  "Didn't it worry you, shooting down an aircraft with Red Cross markings?"

  "Not at all, once we had proved what the bastards were up to."

  "The idea makes me feel a bit queasy."

  "Don't worry: I fire the guns."

  Similar conversations were going on in the other three aircraft.

  Charlie Teoh: "What are we waiting for? Let's sink the blute before she signals for a squadlon of 109s to come to the lescue."

  Harry Tunks: "Looks like a genuine hospital ship to me, Charlie."

  Charlie Teoh: "Then Ops. have made a balls of it: they didn't warn us, did they?"

  Enver Aziz: "This is going to be like shooting a sitting bird, Don: I don't like it."

  Don Bradley: "It's not our worry: we only carry out orders. It's up to Air Headquarters to decide. I can imagine the panic at Afrona."

  Enver Aziz: "There must be a mistake: someone's forgotten to pass on a signal."

  Don Bradley: "Seeing what happened to poor bloody Fearless, I couldn't care less; I'd just as soon sink this bugger."

  Robin Truscott: "What d'you think, Joe?"

  Joe Anstey: "I think some clot at H.Q. had his finger in. Gerry's bound to have sent a signal, and it wasn't passed on to Afrona."

  Robin Truscott: "Even if there was a signal, we saw those Gerry troops clearly enough."

  Joe Anstey: "True, and they bloody soon vanished below decks: damned suspicious, if you ask me."

  Robin Truscott: "Bags of panic all round. I can just hear Cracker begging to be allowed to attack."

  Joe Anstey: "I should think Shagger's making the line to H.Q. red hot."

  He was. The duty controller at Afrona had telephoned Wg. Cdr. Beale immediately on hearing Anstey's sighting report. Beale was in the lavatory, where his batman ran to hammer on the door. The wing commander, still buttoning his shorts, ran to the group captain's tent. The group captain was having a shower. They bawled at each other above the sound of water, which was abruptly switched off. Gp. Capt. Mason erupted from the shower hut with a towel around his waist, barefooted and carrying his clothes. He had a telephone in his tent, and while his batman helped him to struggle into a shirt and trousers, he talked to the controller. Five minutes later he was arguing with a wing commander at Headquarters.

  "But my chaps report she's carrying German troops: she should be empty, if she's on her way north to pick up wounded and sick. But the point is, she shouldn't be there at all.''

  "Well, we've had no signal, sir."

  "That's it, then: according to the Geneva Convention she must signal her intentions and her position; if she's a genuine hospital ship."

  "Quite, sir."

  "So she obviously isn't."

  "Unless the signal wasn't received, for some reason."

  "Have you checked with the Navy?"

  "Yes, sir: they've had no signal either."

  "So what do we do?"

  "It's your decision, sir."

  "What does the A.O.C. say?"

  "He's not here, sir: he's gone to his villa." (The A.O.C. lived on the Bay of Naples. His H.Q. was an hour's drive inland.)

  "So he's twenty miles away?"

  "Yes, sir. Anyway, it's our decision; that's what we're here for."

  "You've just told me it's my decision, not yours."

  "You're on the spot, sir; and you are senior."

  "On the spot is right. I may be senior, but you're the H.Q. controller on duty."

  "It's a matter for your judgment, sir."

  "Are you a specially trained buck-passer or does it come naturally?"

  There was a hurt silence.

  Gp. Capt. Mason asked angrily: "Have you heard what happened to one of my young Regiment officers yesterday, and five damn good men who were with him?"

  "Yes. I'm sorry, sir."

  "So was I: and now I'm going to send my aircraft in to sink that bloody treacherous ship." He slammed down the receiver.

  Moustache bristling, Beale asked "Can we have a crack, sir?"

  "Yes, Arthur, we're going to have a bloody good crack." Mason picked up the telephone again to speak to the controller: "Tell Anstey I'm coming to Ops. to speak to him myself."

  Five minutes later, with Wg. Cdr. Beale beside him, Gp. Capt. Mason was on the air to his detachment commander. Sqdn. Ldr. Grimes, who had gone straight to the Operations Room when told what was afoot after his two seniors had been informed, wasting no time on what he knew would be fruitless attendance on them, had already talked on the R/T with Anstey.

  "We're going to attack, John," the group captain had said, as he came into the Ops. room; but lost no time in elaboration.

  Through the loudspeaker on the wall, everyone in the Ops. room could hear both sides of the R/T conversation.

  "Dingbat one-six, this is Cresta, d'you read? Over."

  "Loud and clear, Cresta. Over."

  "This is the station commander, Joe. Give me the score briefly, please."

  "Ship shewing navigation lights and no black-out, sir. About a ten-thousand-tanner. Decks were packed, apparently with German troops, when we intercepted. They disappeared in a flash, which looked suspicious. We can make out Red Cross markings, sir, but no identification. We weren't briefed to expect a hospital ship here. Or anywhere. Over."

  "Thank you, one-six. We have checked thoroughly and there is no movement signal. We have to assume the ship is hostile. You are to attack imm
ediately and sink if possible. Understood? Over.''

  "Cresta, understand attack immediately and sink if possible. Over."

  "Roger. Out."

  "And so say all of us," Tindall muttered. But not on the intercom, which would have cut them off from Anstey's next transmission.

  Which was "Echelon starboard, echelon starboard, go. Put 'em on the waterline. Amidships, to get the engineroom."

  The four Beaufighters swung away in a wide arc, to come round on the ship's port beam, stepped back with ten yards between their wing tips and fifty yards separating each aircraft, to allow time for each crew to see the effect of the rockets from the aircraft in front of them before firing their own.

  The ship was a black mass against the moonlight, with splashes of light at its windows and portholes. The captain was no fool: as the aircraft approached a searchlight licked out from the bows and another from the bridge, shining into the pilots' eyes, the beams swinging from side to side, dazzling them. Instead of putting them off, this made them more angry and determined.

  "Break!" Anstey yelled. "Shoot 'em out before we let go with the rockets." He followed his words with a burst of machinegun fire and the forward searchlight went out. As he bucketed over the ship he saw tracer from Middleton, who was flying immediately behind him, extinguish the bridge searchlight.

  They came round again and this time there was only the glare from the ship's internal lighting to put them off. She loomed bulky and solid against the moonwashed sky.

  Thirty-two eighty-pound rockets fizzed into the hull, above and below the waterline, and the Beaufighters climbed to orbit tightly around their victim and watch her begin listing to port, steam billowing from burst plates, rocket holes and ventilators. Her speed fell from over fifteen to about six knots.

  They climbed and Anstey called Afrona to report.

  "Well done," came back from the group captain. "Stay in position until joined by a Wellington: we're going to shadow her all night. Out."

  Tindall touched the intercom switch. "Let's hope the 109s don't beat the Wimpey to it.''

  "109s are no good at night, anyway," Middleton said.

  "I'd rather not put them to the test."

  They didn't have to, because they hadn't enough fuel to stay until the first Wellington, which was delayed, turned up.

  Bardoc, when they thankfully felt their wheels safely meet the p.s.p., was, as Aziz said, "Like Piccadilly Circus", with every living soul on the island out to greet them and the goosenecks along the runway burning brightly.

  Grummitt appeared disappointed that he had no casualties to whom to minister, Hargreaves was twittering with excitement to take down their combat reports, Dunn chewed on his pipe and said "Groupie's done it now: sure as eggs, a signal will turn up tomorrow, misfiled by some clot."

  An airman who had been standing at the entrance to the Operations tent called Anstey to the radio-telephone: "It's the group captain, sir."

  When he had finished his conversation with Afrona, Anstey told the others "If this is all the result of a misfiled signal, someone had better find it soon: Cracker's leading another attack tomorrow at first light, to finish her off."

  Thirteen

  The signal from Nurnberg that she was under aerial attack interrupted the conviviality in von Trampel's drawing room. He and his guests had just arrived there from the party aboard U987 and been served their first drinks by Eva; who was conscious of the hungry, confident way in which Stutzer was following her with his clear, knowing eyes; and of the covert watchfulness of her master, who tolerated no encroachment on his bedroom preserve.

  The news was brought by a breathless sailor on a bicycle and put an end to the evening's festivities. For Nürnberg had signalled not only that she had been hit by rockets in her engine room and after hold, but that she was making for Taf at her best speed of about six knots.

  "Gentlemen, we will dine immediately," von Trampel announced. He had always admired British upper class phlegm and this seemed to him the decision Drake would have taken: a modern equivalent for finishing his game of bowls before tackling the Spanish Armada. "We can do nothing constructive for the time being, and we shall face our work better with a good meal inside us. Also, although I am sure you all concur that we must keep clear heads, I have a modicum of some rather good wine to offer you: a slightly brash, but not too priggish, Barolo."

  The ideal accompaniment to the roast shoulder of goat which these self-satisfied oafs are going to eat and compliment him on, Eva thought with hatred.

  She had been instructed to dine with them and von Trampel placed her next to Stutzer, who began fondling her knee before the soup was on the table. Eva jerked her leg up as hard as she could and crushed his hand between the bone of her kneecap and the oaken base of the tabletop: it was almost enough to smash the small bones in the back of a man's hand and Stutzer jumped four inches out of his chair and his face went dark red. By the time the fish was served there was a plum-coloured weal on the back of Stutzer's right hand and he had kicked Eva on the ankle. She knew that her tough reaction had hardened his determination to rape her and that he would enjoy it more in proportion to her resistance. von Trampel and Wüstling were both aware of what was going on: one with indifference, certain of Eva's ability to fend off any advance except his own, the other envious of such a bruising courtship.

  The pungent goatsmeat was barely before them when another panting orderly pedalled up to the front door with a signal. Schwuler waddled importantly into the room, bearing the message on a tray. von Trampel read it and frowned. He turned to Wüstling: "Scheusal requests permission to see me urgently. Find out why he's by-passed the Chief Signals Officer, will you? If you're satisfied of the urgency, tell him to report to me at once. But I don't like anyone not going through proper channels, especially junior officers."

  Eva, pretending indifference, was paying keen attention. Her first thought was for Zdenka: had something gone wrong, at Mojat, and betrayed the active part she played among the partisans? However grave the message Scheusal wished to deliver personally, he could have sent it in code. If he had not done so, it was probably because he did not want it monitored from the mainland. And the only reason for such secrecy was fear of the Gestapo and the S.S. Her thoughts buzzed like a nest of hornets: if Scheusal wanted to conceal some news from those police bodies, it must be because either von Trampel or himself could be made to appear culpable of neglect or worse. Not that he would have any particular loyalty to von Trampel, but if Scheusal let him down, von Trampel could take reprisals. That was easy enough to resolve, but the reason for Scheusal's request for an immediate interview was not. And it made her fear for Zdenka; and if Zdenka was discovered, she herself, her brother and every family on the island would be endangered. She found she had lost her appetite.

  But her ears were pricked as sharply as ever when Stutzer said "If Nürnberg is in danger of further attack from the air, sir, I would like to escort her: we can fight off aeroplanes very successfully with our armament."

  von Trampel replied curtly: "We can discuss that later, in private. In any case, I have no doubt there will be fighter cover for her."

  Stutzer could not resist getting in a dig at the Luftwaffe: "A trifle late, I'd say."

  "Hospital ships do not need armed protection; they are already protected fully by the terms of the Geneva Convention."

  Stutzer grinned. "Except when they are not covered by the Geneva Convention."

  "That will be enough," von Trampel told him sharply. Stutzer made him uncomfortable.

  *

  Scheusal brought Zdenka with him to Taf. He had told her to pack her kit, because he did not propose to take her back to Mojat.

  "What are you going to do?" She asked with contempt. "Hand me over to the Gestapo or the S.S. because I was alone with an English officer?"

  "No. But I know what you did when you went off with him, and I don't share my women."

  "You made quite sure that poor devil won't ever be sharing anything
again."

  "He was a fool. He should have searched us."

  "I don't believe that's your reason for sending me away."

  "Don't worry: I don't like the Gestapo or the S.S. any more than you do. I'm sending you back because I no longer want you on Mojat, or need you. You have served your purpose, now the equipment has been sited and calibrated."

  She laughed with scorn. "And your pride is hurt."

  "I'm surprised a whore knows anything about pride."

  She swallowed her anger and retorted with a recklessness that could have cost her freedom or even her life. "I read a book a few years ago, by an English... whore... called Sheila Cousins. A real professional one. She called it 'To Beg I Am Ashamed'. We Jugoslavs are ashamed to beg, too. If I have behaved like a... a wanton, it has been with a purpose."

  He raised his hand to strike her, but she did not flinch. He let his hand drop and said "You are very indiscreet, but I will say nothing; because if I did it would lead to an uncomfortable, and probably fatal, investigation of us all: you, me, Fregattankapitän von Trampel. It's me I'm concerned about. I've let you get away with too much already. If... certain authorities... found out, I could be shot."

  Scheusal also brought Private Klebrig, who had begun to complain of severe toothache immediately after the massacre of the British party. The sudden, unexpected bursting of the grenades and the carnage at close quarters had caused the young soldier to vomit violently: he had rolled on the ground, clutching his stomach with both hands, alternately crying and groaning. Sgt. Zotig and the other private had had to support him for most of the way back to their own boat, and he had remained slumped and partly unconscious on the journey to Mojat. Sgt. Zotig had taken him to the medical sergeant, who had given him aspirins for the raging toothache of which he was (falsely) complaining.

  Scheusal had one over-riding problem. He had to stay on Mojat for the next twenty-four hours, to take charge of the radar surveillance in anticipation of a British air raid to attack Taf, if news of U987's arrival had leaked out. But he ought to report his encounter with the enemy on Sprat immediately. If, however, he did so, there were too many other ears to hear it and eyes to read it. He did not want any of his own troops on the island to know what had happened, and certainly not the natives. He would have to stay silent until he could report personally to von Trampel the following day.